#(But the answer is always yes. It's just how he says yes.)

[halsteadlover]

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 & 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader.

• Requested by anon: can you please write charles x reader she give him a blowjobs while he drives 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

• Warnings: oral sex m. receiving, dirty talk, swearing, semi public sex, unprotected sex (y’all already know what to do), this is just smut and pretty much zero plot lol

• Word count: 3.2K

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+. This is straight up ass but here we go anyways lmao

You were always meant to be a passenger princess not because you were lazy or you didn’t want to drive, but because you could sit there for hours and admire your husband for as long as you wanted.

Seriously, he had no business looking so good while driving and no matter how many car rides you took together, you’d never get used to that sight. You couldn’t even understand how lucky you were to have that man and being able to say he was your man.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, not even if you wanted to.

One hand on the wheel, veins prominent under his golden skin, the other resting on your thigh, casual, effortless. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the sharp lines of his forearms, and there was a crease between his brows as he bit his bottom lip in concentration. It was the kind of look that made it hard to think straight, let alone behave.

His fingers drew imaginary circles on your inner thigh, absentmindedly, unaware of the effect he was actually having on you. You were going crazy. You wanted him so much you couldn’t even think straight anymore.

“You’re awfully silent chérie, what are you thinking about?” he asked, waking you up from your daydream. Even his voice was so sexy, with that accent that could send you into a total turmoil.

He looked at you for a moment before returning his gaze to the road. You didn’t answer right away, you continued to let your gaze travel along his face, the profile of his nose, the outline of his lips, his jaw, the column of his throat, his Adam’s apple, down his chest and his arms. And fuck, his arms.

“Nothing,” you finally answered, never taking your eyes off him as you hand rested on his—the one on your thigh—caressing his skin with your nails.

“Liar. You’re staring,” he shot you another look, a half-smirk plastered across his lips. He knew you by now, after years together he had learned to know every expression, every nuance, it was almost as if he could read your mind.

You dragged your fingers up and down his bicep, caressing it, feeling it, squeezing it.

“You just look so good baby, so damn hot.”

You watched as he inhaled deeply as his finger flexed almost imperceptibly on your thighs. You leaned down to leave a kiss on his arm, then more up his bicep, his shoulders and then—as you moved closer to him—his jaw, his cheek and then the corner of his mouth.

He exhaled deeply and his fingers tightened around your thigh. “What are you doing?” He whispered, turning his head and stealing a kiss on your lips before returning his eyes to the road.

“Didn’t you sway you wanted to know what I was thinking?” You whispered back, continuing to pepper his face with kisses. They seemed innocent but—combined with your voice so sexy and seductive—it was enough to make him harden and you noticed, to your delight.

“No… Yes… Fuck baby I’m driving,” he begged and you giggled. You took off your seatbelt to make yourself more comfortable and rested one hand on his chest while you stroked his hair with the other.

“I was just thinking about how much I want you,” you nibbled his earlobe, making him sigh heavily as your hand moved down his chest, slow and sensual, “how wet I’m right now just thinking about sucking your dick, how much I want you to fuck me in this car right now…”

“Putain,” he cursed under his breath, both hands now on the wheel, knuckles clenched so hard they turned white, “you—” he cut himself off, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe what you just said that. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he quickly glanced at you, his eyes now darker, hungrier. “You can’t say things like that while I’m driving baby.”

“Why not?” you challenged, fingers grazing dangerously close to his crotch. “Can’t handle it love?”

You took your time, letting your fingers grace over the bulge straining against his jeans, light enough to make him twitch under your touch but nowhere near enough to give him what he wanted.

What he needed.

“Please don’t do this to me…”

“Already so hard for me mon amour?” You whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. “Is this all for me?”

His breath stuttered, and for a second, he said nothing, just gripped the steering wheel tightener, knuckles pale against the leather.

But you weren’t letting him get away that easily.

Your fingers fiddled with his belt, slow and unhurried as you popped the button and eased the zipper down. He made a sound deep in his throat, half curse, half plea, and you felt his hips shift, like he was trying to give you more room to touch him.

You slipped you hand inside his pants and rubbed the palm of your hand on his hard dick, making him moan and curse again. “Merde bébé…” he groaned, a low, desperate sound that made your pussy clench.

“Answer me,” you urged, slowing your movements. “Is this for me baby?”

His head fell back against the seat for a split second, jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might break it. “Oui…” he finally breathed out, voice rough and wrecked. “Yes, fuck—all for you, baby. Always…”

You slid your hand beneath the fabric of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his dick and let out a moan so hot and sexy. “Please—oh my God… You’re going to make me crush.”

Your touch was soft at first, just enough to make him tremble beneath your hand. You stroked him lazily, dragging your thumb over his sensitive and wet tip, feeling his dick pulse in your palm.

“No, I’m not. You’re going to keep us safe won’t you baby?”

His thighs tensed beneath your fingers, and when you squeezed him just a little tighter, he let out another moan.

“You’re not being fair,” he muttered, but his voice broke on the last word when you gave him another slow, deliberate stroke.

“Who said I play fair?” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss against his jaw. “I just want to make you feel good, don’t you want that?”

“Fuck yes,” he answered so fast it made you chuckle. You lowered his pants and underwear further, until his hard dick finally sprung free. “You’re—fuck—you’re going to ruin me.”

You didn’t answer to that, but leaned down and darted your tongue out before giving a slow and deliberate lick along the shaft of his dick, making him hiss. You slowly drew imaginary circles on his tip, tasting his salty precum.

“Holy— Ah yeah chérie just like that.” His hand left the wheel for a second just so he could tangle his fingers in your hair, tugging at it like he knew you liked. You took him all in your mouth and Charles swerved the car slightly before quickly regaining control, letting out a curse that was somewhere between a moan and fear.

“Mon Diey you’re going to get us killed,” he groaned and the words only seemed to fuel you up even more. Your lips circled his dick as your tongue traced circles around his soft silky skin, leaving streaks of saliva with every movement.

The car was filled only with the sounds of Charles’ uncontrolled moans and gasps and the noises you made as you gagged on his dick while he kept pushing your head down, fucking your mouth. “Yeah baby just like that… My beautiful wife takes me so fucking well…”

Your pace grew bolder now, each lick firmer, more purposeful, and the tension in his body was undeniable, the way his breath came faster, the way his thighs trembled beneath your touch. He was close. You could feel it.

His grip in your hair tightened, and when you hollowed your cheeks, taking him so deep into your throat as your hand wrapped around the base of his dick, he let out a guttural moan that was pure sin. “Putain—” The French slipped from his lips once again like a prayer, raw and desperate. “I need to touch you, I want you so fucking bad—I can’t…”

But he couldn’t, he had to concentrate with every fiber of his being on driving, keeping his eyes on the road and focusing to not crash his car into someone. He couldn’t concentrate on the beautiful woman who had her head between his legs and was sucking his dick so voraciously as if she physically needed it to live.

He thanked the Lord in that moment for having tinted windows or it would’ve been hard to explain to his bosses why images of him receiving a blowjob from his wife while driving were printed on all the newspapers and magazines.

His head fell back against the seat for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, struggling to hold himself together.

“God baby your mouth feels like heaven, you’re going to kill me,” he rasped again, though the way his hips jerked mimicking your movement, chasing the heat of your mouth, told you he didn’t want you to stop.

Charles felt like he was about to come but he didn’t want to, he wanted to explode inside you, filling your hot, wet pussy to the last drop.

So, the car swerved suddenly, and before you could process it, Charles yanked the wheel and veered onto the side of the road with a rough, urgent movement. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a sharp stop.

Your head lifted in surprise, lips still glossy and swollen, and you barely had time to catch your breath before his hand was on you—pulling you up, dragging you into his lap with a hunger that felt heat rushing straight through you.

Charles grabbed your hair in a fist and crushed his lips against yours in a kiss that sucked the soul out of your body.

“You really think I was going to let you finish me like that?” his voice low and dangerous against your ear. “Not a chance. I’m going to come in this tight little pussy and you’re going to take it like the good girl you are.”

The words barely registered before his mouth was on yours again, hot, demanding, like he needed to taste you, to claim every inch of you after the way you’d wrecked him. His tongue slid against yours, making the kiss messier, urgent, filled with the kind of heat that made your head spin.

His hands were everywhere, skimming up your thighs, tugging at the hem of your dress as he freed your breast, on your ass. You gasped against his mouth when his fingers slid beneath the fabric, tracing along the edge of your underwear with a touch that was anything but patient.

“All that teasing,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your breast as his tongue traced a wet circle around your nipples, his fingers slipping beneath the thin fabric and stroking over your already-soaked pussy. “And you’re this wet for me?” He repeat your words.

You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch, and the sound you made had his jaw clenching, like it was taking everything in him not to lose himself completely.

“Charles,” you breathed, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please… Oh yes… I’m always wet for you baby…”

A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You were so bold a minute ago,” he taunted, dragging his fingers through your slick folds before slipping one inside you. “What happened to that confidence, mhh?”

You couldn’t answer, not when he curled his finger just right, pressing against that perfect spot that had your body arching and trembling against him.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, adding a second finger and groaning softly at how easily you took him. “You love being like this for me, don’t you? So needy… So ready. My wife is so perfect for me.”

The ache between your thighs grew unbearable, and you shifted against him, grinding against his hand in a way that made him curse softly under his breath.

“Fuck just like that,” you moaned, your hands in his hair as you pulled it in a vain attempt to survive that wave of pleasure. “You’re so good baby.”

“God, you’re driving me insane,” he rasped, pulling his fingers from you and taking them in his mouth, licking every drop of your wetness. “Merde I need to be inside you.”

He barely gave you a moment to catch your breath before he kissed you again, pulling your panties to the side. You felt his thick, heavy dick pressing against you, and the sheer desperation in his touch sent your heart racing.

“Come here, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough but desperate as he guided your hips over him. “Sit on my dick, let me make you feel good.”

The stretch was delicious, hot and perfect as you sank down onto him, and the groan that came from his lips when you took him made your head spin. His hands gripped your ass tightly, holding you there, like he needed a second to compose himself or he’d come in a second.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his head falling back against the seat. “You feel so good, so fucking tight around me.”

You leaved open-mouthed kisses on his neck, licking the column of his throat, every inch of his skin. You braced your hands on his chest but also caressing his face, rolling your hips slowly, and his jaw tensed, letting out a deep, broken moan.

“Still think you’re in control husband?” you teased, though your voice trembled slightly as you rocked against him, savoring the way he filled you so perfectly.

His heated eyes snapped open, as he met your gaze and the look he gave you felt a delicious shiver down your spine.

His hands tightened on your ass, slapping it before thrusting his hips into you, deep and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. And when his mouth found yours again, hungry and unforgiving, you knew you were completely done.

His kissed grew messier, desperate and claiming. His hands kept guiding you as you moved over him, his dick filling you with every roll of your body.

“Look at you,” he groaned against your lips, watching the way you took him, how your body clenched around him with every deep thrust. “So perfect. So fucking tight, baby.”

The praise sent a rush of heat straight through you, and you moaned, tilting your head back as his mouth trailed along your throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. Your arms circled his neck, your fingers going through his thick hair as he left marks, evidence of just how wrecked you made him. You knew it but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You’re so deep baby, fucking made for me,” you gasped, your fingers pulling his hair as you rocked against him harder. “You feel so—oh, God—”

A rough, broken curse slipped from his lips, and his grip on you grew almost bruising as his hips snapped up to meet yours faster, more relentless.

“You like being fucked like this? While everyone can see us?” he groaned, his voice thick and broken as he thrust up into you again like he wanted you to feel him for hours. “When can’t I even wait to get home?”

“Yes,” you breathed, clenching around him as pleasure coiled low in your stomach, hot and aching, winding tighter with every punishing stroke. “I love it, Charles. I love you.”

You tried to say something else, but every time you tried to open your mouth nothing came out but moans and gasps which—along with Charles’ and the sound of your skins clashing together—filled the car.

His mouth trailed down your chest, taking one breast between his lips and sucking it before doing the same with the other. “Fucking mine,” he sucked the spot under your ear, “mon Dieu I love you,” he rasped against your ear, each word punctuated by a deep, precise thrust that made your vision blur. “And I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

“All yours baby, forever,” you whispered against his hair, not even sure he heard you. You whimpered his name again and again, nails dragging down his back as you kept riding him, pushing you closer to the edge with every stroke of his dick.

The car windows were fogged now, the air thick and heavy with heat, but nothing mattered, nothing except him, the way he claimed you.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered grabbing your face with his hand, his voice raw and commanding in a way that made you clench around him. “I want to feel you come around me.”

The need in his tone was too much to resist. Your hand slipped between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit, and the moment you brushed against it, a loud and breathless moan escaped your lips.

“Merde,” Charles cursed again, his teeth grazing your jaw as his hips bucked up harder. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this—”

His words, his touch, everything, was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled against his, the pleasure building faster, hotter, and you knew you were right there.

“I’m so close baby, oh yes—you’re gonna make me come so hard…”

“Yeah, let go for me chérie. Come on my dick, I want to feel you.”

The filthy command shattered whatever restraint you had left. With one more swirl of your fingers, hot and blinding pleasure crashed over you, your body clenching around him as waves of ecstasy washed through you.

You cried out his name, and he groaned in response, burying himself deeper in your pussy as your walls kept clenching around him, making him completely lose his mind. His rhythm stuttered, his grip on your waist and ass bruising as he thrust into you one last time, hard and deep, before he finally let go.

His head fell against your shoulder as he spilled inside you, his hips jerking messily until he filled you till the last drop of his cum, his breath coming in rough bursts while the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through both of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just tangled together in the dim heat of the car, bodies still pressed close, hearts racing in unison.

“My God baby.” Finally, he exhaled a soft, breathless laugh, his lips brushing against your neck. “You wear me out. I swear I’m not going on a road trip with you ever again.”

You chuckled, brushing your fingers through his hair as you pressed a soft kiss to his temple. You then placed your thumb and forefinger under his chin and forced him to lift his head to look at him. “You sure about that?”

He smirked before shaking his head and kissing you softly on the lips, his arms tightening around you. “Nah baby I was kidding, I’m five seconds away from dragging you in the backseat because I’m dying to eat your pussy.”

And by the way his hands were already sliding down your back again, still hungry, not quite satisfied, you had no doubt he meant every word.

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @halstead-severide-fan, @mrspeacem1nusone, @allivs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria, @buckybarnessweetheart, @fanaticlove16, @ajordan2020, @multi-fandom-lover7667, @emryb, @luftmenzch, @anamiad00msday, @caroldanverwife, @bernelflo

Charles Leclerc tag list: @dallaav, @softicecr3eam, @halsteadbrasil, @bwormie, @ssprayberrythings, @mynameisangeloflife, @Scaramou, @ironspdy, @earlgreyflowers, @rxclessmorgan7, @bubu40777168, @hiireadstuff, @lilithhs-world, @yujnrq, @aurora-maria, @decafmickey, @matchaverse, @emryb, @halleest, @edgyficuselastica, @pestal

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[beatlblog]

#ringo be like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️lol (via cocaineskinny909)

#and Paul's little elvish giggle like the fucking Pillsbury dough boy (via monkberryfields)

#those two being annoying as always#paul over there twirling his hair and giggling#girl. you’re in an interview (via longing4yesterday)

#in front of the whole press????#embarrasing (via slutty-oranges)

the whole entire press

#mom and dad leaving the kid to answer the phone. HURRY UP JOHN COME BACK RINGO DOESN'T KNOW! (via mylonghairedladyy)

#ringo could have bashed their heads together if he wanted to and he didn’t. that’s bravery! (via oneafter909)

#I would hatttteeeee them if I was ringo (via slegastagirl)

#ringo is our strongest soldier (via jarsfullofstarrs)

#god#they should've been killed for this#how did their friends DEAL WITH THIIIIIIIIS (via repressedgaymer)

#oh they're so annoying#like I'm sorry is this interview interrupting ur conversation (via saturn-iidae)

#can't keep his hands off of him#ringo you can hit them with the table on their heads and I'd support you (via ringosmistress)

#some times i want to strangle them#but ringo is so funny here#he just acts like nothings happening (via ringo-starrdust)

#TALKING BEHIND RINGO IS CRAZY (via kickittothekerbe)

#pda in the middle school hallway ass mfs (via therealestwizard)

#lmao ringo calling john OUT (via origami-money)

#silly#but ringo needs to clock them (via deadmornings)

george certainly is

#the streets are asking you to keep some space for jesus 🙏🏽 (via sohardlovingyou)

#Chalk and Cheese at it again 🙄#Guys do you think John had something important to say to Paul that couldn’t wait#or did he just manifest the moment so that he could hear Paul’s cute little giggle and press their foreheads together? (via didwemeetsomewherebefore)

#them#so secretive and for what (via alwaystoreturntome)

#get a room (via 70snasagay)

#ringo looks so sick of them 😭😭😭 (via youvejustbeen-quattroed)

#ringo looks disgusted 😭 (via pinketine)

#I just know Ringo and George where tired of them (via monkeytime333)

ya THINK?

#Look dudes I know ya had to do a lotta press interviews#but Ringo is not a wall! (via shinygoku)

#yes#ringo#yes you have the rightto punch them#we all are jealousof their relationship#and they are speaking when george does#you have the right (via unburstedbubble)

#are all boybands like this? some day I will have to dive into the Lennon and McCartney lore (via inalltheirgorgeouscolors)

#no because hold on a Michael Owen#the way Paul leaned in as soon as he saw John#I can NOT handle this#and they way they were basically face to face has me dead#Holy Spirit and all the rest of it#oh wow (via nufc-carraville)

Ringo’s disapproving side-eye 💀 (via epistolaryfairy)

#the suppressed smile after getting paul giggling.....punchable (via paulpropaganda)

#the fact that you can still hear john call him (via pioggia-latte)

#and ringo annoyed with them (via midnightblueiris)

Ringo:😅excuse me? (via indefiniteluv)

#they are soooooooo#la parejita de atras se me separa (via sansaren)

#LICHERALLY bypassing Ringo (via johns-prince)

#SOOOOOO ANNOYING U R ADULTS (via beatlestheirmeatles)

George is unproblematically chilling over there on the right like 😎 (via crashing-a-jeep)

#for all the tragedy that comes with loving them we also are really lucky bc how is this real lol (via sohardlovingyou)

they're so annoying....... like ur in the middle of an interview.....

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 2

Summary: You save Soap's life. Yours continues to go off the rails. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader Warnings For This Chapter: Canon typical violence, panic attack, my continued attempt to write Soap and Ghost's accents, military inaccuracies, more canon divergence, Soft!Simon. MINORS DNI A/N: I truly cannot believe how sweet you guys were about the first chapter. Thank you so much for being so kind! I apologize for the wait. I was almost done with this chapter when I decided I hated it and scrapped all of it and started over. I also finished another draft of my novel! Busy times. This is definitely more of a slow burn romance and I'm thinking it'll be around 10 or so chapters.

Well, at least you were out of the hospital room. It wasn’t far from the hospital room, but the horrendously beige room down the hall had a television and a few chairs you could sink into and a small kitchen that always seemed to be stocked with snacks in neat boxes on the counter. Were they good snacks? Not really. But you weren’t about to complain when it was a break from the nutrient dense and flavorless food they’d been shoveling down your throat the last handful of days.

Coronation Street was playing on the television as you soaked a plain biscuit in your tea. This was probably a breakroom of some sort, cleared out of anything that you could have possibly used to communicate with the outside world and you were pretty sure the blinking light in the corner was a camera to make sure you weren’t going to do anything ridiculous. Like climb out a window.

No.

You just wanted out of that stupid room with its uncomfortable bed and terrible pillow and beeping machines.

The biscuit crumbled in half when you tried to remove it and you stared at your tea for a stretched moment as the soap opera continued to drone on. Dammit. You shoved the rest of the biscuit into your mouth and then sipped on the tea for a moment before digging out the remnants of the biscuit with your spoon. Not your proudest moment.

You were pulled from your sad cup of tea and entertainment by the door opening and Soap walking in, arm still in his matching sling.

“Why am I hearing about ye not taking yer pain killers?” He asked instead of a greeting. You found that Soap did that. He barged right into things. No slow starts for him. It would be endearing if this were any other situation.

And just like you not saying anything to Ghost about your sister and why she wouldn’t be found in any intel about you, you wouldn’t give Soap a straight answer either. You were not going to take any of those pain killers if you didn’t feel like you needed them. You knew… Well, that didn’t matter right now. “Are they telling you my medical history? I don’t think that’s legal on either side of the pond.”

He frowned. The big Scot frowned and you almost laughed with how it made him look like a puppy. “Don’t ye need it? Ye were shot.”

“I’m aware of that. Trust me.” You turned and grabbed at the sleeve of biscuits, knowing it was a blatant change of topic. “These are awful, by the way.”

Soap snatched them out of your hand and scowled at them. “These are shite. Why’d ye do that to yerself?” He then pivoted and rummaged through the cabinets you weren’t brave enough to open and then set down a pack of shortbreads in a fancy looking tin which he popped open with one hand (you tried not to be jealous about that particular skill). “That’ll be the only thing going near yer tea.”

The shortbread was delicious and you wordlessly made another cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for Soap. You were prouder than you wanted to admit to hear you guessed correctly when you said he looked like he preferred coffee and prouder still when you dug some out of the cabinet and made it just the way he said he liked it as he settled on the lumpy couch beside you to watch the rest of the episode. He knew what was going on better than you and regaled you with the storylines long since finished and convoluted family ties of the characters. It was nice. Soap was…nice.

He had finished his coffee by the time the episode ended and scooped up your mug on his way toward the breakroom’s tiny kitchenette and set them both in the sink. He turned back toward you, bright blue eyes scanning your face for something. He had a casual set to his shoulders, even with the sling, but you knew the look of a smart man trying to pick his words carefully. Soap honestly reminded you, just a little bit, of a guy you went to highschool with, who looked the part of loveable idiot but eventually went to an ivy league school on a football scholarship. He was currently a doctor, knee deep in cancer research, if those annoying alumni emails had any truth to them.

“Just say what you need to say. I’m sure I can handle it.”

The corner of Soap’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I wanted to let ye know that yer intel was good.”

You just nodded. That would explain why you hadn’t seen the other three lately. They had been sent to Kastovia. “That mean I can go home?”

Soap sighed and your heart shriveled a bit more. “No, lass. I’m sorry.”

Someone had left a calendar in the breakroom. You had tried to keep track of the days that had slipped by, but you just wanted to be sure. You counted on your fingers how many days you thought had passed, but the pain killers the first few days after the tunnel had made everything hazy. You worried your bottom lip with the blunt edge of your teeth as you flipped through the next month and dragged your finger down to the day you knew Kirby was due.

Just a few short weeks. That’s all you had. You needed to be there. You needed to be back in time. You���d promised Kirby you would be. You’d never broken a promise to your younger sister and you didn’t want to start now. Those stupid, useless tears stung at your eyes again and blurred the calendar dates. “Fuck.” You wiped at your eyes, trying to keep them from falling before anyone saw, before you felt more useless and trapped than you already did.

Another episode of Coronation Street was playing, a hum at the back of your mind, but it started to mutate and grow until it was a screech. You needed to get to Kirby. They had what they needed from you. You would sign anything they wanted, change your name, dye your hair, live off the grid. But you needed to see Kirby.

You promised.

The door opened easily and you strode out into the hallway. Did you know where you were going? Not really but you just needed to leave. You could figure out the rest later. After all, Kirby always said you landed on your feet. It was time you proved her right. You turned down another hall and yelped when a meaty hand clapped on your uninjured shoulder. You turned, tamping down the urge to throw an elbow and snarled as you realized it was only Soap and his ridiculous blue eyes.

“What’re ye doing?”

“I’m leaving. I have to go.” Your heart thudded painfully as you turned, slipping out from his grip. The edges of your vision started to blur and you hated that you knew what this meant. It had been years since you felt like this—but this situation hadn’t exactly been great for your mental health.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each beat of your heart hurt.

“Ye cannae do that, lass. Ye know that.”

“I’m leaving.” You turned again to leave and grunted when he pulled at the back of your shirt. “Let go of me.”

“Lass-”

You turned and tugged your shirt free, letting the snarl curl your mouth as your vision continued to tunnel.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

“I’m leaving!”

What happened next was not your finest moment but you’d also been through worse. Soap reached for you again and after you pulled out of his grip once more, he lowered his shoulder and ran at you, hauling you up and over. His arm anchored you down, a weight across your back as his shoulder dug into your stomach. You didn’t even freeze as he turned, presumably to bring you back to the breakroom. Your arm pushed out of its sling and you wrapped your hands around one of his thighs and let his next step help pull you from his grip. Heat lanced across your shoulder as you wiggled against the grip until you yanked your legs free and kicked them above his head and over your own until your heels hit the ground. And then you were throwing yourself forward and dashing down the hallway. Out. You needed to get out. You needed to leave. Every breath burned a little more and-

The tile was cool against your cheek but Soap’s arms were a heavy firebrand as they banded around your waist. “Calm down. Calm down fer me.”

You thrashed against his hold as he stood but he didn’t seem to care and it wasn’t like you were a match to those dumb, hulking muscles. But still, your memory was hazy as he dragged you back to the breakroom and shoved a shortbread into your hand.

“Now, I’ll talk to someone. But ye cannae do that. Ye understand?”

By the time Simon arrived back on home soil, they’d moved her and Soap to a different part of the base. A hall of barracks that had been recently constructed but not yet assigned to a different squadron had been a good place to hide away their injured sergeant and American informant. Laswell had informed Price of the move and then sent along a video in lieu of an explanation.

Simon wasn’t entirely sure how many times he watched her claw and wiggle her way out of Johnny’s grip but Price did eventually take the phone away from him. (But not before Simon sent himself a copy.) She was wily. Strong. Stubborn.

Even when she had tears smeared across her face.

It was easy for Simon to claim one of the rooms as his own—it had always been better for Simon to be on base anyway. His flat in Manchester never felt like home. Just an expensive place to rest his head when he was ordered to take his mandated leave. Knowing the others were down the hall was more comfortable than any sort of high priced pillow anyway.

The mission had been successful. And a shitshow. The second, and larger, cache of gas in Kastovia had been exactly where her intel had said it would be in a barren steel plant. But the handful of missiles had been an unexpected find. As had the small militia that awaited them. While they had been easily dealt with, one of them managed to set off what Simon could only describe as a failsafe to take out the entire plant and the surrounding area. The gas dissipated quickly but not before it had caused extensive damage. Makarov wanted them dead. And he wanted her dead, too, if the picture one of his men had pinned up beside a map of different caches and routes to take over borders was any indication. It was upside down and some artist had taken it upon themselves to scratch out her eyes and draw an obvious axe buried in her neck. Charming. There were a few smaller pictures beside it but he didn’t get a clear look at them.

The explosion meant they didn’t have more than the one picture Gaz took of the map and Simon’s lungs burned a bit every time he took a breath. Nik had been quick in the exfil but still cut it close. Too close. And it grated on his every nerve that Makarov hadn’t been there. Still in the wind.

Simon had been told to visit the medbay before going to bed—Laswell was supposed to be arriving tomorrow for a debrief—but he thought that was more of a suggestion than an order. He’d dropped his bag on the floor and rinsed off before lumbering into the small bed, letting the standard-issue sheets scratch at his skin. It felt like coming home. And he watched the video again, feeling a strange smile push at his mouth.

He could bother Johnny about her ability to get away from him in the morning.

The doctor whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember told you to start physical therapy. And, just your luck, Soap had been told to do the same. If he was wary of you because of your outburst, he didn’t show it at all. He would smile at you, eyes crinkling, over his coffee whenever you opened your door at the crack of dawn. A tea would be in his other hands and ready for you. It was a nice routine as more days continued to slip by.

You’d stretch and grumble about the slowly fading pain in your shoulder and Soap would do the same. At least you didn’t need to use the sling anymore. But this was, pathetically, probably the closest you’d had to a friend. He’d talk and talk and talk. About his mom and sisters up in a small town outside Glasgow. About the dog he had as a kid—“Boots was the best dog a boy could have, lass, lemme tell ye.” About anything that seemed to pop into his head as the sun would intermittently peek out from behind the low hanging clouds to splash warmth across the dead grass beneath your sneakers. You counted it as a win that they let you outside. It was behind a fence with razor wire at the top, but a win is a win. Mostly. Maybe they were seeing if they could actually trust you outside those beige walls.

You’d swallow nails if it meant you could be at Kirby’s side when she needed you.

One of the more ridiculous exercises the doctor had you and Soap do was passing a yoga ball between one another—of course, you had to move your arms a certain way to get the right stretch or whatever, but it all felt a little silly, even with the twinge growing more pronounced with each pass. Hands on top and on bottom, twist so they’re on the side, hand to Soap. He’d repeat.

“This feels very stupid.”

“Aye. But they’re watchin’ so we’d best play nice.”

The yoga ball nearly slipped from your suddenly-slick fingers. “What do you mean?” You’d heard a bit of thudding from the empty room next to yours last night but thought it was a faulty air unit. Was there someone else here?

“They got back last night. Give ‘em a chance to settle before they say hello, aye?” Soap’s blue eyes sparked with mirth and you might have shoved the ball back at him a little harder than necessary. He just laughed at you.

You chanced a glance at the rectangular windows cut into the metal building, close to the sharp edge of the roof. He was probably just being funny, but now you couldn’t fight the feeling of someone watching you. And why did your mind conjure Ghost’s ridiculous mask?

He hadn’t said much after you had told him you weren’t going to pour your heart out to him. But he’d continued to stare until he and the others left for Kastovia without a word. One guy who’d found you “mysterious” while you were in undergrad thought that he could figure you out and stared, too. Thought that his attempt at a psychology degree would unravel all…well, all of you. He gave up after a couple of months. Ghost didn’t seem the type to give up. But that still didn’t mean that you were going to tell him anything.

You threw another glance toward the window and the yoga ball hit you in the face.

Simon stared down at the inhaler. This was stupid. The doc had hurriedly explained that being exposed to the gas during the explosion had done a number on Simon’s lungs. At least he wasn’t Price who’d hit his head on his way out and was told he’d had a concussion and also needed the inhaler. Gaz had been the only one who’d managed to get out mostly unscathed aside from needing a butterfly bandage for a cut over his eye.

His next breath burned and Simon finally shook the damn scrap of plastic and took a puff just as he heard the back door open. He stood and watched Johnny and the woman trudge out into the dead grass, carrying a few bits of equipment, including a yoga ball, craning his head just enough to see them through the high window. And well, if he stood on the small desk chair to watch, who would know?

He couldn’t hear them but he watched her throw a few glances toward the window. And then Johnny hit her in the face with the yoga ball. She promptly slingshotted one of the resistance bands at his head in retaliation.

“Heh.”

The debrief later that morning with Laswell had gone as expected: More intel was good. Makarov not being spotted was bad. They needed time to heal. Farah and Alex would investigate possible gas caches just within Urzikstan’s borders.

The picture Gaz managed to grab was helpful and did verify a majority of the intel they had already. But it did mean that Makarov’s network was larger than they had ever thought. One of Laswell’s contacts had enhanced the slightly blurry picture and Simon recognized each of the 141’s faces, pinned to the board, too. They were targets just as much as she was. Small bits of paper stemmed from Price, Soap, and Kyle’s pictures and Simon knew what they represented even without the fancy tech trying to make it clearer. They were hunting for weak spots. Family. Friends.

They needed to leave. Keep low. Hide. Simon hated it. He hated that the others had families on the line and he could do nothing but take a few puffs of his stupid inhaler and wait. These were men who’d become his brothers-in-arms and their families were at risk. He knew what it was like to lose.

Price’s hacking cough basically ended the debrief and Laswell said she needed to make some calls, disappearing to another part of the base and Price griped as Kyle urged him to go back to medical. Johnny said he was going to start packing.

Simon walked away as Price continued to grumble and walked down the small hallway toward the bunk rooms and–

BANG.

Simon paused just for a moment, straining his ears as he pushed further down the hallway. With how the mission had gone, he couldn’t rule out that someone had attempted to get onto base and finish the job the gas couldn’t. There were security gates and checkpoints, of course. The high fences. And this part of the base was underdeveloped for now. But having a traitor in the midst wasn’t something Simon could write off.

“Fuck,” came an annoyed voice.

The tension slipped from his shoulders as he pushed open the nearest door.

Sitting in a chair in front of the mirror atop the tiny dresser, she was picking at her stitches with a pair of needle nose pliers. A small pile of the twists sat atop the dresser—apparently she’d been at this for a while. Simon walked in, watching as she leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see the stitches across her shoulder better as she plucked at them. She’d jammed her tongue between her teeth and the strap of her thin top had been tugged down. A book, probably pilfered from the breakroom, was open beside her.

(Simon stared. Just for a little.)

The pliers fell from her hands and bounced off the dresser before hitting the floor. That had been the sound he’d heard.

“Need a ‘and?”

She let out what he could only describe as a squeak as she turned toward him, hurling the book at his head as the pliers slipped from her other hand. He caught it without letting loose the laugh he felt growing.

“Jesus Christ! How long have you been standing there? Don’t you knock?”

“Heard something. Thought something bad ‘appened.” Not a lie. He tossed the book onto the bed. He watched her mouth curl at the edges and Simon wasn’t sure if she was going to yell at him or laugh.

“Right.” She stared at him for a little longer before bending down to grab the pliers again. She settled in front of the mirror again and stared at the remaining stitches. At least the ones she could see. Simon had a clear view of the mess of stitches on her back. She’d never reach those.

She stared back at him in the mirror. The grip she had on the pliers was tight and grew tighter when he stepped closer. But he still easily pulled the tool from her hand and then reached down to turn her chair around to face him.

“What’re you doing?” She asked as he started to untwist the next stitch.

“Helping.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Doin’ it anyway.”

Well, fuck.

You could do very little except stare at Ghost as he undid each of the stitches. You weren’t stupid enough to tell him to fuck off. What he was doing was nice. You couldn’t deny that but why the hell was he doing it? He was even bigger from this angle as he loomed over you. But he was being gentle with you, so gentle. And silent. Maybe it would be better if he talked to you through it all or said anything at all, but he was…quiet.

And so were you.

Until the door opened again and Gaz came in, gun drawn. You had pivoted back toward the door, only for a moment before Ghost let out a short, sharp breath from behind his mask and nudged you back into position. You still managed to see Gaz holster his weapon with a smile on his face, perfect teeth glinting in the low light. “All good here, LT?”

He grunted but didn’t turn to look at his teammate. You chanced a look up at Simon to see him still singularly focused on your stitches. His dark eyes didn’t stray from them even though you were sure he could feel you looking at him.

By the time he reached down to turn your chair again, letting him start on your back, you found yourself liking how quiet he was. Small talk had never been your forte and you surmised that it wasn’t high on Ghost’s list of skills either.

When his thumb pressed into your spine, covered by the harsh fabric of his gloves, you tried not to shiver as you let him move you so he could see the stitches better. And he removed those, too.

It was when his finger trailed against the new scar on your back, barely a whisper of a touch, that you couldn’t stop it. God, you really were pathetic. When he moved the strap of your shirt back up your shoulder, you managed to bite the next one back. “Thanks,” you said, the word uneven and warbled. “You going to help Soap take out his, too?” You weren’t sure if you were being sarcastic or not.

The way Ghost tilted his head made you think he wasn’t sure, either. “Cap did ‘is already. Looks like shit.”

And you laughed.

The nondescript SUV rocked slightly side to side as it tore down the road. Gaz seemed hellbent on getting wherever you were headed quickly. There had been some good-natured ribbing about not letting Ghost drive. They seemed to like each other, a good camaraderie between them that seemed as easy as breathing. But you guessed that would probably happen in their line of work. Defying death together usually did that. Price, however, did seem at least a little put out about not being the driver.

And you were stuck at the back of the SUV, listening to them talk amongst each other. To his credit, Soap and Gaz both tried to involve you in the conversation. They would ask what you had been doing in London, if you’d ever been outside the city, if your shoulder was giving you trouble. It was nice.

They were still nice.

You didn’t really understand why they were trying so hard but you weren’t about to ask. Especially not now when you had a black bag over your head. They didn’t really trust you but it had been a weird kindness when you’d felt Ghost buckle you in and place a light blanket over your lap before you’d departed. It was probably a silent order to go the fuck to sleep seeing as you hadn’t been sleeping well since you’d hastily weened yourself off the most intense pain killers. It didn’t help that you’d been shuffled outside right after midnight and told to get in the back of the vehicle without much fanfare. And you knew better than to argue.

You had a bag over your head and were heading to an unknown destination. The power dynamics didn’t exactly scream trustworthy. They kept you alive, that was true. But they didn’t trust you. Funny.

You leaned your head back against the seat and sighed, the fabric rustled against your mouth. It was a strange feeling. Weirdly comforting, like when you’d push your face into the pillow and scream when you were a child, desperate for an outlet.

“I can see why you like the mask,” you muttered.

“Whot?”

Hm. You said that out loud. Well, too late to take it back now. “I said I see why you like the mask.”

“She’s bloody insane,” Gaz whispered. But you liked to think he was smiling while he said it.

“Maybe Ghost’ll lend ye one of his? Ye two could match.”

There was an answering smack and “och, what was that for, LT?” before the blanket was adjusted over your lap.

“Go to sleep.”

You smiled beneath the bag. And, knowing you had nothing better to do…you went to sleep with Ghost’s low rumbling echoing in your ears.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!

[heeaara]

박종성 ──────ANOMALY.

RELATiVE : no matter how hard you both tried, it wasn't just meant to be.

iNDEX : ｡｡ park jongseong + 𝑓.reader ⟡ wc1.7k, cw 𓂃 relationship, skinship, petnames, violence, mentions of blood, accident, death ? overall full on angst ♡.

아라 : my first angst fanfic, for those who had lost their loved ones, this ones for you. People come and people go, what important is that you cherish and treasure the moments you had spent with them.

You flinch slightly as you hear a knock on your window. It was past midnight, you were lying in your bed, wide awake, as many thoughts and feelings ran through your mind about the events that were programmed for tomorrow. tomorrow was a very big day for you, not only for you but someone you loved and held dearly. you sigh as you arise from your bed, going towards the window, opening it, letting in your soon to be husband.

Yes, tomorrow was a great day, tomorrow was yours and park jongseong's wedding day, tomorrow you were finally and officially going to be committed to the love of your life, to the man of your dreams, to the one you went through so much with. but, yet, you had this weird . . lingering feeling which you didn't like, instead of feeling ecstatic, you felt almost painfully sad, as if something horrible was to happen tomorrow.

A small sigh leaves your lips as jay wraps his arms around you softly. you aim to shake off this weird feeling as you snuggle into his neck, your favorite spot where you always seek to find warmth and comfort. 

"shouldn't you be sleeping ?" he asks softly as he chuckles, placing a soft feathery kiss on top of your head as you snuggle more into him. "no, can't sleep." you mumble against his neck as you close your eyes feeling assured of his presence.  "and why is that princess ? too excited for tomorrow are we ?" he states in a glee. you pull your head away from his neck, your arms still wrapped around his waist as you look up into his eyes. He looks down, back at you softly as a wave of emotions run through you, all those weird, unknown, miserable feelings coming back to your heart and mind. You look away, not being able the cope up with your emotions and you didn't want him to be worried as you knew how well he took care of you and how good he was at sensing when something wasn't right.

"Look at me." jay whispers, pulling you a little close as you glance at him, his eyes looking right into yours, trying to search for answers. "What happened baby ?" he asks softly as he holds your cheek, his thumb grazing it in a gesture of comfort. "I ━ its nothing." you mumble.

"Then why are you not looking at me?" he asks softly.

You look at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looks right into your eyes, searching for answers. "you know i'm always here for you right?" he states and, that was it. That was the final straw as finally, a sob leaves your lips. Jay quickly wraps his arms around you, your head buried into his crook. You hug him tighter as he whispers words of comfort, he hated seeing you cry, he hated every single atom that had hurt you. 

Time passes, your cries slow down as jay runs a had through your back, whispering words of comfort, trying all kinds of ways to ease you.

You slowly pull out of his neck, looking up at him. " I'm sorry." you whisper as you gaze at his soaked shirt, filled with your tears.

"Oh come on baby, You'd throw a whole tub of water and I wouldn't complain." he remarks as a breathy laugh leaves his lips. You lightly slap his chest as a small chuckle escapes your lips as well. 

"Now, my pretty girl, will you please tell me what happened hm?" He calls on. You look at him as a sigh escapes your lips. "We should go to sleep." You say as you pull yourself out of his grip and guide him towards the bed. "Hey, but ━ ".

You cut him off "cuddles please." 

"I can't say no to you, can I?" he remarks as he gets on the bed next to you, engulfing you by his arms. You both keep laying down as his hands involuntarily runs through your hair.

"I ━ it's just surreal." You say quietly. Jay hums as you continue, "We have gone through so much, no way it's been 6 years since us dating and now, finally we are engaged and will get married soon." 

"Yeah". he whispers. "I never knew this day would actually come, considering how much ━ just happened. Its just overwhelming, we went through so many breakups, had so many fights, cried together, laughed together. We have made so many memories, and I can't believe the fact that we will make so much more as well." You sniff, your voice raw with deep emotions.

"With our kids too." Jay says smiling ear to ear, earning a chuckle from you.

He cups your face with his one hand as he looks into your eyes, his gaze moving down to your lips as he slowly starts to lean in.

"I love you." he whispers right next to your lips.

"I love you too." You reply, closing your eyes and you felt it, you felt his lips perfectly molding into yours. He kisses you softly yet passionately, he hovers on top of you and You return the same passion by encircling your hands around his neck. And, without you even realizing, some tears fall from your eyes during the kiss. You did not know why were you crying, you had no idea you actually were and why exactly. Kisses with him had always felt safe, yet filled with love but this time, this kiss, felt as if it's the last time, you did not know what was going on, you had no idea why were you feeling like this. 

He kisses you harder as he hovers over you and slowly and gradually it turns into a steamy session, everything feeling hot, his hands running through your body, your heart beating fast.

And that's how the night passed, with you in his arms, sharing love through the night. You both knew you both loved each other a lot and everything just felt overwhelming and emotional to you.

──── 030125.

You looked at yourself in the mirror for the one last time till you exit the hair salon. Today was finally the day, the day you and jay had to make promises to each other. You felt nervous yet excited, you had dreamed of this day since you were a child. You wearing a white bride gown, A vile covering your face with the man of your dreams in front of you, the both of you taking your vows.

You get escorted by one of your maids, to the wedding car you would be going in, to the venue where your wedding was to be held. 

One the other side, jay had been anxiously waiting for your arrival. He kept checking his watch, the clock ticking second by second without any signs of you showing up. He was getting restless, his hands were feeling sloppy and moist due to sweat that came with the nervousness. He was perfectly dressed into a perfect black tailored tuxedo, his hair perfectly done.

tick.tick.tick, time passing by.

Where is she? he thinks to himself, why is the time going so fast? The guests were waiting, the priest was waiting, he was waiting, everyone were waiting, for you to arrive.

His thoughts get interrupted by a call on his phone, his feeling giddy, he had a bad feeling about this, he thought to himself. With slightly shaky hands, he pics up his phone, attaching it to his ear, "h-hello?" 

"hello, is this park jongseong speaking?" the other side said, an unknown number, "yes, its me." He replies, his chest feeling congested for some reason, an unknown ache filling his heart. 

"I am sorry to inform you that kim y/n has gotten into a severe car accident, she has been established to the hospital please reach up."

car accident. car accident. car accident. his mind kept repeating.

the phone fell off jay's hand as his mind goes numb, blank. The place around him moving in circles, his eyes blurry. His friends called him out, shook him, shouted out at him to tell them what happened. All he could do was stare at their face blanky, his throat felt as if clawed with chains, and his heart? it was about to die.

tick. tick. tick. time passing by.

He finally reached the hospital, where you were. His hair messy, his mind numb, his face soaked with tear stains and his perfectly tailored tuxedo? turned into a wreck. His friends where there, his parents were there, your parents were there, his world upside down, his heart filled with an unbearable ache.

he covered his face with his palms as he takes a seat on one of the steel benches in the waiting, his friends asking the doctors where you were, the whole place was a chaos.

His friends comforted him when jake and heeseung, who had been discussing your situation with the doctor came back, their faces pale, their hearts filled with deep sorrow and grieve.

"jongseong. ." heeseung mumbles as he looked down at jay who had covered his face with his hands. jay look up at him startled as he gets up immediately, bombarding them with questions, "y/n, my love, where's y/n, what did the doctors say? is she okay ━ heeseung hyung?" heeseung looks down, unable to face jay as he says, "we're sorry, jongseong.", controlling his sobs and tears as well.

Jay tries to move past the boys, trying to go to the doctor, his face full of panick "huh? fuck you mean? y/n ━ she's okay i know she's okay, we're getting married today━", jake had no other choice but to stop him, his hands moving towards his shoulders, moving him backwards. "y ━ y/n, she's . . no more", jake says as he sniffles, holding jay by the shoulder, a slight sob escaping heeseung's lips.

"YOU BASTARD." jay screams as he gets a hold of jake's collars "YOU'RE LYING TO ME, LYING TO MY FACE LIKE THAT, Y/N PROMISED ME SHE'LL NEVER LEAVE ME, MY Y/N WILL NEVER LEAVE ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER." he shrieks, giving jake jerks as he hold his collars, his eyes wide, his face blank, his heart slain.

Heeseung tries to break free jay's grip from jake, "JONGSEONG CONTROL YOURSELF !" heeseung shouts.

Jay violently leaves jake's collars giving him a push, as he stumbles, his eyes wide, the world around him moving into circles, "y/n-ah. . ." he whispers her name, what was going on? Was this some kind of a joke? Was this a nightmare?

An unbelievable, hoarse chuckle leaves his throat as jay laughs, running a hand through his face, when gradually, his laugh turns into violent sobs.

Jake immediately hugs him, giving his friend a shoulder to cry on, a shoulder to take off his sorrows. This world was indeed a cruel place.

"take me t ━ to her, take me to my y/n, PLEASE, I SAID FUCKING TAKE ME TO MY Y/N" he sobs uncontrollably, not believing what his friends were saying. Everything was okay till yesterday, his life was going smooth and, in a matter of seconds? his life crashed down in front of his very eyes. He was helpless, so fucking helpless, his agony unendurable.

──── .

Silence, complete silence, no sound of breathing, nothing, only the faint smell of blood and moist is all he could feel as he entered the room. His face was red, his eyes were bloodshot due to the amount of crying he did. Why was life so unfair to him?

He takes slow yet small steps, his breath caught in his throat, his body shivering due to the impact of what he's going through. He takes slow, shaky steps towards the bed, where the lifeless body was placed, covered with white fabric completely over it.

His hands were shaking, his body was shaking.

Please don't be y/n, Please don't be y/n, Please don't be y/n, please wake me up from this nightmare. he kept thinking.

He slowly reaches his hands towards the white fabric, with shaky hands, languidly sliding off the fabric, his breath stuck in.

He forgot, he forgot breathing. His heart stopped, it had stopped a long ago. His mind in a haze. Your lifeless body pale, your body filled with wounds, your skull bandaged, your skin light purple and your bridal gown, the gown that you were wearing for your wedding was now filled with bloodstains, a complete devastation.

"no . . y-y/n-ah . .wake up, baby . . it's me, your jongseong."

no reply.

blank.

"c ━ come on y/n, this isn't funny anymore, WAKE UP, I SAID WAKE UP, PLEASE ━ PARK Y/N." he wails in torment, "PLEASE Y/N DON'T DO THIS TO ME, T-THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE", he sobs, his eyes swollen due to shedding so much tears.

"WAKE UP, I SAID FUCKING WAKE UP." he shakes your body, giving your cheeks pats, in hope that you'd wake up completely fine.

Sobs, one sob after another, he kept crying, roaring, he kept shaking you, still, nothing, your lifeless body didn't move a budge.

Getting a hold of your pale, lifeless hand, he intertwines his fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles softly, feeling your cold skin beneath his lips.

"No matter how hard we tried, it wasn't just meant to be." he whispered, not to himself but to you as well. Maybe, maybe in another life, things won't be like this. maybe in another life, you both would be destined together.

TAGLiST : @chrrific @vmpivory @manaah02 @liwinly @hazelira @llovelili ( imk if you want me to add you in the perm taglist ).

[reids-princess]

۶ৎ She said yes Spencer Reid

Hold onto This for me .

⤷ ─────In which The moment “Spencer.” gets back to you, he wasn’t going to let anything—not work, not fear, not uncertainty—stand in the way of his future with you.

The ring took forever to find on Pinterest but it’s so pretty in what I imagine for elegant look . 

I hope you enjoyed this as much as the last one please consider re blogging in liking your motivation keeps me going . 

Fiancé!Spencer Reid x fem!reader (fiancé) 1.5K x cute comfort overwhelmed moments anxiety fluff x Author notes I had fun writing this one I enjoyed writing it hope you like reading it

Flashback

Some girls may adore diamonds, but Spencer knew you preferred pearls. Choosing the perfect ring wasn't easy for him.

He visited a few different stores, searching for something that would suit you—a ring that reflected your personality,’ elegant, sweet, loving, and caring.

He thought about how your face would light up when he asked you to be his, how overjoyed he would be to call you his wife. It was about finding something as beautiful as you were.

Then he found it. It was at the last store he visited. He pointed it out in a glass display case, surrounded by a few other rings.

He told the jeweler that was the one he wanted. Spencer could already picture how your face would light up when he proposed. He could see that ring on your tiny hand. Your hands were smaller than his, but to him, they were perfect.

Now ⤷ ───── "Your" POV.

You couldn’t believe that just over an hour ago, you saw Spence pull out the velvet box from his cardigan pocket. Inside it was the ring, resting in the palm of your hand, your heart racing. You wanted to say yes, but he left before hearing your answer.

The ring was beautiful, sitting in the palm of your hand. You couldn’t believe Spencer had proposed to you. You had wanted him to for a while, and you had always imagined it in your head—his mom would be there, your mom, your twin brother and sister, and their families.

He would be down on one knee, asking for your hand. Tonight, though, tonight was just as perfect—the two of you alone, before Hotch called him in for another case.

Your phone rang, breaking through the whirlwind of your thoughts. Reaching for it, you saw it was Hotch. Wait, what's going on? You answered quickly, your heart racing.

"Hotch, is everything okay?" you asked, trying to steady your voice.

"I... I can't explain right now," Hotch said, his tone firm but not without concern. "Just come down to the BAU. Please."

"Hotch, please, tell me everything is okay," you pleaded, your pulse quickening. But before you could say more, the line went dead. He’d hung up.

Hotch had known about Spencer's proposal and that he hadn’t gotten his answer. So, with his usual practicality, Hotch thought it would be best if you came down to the BAU headquarters to give Spencer your answer—whatever that answer may be.

You slid the ring onto your left hand, your fingers trembling as you grabbed your jacket, keys, and purse. Panic was starting to creep in. What if I lose him? No.

You couldn’t think like that. He’s fine, he’s gotta be. It’s Spencer, you reminded yourself, trying to steady your breathing.

As you rushed out the door, your mind raced, a knot forming in your stomach. I can't lose him… I can’t lose him now.

You slid into the driver’s side of the SUV, quickly buckling up. You adjusted your seat, trying to make yourself comfortable. Being short definitely didn’t have its advantages when it came to driving, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. Your mind was elsewhere, racing with thoughts of Spencer, and you had to get to him.

You started the engine and headed down the two streets from yours and Spencer’s shared apartment. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as your mind raced, each moment feeling heavier than the last.

When you finally came to a stop and turned into the parking lot of the BAU headquarters, your heart was pounding. You took a deep breath before stepping out of the SUV, trying to steady yourself.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked into the building, startling you for a moment. You quickly pulled it out,

seeing a message from Garcia.’

"Lover boy proposed to you? And left without getting the answer? So, what are you gonna say?"

The words hit you like a wave, and for a second, you froze in place. You knew Garcia’s playful tone, but the weight of her message only deepened the anxiety already churning inside you.

You walked into the building, your nerves flaring with each step. The officer at the front desk gave you a warm smile when you showed your visitor’s pass. "You’re here to see Dr. Spencer Reid, right?" he asked, already knowing the answer. It felt surreal, but you nodded, showing him your visitors pass , your heart both racing and aching at the thought of him.

You walked into the elevator, your hands trembling as you pressed the button for Level 6. Your heart raced. I just need to know he’s okay. Once I know he’s alright, I’ll say yes, you thought to yourself, trying to calm your nerves. The elevator felt like it was moving slower than usual, and every second felt like a lifetime.

When the doors finally opened, you stepped out into the bullpen. The BAU team was gathered around Spencer, and his eyes immediately found yours. As soon as you walked in, his gaze locked onto you, never leaving.

"Spence, you’re okay?" You said, your voice shaky as you looked at him, trying to make sense of everything.

You stepped into the bullpen, your eyes immediately finding Hotch. "Hotch called me," you explained, your heart still racing. "He asked me to come down to the BAU…

Spencer stepped toward you, his expression full of regret. "I should’ve waited," he said, his voice thick with frustration. "I should’ve stayed to hear your answer. It’s been driving me crazy." His eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and longing, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

You could see it in his face—he wasn’t just worried about the proposal. He was worried about you and the uncertainty that had built between you both in the last hour. His vulnerability was something he rarely showed, and it only made your heart ache.

He pulled you in and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. "Spence," you murmured, feeling a little bashful under his gaze. "They’re,” watching me, aren't they?”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm with affection. "Are you gonna leave lover boy hanging?" Derek chimed in from across the room, his teasing tone light, but you could feel the warmth in his words.

You giggled softly, a sound Spencer adored. He couldn’t help but smile even wider, his heart swelling at the sound of your laughter. It was one of the little things that meant the world to him. You looked up at him shyly, but his gaze was soft, full of love and patience.

You slowly showed Spencer your hand, the ring now resting delicately on your finger—the same ring he had proposed with. The weight of the moment hit you, and your heart swelled.

"Does this mean it's a yes?" Garcia chimed in from behind, her voice full of excitement and a hint of teasing.

You smiled, your chest tightening with joy and relief. "Yes," you replied, your voice soft but steady. "I will marry you, Dr. Spencer Reid."

Spencer’s face lit up with pure happiness, and before you could even take another breath, he swept you into his arms. He spun you around, your laughter echoing through the room, before gently dropping you to his waist, holding you tight. Without another word, he kissed you, his lips pressing against yours with all the passion, love, and relief that had built up between the two of you.

I may do a part three .. as a request I did part two I hope it lives up to your expectations.

[angelackless]

LOVER

Joaquin Torres x Stark!reader

"YOU KNOW WHAT,SAM?I CHANGED MY MIND" JOAQUIN STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE TOWER.

"what do you mean you changed your mind?I got you a date with the girl you wouldn't shut up about for months now" Sam stopped to look at him "you can't do this man, she was so excited!"

"she was?" Joaquin asked, his voice filled with hope

"she was, when I told her about you she really seemed interested, and if you bolt right now, Stark gonna beat my ass and then yours when he finds you, and you don't want that,right?"

"I guess no" he shaked his head "alright, i'm just gonna give her this flowers, say she looks pretty and have a fun night with her" Joaquin said, mainly to reassure himself "Yeah, I can do it"

"yes,you can, now get inside pretty boy because I don't want (y/n) to think I pranked her again"

"wait,again?" Joaquin asked as he followed Sam inside the huge tower.

As they arrived at the level where the living room was, he immadetly saw (y/n), and Joaquin felt like he is gonna faint right there, he saw and was with some beautiful woman in his life but, you?hell, he thought he saw a freaking goddess, how the dress that you picked hugged all your curves in all the right places,yeah, he wasn't sure he can keep his hands to himself.I mean, come on, everyone thought (y/n) Stark is gorgeous, and he sure as hell didn't felt ashamed anymore for begging Sam an entire month to set this up.

"Hi, you're Joaquin, right?" you stepped closer to the boy with a kind smile "Sam told me a lot about you"

"only good things I hope" he glanced at Sam for a minute

"just good things" you answered giggling and he had to stop himself from the huge grin that just wanted to appear on his face "really, don't worry, I trust Sam, I know he wouldn't set me up with a bad guy"

"Yeah,yeah, cause i'm not bad, i'm a great great guy" he nodded his head "uhm...you look beautiful by the way, and I got you tulips"

"it's my favorite, thank you" you said as you took the bouquet from him "how did you know?"

"I know a lot of-" then he felt a sharp pain in his side, which was because of Sam elbowing him there "I mean, I asked Sam,yeah, I asked him"

"how about you two get going?the restaurant is not gonna wait for you two all night" Sam interrupted

"Yeah, let's go" Joaquin said and glanced at you "ladies first"

After a thirty minute drive you two arrived at the restaurant, it wasn't that popular nor fancy, which meant the paparazzi wouldn't take pictures of you and your dad, who is on a vacation, won't find out about your date through the internet.

After the waiter led you two to your table, and even got your orders there were a few moment of very very awkward silence, which he decided to break "Sam said that you're in university, what are you studying?"

"Stem" you answered smiling "which is not as cool as your job"

"what?no, don't say that" he shaked his head "I would die in your place, you're much more cooler than me"

"because i'm Tony Stark's daughter?"

"no, because you're you" he answered "you're smart,pretty,you always stand up for what is right,did I mentioned that you're smart? because I think you're incredibly smart" at his words a faint blush appeared on your face accompanied with a giggle

"you barely know me"

"Yeah,well I'm serious about what I said still, besides, I like you"

"you know, I think I like you too, maybe it's weird because we just met, but I feel like i've known you for twenty years" you looked straight into his eyes

"which means I can take you out again?"

"Yeah, you can take me out again" you nodded "but we will go to my place and I cook for us then"

"sounds like a plan" Joaquin winked at you.

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter XII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.179 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I will never be able to top that Cain and Abel paragraph. Please mourn for my writing career. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You can feel the vice grip of JJ’s hand pressing against your veins, your pulse thundering against him, growing faster with every failed attempt to wring yourself away.

– JJ, – You gasp, trying to twist yourself out of his hold, pulling, wringing, fruitlessly. He yanks you forward before you can finish, dragging you toward the bike.

Your breath catches.

– JJ, let go of me, you’re hurting me—

– Get on the bike. – He doesn’t yell it. His voice is tight, barely restrained, the kind of anger that isn’t meant to be loud—it’s meant to be a warning.

You shake your head, twisting against his hold. – You can’t drive like— You can’t— I can’t just leave—

– Yes, you can. – His grip tightens. – You will.

He’s pulling, and you’re fighting it—your heels digging into the pavement, the weight of your body thrown back, hand grasping at the grass like it can hold you back. You try to wrench your wrist free, but he’s so much stronger than you like this, fueled by something dark, barely controlled.

– Stop it! Please, just fucking stop it, JJ! What are you doing?! – Your voice cracks, desperate. – You’re acting crazy, just—let me go!

He doesn’t. Not for a second. His hand tightens, impossibly, against your arm and he tugs you forward with all his force until you crash against him, barely on your feet, your knees shaking.

– JJ—

– I swear to fucking God, – He growls, his voice a rumble something familiar, painfully so, something that makes your stomach turn. – if I have to tell you again—

You shake your head, thoughtlessly, maniacally. You can’t control the movement.

You don’t know what he’ll do if you refuse.

And that’s the problem.

Because neither does he.

JJ isn’t thinking. He isn’t here.

He’s someone else entirely. His mind is a blur. Whoever this person is, standing before you, wants nothing but to hurt you.

Your heart hammers as the reality sets in.

You could fight. But he'd beat you. You could hope for help. But there’s no one around to stop him. You could scream, but what good would it do if no one’s there to hear you?

And if you don’t do what he says?

He won’t leave.

Not until you get on that bike.

Barry’s bike.

Barry. 

Your heart stops.

Where is Barry? What did JJ do to him? Why didn’t he answer your calls? Did he take something else? Did he leave him, alone, somewhere, with nowhere else to go?

And if he doesn’t leave, if he keeps shouting like this, keeps grabbing you, demanding you go with him—

It’ll be worse.

So much worse.

Your job. Your safety. This sliver of security you're already clinging to by the skin fingernails.

You just barely escaped being fired. JJ isn’t above making a scene to teach you a lesson. He doesn’t care how much he hurts you when he’s like this.

The words get caught in your throat. You force yourself to swallow them down, along with everything else you want to say.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the seat.

JJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t let go of his anger. Just swings his leg over the bike and nods toward the seat behind him. – Get on.

You hesitate, taking a step back without even thinking, like your body won't let you do this, and he snaps—one hand darting out, grabbing your wrist again, tugging you forward so violently you stumble.

Your stomach lurches.

You don’t want to do this.

But what choice do you have?

You climb onto the bike, your legs barely steady, your arms wrapped around him because you have nothing else to hold on to.

JJ barely gives you time to breathe before he guns it. The engine revs, roaring like a vicious animal. The bike lurches forward before you’re even ready. Your grip slips. Your balance wavers. For a split second, you’re weightless.

You slam against JJ’s back, your arms snapping around his waist on instinct, clinging tight as the bike rockets forward, faster than it should, faster than it ever should.

– JJ—!

The wind rips the word from your mouth.

Streetlights flash by in violent streaks of gold and red. The world blurs at the edges, sharp and endless and cruel, like you’ve been thrown into a nightmare that won’t stop shifting.

JJ doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t breathe. His body is tense, coiled too tight, a wire pulled so thin it can feel the incoming snap. His grip on the handlebars is white-knuckled, his back rigid beneath your grip.

The bike swerves.

Your stomach drops.

The road bends, but JJ doesn’t. He takes the turn too sharp, too recklessly, the tires skidding for half a second. Your whole body tilts, your knee nearly scraping asphalt.

You whimper, pressing yourself closer, fingers desperate as they grasp his clothes, knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding on.

– JJ—slow down!

He doesn’t.

The engine growls louder, vibrating beneath you, rattling in your bones, shaking in your chest like a second heartbeat.

He flies past a red light, too fast, too close, too dangerous.

A car blares its horn—loud, long, furious.

You choke on a scream, your whole body bracing for impact, for the crash, for the pain—

But nothing comes. Only the phantom of an accident growing within you, coiling inside your chest, tightening, painfully, building up a fear that already has you frozen, praying, waiting for death.

Terror crawls up your throat, sharp and cold.

– JJ, please, –  You gasp, voice cracking. – Please—just stop.

For a moment, you think he won’t.

For a moment, you think he’ll ride forever, until the world ends, until you both crash and burn.

Then, finally—finally—he eases off the throttle.

Not much.

Just enough to breathe again.

Just enough to make you realize you were barely breathing at all.

Your pulse roars in your ears.

The wind still slashes at your skin, the tires still groan against the pavement, but the speed—the nightmare speed—has lessened.

Your fingers ache from gripping too tight. Your lungs burn from holding back screams.

And just then, just when you feel the burn in your throat, your lungs, your eyes, retreat, when your arms loosen the slightest bit, when you nearly relax, he sinks his foot on the gas, and suddenly you’re going faster than you ever were.

You can’t contain the scream this time— It surges through you like a bullet, and it ends halfway through, your voice dying in your chest, having used up the little breath you had— you’re choking again. You can’t think.

Your mind rushes, your hands cling, tears falling from you before you can even register them.

But JJ doesn’t slow down.

Even as the streets turn to dirt. Even as the road twists into something precarious, dangerous, unforgiving.

The pavement is cracked, riddled with potholes, with gaping wounds in the asphalt that could send you both flying if he miscalculates even once.

But he doesn’t care.

He flies down the path like he’s untouchable, like the Cut itself will bend to his will, like there’s no chance he could crash.

But you could.

You watch the ground loom ever closer with every turn he makes, asphalt slashing against the metal of the bike like a blade.

Your bones rattle with every jolt, your stomach lurches as the tires stumble over loose gravel, and you can barely think past the fear.

The bike jerks to a halt before your house so suddenly that you don’t even realize it stopped at first.

And you’re falling.

You don’t know whether you jumped or were thrown off.

Your feet hit the ground, but your legs don’t hold.

Your knees collapse into the dirt.

Your hands reach out, clutching the earth beneath you like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

You gasp, dragging air into your lungs like you’ve been drowning for miles.

The ground is solid. Rough. Real.

But it slips through your fingers, and you can’t hold yourself steady.

You try to focus on the feeling of grit beneath your nails, the sting of pebbles digging into your skin.

Anything to remind yourself that you’re not moving anymore.

But you still feel it.

The phantom pull of the road. The momentum still dragging at your bones. The way your body still thinks you’re going too fast, too fast, too fast—

Somewhere in the haze, you hear voices.

Barry. John. Shouting. Arguing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, press your fingers harder into the dirt, try to remind yourself that you’re here. That you’re on the ground.

That you’re not crashing.

But God, it still feels like you are —Your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the dirt within your fingers. You breathe, gasping, trying to get air, but it’s stuck against your hiccups, against the sobs you don’t even have the strength to choke down— You’re crying. The air is still whizzing past you, sharp, so sharp you can feel it dragging you back, the ground looming closer, your bones nothing but glass.

– There you fucking are. Was it fun? You had your little fucking joyride?! – The voice echoes out from beyond, like you’re stuck, sinking into the air, towards the pavement, and they’re watching you from above.

It's Barry, you realize.

His voice cuts through the haze, loud and livid, sharp enough to hurt. And something inside you thrums. That stupid part of yourself, the part that always hopes someone will help you.

You want to run to him. You want him to see you, to hold you —solid, real, safe— you want something against you, something that isn’t this void that clings to you, this feeling that you’re a moment away from the worst pain you’ll ever feel.

But you can’t stand.

You can’t look at him.

You can��t do anything.

Your hands are still pressed into the dirt, your chest heaving, your body still bracing for impact that never came.

Because it still feels like you’re falling.

And you are.

You’re on the ground, but you’re not. You can’t stand. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Something is gonna crash against you. Something sharp. Something that’ll hurt you.

You’ve been beaten enough times to know this feeling, the gasping, aching anticipation of the whip coming down, that split second before someone hits you, before the ground jolts you, before something in you breaks.

Your whole body shakes—not just from fear, not just from the cold, from the void, but from the ache of knowing something worse is coming. You know it's coming. And you know you won’t come out of this unscathed.

Barry stops.

Mid-step, mid-swing, mid-word—he stops.

Because he sees you.

He sees you on the ground.

He sees you pale, trembling, sobbing.

And just like that, his anger vanishes.

He says something, his breath caught in his throat as his steps quicken, as he rushes towards you, having completely forgotten the rest.

His boots crunch against the gravel, loud and reckless and looming. You can’t even help but flinch. Your body jolts backwards, away from him, and you’re crawling again, recoiling until he’s dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out but not touching.

Like he’s done so many times.

And you’re there, this broken stray, cowering in the corner, shaking, shaking so bad you can’t even reach for him like you want.

– Sweetheart, – He murmurs, low, gentle in a way that makes you feel all the more pathetic. – Look at me.

You can’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head, curling tighter into yourself, fingers digging into the dirt as if you could disappear into it.

Barry swears under his breath. His hand resting so softly against your shoulder that he too is almost startled by how you flinch.

He stills.

His hand is barely touching you, barely even there, and yet your whole body flinches—hard, like he struck you instead— like a dog, waiting for a boot in the ribs. 

His breath hitches.

– Shit, – He exhales, barely a whisper. Slowly, carefully, he puts his hand on yout back. You don’t move.

You stay there, curled tight, fingers buried in the dirt, shaking, shaking, shaking.

He steadies the rest of his hand against your skin. And you don’t move. Because this is familiar. He’s done this before.

This isn’t new.

Barry swears again, softer this time, and then —very slowly— he moves again. His knees drag through the dirt, his other hand rests on your side.

Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just... offering.

A slow, steady pressure against your back. A grounding weight. A reminder.

You shudder.

Your body is still caught in the past, still bracing for a hit that isn’t coming, still waiting for the moment of impact.

But it doesn’t come.

Just warmth.

Just Barry.

Again.

Nothing’s coming. You have to tell yourself. It’s over. You're okay.

But you don’t believe it. Not fully.

– Sweetheart, – He tries again, voice lower now, still gentle but almost frustrated. Your heart catches. And you feel that guilt blooming in you again. Because he’s had to do this before. Because he’s had to pick up the pieces of you from the ground plenty of times before. You want to kick yourself. You don’t deserve this. You almost flinch away. But his hold tightens, the slightest bit. Grounding. Like he’s afraid to scare you away. –  You’re okay. You’re okay. Just relax. You're okay.

You’re okay.

You don’t move.

Not until he presses a little firmer. Not until his fingers brush your ribs, not holding, not forcing, just... there. Until he pulls at you, softly, not like JJ did. 

Barry doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, firm and solid, pulling you in, gathering you up, shielding you from the air itself. The second you feel his grip tighten, you break. A sob wracks through you, sharp and choked, as your hands claw at his shirt, gripping, gripping, gripping.

You cling like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

Like you’re still moving too fast, and he’s just barely keeping you grounded.

Barry holds you tighter. – You’re okay. – He repeats.

Something's coming. Steps behind him. You see the outline of someone, legs walking towards the two of you, but when you move, he holds you tighter. Arms bracing your back like a straightjacket, keeping you from yourself. Keeping you sane.

– You’re okay. – Is the only thing he says. And he keeps saying it, again and again, until the words echo in your mind, bouncing against the walls of your skull, less and less frantic until you can say it. 

You believe him.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to stop falling.

But your name resounds again from behind you. Once, a second time, then you feel that same hand that grabbed you sink into your arm again, trying to pull you back. – Get up! – JJ shouts, nails sinking into your shoulders as he grabs you.

Barry pushes him away.

Shoves him.

You hear the stutter in JJ’s steps as he stumbles back, sinking further into his arms like a child. – What the fuck did you do, huh? What the fuck did you do to her, JJ?!

– Get up and fucking look at me. – He keeps pulling at you, calling your name, his hand burrowing into your flesh. You want to stand, you want to push him away, but you cower. And Barry does it for you.

He shoves JJ again, hard enough that you feel the struggle between them. – She ain’t gotta listen to a word you say, psycho! What the fuck is your problem?!

JJ laughs—sharp, bitter, like it’s the funniest fucking thing in the world.

– Course you’d hide behind him, – He spits, his voice mocking, cruel. – That’s all you ever fucking do. Hide.

Barry tenses.

You feel it.

The way his muscles coil, the way his grip shifts, ready to push back, to swing, to end this.

But JJ doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even look at Barry.

He’s still looking at you.

You can feel his eyes burning holes into your back as you pull back from Barry. You can feel the rage emanating off of him.

– You got nothing to say now? – JJ presses, stepping closer. – Nothing at all? You usually talk such big game, baby. Now you can't even look me in the eye?!

Barry moves first.

– Back the fuck up.

It’s not a warning.

It’s a command.

– Why? Are you worried she’s too close to stab me in the back again? The way I see it, she’s in the perfect position to do that to you, man!

You pull back from Barry, hands still clinging to his shirt as you turn to look at JJ, but Barry doesn’t let go, not as JJ’s gaze finally flicks to him, smirking, scoffing. Not as he pulls you to your feet again, tearing you away from your friend like you're nothing but a thing he can take.

– You feel good? – JJ’s voice is low, furious, barely held together, as his hands sink into you. – Feel real fucking good going behind everyone’s back? Working for Rafe? That do it for you? 

Your chest tightens.

– Stop it—

– You got your little job, right? – JJ barrels over your words, stepping closer, looming, his breath hot, sharp, filled with venom. – That what you’re calling it now? Fucking us all over for a paycheck? Maybe that isn’t it though, maybe you’re the one who’s getting fucked, huh?

John bristles from the porch, his voice low, tense. – JJ.

– Nah. She knows what she’s doing, right? Did you tell your brother how Rafe was all over you in that parking lot, calling you baby and shit?! That dignified, hard-working girl act you put up really paid off huh? You really had us all fooled! – John doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t call JJ out, he just stands there. – Feel fulfilled now? Now that you managed to tick off every fucking form of betrayal in the book? Because you got me fucked up!

Barry’s done.

– She ain’t got you fucked up, man. That’s exactly what you are. Are you serious right now? – Barry snaps, voice rough with disbelief. – You wanna talk about her fucking up? You—you who does nothing but fuck up?!

– Nobody is fucking talking to you, bro.

– Ain’t nobody around here your “bro”, JJ. Thank God, too. Weren’t your parents siblings or whatever? That’d explain why you only got half a fucking brain.

– Shut the fuck u—

– Oh, Alabama over here’s mad! – Barry scoffs, a quick, sharp sound drained of anything even close to humor. – That’s actually hilarious. That some bum like you would feel like you have the right to call anyone out on what they do or don’t do for work. You sit here, lounging for free in this house she pays for, doing jack shit with your fucking life like the trailer trash your ass is—but she’s the bad guy for working? Is that how long it’s been since you had a job, JJ? That you can’t fathom the possibility of someone making money without selling themselves?

JJ laughs.

Not real. Not amused.

Just dangerous.

Like he’s already decided how this ends.

– That’s cute, – He murmurs, nodding slowly, like it’s all some joke he’s humoring. – That’s real fucking cute. You’re gonna add anything to this conversation, or is your dog doing all the talking for you today?

Barry chuckles. Dry and low, so low you can barely hear it. – Dog? You run around sniffing John B’s ass all day and night like you’re in heat or something, but I’m the one who’s a dog? Shit, I ain’t see a bitch around here but you, JJ.

JJ lunges. His fist swings through the air, quick and violent, but before he can even touch Barry, he uppercuts him in the stomach.

JJ tumbles back, his hands still on you, tearing at you, grabbing, ripping, pulling— but his grip doesn’t stand the pain Barry caused him, and he falters.

Barry reacts instantly.

He grabs his arm, shoves him off of you, pivots —his knuckles slam into JJ’s temple.

The sound is sickening: A dull, thudding crack of bone on bone. JJ’s head snaps sideways. His body stumbles, tilting, collapsing.

But Barry doesn’t stop.

He’s on him before he hits the ground, tackling him hard, sending them both crashing into the dirt.

JJ barely has time to react before Barry’s fist connects again.

And again.

And again.

A hit to the jaw—JJ spits blood.

A hit to the cheekbone—his head slams back against the ground.

Barry is relentless.

You call his name, your heart racing, the blood searing your vision like a burning bush, but he doesn’t listen.

His teeth are bared, his muscles coiled and shaking, his body moving on pure fury, on the weight of everything JJ has said, everything he’s done. The years he’s spent hating him for you, the months he’s been hating JJ for the stupid shit he pulled and the problem’s he’s caused him.

He’s beating him to a fucking pulp.

JJ groans. A sharp, wet, broken sound, choked by the blood in his mouth.

His fist swings again—

And that’s when you move.

You throw yourself forward, grabbing Barry’s arm, yanking, clawing, trying to drag him off—

– Stop it! You’re gonna kill him! Stop it! – Your voice cracks, weak, your attempts useless even as your brother joins you, trying to pull them apart, but Barry keeps swinging.

His breathing hard, shaking, still staring down at JJ, moving despite your grip and John’s, like he wants to break something permanent. Like just bruising him isn’t enough.

Like he’s one more hit away from doing it.

You pull harder, hands gripping his clothes, his arm, anything you can reach.

Barry jerks against your hold, laughing, spitting at JJ—then finally, he lets you drag him back.

His breathing is ragged, wild, unhinged.

JJ groans, coughing. His face is already swelling, blood smeared across his cheek.

Your stomach twists.

You reach for him before you can think, hands hovering over his face, over the bruises already forming.

– JJ, – You breathe, shaking. – Jesus fucking Christ.

He's a mess. Blood, flesh, face. You can barely make one thing out from the other. Barely see the damage.

Your hands brush the bloodied hair out of his face, an instinctive motion, just so you can see where the cuts ends and the swelling begins. And for a moment, he almost seems like he’ll let you.

JJ's eyes part, moving though your face as you look at him, and he breathes in deep. He sighs. 

A familiar sound. 

Relief. 

Relief that it's over.

You reach again, just barely ghosting your hands over his temple, where Barry hit him first. But his eyes widen, something in them shifting, cold, cruel. 

And he shoves you away.

Hard. 

Hard enough that you stumble back as well.

Hard enough that Barry notices.

You hear him tear himself away from John's grip, rushing past you, but you grab him just in time. – Please, please Barry. Stop it. Just stop it. Don't do this right now.

Barry is still trembling, breath wild, erratic, hands twitching like he’s one second away from lunging all over again.

You feel it, the anger rolling off him in waves, the way his body keeps trying to pull forward, like something feral inside him hasn’t had enough.

You grip his wrist tighter. – Please, – You whisper. – Please, Barry. Just stop it. Don’t do this right now.

Barry’s teeth grind together. His breath is sharp, ragged, dangerous.

But he listens.

JJ doesn’t.

John helps him sit up, a steadying hand on his back, but the second JJ is upright, breathing, aware again—he’s talking. Talking, insulting, tearing into you like it’s the only thing keeping him conscious.

– You’re gonna let him? – His voice is hoarse, broken, but still filled with venom. – This piece of shit does nothing but get you in trouble but— He spits blood onto the dirt, wipes his mouth, shaking his head. – You’re just gonna let him do whatever he wants?

Your stomach twists.

– JJ—

– I shouldn’t be surprised. – His head snaps up. Eyes blazing, furious, wild. – You let it happen, – He snarls. – You always let it happen, You don’t give a fuck about us. Don’t fucking act like you do. You stood there and fucking— He gestures to himself, to the mess Barry made of him, to his swollen face, to the blood dripping onto his collar. – And you fucking let him do it.

– What the fuck are you gonna do about it, then, tough guy? – Barry laughs, his hands trembling. 

JJ’s muscles snap tight.

You push Barry back again, more frantic now, shaking, pleading, but he doesn’t listen. 

Your hands tremble.

JJ pushes himself up fully now, John’s grip still firm on his shoulder, holding him steady. But it doesn’t matter. 

Because JJ is not steady.

Not at all.

– You ain’t gonna say anything, huh? – He breathes, voice cold, sharp, shaking. – You play the tough girl act very well for someone who’s such a bitch.

Barry tenses again. His laugh is the crack of a whip as he pushes past you, you have to shove at him just so he won’t rush in and punch him again. 

John’s holding JJ back, his face wrecked with something almost sad. Almost worried. – Let go of me. – Barry groans, the impatience growing in his voice. – Let go of me sweetheart, this motherfucker needs to be put in his place.

– Let it go, Bee.

– Let it go?! – He does a double take, looking at you as if you’d grown a second head. – Let it go? He just called you a—

– I heard it. Please, this is enough. You nearly killed him. You won. – You grip his arm tighter. His breath comes out heavy, perplexed. – Just let it go, please.

John’s voice is a murmur behind you, whatever it is that he says to his friend doesn’t reach you, but you know it isn’t working, because the outrage on JJ’s face doesn’t budge. – JJ—

– You’re a fucking traitor. – He spits your name out along with the blood, your brother still trying to pull him back with all he’s got. – You are. You’re a traitor and a whore!

It punches through you.

JJ stumbles forward, closer, swaying but still standing.

– You don’t belong here, – He seethes. – Get the fuck out.

Your heart stops.

You blink at him, your breath snagging in your throat.

This is your house. Your home. He can’t—he can’t just tell you to—

– Get out. – It’s louder this time, meaner, angrier, like it’s his right to say it, like he actually has the power to take something else from you. – Since you’re so happy to be Rafe’s free use slut, go ahead and do it on your own! We don’t fucking need you!

Your lips part. – This is my house, – But your voice is a sliver of what it once was. You’re not looking at JJ. You barely hear his words, but your brother is standing there, completely still. His arms suddenly lax around the other boy. – This is my house! – Louder, firmer, but just as useless.

– I don’t think it is. – JJ laughs. He’s looking back at your brother now, too. Because he knows John isn’t gonna say anything. He knows it just as well as you do. – Your name isn’t John Routledge. That’s the name on the deed, isn’t it? And it’s not yours.

– John. – You’re pleading again. The gray-green of your brother’s eyes gaping at you emptily, thoughtlessly, as if he’s gone into shock. – Say something, John. This is my house too!

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

– Say something!

You don’t know how many times you’ve done this.

How many times you’ve stood there, practically on your knees, begging him to act like a brother. To act like he cares about you. To act as if he’d loved you for a single moment of his life.

You don’t know how many times you’ve gotten this exact response.

The blank stare.

The guilty face.

That look in his eye that tells you just how much he doesn’t have it in him to pretend, even for a moment, that you’re less than the stupid girl who, for whatever reason, has done everything in your power to keep him afloat.

– John. – His name comes out hoarse, quiet. A whisper. A prayer. A plea.

His eyes never waver from yours, he keeps looking, keeps standing there, and though his face is cracked with guilt, there is no shame. Nothing that would make him act on it.

Maybe there’s just nothing there.

No fire. No anger. No defense. No loyalty.

Just the look you’ve seen a thousand fucking times before.

You don’t know why you still beg. You don’t know why you still believe. 

You are pleading with a ghost.

John doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Like he’s already decided. Like this is already done.

And it is. 

But it wasn’t done with the fight, or the cursing, or the blood, not even the way JJ turns, tossing the keys to the bike onto the ground, storming off like he’s the one who was wronged. Not when you see the way John hesitates for half a second, looking at you like he wants to say something, like he wants to take it back, like he wants to undo what’s already done—

Not even when he follows him, turning his back on you like it’s so simple, so natural, like it was always meant to be.

It ended years ago.

Maybe it never even began.

Maybe you're the only fool alive who ever believed you were his sister.

The night cracks open.

The silence presses in.

You're stuck inside your body, inside your head, inside all the memories that claw their way back into you like rusted nails.

You are twelve years old, standing behind John, watching through the schoolyard fence as JJ and the others shove you into the dirt.

"Ain’t she your sister?" someone asks.

John laughs with them.

"Nah, man. I don’t know her."

You are fifteen, standing in the living room, your hands trembling at your sides as your father slams you against the wall.

John is at the end of the hall.

Watching.

Silent.

Your father’s voice is thunder in your ears.

"You think you’re smart, huh? You think I don’t know it was you?"

But it wasn’t you. It was John.

And he lets it happen anyway.

You are seventeen, standing in this very yard, watching your brother walk away from you again.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always will.

Because John —the John you thought you knew, the John that sobbed in your arms for months every night your father didn't come home, the John who wouldn't eat unless you fed him, who wouldn't sleep unless you held him, wouldn't leave the house unless you were close enough that he could grab you, was never there. John, the boy, John, the brother. He's only ever existed as far as he needed you. And now he doesn’t— is not there. 

He's John B.

The star student, the popular kid. That boy that was always too good to hang around some mongrel like you.

And this is what John B does.

This is what he’s always done.

He doesn’t protect you.

He doesn't defend you.

He doesn’t choose you.

Every time you’ve asked God whether you were your brother’s keeper, you felt the weight of every living soul around you say no —You closed your eyes, and you were Abel, lying, stupidly, on the ground you just tilled as he stood behind you with a stone, ready to crush you. You were Remus, laying bricks with your back turned as he came to slay you. You were Osiris, walking thoughtlessly into a coffin he’s made to bury you, fully believing that he wanted nothing but to see you well— Because for every life you’ve shared, he’s killed you, and still somehow convinced you to pray that you’re still siblings in the next.

You don’t remember when your hands started shaking.

Or when your knees lost their strength.

Or when your breath began coming too fast, too shallow, not enough, never enough.

All you know is that the world tilts.

And you sway.

And you break.

And you cry.

You reach out—for something, anything—but there’s nothing to hold onto.

Nothing but empty space where your brother used to be, where the two of you used to play, where you once believed you could be something like brother and sister.

The sky blurs. The trees waver. The ground rushes toward you.

But before you can collapse, before you can even feel yourself falling, Barry catches you.

He's solid. Real.

Not like John. —You shake your head, mentally scratching that concept from your conscience— Not like John B. 

– Hey—hey—look at me. – Barry’s hands grip your arms, tight, steady. His eyes search your face, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a mile. – C'mon. Breathe.

You press your hands against his chest, against something solid, something unshaking, something that won’t disappear the moment you close your eyes.

And finally you do breathe. But the wound is still gaping. Still bleeding. And John B is already gone. The door slams closed, leaving you to rot in the silence, bathed by the flickering light of the porch; the one you asked him to change for a lightbulb you bought weeks ago, and is still sitting, forgotten on his nightstand.

Barry smooths the tears away from your face, like he used to do when you came to him after a fight with your father, like he’s done for every heartbreak since. – Let’s go home. – He whispers, his hands still cupping your face. The plastic of his keys—Rafe’s keys— pressed against your jaw. – C’mon, let me take you home.

– It's gone, Bee.

– It's not.

– He kicked me out, I can’t come back. It's gone.

– It’s not, it isn’t, don’t fucking say that—don’t ever say that again. – His grip on you tightens, the muscles of his hand flexing against your skin, quick, so quick, you barely brace yourself when he makes you stand in front of him. – That piece of shit isn’t your home. This place? This fucking dump you lived in? This isn’t your home. I’m your home, okay? And you’re mine, and you’re not staying here to keep breaking your own heart over and over again. Let's go.

– Barry—

– I don’t wanna hear it. – He's firm. He's angry. Your chest weighs heavy, still forever afraid of any sign of anger, even when it’s not directed to you. But he holds you, and he looks at you, really looks at you, and he repeats. – Let’s go, okay? I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t wanna hear you complaining. 

– Okay.

– C’mon. 

Barry’s hands are firm, unshaking, steady, and you barely feel them as he guides you toward the bike. Everything is distant, muted, like you’re watching yourself move from somewhere outside your own body. A conscience beyond your own. 

You let him press the helmet onto your head, let him buckle it under your chin with a flick of his fingers. And you watch the way he moves.

His hands are still clenched as he tosses your purse, discarded over the ground, on your lap. He looks over his shoulders, at the closed door, with his jaw clenched, and every so often he shakes his head, frowning, outraged by a thought you can’t hear, can't know.

You don’t remember climbing onto the bike.

You barely register the way Barry grips your hands, pulling them around his waist, but he doesn’t say anything. Not the usual "Hold on, sweetheart," he always says like it’s second nature, not any of the stupid comments he makes whenever you ride with him. His movements are brisk, borderline impatient, but not careless, never careless. He kicks the bike to life, the engine shuddering through your bones as it hums beneath you, the heat of the exhaust jostling against the scrapes on your legs.

Then, you’re moving.

Not fast. Not yet.

But even at this speed, the wind presses against you, makes you feel untethered, unsteady, fragile in a way you haven’t let yourself acknowledge until now. You close your eyes and grip him tight, focusing on the smell of the helmet, breathing it  in, the smoke of his cigarettes, the shoddy menthol of his nicotine gum, and something grounding, something real. 

Your fingers find the fabric of his shirt —your shirt— the old marina shirt that belonged to your dad, the one you were wearing that day with him and Rafe, when everything went to shit. It’s crumpled, but it feels nice, still tender from the fabric softener you used for that last wash.

You feel the moment he registers it, the way you grip him, trying to distract yourself—the way his muscles tense slightly, the way his hands shift against the handles, grip tightening, the moment of hesitation before he sighs through his nose and settles.

He drives slower than usual.

Not slow, but slow enough that you can tell.

Slow enough that it’s not Barry’s usual recklessness, his usual need to prove something.

Slow enough that he’s paying attention.

You don’t know how long you ride like that.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe a whole fucking lifetime.

Everything is blurred, stretched thin, bleeding together like a half-forgotten dream, and you let it wash over you, let the hum of the engine drown out the roar in your head, let the road carry you somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here, that isn’t now.

You don’t notice when he turns onto the familiar back roads.

You don’t notice the flickering neon light, the cracked pavement, the darkened windows.

You don’t notice where you are at all.

Not until he kills the engine.

Not until the silence crashes over you, sharp and final. Not until you hear the low creak of his kickstand settling, the way he shifts slightly beneath your hands, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before glancing over his shoulder.

Not until you look up.

And the sign is right there, right above you.

The River Styx.

Your stomach drops.

But Barry doesn’t say anything, his fingers brush over your wrist, still taught around his waist, and he pats his other hand over your knee. – C'mon.

You just stare at the sign, the neon glow casting strange shadows across the pavement, the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You should have known.

Of course he’d bring you here.

Because where else would you go?

Where else is there to go?

Barry swings his leg off the bike, tossing the helmet onto the seat, shaking his head like he’s already exhausted by whatever is going on in his own head. He exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw, then gestures toward the door.

– Come on, sweetheart, it's about time this day fucking ends. 

You swallow hard, unmoving.

His brows pull together slightly, like he’s trying to be patient, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say, but Barry isn’t built for patience, for softness, for comfort in the way people expect it.

So instead, he sighs, takes a step closer, and reaches for your wrist, fingers curling around it, not pulling, just holding. – You promised. – He says, but this time it actually is softer, kinder, nearly patient. – Now, we can go back if you want, but then the deal is over, and you'll have to sleep on the pull-out couch.

You scoff, still looking at the sign, but you feel your arm relax under his touch. – You suck.

– Not just yet, I’m still sober. – He winks, smiling half-heartedly as he pulls you to the door.

Finnean, the owner’s son, grins the moment he sees you, arms crossed over the bar, his too-many tattoos peeking out from what should have been the sleeves of this dirty wife-beater he’s wearing, the gold tooth in his smile catching the dim light. – Well, well. Look who finally crawled outta the grave.

– You thought we were dead? – Barry hums, unamused, knocking twice against the counter as he slides onto the stool, pulling you beside him. 

Finnean laughs, more a scoff than anything as he places two cups before you. – D’you ever hear the expression ‘only the good die young’? Good ain’t the case for you two. I was actually leaning towards your ass finally getting detained.

– Why? Your brothers need a lil company? Maybe sweetheart can go to see them. – Barry pats your leg, smiling, tight and taught, none of the usual ease on him. – What’d you say, jailbait?

– You can go all you like, sweets. I’m just not sure you’d come back.

– You’re a peach, Finn. – He smiles at you, green eyes flashing with something you don’t want to understand as he turns his back and grabs something.

– And you’re a plump, little red cherry. – He shakes his head, setting the glass down in front of you with a wink before tossing something onto the bar. – I could just pop you in my mouth.

A bowl of bright red maraschino cherries sits before you. Your heart stumbles, a smile actually forming on your face.

Barry grins, nudging them closer. – Knew that’d cheer you up. – His shoulder brushes yours as he pulls your stool closer, watching you eat. – We weren’t in jail or nothing, but this one just got out of house arrest.

– That brother you’re always talking about? – He asks Barry, already throwing his head back, laughing, reaching for the bourbon before Barry even asks. – That explains it. – You stop for a moment, aching again.

Was it so obvious? – Does it? – You murmur, and Finnean gives you a look.

– You disappear for months, and when you finally show up, you look like someone dragged you through hell backwards. – He nods at Barry. – He looks ready to start swinging on the first motherfucker who blinks at him wrong.

– That’s just his face, – You say dryly, eating so you don’t have to look at them.

Barry just snorts, shoving your shoulder lightly. – Ain’t you a charmer? – He takes a cherry from your hand, still chewing it as he downs his cup. – Hit me again.

– You tryna meet God or something? – Barry chuckles at your words, this time more genuine. The smile lingers as Finn pours more bourbon into his glass, sliding another over to you.

– Holler when you get tired of this loser, okay sweetheart? – He winks, that same old joke he always says, grinning as he slides on over to another customer. – Finn will love you long time.

You breathe out slowly, your lungs still burning as you reach for the glass.

You’re tired of thinking about John.

Tired of mourning someone who was never there to begin with.

Maybe Barry had a point with the whole drinking your sorrows away thing. He’d been doing it for years, already. Started drinking just after his father was finally arrested for good.

And hey, if it worked for him…

You bring the glass to your lips, feeling your friend’s eyes on you as the liquid runs down your throat like straight gasoline. He chuckles, patting you in the back.

The first drink burns.

The second warms.

By the third, you’re floating.

The night bleeds away with every time you glimpse the bottom of your cup staring down at you.

Time slips through your fingers, lost in the clink of glasses, the sharp burn of bourbon, the sticky sweetness of cherries.

But though your thoughts slow, the ache never leaves you.

Barry loosens, even as you remain a little melancholy, all warmth beside you, his voice low in your ear, teasing, coaxing laughter from you with every sarcastic remark, every quiet joke. He tips the bottle, refilling your glass before you can even think to ask.

Your chest clenches.

The songs in the background rise, fall, twist into something familiar.

Somewhere between the fourth drink and the sixth, you’re singing along, voice tangled with Barry’s, both of you yelling out the lyrics, slurring through the old Irish verses, laughter shaking through you as the whole bar joins in.

You don’t remember when Finnean slid the bottle of homemade moonshine across the counter, just that Barry caught it with a smirk, tucking it under his arm before pulling you off the stool.

His hands are already on you, already guiding, already pressing against your waist.

You stumble, laughing, pushing him back. – You can’t fucking drive like this, dumbass.

Barry grumbles, rolling his eyes, but you grab his arm and pull.

So you walk.

Through the streets of the Cut, the night air cool against your flushed skin, your voices loud, singing through the empty roads from your empty chest. Barry spins you at one point, pulling you into his arms, making you laugh, and you linger a moment longer than you should, his arms still around you when you finally pull away, palms burning hot through the fabric of your shirt as he walks behind you.

By the time you reach his trailer, your legs ache, your chest hurts from laughing, and your head is woozy.

His trailer is dark, not a single light on as he pulls you towards it, hands searching your sides, his chest pressed against your back. His fingers rest at the small of your waist, loose, familiar, something closer to instinct than thought.

He’s closer than he should be, you know he is, but you don’t push him away.

Maybe it’s the drinking.

Maybe it’s the way the night has stripped you raw, leaving nothing but exposed nerve endings and memories that won’t stay buried.

Or maybe it’s just him.

The warmth of him.

The familiarity of him.

The fact that he’s still here despite the fact you’re down in the dumps.

But the way he's looking at you now isn't new. It's far too familiar.

His lips part slightly when he turns you, his head tilting, eyes flicking between your mouth and the mess of your hair, the flush of your skin, the shape of you standing so fucking close to him you could feel the shape of your body moulding to his.

He leans in, breath fanning against you like a dragon’s, warm, cutting, almost inviting you to be bitten. You turn just in time, his lips landing on your cheek, warm and soft, and way too eager. – You know we never stop once we start. – You mumble, your back brushing the railing as he pulls you up the stairs.

Barry’s lips twitch. His fingers flex against your waist, just barely dragging down, slipping lower, gripping just enough to pull you fully against him.

His voice is low, rough, already gone. – Who says I want to stop?

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s been a while since you drank and remained conscious, but the ache in your chest is doing nothing for your rational thinking skills, and when he cups your face, soft, so soft, like no one else in the world ever does, you let him.

You taste yourself first—sweet, sticky cherry, the sugar lingering on your tongue, and he hums, pulls away just a bit, licking his lips before he kisses you again. You taste him, then. Malt. Amber. Tobacco. Bourbon-smooth and burning at the edges.

You feel guilty already.

But you want the comfort. The ease. The warmth.

His hands tighten, pressing into the small of your back, like he needs you closer, like the inches between you are somehow unbearable, and he sighs against your lips as he kisses you again. The guilt writhes within you as your pride swells. He hums into your mouth, something low, something pleased, something that sounds dangerously like relief.

You barely register him guiding you back until your calves hit the edge of the couch on the porch, and suddenly you’re falling.

Not away from him.

With him.

Barry pulls you onto his lap, knees spreading beneath you, hands gripping tighter, hotter, rougher.

His mouth moves against yours with purpose now—hungry, claiming, a little desperate, a little too much. But he never pushes. He always begs you to take.

You feel his breath stutter when you shift against him, when your hands tangle in his hair, when your fingers scrape against his scalp just the way he likes and he groans, deep in his throat, pulling you tighter.

This is it.

This is the cycle.

This is the inevitable.

This is history repeating itself.

This is what you do when you have nowhere else to go.

This is a promise, a bad decision made in the heat of too much alcohol, sealed between his teeth and your lips, unspoken, unbreakable. You don’t really know what you’re promising. But like the fool you are —like the fool you’ve always been— you’re almost glad to hold it out on a silver platter, just to get that rare sliver of love you’re always desperately grasping at.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

[thursdayinspace]

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

**

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your first day at work brings both excitement and anxiety. It's been a long time since you felt possibility ahead of you. You don't know that you ever really have. That's probably why you did what you did. No excuses. You made bad choices and didn't care who you hurt. 

You grab your new bag, in your brown blazer, a white satin blouse, and a black skirt, and head off. You feel like an imposter already. You get on the bus, standing as you avoid the musty seats, and figure you'll be sitting a bit too long that day. 

The office is building is just as it was before. Smaller than other business towers. The grey brick gives it an antique feel. Quaint, almost. You don't think you'll feel that way for long. 

As you enter, you recall the withering look from those green eyes. The timbre of judgment in his voice. The glint of mocking. You should be used to it by now, shouldn't you? 

You approach the office door and hesitate. What do you do? He gave you a time. You have no key. The door does not give off an essence of welcome. 

You knock and shift in your heels. You got the lowest ones you could find and they're still awful. You hear movement within. Mr. Laufeyson opens the door as you straighten your posture. 

"Good morning, sir," you greet. 

"You will fetch my coffee," he skips over any semblance of propriety. Even you know how to say hello. 

"Oh, yes sir," you reply, put off by his suddenness. 

"There is a cafe off the lobby. You must've passed it on your way in. Cortado." He demands. 

You take a breath. He could say please or thank you. You're used to a lack of manners but when you feel demeaned, you get a bit itchy. 

"Yes, sir, uh, I--" 

"You will be reimbursed. File a report," he turns away, "I would give a company card but... let's keep it all on file." 

He gets to his office door and you watch him in a silent simmer. You go to the empty desk and set down your bag. You dig out your wallet before tucking the rest underneath. 

You find your way down to the cafe, nestled between a law office and marketing consultancy space. You join the line and peer up at the menu. What did he say? C... something. Cortado, that's it right there. 

You step up for your turn. You pay for the drink and wait at the end of the counter. With your first task accomplished, you set off back to work. 

You enter the office. It's deathly silent. You can't help but look over your shoulder. Your hand balls to a fist instinctively. 

Before you can approach his door, it opens. 

"Thought I heard you," he struts out. "You may shut the door. And sit." 

You nod and offer him the cup. He points to the barren desk. You set it down and take your seat. He disappears. You frown. Was it some test? 

He emerges again, this time pushing a green leather chair. It looks much comfier than your own. He rolls it next to you and sits. You fidget and tug at the cuffs of the blazer. 

"Well, you can follow orders," he slithers. "Your attire is less... casual. The coffee is hot," he reaches for the cup and sips. "You will turn on the computer." 

You look under the desk for the tower. He scoffs and taps the laptop beside the monitor. You don't know how you missed that. 

"You will need to work outside the office at times. Now, I've a tracker installed and security, so there's no use in selling it," he warns. 

You seal your lips and nod. You won't show your irritation. Let him treat you like a criminal, at least he's paying you. 

You open the laptop and press the power button. It's very sleek and shiny. Brand new. 

"And the monitor," he directs and sips again. It's somewhat agitating to hear. 

You push the button along the bottom of the screen. He points to a post-it beside the touch pad. "Credentials." 

You type them in and hit enter. At least he's helping. Most of the courses you took were online and had zero support. You can figure things out on your own but you don't think he trusts you to do that. 

"I've had an employee ID set up. That is here," he points lower down on the post-it. "There is a folder here for you to review standard practices and expectations." 

He gestures to the smaller screen as you quietly observe. He sighs. 

"You have any questions?" 

"No, sir," you say. 

"And you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," you answer. I can read, tickles your tongue but you refuse to unleash it. 

"Wonderful, so let me take you through a few of our basic programs just so that you are set. There would be the email, then the task tracker, and finally, the most important, my calendar," he explains. 

"Yes, sir," you repeat. 

He wheels closer, his hand clasping onto the back of your chair. He keeps his cup in his other hand, extend one finger to motion to the screen. He helps you get into the inbox. 

"I recommend you review previous responses as well the templates provided in the Procedures folder." He explains. 

You bend and reach below the desk. You sift in your bag as he tuts, "whatever are you doing?" 

You sit back up with your notebook and a bic pen. You show him, "taking notes." 

He hums, "well, that is a good idea, isn't it?" 

He looks back to the screen as you flip the cover around the spirals. He's expecting you to fail, just like Dina, just like everyone else. You won't if you can help it. 

💼

You send another message to Mr. Laufeyson. For your first day, he insists on reviewing your emails. You let him know you have some waiting and go back to reviewing the folder of policy. It's not too difficult, only dry. You like that. 

How long did you live on edge, waiting for something to go wrong. It still could but there's no one actively working against you. Only your own bad habits. You just need to resist. You need to keep moving forward. 

'Send it'. His message is simple. No praise, no tips. Just approval. That's good enough for you. 

When lunch comes, you eat at your desk. You packed a plain peanut butter sandwich, a bottle of sparkling water, and small container of trail mix. Enough to tide you over. What you can spare. 

As you chew the crust, the door opens. Laufeyson sniffs and crosses his arms as he faces you. You swallow and wrap up the last bite. 

"Peanuts?" He says. 

"Oh, are you allergic?" You ask. 

"I prefer almond," he snips. "You're eating?" 

"Sir, you said twelve was my lunch." 

He squints then untangles his wrist to look at his watch, "so I did." 

You let out the heavy breath in your chest. You fold up the parchment around the sandwich and put it in your bag. Your stomach's doing those somersaults again. 

"You may finish," he says. 

"That's fine, sir, I was done," you assure him and grab a tissue to wipe your hands and mouth. You crumple it and put it in the bin. He looms close. 

"Well, if you aren't busy, another coffee would be in order." 

You look at him. You still have ten minutes. This isn't the yard, there's no guard counting down the minutes. You get up. 

"Yes, sir," you answer. 

"Oh, don't skip to the door," he says drolly. 

You tilt your head. His attitude drips from his posture as he checks his nails. You have to keep from scowling. You've been polite but he can't seem to show an ounce of decency. Well, he doesn't need to, he is your boss. 

"Just the coffee?" You ask. 

"Yes, dear, simple as," he assures flatly, as if you can't understand a coffee order. 

You bend down and grab your wallet. You put your hand on the desk to push yourself up and his shadow shifts. You glance over and his green eyes flick away from your skirt. You stand and tug it straight, worried it might have hitched up. 

"Excuse me," you sidle past him. 

"Do hurry," he bids. 

You're thankful to be away. You feel less suffocated by the guards with their night sticks, following you around as if you might make a run for the fence.  

It's busier at the cafe. You get to the counter and order. It's the same as before but even more crowded. Sweat speckles over your scalp as the walls seem to close in. 

You gulp for air as you get back to the lobby. You go up to the second floor and nearly burst through the office door. Laufeyson is by your desk, waiting. 

"Something the matter?" He muses. "I trust you didn't abscond with a coffee unpaid for?" 

You steady yourself and cross to him, offering the cup, "no, sir, it was only busy and I didn't want to be late." 

"Oh?" He arches a brow. "You seem rather worked up over it." 

"I'm not," you go around the desk and sit. 

"Ah yes, a different sort of cage now," he remarks, "no bars, just a wool blazer and a desk." 

You look at him, "I... no, it's not bad." 

"I suppose the comparison makes it tolerable," he snickers. 

"I guess," you agree and sign back into the laptop. 

"I've a client coming shortly. Please be sure to show them in with a smile." 

"I will, sir," you open the inbox. 

"You will?" 

"Yes," you repeat. 

"Let me see." 

"What?" You jerk back and pivot the chair toward him. 

"Smile for me." 

You stare at him then furrow your brow. He's taunting you. You know it. You can't let him get to you. 

You smile, or attempt to. 

"I know you might be out of practice but do try a little harder." He goads. 

You wipe your face and look down. You inhale. You smile again, this time resisting the tension tugging in your cheeks. He tilts his head. 

"Mm, you look almost like a lady," he sneers over the brim of his cup. 

You're starting to suspect he didn't hire you for good intentions. To be a helping hand. No, he's testing you. Trying to see how long it takes for you to break. Well, you won't. 

"Thank you, sir," you face the computer again. 

He sighs and struts away. The smile falls off your face and you open the newest email. You pluck away at it, falling back into a tempo between reading and typing. 

A knock comes at the door and you nearly slide out of the chair as you push it back. You get up and tap around on your heels. You brace yourself and remember. Smile. 

You turn the handle and pull the door open. "Hello, how are you today?" 

You sound stupid, like that churlish woman at the clothes shop. The man double takes and his lips slant, "I... the door says..." 

"Mr. Laufeyson is in his office," you explain.

The man nods and thoughtfully taps his chin, "ah, makes sense. He's hired a secretary." 

"Sir," you step back to let him in. 

"Aren't you polite?" He strolls in. "You might tell him Pine is here." 

"Yes, I will." 

You skirt around him and go to Laufeyson's door. You tap lightly. "Sir, your-- Mr. Pine is here." 

You wait at the door, trying to hear through it. It swings open and you teeter back. Pine steps forward, his hand outstretched. 

"Laufeyson," he shakes the others' hand. "Well, have you sorted it?" 

"You always bring me a challenge," Laufeyson waves him through then looks at you, "Pine, you take tea?" 

"As always." The man passes between you into the back office. 

"English breakfast," he points at you. "Quickly." 

[hhughes]

Pre getting together kisses pls

𐙚 ─── a/n: I love them so much you guys don’t understand I’m so obsessed😩 welcome to another version of friend luke and violet making out. as always I hope you enjoy and don’t be afraid to spam me with lukey and vi thoughts🥰 this is like senior year luke and violet😚 (0.4K)

“we have to study, actually study lu, the math quiz-“ violet’s words get cut off by luke pressing his lips to hers again, his hands sneaking underneath her hoodie to caress the bare skin at her waist

violet forgets what she was saying a minute ago, moving easily when luke tugs her on top of him, her legs going on either side of his hips. a position she’s found herself in time and time again the last few weeks. her and luke’s study sessions always ending in make outs so heavy it made her unable to look ellen in the eye on the way home.

“mm we don’t need to study, I’ll pass, and you’ll stress yourself out, convinced you’ve failed only to get a 100 like you always do,” luke mumbles against her lips, tugging on the edge of her hoodie and violet lifts her arms to help him take it off, leaving her in a tight fitted crop strappy top.

violet’s head falls back with a breathy sigh as luke’s lips trail down her neck to her collarbone, sucking harshly on the skin at the top of her breast. violet’s protest at him leaving marks dies on her tongue, both because he has her tongue twisted and because she knows she likes them more than she’ll admit.

“we have to do math,” violet tries again, no real conviction on her tone. if luke removes her from his lap she might actually cry. doing math was the last thing she wanted to do when she could stay here and run her hands all over her best friend’s prominent abs

“one mouth, another mouth, three kisses. math,” luke mumbles, moving back up to her lips and nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue

“one and one equals three? you sure you don’t wanna study math lukey?” violet giggles and luke closes his eyes, dropping his head back and letting out a laugh, genuinely perplexed at how he just made that simple error

“it’s your fault. I can’t do anything with you in my lap, never mind math, even if it is simple math. you distract me,” luke defends himself, his hands placed firmly on her hips, trying not to think about her ass resting right above his dick, luke connects their lips in another deep kiss before pulling away, smiling cheekily when she leans forward, chasing his lips with her own.

“luke,” she whines when she lowers her lips to meet his and he swerves away.

“what? I thought you wanted to study math,” luke answers, the epitome of innocence, teasing smile breaking out on his face when his girl sends him a glare

“just shh and bring your lips over here,” violet replies, and luke feels the swarm of butterflies in his stomach as she tugs on his chain

“yes ma’am,” he grins, following orders.

[loredrinker]

Solas: It took me centuries to build such a bond during my rebellion. And when I joined the Inquisition, I tried to avoid entanglements.

Solas is the one who brings up the Inquisition with Rook, opening the door for Rook to ask about it - which could lead to Rook asking about Lavellan (yes, this is a Solavellan post). I always wondered why he did as it gives Rook a chance to gain a foothold into his emotions and I'm not sure that is something Solas intended to do. I've considered a couple scenarios:

it's an unconscious slip. It feels like Solas is not as detached as he claims to be. Though he tries to position this as a calculated choice, the fact that he brings it up at all suggests that the Inquisition still lingers in his mind (it was the last time he got close to people).

This chat happens after Rook meets the Inquisitor for the second time and with the blood magic link, perhaps Solas suspects that Rook knows something about the Inquisition, so he brings it up to gauge how much Rook might know. Which leads Rook to asking about you know who...

Rook: Except for Inquisitor Lavellan. Solas: I said that I resolved to do so, not that I succeeded. She is a good woman. Growing close to her was selfish of me.

As for Solas' response, he can't reveal too much to Rook - you can't give an edge to a potential adversary. So his response definitely feels measured. He admits just enough - that he failed to keep his distance, but not why. And I appreciate how Solas frames all of this as a failure of discipline, keeping it separate from emotion. He is saying "I should not have gotten close to her" not, "I should not have loved her."

Rook: Do you regret it?

He could just simply tell Rook yes and be done with it. But he doesn't lie. He could just say no, I don't regret it, but that would reveal too much. Instead, because he's Solas, he gives a poetic response, sidestepping it all together.

Solas: I live with countless regrets. Some of them I have grown to cherish more than my victories.

Solas' regrets are abundant and he has lived long enough to collect many of them. But some of his choices, no matter how painful, were worth it. That it mattered so much that having had it at all, and then losing it was more significant than anything he has accomplished. By positioning this as a regret, what he is also telling Rook is that what he had with Lavellan cannot be reclaimed (at least that's the lie he keeps telling himself). But to cherish something is to hold onto it - that his love for Lavellan, no matter how painful it was, is something he will always hold close.

But why even reveal this much to Rook?

What does Solas do best? Omit, obscure and deflect. Maybe his answer will confuse more than clarify which he would prefer. Solas' modus operandi when it comes to concealing truth is not to deny it outright, but to obscure it in ambiguity. By giving this type of answer to Rook perhaps Solas is hoping it cannot be used against him.

Or maybe, Rook did catch Solas off guard after all.

[cuteandhughesy]

congrats on 1k!!! so deserved, your writing is amazing! can i pls request prompts 1 and 11 for barzy?? love you 🫶

prompt no. 1: "you're such a loser" + prompt no. 11: “let me distract you”

18+ under the cut

"wait so you're telling me that dumbledore only kept Harry alive so that voldemort would be the one to kill him." mat’s confused, squinting at the tv casting the only source of lighting in the otherwise dark living room.

you’re tucked into his side, so close that you might as well but sitting on his lap—but that just the way mat likes it.

his thick fingers trace circles on your hip bone over your leggings, a soothing and comforting tickle that could lull you to sleep if you weren’t so into the harry movie playing on the tv.

mat’s voice cuts through your intense focus, making you sigh. you’ve always been a huge fan of the harry potter movies—getting lost in the magic and nostalgia that they carry, and no matter how many times you watch them, the movies will always have you hooked. your boyfriend has never seen them, which was appalling, so every free night he has, you’re putting one on.

hence is constant questions—which yes, this is probably his 20th for this movie…and it’s not even over yet.

"yeah,” you say, “pretty much."

“damn,” mat huffs, pulling you deeper into his side, eyes flickering away from the screen, “and to think he was my favourite.”

you hum in acknowledgment, not giving him your attention as you watch snape’s memories flash on the tv. he pouts dramatically at your lack of attention, head falling to your shoulder like he’s been kicked.

sure, mat doesn’t hate the movies—they’ve been entertaining at the most. but they’re not his favourite, and he’s kinda glad you guys are on the last one. mat is bored and wants your attention like the clingy man he claims he isn’t.

slowly he presses his lips to your pulse point, giving you a 5 second long open mouthed kiss and then moves farther up your neck—just in an inch—to repeat the process.

your eyes roll gently. you know exactly what he’s up to. “mathew,” you warn, hand gripping his under your shirt as it begins slowly riding up—resting just under your boob.

mat smiles against your skin, “full name? sheesh.”

“eyes on the screen.”

he groans, the hand that’s not under your shirt enclosing over your knee cap before slowly sliding up your thigh. “I wanna have my eyes on something else,” mat hums, pressing a delicate kiss to your jaw.

you squirm, a half smile on your face. “if you want to be a potterhead, you have to watch this and pay attention—this is about to be a pivotal moment.”

mat pulls back, brows pulled in confusion. “a potterhead? is that like a drug term?”

“no,” you laugh, smacking his peck lightheartedly. “it’s a hard core harry potter fan,” you correct, eyes finally tilting up and meeting his.

“are you a potterhead?” mat asks knowingly, lips quirked up in a half smirk that tells you he already knows your answer.

you nod, looking back at the tv, “yes.”

“you’re such a loser babe,” he breathes a laugh, kissing your cheek affectionately.

but your mouth falls, eyes comically wide as you look back at your boyfriend, “hey!”

mat’s grin doesn’t falter, and he wraps his forearm around your middle, not giving you the chance to pull away from him. “it’s a compliment, my little nerd,” he hums softly, hand sliding under your thigh and lifting your leg— manoeuvring until you’re dropped over his own leg, spreading your thighs.

you swallow as mat leans back down, attaching his lips to your neck—sucking, kissing and nibbling your sensitive skin. instinctively you head falls back against his shoulder, breath quickening as your arousal spikes. “mhmm,” you pause, “not sure about that.” 

“c’mon,” he teases in between licks, “you’re okay.”

“you’re distracting me,” you sigh after a beat, mat’s fingers inching closer to the waist band of your leggings—his other brushing over your bare nipple under your top.

his lips brush your jawline again, “good.”

“mat.”

“let me distract you,” mat mumbles, hand slipping under your waist band, brushing and teasing just below your belly button—fiddling with the lace of your panties. “you’ve seen this movie,” he states the obvious, breath warm as it fans across your spit slicked skin—giving you goosebumps.

“yeah but you haven’t,” you whine.

“if you let me make you cum i’ll watch the movie until I have it memorized.” his words make you whine, hips jerking as your hips jerk instinctively, seeking mat’s fingers.

it’s all mat needs to hear before his fingers dip under your panties. his calloused pads tease your puffy clit, switching between slow circles around the bundle and firm figure eights—each one making your breath hitch desperately.

he doesn’t stop kissing your face, heavy breath fanning across you’re already warm face as mat dips down to your entrance, fingers slipping through your arousal. “you’re wet.” he grins cockily, scooping the lubricant with his ring and middle finger, dragging it back up to your clit.

“shut up,” you stutter, eyes fluttering pathetically as mat spreads your arousal over your clit. you’re entire pussy has become a slip and slide for your boyfriends fingers.

he laughs against your ear, “that’s no way to ask me to touch you baby.” he says, sucking on the lobe of your ear as his fingers slide back down towards your fluttering hole.

your hips lift in search of further stimulation, the action sending mat’s palm to roughly bump your clit. “mat please,” you hiccup.

“better.”

he inserts his two thick fingers into your entrance, slowly stretching your walls as he slides in—further and deeper until his knuckles are the only thing visible. mat’s hand is nothing but a bulge under your leggings. he’s so close and warm, making everything feel dirty and sexy.

mat begins thrusting shallowly, but still providing enough stimulation to have you moaning. his fingers work you expertly, while the palm of his hand rubs your bundle of nerves.

“that feel good baby?” he breathes, mouth brushing your jaw as he nips the skin affectionately. your eyes are trained against the movements of his hands under your clothes, the rhythmic thrusts that have you increasingly soaking his fingers more and more.

the movie is long forgotten as you moan, basking in the euphoric feeling of mat’s fingers reaching so deep inside you—pressing against that spongy spot that makes you feel like you’re dying.

“what was that?” mat taunts, picking up the speed of his thrusts into your pathetically weeping entrance. he can feel a ring of your creamy arousal at the base of his fingers, a mixture of your cream and arousal dripping down his palm and seeping onto your thong and leggings.

you sob, hand darting down to touch his over your pants. “yes.”

mat hums happily, “good girl.” he switches his pace, fingers held in tightly with your walls, palm flat against your clit as he begins rubbing your pussy—fast and firmly. your jaw drops at the new realm of pleasure, back arching off his chest as he provides the perfect amount of stimulation.

“fuck,” he curses lowly, entranced on the way your face pulls in pleasure, “you’re soaking my fingers baby. you like making a mess on my hand?”

you nod, too busy trying to chase your lapping breath to form a coherent sentence.

mat grins, “good, ‘cause i’m not stopping until you’re leggings are completely soaked.”

—

(unedited)

[chosaraki]

"Why are there so many people in the world?"

————————————

Daniel, Gun, Jake, Gitae, James x R.femele

——————————————————————

You be called : y/n

—————————————————————————

Y/N is a woman with an explosive temperament, zero patience for inconvenient people and a brutal honesty. Her trademark phrase, "Why are there so many people in the world?", reflects her constant frustration with the excess of people around her.

—————————————————————————

Daniel Park :

Daniel parked the car and sighed, looking at Y/N, who was with his arms crossed and a deadly look on his face. He knew something was bothering her.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, trying to break the silence.

Y/N snorted, tapping his feet impatiently. "Why are there so many people in the world, Daniel? Like, seriously! Can't there be only half a dozen people and that's it? Life would be so much easier."

He let out a low laugh. "You say that every time someone annoys you."

"Yes, because there's always someone annoying me!" She grumbled.

Before Daniel could answer, a car next to them lowered the window and an unknown guy smiled smugly. "Hey, princess, your boyfriend doesn't seem to be cheering you up. How about coming with us?"

Y/N turned his head slowly, his eyes shining with a mixture of irritation and fun.

"Do you REALLY want to do this, friend?"

The guy laughed. "You look tough. I bet it's just pose."

Before Daniel could intervene, Y/N took the guy's head by the hair and BANG—hit with everything against the window of his own car. The glass trembled with the impact, and the guy let out a moan of pain.

"Now get out of my way before I really break your face," she warned.

Daniel covered his mouth with his hand so as not to laugh. "You really don't have patience, do you?"

She leaned back on the bench, still with her face closed. "Why are there so many people in the world, Daniel? Explain it to me!"

————————————————

Gun Park :

Gun was standing still, arms crossed, while watching Y/N complain about the excess of people around.

"Look at this, Gun. Why are there so many people in the world? This here looks like a zoo without cages."

He let out a low "hm", finding it funny in her irritation.

It was then that a random man approached, clearly unaware of the danger. "Hey, babe. You seem a little angry. Do you want me to calm you down?"

Gun already knew what was going to happen even before Y/N reacted.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the guy's head and—PÁ!—hit with everything against the glass of a nearby car. The noise of the impact made some people turn around, while the idiot collapsed on the ground, moaning.

Gun sighed and looked at her. "Do you need to be so aggressive?"

Y/N threw his hair back. "Do you think I would let a trash like that breathe near me?"

Gun smiled slightly. "Good answer."

——————————————————

Jake Kim:

Jake and Y/N were walking the streets of Gangbuk when a group of random guys began to face Y/N suspiciously.

Jake already knew how this would end.

"Hey, princess," one of the idiots called. "Do you want to go for a walk with us?"

Y/N stopped at the same moment and turned to them.

"Did you just call me princess?"

The guy smiled. "Are you offended, cutie?"

Jake was already about to take a step forward, but Y/N was faster. She grabbed the guy by the collar, pulled him towards her and—PÁ!—hit his head against a nearby pole.

The guy's friends retreated, shocked.

"Does anyone else want to try?" She asked.

Jake crossed his arms, a proud smile on his face. "I didn't even need to do anything."

She looked at him, still in a bad mood. "Why are there so many people in the world, Jake? Answer me!"

————————————————

Gitae Kim :

Gitae was finishing moving her motorcycle when she heard Y/N snort on the other side of the garage.

"Why are there so many people in the world? My God, this is hell!"

He laughed. "Wat it was now?"

"He was an idiot who thought he could flirt with me. Guess where he is now?"

Gitae looked around. "Where?"

She pointed to an unconscious guy near a car. "There."

He blinked a few times and looked at her with admiration. "You're really rude, huh?"

She crossed her arms. "I don't have the patience for garbage."

Gitae gave a half smile. "That's why I like you."

———————————————

James Lee :

James was in the corner of an exclusive club, watching Y/N with his penetrating gaze.

She was impatient, rolling her eyes. "Why are there so many people in the world, James? I'm almost exploding here."

He just took a sip of his drink. "Don't care about them."

But, of course, there's always a clueless one.

"Hi, beautiful, do you dance?"

Y/N looked at the guy as if he were an insect. "And you breathe?"

The guy laughed. "Of course."

"Then stop breathing."

James already knew it was going to be shit, but decided to watch it.

The guy insisted. "Come on, you look angry, let me cheer you up."

Y/N just grabbed his head and—BANG!—hit against the nearest table.

The silence took over the place.

James sighed, taking another sip. "I tried to warn you."

She looked at him. "Why are there so many people in the world, James?!"

He laughed low. "I don't know, but you're doing a great job reducing the number."

—————————————————————————

Each scenario shows how she reacts to situations where someone tries to approach her in an unwanted way—and how her partners (Daniel, Gun, Jake, Gitae and James) deal with this chaos. While some try to understand her impatience, others simply accept that she is like that and appreciate her aggressive way of solving problems.

The tone is a mixture of comedy, action and unconventional romance, with a touch of brutality that makes the dynamic between Y/N and the characters even more unique.

—————————————————————————

[calamarispiderart]

FUCK i meant to send the other ask to this art blog but uhmrmmm answer on whichever one u see fit lol:3

for ur cccc doodles sometimes i see u draw mind w like a bag of blood attached to him(i forgot the medical term lol) i was wondering how u got the idea for this concept and if theres any reasoning behind it its so cool:3 YAY UR ARTS AWESOME BTWW

hihi!! ohh yes his iv... B:•] i draw mind with an iv all the time for a few reasons, the most banal of which being simply that i feel it suits him! ive always heavily associated mind with medical imagery... iv is the default but i really should draw him with more things going on than just that !!BX•P

for specific thematics though, theres a few layers to it.

one is the idea of mechanical things - iv drips are on the lower end of this in some ways, but medical tools to support the physical (flesh) body hold a particular match to the image mind is said to present... ive sat in the hospital waiting room with my nanny in the past and had an iv drip myself and some of the tools they use to measure and support someones life look so... solid, metal and plastic and tubing.... mind is frequently associated (most obviously in a fanon sense but also within the album itself with his voice FX and lines like the mechanical hands line) with robotic imagery, sometimes going so far as making him an actual robot. however!! he is so human!! he is just as human as the other two, and if anything his (implied and somewhat explicit) denial or attempted dissociation from that makes him even more so.

so... putting him in a thematic position where hes reliant on external, mechanical things to keep himself (his body-flesh-brain) alive, its very fitting for him to me.

it also lends well to an air of mutual fragility and firmness. mind is a very intense and firm character, stubborn, but he is also, to me at least, very fragile... so opinionated, so pushy, so unwilling to accept the possibility of being wrong even in the better times of the album... that speaks to a fragile personality. he cant accept or even consider the possibility of not being right.

ive always had a strong image in my head of him leaning a little bit too far, heavy, on his iv stand for support, with an intense glare, knuckles white from how hard hes holding the metal. inherently an unstable position, but so sure and so defensive and so strong willed... weak in body, reliant on the solidity of metal, stubbornness and your own grip to keep you up... theres a really good contrast there.

and! well theres always more to say but another aspect of that design trait for me is blood. all three of hms are so... bloody, to me. lifeblood, violence, lots of things to do with blood. heart is the most blood-associated to me but... ahh, ill try not to ramble too much with the other two because the focus is on mind here... they all bleed in different ways. for mind, to link back into the prior thematics ive alluded to, he keeps his blood outside of himself. technically. thats whats in his iv, at least. his own blood, or a form of it. ignore the potential medical inaccuracy haha!

in keeping his blood outside of himself, feeding it back in through a controlled drip, that is intended to reflect again his attempt at separation from humanity - more specifically, from bias. human error. when heart calls him a machine, while it is a metaphorical insult... i find the insults people choose to use tend to be a bit personal as well. particularly so with these two. they pick things that are meant to dig, and that requires a level of truth. so... to some extent, mind doesnt Want to be biased by humanity the way heart (and soul...) is. he wants to be above it all, and since blood is blood is flesh is life is animal, it feels right for him to try and keep all his blood outside of himself. but! in doing so!! it again betrays his own existence!!! you can see his blood, its right there, and when i draw them fighting, the iv tends to be easily caught in the crossfire. hes created a vulnerability in his attempt to be invulnerable. hes a very ironic guy in his existence.

hummm potentially more to be said but at risk of getting repetitive ill stop here. these are all the main things i can think of. so! yeah B:•]

i think its really fun. iv drips are just generally fun to draw as well, theres lots of different designs... i get pretty stylistic with minds because i can, but the parts of an iv are just generally so fascinating and fun to draw to me..! you could potentially say all of this is just an excuse to draw those ?!!? (jokes...or is it?!?!?)

hummmm thank you for the ask!! B:•∆ always nice to have an excuse to ramble about my thoughts on these things. hope youre doing well B:•]

[suguwu]

here have just under 1k of a nanami draft i found in my docs bc apparently that's the vibe today

"you're being weird."

nanami raises an eyebrow. "i'm not," he says.

"you are," you say. "you're being weird about dumplings."

you'd picked them up on the way over, sending nanami a vague text to say that you'll be late. it's one of his favorite stalls, a humble little thing tucked away near a busy izakaya. it's a long wait, but you've never minded. you like to watch the vendor make shumai while waiting, marveling at the quick precision of her bent fingers. she works with an easy, fluid familiarity.

shoko teases you when you say the vendor's dumplings—shumai, gyoza, all of her offerings—are made with love, but you think that knowing something so well that it's etched in your fingertips couldn't be anything but.

it's always felt right to share them with nanami.

he picks one up and eats it. you stifle a smile. the stiff way he's holding his chopsticks and the way he's not looking at you speaks volumes. it's almost childish.

you think you love him most in these moments.

you point your chopsticks at him, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes at your rudeness. "see? you're being weird."

you probably should have known this was coming. you'd tipped the scale as soon as you'd arrived with the takeout containers.

"i'm eating dumplings," he says.

"weirdly."

"what does that even mean?"

you peer at him, scrunching up your brow to match his. he's unamused. or rather, he'd like to be, but you know better.

"i dunno," you say. "you just are."

he sighs. you think if you kissed him now, you could taste the smile he's swallowing down. "i don't know what i was expecting."

"me either. you really should know better."

he doesn't answer you, too busy stealing a dumpling out from beneath your chopsticks. you gape at him as he pops it into his mouth.

"kento!"

"yes, sweetheart?"

you grumble out a soft insult. he chuckles, a low, sweet rumbling, and you consider letting everything go. consider just basking in the warmth.

but he reaches for another dumpling, and you think of the way he'd looked when you brought them. how you could practically see him flipping through your favorite things like recipe cards, searching, searching, searching for what to do next.

"kento," you say.

"what?" he asks, starting to nudge a dumpling—your favorite kind—towards you. he raises a brow when you don't reply.

you take a deep breath.

"you know that you don't have to earn everything, right?" you ask carefully.

nanami goes still.

"excuse me?"

"you don't need to earn everything," you repeat. you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your heart is rabbiting in your chest, the way heat is spreading beneath your skin.

he puts his chopsticks down.

"what do you mean?"

"don't do that," you snap. "don't pretend you don't know what i'm talking about."

nanami's dark eyes sharpen. "you're being unfair," he says, blunt as always, and you hate that he's right. "i have an idea of it, but i want to make sure that i understand. i think i should be able to ask for clarity."

each word is calm. cool. you think of early winter, when the ice is thickening with each passing day.

your chopsticks are leaving imprints of their pattern on your palm. it almost hurts. nanami's gaze darts down to your hand; his lips thin.

"i don't—you don't need to earn everything," you say helplessly, scrambling for better words. "surprise dumplings can just be that. you don't need to do something in return. you don't need to reciprocate every time i do something for you."

you hadn't thought anything of it. not at first. you're not even sure when you noticed. but you had, and now you see it every single time. you've never given him a present—no matter how small—and not received one just a day or two later. it's sweet in its own way, but the longer it goes on, the more it sits like tar between your ribs, heavy and sticky and noxious.

"i enjoy gifting you things," he says. "you're aware of that. it's never been an issue before. what is it, exactly, that you need?"

"i need you to let me love you without feeling like you owe me for it."

his shoulders go tight. you've teased him before about the mountain ridge of them, how solid he is, how immovable, but there's something fragile to them now. a rockslide waiting to happen.

"fuck," you hiss, your stomach roiling. "i just—you're so bad at being taken care of. i want to do things for you. just because. i want to do things for you without you needing to do something in return, because sometimes it's like you don't think i love you enough to stay."

nanami takes in a sharp breath.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

YOU'RE THE REASON I COME BACK

"Yes mom, I understand." You sighed out of exhaustion, your right arm feeling numb from holding the phone to your ear for so long just to listen to your mom's regular and unnecessary concerns.

"I'm just warning you, Y/n." Her voice heavy with worry that she was only able to express it through mobile phone. "There are many thugs in the streets that your shop is located in. What if someone breaks it? What if they hurt you? What am I supposed to do then?"

You bit back a groan, trying to sound as casual as you could but the irritation in your voice gave it away. You switched the phone to your left hand, letting your right arm finally rest. "Mom, I'm safe, really. You don't have to lecture me like a child. I'm aware of the events that happen around me." You respond was too familiar to sound convincing. That's what you always said whenever your mother started worrying about your safety out of nowhere. She had the habit of overthinking every recent event that happened, only to turn it on you and lecture you about it. She probably heard about the robbery that took place three streets away from your location and started to get paranoid. And yet, it was frustrating - being lectured like a child with no environmental awareness even though you were adult already, with your own job and house.

Your mom sighed in defeat, knowing there's no way she can get through you. "Right... You are. This aside, how's your shop running?" She asked curiously, still with hint of concern in her voice.

You hesitated to answer, your hand forming up a fist by your side. "Eh...Pretty well." You replied, immediately cringing at the lie but it was better than telling the truth about your mechanical shop - that it was better to be closed down soon as hardly anyone ever visited it. If your shop had costumers, it usually were kids that just happened to pass by with their bikes that were barely damaged or not even in the need of checking.

That being said, there's a costumer that visits regularly, as if it was his daily routine. His bike was somehow always in need of fixing, you'd think he's riding with death wish. The name? Hyuk Kwon. Ace of Sabbath crew that are participating in current major cycling event, League Of Streets. Since the day you heard that your regular costumer was participating in such an event, you followed his process. It wasn't surprise that he always comes back with damaged bike, considering how he rides.

Of course you didn't tell your mom about this guy. He was enigma even to you, calm on the surface but raging like a storm on the inside, and he had his way around your shop, his presence felt more rather it was seen. You'd be staring out of the window or scrolling through your phone when you'd feel chills running down your spine and there he was, staring down at you with his casual calm expression. He was like a ghost, poltergeist that kept haunting you even if he wasn't seen to be around you.

Suddenly the door of your shop opened, the guy you were just thinking about walked in with his bike rolling beside him. Speak of the devil. You thought. "Mom, I'll call you later." You hanged up, not waiting for a response. The familiar Cinelli Mash Bolt 1.0 catched your attention, the crack of its frame capturing your focus. "...How did you even achieve that?"

Hyuk scratched back of his head, glancing at his own bike. "Well..." His already low volume trailed in even quieter one. "Let's say, I crashed."

You exhaled. How typical of him. "And send someone to hospital...again?" You stated while walking towards the bike. Your heart ached seeing the state of its frame. This bastard really doesn't know how to take care of his bike, does he?! Even you formed more emotional connection to his bike than he, himself, due to how often you had to fix it.

"No, not today." Hyuk replied, his eyes looking around your shop. It definitely wasn't cleanest but it was the most reliable one he could find in this country. The air was thick with the scent of motor oil and gasoline--a heavy, industrial smell that clung to Hyuk like a second skin. Workbenches were cluttered with metal parts, wrenches and half-dismissed machines. Rusted steel shelves lined the walls, holding parts of engines and tires. He was as familiar with this shop as he was with his own gear.

"Oh, that's a surprise." You retorted. Securing his bike in your grasp, you placed it on the table, where all your tools were scattered around. Your gaze lingered on the slick cracks on his bike's frames - it wasn't anything you could fix in few hours. You shifted your attention to the guy, who has comfortably settled down on your chair. "It'll take time..."

"How long?" Hyuk questioned, slouched in the chair with legs spread wide.

"Around two days. I have to find perfect frame for this little guy." You replied, patting his bike gently.

Hyuk shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "But I don't want to change the frame." He stammered. He has had this frame for years and was most acquainted with. It wasn't just any frame for him...

You snapped your neck to look at him,eyes narrowing as frustration bubbled up. With a sharp exhale, you answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, because broken frame is exactly what you need for peak performance." Bitter smile stretched on your lips, edges curling up in mix of disbelief and frustration as he remained blissfully ignorant of the damage of his bike. The contrast between his calm demeanor and your obvious annoyance only made your smile feel colder.

He huffed, eyebrows furrowing at you as if you were the one shocking him. "That's why I brought it here. Just fix it." He said, his voice thick with hint of superiority, as if he was explaining something that should have been painfully clear to you.

Tired sigh escaped from your lips. There was no point in arguing with him. "Listen, I'm not professional enough to fix a frame this badly damaged. I can only change it into new one." You explained it to him. Hyuk probably was used to professionals handling the issues with his bike, that was blatantly obvious from his first visit, so you had no idea why he was even coming back to your shop. You weren't professional and you lacked experience, especially with bikes. You were much more used to fixing skateboards. "So, it'll be better if you'll take your bike to professional mechanic than me." You added, your eyes glued on the frame, bitter emotion gnawing at your heart.

Hyuk silently observed you, his eyes scanning your expression and, though you didn't notice, his gaze softened. Soft sigh came out from his lips. "...Fine."

With sense of shame, you grabbed the bike tightly and were about to hoist the bike up to put it down on the floor when he stopped you. "What are you doing?" He raised an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you had two heads.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, settling the bike back down. "Putting your bike down so you'll take it to professional?" But Hyuk shook his head, confusing you even more. "No, I meant...You can change the frame." He said quietly, his voice carrying the soft tone.

Your fingers loosened on the bike before completely letting go. For reasons you couldn't explain, warm feeling spreaded through you. "Are you sure? You seem to like this frame." You asked him, trying to push away the thoughts that maybe he was purposely staying at your shop. But you quickly brushed it off as overthinking.

"I'm sure." Hyuk answered sincerely, there was something about his calmness that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, his gaze never wavering from you, the intensity making the air feel charged, yet comforting. He watched how you started removing the wheels of his bike, each of your movement making him focus harder on you. There was gentle curiousity in his eyes, despite the amount of times he has been to mechanics and watched them fix his bike, it was different from you. Like how you'd start talking to yourself while analyzing the condition his bike was in and telling yourself what you needed to do, or how attractive you looked when focusing on your job. He felt like a creep whenever he'd find himself observing every single of your movement, every single curve of your body or even the rhythm of your breath, but he couldn't help it. He'd always find himself adrift in the quiet allure of your presence, lost in the sight of you as if time itself paused just so he could linger in your presence. Yet, no matter how much Chronos would slow down the time, it was never enough---because you were like a masterpiece, one he could gaze at endlessly. No matter how many skilled hands has touched his bike - fixing it and tuning it to perfection for good performance - it was you who he always came back to, who he always would come back to.