#(in fact i drafted one in my head during my shower earlier)

[funshinebf]

i think anyone who truly believes that knives doesnt care about rem just doesnt understand him. to me its the same as falling for vash's fake smiles. the image he purposefully projects to conceal his true feelings has fooled you effortlessly. thats his fucking mommy and he misses her

[yoitsjay]

(This is a screenshot of the original ask because for some reason my drafts glitched out and instead of editing the tumblr it posted it when it wasn't ready and I had to delete it, so whoever requested this I am sorry! And I hope you read this and like my story!

Cuddle Buddies

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x M!reader

Summary: you and Simon have always had your differences, but the one thing you did have in common was the fact that you couldn't go to sleep without being in each other's arms every night. So, you and him made a habit of cuddling every night.

Warnings: fluff, touch starved? Confessions

Word count: 1621

December had settled in after a long and dreadful November, luckily enough for the soldiers, December was their month off from work. Some soldiers left, Soap went away for a bit to spend Christmas with his family, he had invited you and Ghost but you didn't Really know soap that well so you declined. You had been a recruit for the 141 for about a year before you finally “graduated” in the eyes of the team and became their combat medic. Your family lived all the way up in Northern Canada and you were all the way in London so there was no cheap way to see them, so instead you stayed on base and face timed with your family.

It was the day before Christmas eve and you were on the phone with your mother, it was late, maybe about 11 pm for you whilst it was much earlier for your family as there was a 7 hour time difference. It was just you, Ghost and a few recruits on base so it was very quiet, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop from another room entirely. So when you heard footsteps approaching your barracks you said some goodbyes To your family and promised to call them for Christmas.

You set your phone down on your night table after the call ended, running a hand through yours freshly washed hair, it had definitely been a while since you really had a good scrub down so the shower you had taken the night before really made you feel good…

A sudden knock on your door broke you from your thoughts and you stood up from your bed, making your way to the door before opening it. And much to your unsurprise it was a recruit. “Sir- Ghost asked me to fetch you, he's in his quarters.” the recruit relayed before walking away. A sigh escaped your lips and you returned back to your bed, grabbing your phone before heading towards Ghosts bedroom.

See, for months you and Ghost teased each other back and forth, at first he was just straight up bullying and you wouldn't react, but as soon as you hit the three month mark of being a rookie, which was typically where rookies bailed, you started reciprocating the same energy back to Ghost and he took that as a personal challenge, so whenever you were around each other you would bicker and insult each other.

However one night during a game of very drunk poker, you had passed out against Ghost and he had taken you to your room to sleep, however you wouldn't let him go, and that started your almost daily routine. When everyone else was asleep Ghost would send a recruit for you or send you a text, and the moment you entered his room you were in his bed. It was nothing sexual, intimate but not sexual. But every night you and Ghost would hold each other, and on bad nights you would cradle him to your chest and tell him stories to make him forget about whatever dream or nightmare had plagued him that night.

Tonight was no different. You were cuddle buddies now, supposedly.

Or maybe it was different.

When you reached his bedroom you had heard some shuffling from behind the door, followed by a grunt and a curse from the British man's lips. You raised an eyebrow, knocking on the door to alert him of your presence. “Ghost? You're gonna let me in or what?” You asked in a joking tone. “Hold on! Wait a minute.” He replied back to you and some more shuffling could be heard before finally Ghost opened the bedroom door a few minutes later. However before you could see what he was doing Ghost tied a blindfold around your eyes. You jolted at the sudden blindness and the larger man let out a soft apology, taking one of your hands in his while his other hand went to your hip as he guided you into his room, making you stand in a certain spot before he closed the bedroom door and came back to you, gently untying the cloth around your eyes.

When you saw what he had done to his bedroom your jaw was on the floor. He had candles lit and strewn about the room, his bed was neatly made (which it never is) but on top of that there was a large tray of your favorite food. But that wasn't even the most shocking thing. Ghost was standing in front of you in just a T-shirt and sweats, he had his Balaclava on of course but no black makeup surrounded his eyes. You could also see the tattoo on his arm alot better and honestly you loved it. You had a few tattoos of your own but not a sleeve.

“Ghost wha-”

“Simon.” He blurted out, his eyes reflecting nervousness almost as he looked at you. His interruption baffled you as you blinked at him once before opening your mouth again to speak. However once again he beat you too it.

“call me Simon. Please.” He muttered to you, clearing his throat before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bed. He sat you down, pushing the tray towards you. He was quiet, more quiet than usual. He always had something smart to say but- not now. “Simon.” You whispered, and watched as he visibly got shivers by you just saying his name. You grabbed the tray of your favorite food, scooping up some of it on a spoon as you took a bite. This wasn't store bought, but homemade.

Your eyes went wide at the realization and you stared at Ghost- Simon. “Did you- did you make this?” You asked him, and all he did was nod. You could see him fidgeting, but he quickly tore your attention away from that as he spoke up again. “If you don't like it you don't have to eat it-”

You quickly interrupted him before he could say anything more, shaking your head. “No Simon it's delicious. I cant- I can't believe you remembered me ramble about this dish- how did you even find the recipe?” You asked, taking another bite from the dish, well- more than one, you were absolutely devouring this dish. “I uh- I found your moms Facebook and I contacted her for the recipe. She's a very kind woman- gave it to me immediately…” He trailed off, watching as you devoured the meal.

You finished it quickly, placing the food tray on Simon's bedside table before turning to him again. However instead of saying anything you pulled him into a crushing hug. Which he actually reciprocated. “Thank you Simon.” You whispered.

You don't know why he had done all of this for you, but as you and him lay down together and you rest your head on his chest, you can hear just how much his heart is racing, even hearing it skip a beat when you adjust your hand or touch his chest. Was he sick? You had no clue.

Silence filled the room, it wasn't comforting, no the way Simon was acting, or more so how he wasn't acting was off-putting. So you abruptly sat up, shifting your body so you now sat atop his lower abdomen. You stared down at him into his widened eyes, and you huffed. “Spill it Riley, what's got you so weird today? Are you sick or something?” You asked him, leaning forward as you placed your hands on his face to try and feel if he had a fever or something. Simon then grabbed your wrists, keeping you in place as he stared up at you, but in one swift motion you were on your back and he was on top of you, his face extremely close to yours, Close enough to feel his breath filter through the mask and fan across your face. It smelt like mint, and chocolate. “Simo-”

you couldn't even blurt out his full name as he pulled the mask up over his nose and he kissed you, moving his hands from your wrist to your hips instead. You were in shock, eyes wide and lips somewhat Agape. He pulled away after a few minutes, his expression now worried that he pushed you too far. “Y/n?” He called out your name, squeezing your hip gently.

You blinked once… twice… you looked up at him as you licked your bottom lip, taking the remnants of whatever lip chap he had on. You sucked in a deep breath, moving your hand up to his bare cheek. He flinched slightly, but didn't pull away as you gently felt the lower half of his face, your hand traveling to the nape of his neck where you rested your hand there for but a moment before pulling him against your lips again, reciprocating the kiss that he had given you less than a minute ago.

Simon melted into your touch as he held you and kissed you, hundreds of bottled up feelings smashing into you like the dam that held it all in broke. After a few moments he pulled back, staring into your eyes. No words needed to be said, and this time he got comfortable beside you with his face pressed to the crook of your neck, his mask was still up over his nose, which was good enough for you.

His arms around your waist, his face against your neck and the feeling of his hot breath against your skin, combined with the food you had ate had started to make you sleepy. And within moments you had drifted off with Simon following suit.

Cuddle Buddies indeed.

[wwereaderinserts]

Hi there- sending in a request! (thanks for answering my DM questions so I could make sure this was okay btw!)

Could I have something with Gunther and an AFAB!reader? I have this plot idea where they've known (or at least have known of) each other since before they were signed to WWE, but they never really spoke to one another before, but then reader gets signed to the main roster from NXT during the most recent draft and they slowly start to interact with each other more, until one day the romantic and sexual tension between them just reaches a boiling point and it goes into smut territory? Thank you so much! ❤️

You're very welcome, I appreciated you making sure and asking things beforehand too!! I know I've already said it like twice but I really do hope I've done this justice for you❤️

Title: Boiling Point Pairing: Gunther x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 2,024 Warnings: Smut, swears

You’ve not long made it back to your dressing room after your victory earlier tonight when a polite knock on the door postpones your post-match shower. You hesitate for a moment, your brain working overtime while you try to figure out who your visitor could possibly be.

I don’t see it being one of the other girls, you think to yourself, I’ve already seen them when I made it backsta-...oh.

You interrupt your own thought process while you’re in the midst of swinging your dressing room door open, realisation dawning on you a mere split second before you come face to face with the only other person you suspect will be standing right there with a friendly smile on his face to greet you.

Gunther.

When it fully registers that he’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you to say something, you’re quick enough to replace your look of fleeting surprise at his appearance with a soft smile. You try very best to play things cool with him exactly like you have been over the course of the past few months, but you know your attempt is falling flat on its face.

Though you’ve known of each other for a few years through other promotions and circuits, you’ve never actually gotten the chance to speak to each other properly until you both found your way to WWE. Ever since your very recent main roster callup, you’ve had more and more of a reason to speak to him in passing, and you two had clicked and grown acquainted rather quickly, much to both your respective surprises.

But as days, weeks, and months have gone by as you two have spoken to and gotten to know each other more, the tension in the air when you two are around each other has been palpable. The chemistry is undeniable, and you personally don’t think you can hide the fact that there’s definitely something brewing between you both, even if neither of you have made that leap for anything more than friendship quite yet.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Gunther drags you out of your own thoughts, and you quickly shake your head and wave a dismissive hand at the very notion. In truth, you were just about to take a shower, but since he’s turned up with intent of clearly catching you privately, you’re willing to grant him the time of day.

“No, no! Not at all,” you reassure, lingering in the doorway, “Uh…is everything okay? I wasn’t expecting you to stop by is all-”

You pull yourself away from your doorway and make the decision to stand to one side, allowing him the space to step in if he wishes to. When he notices you’re silently giving him permission, Gunther steps in and nudges the door shut behind him before he turns to face you.

“Everything is fine. I wanted to speak with you about something, that’s all.” he looks you in the eye, “About us, actually. I think you already have some kind of idea on what that means, no?”

Gunther shoots you an expectant look, and you shift under his gaze. You feel a flush begin creeping its way up your neck at the implication. You’re almost certain you know exactly what he’s hinting at, but you’re reluctant to jump the gun in case you have it all wrong. Instead, you feign innocence, crossing your arms and softly shaking your head.

“No, I…I have no idea what you mean, actually-”

“Oh, I think you do. And it’s been building up for months now, hasn’t it? All that tension, the pent-up energy.” he interrupts you, chuckling softly before leaning in closer to you, “I think it’s about time we did something about it, don’t you?”

You swallow thickly at his words, your eyes meeting his while he stands before you. He doesn’t move another inch, studying you to gauge whether you’ll take the initiative and make the first move.

When you show no signs of retreating, Gunther takes it upon himself to make the move, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Passion begins to bleed through in the kiss, your mouths crashing together in a fusion of lust and unspoken desire which now ultimately comes to a head.

“Think it goes without saying,” you pull back from the kiss for a moment, breathless, “I agree, it’s about damn time-”

Gunther responds with another searing kiss, backing you into the surface of your dressing room door with a soft thud. You grope at each other’s bodies in what borders on desperation, your fingers tugging up the hem of his shirt while he toys with your gear as he determines exactly how to get you out of it.

Withdrawing for only a moment to tug his shirt over his head, Gunther delves back in once you’ve roughly unlaced the top half of your gear and slipped right out of it to save him the grief of figuring it out, as well as speeding things along a bit.

“Eager, are we?”

Gunther taunts you with a smirk, and you mirror his expression while playfully rolling your eyes at him. With newfound confidence, you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and tug him towards you, and you don’t miss the fleeting flicker of surprise replacing his smirk for a split second.

“Oh, very,” you concur, slipping a hand between you both to palm his hardening cock through his jeans, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

You lower your voice to a purr, a triumphant grin on your face when you earn a soft grunt from him over the gesture. Gunther shakes his head and pulls his lower lip between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact as your movements grow firmer.

“Didn’t think so.”

You take that as your answer, but you leave him hanging after a moment while you slip away from your place between him and your dressing room door to pace your way over to the couch in the corner of the dressing room instead.

Gunther’s eyes snap open when you put everything on pause and leave him standing there, and he whirls around to face you. He’s about to call you a tease, but he stops himself when he sees you perched on the arm of the couch, unlacing your boots as fast as your deft fingers will allow you to. You manage to loosen one boot up enough to forcefully pull it off, and before you can take on the task of removing the other yourself, you gain a pair of eager, helping hands.

“Here,” Gunther kneels down before you and aids you in unlacing your boot, “I don’t think I can wait much longer to have you.”

Hungry eyes flick upwards to meet yours, and what feels like within mere seconds, he’s loosened it off enough to pull it down and haphazardly toss it to one side. He nudges you onto the seat of the couch, hands resting on the back of the couch to box you in while he dives back in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss.

You groan softly into the kiss, sinking back into the couch cushions while you part your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist to draw him in closer. Gunther takes the hint, shuffling closer and sinking his knees into the edge of the couch as he brings himself closer to you, and he grinds into you, the layers of clothing being the only thing separating you both from what you truly desire.

“Fuck, just do it already,” you breathe out, untangling your legs from around his waist to shift your hips upward, “Put us both out of our misery.”

You fight to tug your shorts and underwear down, flicking them off to one side when they reach your ankles to leave yourself bare, exposing your slick folds to him in an offer he most definitely won’t be refusing.

Gunther stands back up to his full height while he fumbles with his belt, yanking the leather through his belt loops before he unfastens his jeans and lets them drop down to his ankles with a clunk. His boxers follow suit a few seconds later, slipping down his thighs and freeing his cock, now standing at full attention.

Not wasting another second, Gunther closes the distance between you both, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, intentionally catching your clit once or twice in the process while you bend your legs and raise your thighs up to meet your shoulders.

You gasp, quickly being muffled by him slamming his lips against yours when he slowly slips his way inside you with a low groan. He barely gives you time to adjust to the size of him before he snaps his hips forward, burying himself hilt-deep inside you and eliciting a soft moan out of you.

“What, like that?”

Gunther chuckles lowly, already knowing the answer. You’re boxed in beneath him, practically folded in half as he sets a punishing rhythm, your nails sinking into his shoulders and your pleas for more from him only aiding in spurring him on further.

He angles his hips slightly, and it’s just enough to repeatedly hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars and has your toes curling. You involuntarily clench around him, your walls fluttering around his girth as your moans increase in pitch and frequency as a result of the now brutal pace he’s set.

“Just like that, holy shit-”

You whine, and Gunther leans forward to steal your lips in a bruising kiss, greedily swallowing every moan and whimper of yours that follows. His tongue invades your mouth, dancing dominantly with yours as he continues to slam into you without abandon.

Gunther grunts with exertion, feeling himself beginning to gradually lose control. His thrusts become erratic, his movement jerky as he chases his high. When you purposefully clench around him this time, you draw a moan out of him that makes your stomach flip.

“You look so beautiful like this…under me,” he pants, his forehead pressed against yours, “Taking me so well, you feel incredible…better than I could’ve imagined, shit…”

The praise earns a whimper from you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy when you slip a hand between you both to rub small, swift circles on your clit in a desperate attempt to send yourself over the edge.

Gunther increases his speed, his hips now relentlessly snapping forward as he chases release. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and spills himself deep within you without so much as a pre-warning, his moans of ecstasy muffled when he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you cry out, your ministrations increasing, “So close, fuck-”

You cut yourself off with a sharp whine, your walls fluttering and convulsing around his cock, squeezing him deliciously as you finally hit your peak. Your legs quiver and you screw your eyes shut while you ride out your orgasm, your jaw hanging slack as pleasure completely overwhelms you.

Gunther collapses atop you, careful not to rest too heavily against you. His chest heaves, and he remains still inside you while he peppers your jawline with kisses before his lips find yours once more.

“That…that was…” he pauses if only to find the best words to describe your encounter before he settles on, “Like nothing else I’ve ever felt.”

You chuckle breathlessly with a nod, quietly groaning at the feeling of being empty when he finally pulls out of you. Eventually, he rolls off to the side, sitting beside you on the sofa to separate you both and allow you the space to stretch your still-quivering legs out.

“Mhm, you could say that again,” you agree with him, turning your head to the side to shoot him a knowing glance as the pair of you are savouring the blissful afterglow, “And something’s telling me it won’t be the first and last time this happens, either...”

[cvupidwrites]

Emalee we need a fic like your recent innie one (I loved it btw 10/10) but y/n taking care of Hyunjin I’m begging it’d be so cute. Maybe when he has the stomach flu too and doesn’t wanna bother y/n cus she’s busy but she catches on and helps him?? 💓💓

omg yes this is such a cute idea 🥹! also thank you for the positive feedback, it means so much to me! if you have any more fic requests fill free to send them to me!

let me know..

sick!hyunjin x reader, implied relationship, pet names like baby, my boy, darling, lovely, MENTION OF VOMITING, CRYING, DEHYDRATION, & BULLYING/HATE

i placed my bag on the back of hyunjins chair and booted up my computer at the desk in his room. waiting for hyunjin would definitely take a while, so i decided to start a university essay iv been procrastinating on. as i sighed and started typing up a draft to base it off, hyunjin walked into the room.. 2 hours earlier than usual.

“well you’re quite early today.” i said softly as i stood up from my seat. “yeah- minho said we did good today so.. we uh, got done early, are you doing a essay?” he looked over my head at my open computer and empty doc. “i was going to start it while i waited for you but since you’re home early..it can wait another day.” he shook his head at me and looked at the bathroom, avoiding the eye contact i tried to make with him. i noticed his body tense up a little and he looked at me for about .1 of a second.

“im going to go shower, go work on your essay, okay? don’t wanna get behind do you, darling?” i shook my head as he turned to me again and gave me a smile. as he walked into the bathroom, i couldn’t help but notice him clutch his stomach just a tiny bit. i guessed that he might’ve been sore from dance practice so i shrugged it off. i sat back down at the chair and pulled my legs up to my chest as i stared at the wall, trying to think of how to start it. i heard the shower head squeak on and water started to poor.

i couldnt think, the only one thing that filled my head was the way hyunjin acted. was he getting hate from social media again? or maybe he was just tired. i turned my focus to the empty doc and watched the small line blink, then fade away. laying on my head on the keyboard out of defeat of my writers block, the keys pressed under the pressure and the letters and symbols appeared on the screen. I turned my head to the side to see a framed photo of me and hyunjin backstage during their maniac tour. He was holding his phone out as he kissed his cheek, eyes closed gently, as i winked, held his cheeks and looked at the camera.

a smile appeared at the sight of the familiar picture. i picked it up to look at it closer, han and minho were making faces at us in the background. then a lightbulb went off in my head. i knew what i was going to write about! i placed the picture back in its place and backspaced all the letters and symbols that had been accidentally pressed into the doc.

i started typing and typed faster than i thought i could. i was so emerged into the essay, i didn’t even notice Hyunjin walk out of the bathroom, change into sweats and a white tee, and crawl into bed. well, that was until about 2 to 3 hours later, my computer was 10% to dying. i sighed and saves the doc before closing the computer and plugging it in. i turned to see hyunjins sleeping figure, his legs bent at his knees and his hands rested under his cheek.

i was slightly confused but he looked so peaceful. he never fell asleep before me, he always made sure i went to sleep before him. i came to a conclusion that today was just hard for him, and he was really tired. I changed into some shorts and a baggy tee i stole from his a few days ago. it was one of his shirts that had been smothered in paint. i thought it looked beautiful, even it was just some splattered colored on a basic light grey tee. it was so beautiful to me, because of the fact that it was made by my boy, my hyunjin.

i slipped into the bed next to him, throwing my arms around his middle. he shivered in his sleep despite feeling hotter than usual. i looked at his face as it scrunched up in slight discomfort. i brought my hand up to his face to brush some hair out of his face, brushing his cheek and forehead in the process. both felt unusually hot. i frowned, thinking possibly hes sick.. but he would’ve told me? he always does. i sighed closing my eyes to fall asleep with him, id make sure to take care of him in the morning.

i woke up to feel hyunjin getting out of bed beside me. “jinnie?” i mumbled, seeing his figure turn in the dark. “im just going to the bathroom..” i sighed and pick up my phone from the bedside table. it was 2:42 am. “just go back to sleep, okay lovely? I’ll be back in a few minutes..” i sighed and laid back in the bed. as he went into the bathroom, i heard him cough a few times and then i thought i heard him.. vomit? “jinnie?”

i opened the door to see him sitting on the floor, hunched over the toilet. i didn’t say another word, i just walked up behind him and held his slightly long, black hair away from his face. the lingering feeling of his skin felt like fire against my fingertips. as i held his hair with one hand, i held his hand gently with the others. “im sorry” he coughed out. he got finished throwing up and laid his head against my chest. i felt a droplet fall onto my leg. i held his head in my hands to look him in the eyes

“why are you crying baby?” i asked as i brushed a tear off his cheek with my thumb. “im sorry i didnt tell you.. im sorry you have to take care of me. i-i know you have an essay to do and- i-“ i kissed his forehead and held him close to my chest again. “don’t apologize.. the essay can wait, ill take care of everythin. of you, my university work, everything.. but you’re my first priority, okay?” i hugged his shoulders as he nodded and sniffed softly. “why didn’t you tell me you were sick my boy?” “you looked so concentrated on your essay.. i didn’t want to make you loose your train of thought.”

i laughed softly. “you we’re my train of thought, i was writing an essay about the cons of being in love with someone.” “you wrote about me?” he whispered as he met his eyes with mine. “yes.. and id do it a thousand times more, i love you hyunjin.. let me take care of you?” “okay..i love you too yn.” i kissed the crown of his head a few times before laughing. “let’s get you into bed, yeah? ill get you some medicine and water.. i know your dehydrated.”

we stood up together and i brought him to bed, tucked him in and set up a desk fan on his night stand. “have i ever told you have good you are to me?” he laughed and held my hand. “all the time..” i respond with a smile. “ill get you some medicine and water, then we can go back to sleep, okay?” “what about your classes tomorrow?” he frowned. “don’t worry, ill work online. ill even work in bed with you if you want.” i brushed his hair back into a ponytail. “and ill talk to minho and chan tomorrow, you won’t have to worry, okay?” “thank you lovely..” “of course.”

i left the room and grabbed him a ice cold water and some medicine. when I came back he smiled at me, taking the medicine, and downing most of the water. “will you stay with me all night?” he asked as he pulled me into bed with him. “however long you want.” he smiled again and held me in his arms. “goodnight, my lovely girl.” “goodnight, my hyunjinnie.”

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Task Force 141 Mostly Random and Domestic Head Cannons

Here are few questionable head cannons of the boys that nobody asked for that I came up with on a whim cuz I can't sleep.

💰 Captain Price 💰

Price can play saxophone and trumpet. More towards the saxophone. He has a collection of Kenny G album vinnyl disks that he'd play in his house.

He has a calico cat named Greg.

Collects watches as a hobby, from the antiques to the modern ones.

Supports Liverpool and sometimes would catch their matches on TV. Not a crazy fan like Ghost and Gaz though.

King of Poker. Nobody in the task force can beat him.

🇬🇧 Kyle "Gaz" Garrick 🇬🇧

That one British dude who likes coffee more than tea.

Fan of Arsenal. Actual Gooner who has posters and mugs with Arsenal logo printed on them.

Earlier of his teenage days, Gaz randomly wanted to learn beatbox. He got good at it and would often show it off to his friends. Over time, he lost interest in it and forgot about it. If you ask him to do some beatboxing he can still do it, but you gotta wait for it for the muscle memory to come back.

Arguably the most fashionable man in 141. When off-duty he'd show up with drip. His effortless swag goes along with any clothes.

🧼 Soap 🧼

Learned music theory and actually was a member of his high school vocal group and church choir, Soap has a beautiful barritone voice that can belt out "Why Do The Nations So Furiously Rage" by Handel and "My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose."

INVESTED in Eurovision. Would watch every country's song and critiques each one. Could go MAD about it.

Definitely the dude who sings in showers.

Fan of Take That. He dreamed of singing Million Love Songs to his one true love.

Idk why but I feel like Soap is that guy who can solve rubik's cube.

💀 Ghost 💀

Actual fan of Machester City. Would fight other clubs' fans if they're losing on TV and would 100% stomp on them.

Proficient bass guitar player. Can definitely slap.

Ghost can sew. In fact, he costumizes all his skeleton attributes himself. From numbers of masks to gloves, he made it all himself.

Watches Anime. He watches the classic shounen animes like Naruto, One Piece, and Dragon Ball. He likes the actions and the thrill of it.

CLEAN FREAK. Contrary to his rugged look and personality he always keep his belongings clean and neat.

🦵 Alex Echo 3-1 🦿

Another one of idk why but I feel like Alex's real name is Alexander Hamilton. His parents were either a historian or a musical enthusiast, no in between.

Watches NFL. Idolizes Tom Brady as the god-quarterback. In fact he ALMOST got drafted into NFL but got into the millitary instead.

Plays Tekken on a daily basis and unexpectedly mains Yoshimitsu for his eccentric design and moves.

Alex got a full-sleeve tattoo on both arms to cover the cigarette stick burns he got during his millitary days.

Skilled in playing the guitar. His fingerstyles are GODLY.

Alex sometimes sketch a few doodles on his journal.

🦗 Roach 🦗

Owns a grey Great Dane named Ms. Bella Donna, who's apparently oblivious of her size and a total lap dog. She'd leap at Roach when he gets home after deployment.

A fan of the Star Wars franchise. Major fan of Darth Vader and would quote him every chance he got. Collects figurines of Vader and Maul and even plays Star Wars : Battlefront.

True to his name, Roach isn't afraid of cockroaches, or any animal, really. Gary is the Task Force 141's #1 animal control man.

Roach can play the drum. He had a drum kit given to him by his parents as a kid and started doing them as a hobby.

-----

There it goes! This is the result of my domestic-HC-cravings which I decided to indulge myself. Feel free to add more LOL ◉‿◉

[ja-stuff]

Invalidating s/o's feelings/efforts

note: I should've posted this 2 days earlier but my stupid laptop broke down and the original draft vanished T_T ANDDD I hope you like this one too! slightly proofread~

word count: 3, 147

character: Haruchiyo Sanzu

tw: mentions of drugs, mention of the word killing, cursing, invalidating feelings, slight angst

genre: angst/fluff (comfort)

It’s been two weeks since you last saw your boyfriend, Haruchiyo Sanzu. The other week he went on an out-of-town business trip together with Bonten, and this week you were so busy dealing with your grumpy supervisor and all other stuff at work. This made it so hard for the both of you to spend some quality time together, calls were impossible due to different time zones, and lately, you haven’t been spending much time at home. The both of you weren’t even able to communicate nor greet each other properly, ‘cause when you’re around he is out, when you’re about to work he’s asleep, and when you’re home he comes in late. So today, as it’s your day off, you decided to surprise your man with a candlelight dinner and watch a movie to chill, cuddle, and feel both of your warm touches on the couch after the hectic weeks.

During the afternoon, you started cooking the foods Sanzu had always liked, though your boyfriend wasn’t known to be a big eater, he sure does eat a lot when the foods are prepared by you. With a one-track thought that Sanzu will finish whatever you put on his plate, you prepared everything from the appetizers, main course, and the desserts deliciously and beautifully plated with all the effort you’ve got. After the dishes, you arranged the dining room into a more romantic scene. Placing a maroon-colored cloth over the tabletop, a candlestick with a dark red candle, a vase with your favorite flower in it, two wine glasses, and utensils and plates laid out in a formal fine-dining setting.

Feeling proud of what you did, you messaged Sanzu about his whereabouts and you only got an answer of, ‘30 more minutes to drive, love.’ You grinned, knowing that he’s a half-hour away, and you’re done with all your preparations. To complete this surprise, you went to your closet looking for clothes to wear. After a few scans, you chose the one that Sanzu bought for you three months ago, his first gift for you after moving in together in your shared penthouse. You glammed up yourself for Sanzu tonight, looking at yourself in the mirror being so sure that your boyfriend will shower you with compliments as it is his acts of love, you’re excited to hear the honey-like words coming out of his mouth and the sweet kisses right after each compliment coming at you like flowing stream.

A few minutes later, the front door of the house clicked and Sanzu made his way in. You ran downstairs to surprise him, but you were welcomed by his cold presence. This made you a little nervous but you shrugged it off and smiled. “Hey, Haru.” you greeted him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, eyeing you from head to toe, his eyes looking at you without any visible interest. “Oh uhm… I just wanted to surprise you. Like a house dinner date? and maybe watch a movie before we sleep? I think it’s a good idea to spend some time together after two weeks of being busy?” you were feeling concerned and a little disappointed about how Sanzu’s been treating you right now.

“Y/n I don’t have time for this. I am tired,” he said, drifting his gaze away from you while he removed his shoes and placed his keys in the key box. “I don’t wanna deal with any of this now,” he said, as he walked past you from a different direction, not even glancing at the visible setup of the dinner table you’ve set in the dining room.

“but I spent time making this.” You whispered to yourself, voice with a hint of annoyance. “And you didn’t even compliment me with my clothes.”

Sanzu was one hell of a hound when it comes to sniffing and hearing, and that’s a fact. So hearing your little whine of annoyance because of his actions, he snapped. He doesn’t like it when people are not being completely direct with him about their issues with him. So hearing those words from you and the way you said those words indirectly towards him, made him so frustrated.

“Hey, Y/n.” he voiced out. So you looked in his direction, eyes full of hope expecting Sanzu to agree to eat dinner with you.

“I never asked any of this, okay? I never asked for a fucking house date or watch a fucking movie before sleeping. I never asked you to cook for fuck’s sake. And your clothes? They’re— I don’t know. I don’t really like it. It looks... unattractive.” his voice sounded so neutral, his eyes growing darker as if it would devour you. You were taken aback by his words, especially with his last word. You have never once thought that Sanzu would say that word to you, yet here he is breaking a little of your confidence that you both build up so hard to make you fully embrace your flaws in the way he accepted and embraced all of you.

“But I’d appreciate it if you’ll eat some love,—“ putting your feelings aside, you tried to make your way in convincing him to eat, but you only got cut off.

“I won’t eat your food! I won’t eat any of them!” he started to shout at you “But Haru, I spent hours making this! I did all of this for you!”

“Do you really think that it’s only for me? c’mon you just did this for yourself. ‘Cause you always wanted to be leading this relationship, controlling me with whatever you only wanted. I never wanted this stupid date tonight. You’re deciding what you only wanted to do around me, what about what I wanted?” you were hurt by what he’s saying. You both know that it’s not true. This relationship isn’t controlled by either of you. You always asked him for permission first, and surprises like this weren’t resulting in you guys fighting. In the first place, Sanzu was very much more into doing surprises than you, aside from compliments, surprising you is his second act of love, and you’re just reciprocating the fun of experiencing surprises to him. You least expected that this would be his reaction to your first ever surprise for him, this is a terrible experience for you and you swore to yourself, you’ll not do this again.

“I don’t even want them. Just— I need space! fuck this!” he moved away when he realized he was too close to you. “I won’t eat it, okay? Eat by yourself, and do whatever you want with the leftovers, either you throw them or feed them to stray cats. I don’t care. Just give me space.” Then he walked away, going up the stairs to your bedroom.

“fine. You know, I’d always get it if you had just told me beforehand you were having a bad day. Guess I was just a nuisance to your high, Sanzu.” you say, volume enough for him to hear you clearly. He stopped for a second before scoffing and slamming the bedroom door.

You knew something was off by how he’s acting up. This little suspicion was confirmed when he walked past, smelling a substance that he promised he won’t be using anymore, but old habits die hard and that promises are meant to be broken. ‘I guess he still couldn’t keep his hands off ‘it’ away.’ you thought.

You’re well aware of the cons of dating a gangster, to put more thrill on that cons of being in the ‘momma I'm in love with a criminal’ type of relationship, your boyfriend’s a no joke as the second of Bonten and a dr*gl*rd at it. You were asked by most of your friends and even your parents about this, since dealing with someone who was under the influence of drugs, especially with one dealing with his withdrawal from it could be a little hard. Like right now, where he has purposely or accidentally consumed one substance that resulted in his nasty treatment of you will test your tolerance and wits in handling the situation. Still, the whole scene made you feel bad that he had broken one promise out of the three he made from you but you chose to stay calm and composed yourself trying to formulate questions to ask Sanzu when he’s not high anymore.

You walked to the kitchen and ate the meals you prepared, alone. Packing up the leftovers carefully in Tupperware and had it hidden in the refrigerator from the pantry. It’s not like you’re trying to hide foods from your boyfriend, it's just you don’t want to rile him up when he sees the ‘unwanted foods’ in the fridge. You wanted to avoid clashing with him, so you prepared the couch as your sleeping pod by using the couch blankets and throw pillows as your company for the night. After finding the most comfortable position to lay, you played a movie of your choice and drifted off to sleep in the first ten minutes of the movie.

—

“Fuck… I’m so hungry…” with a sleepy voice, Sanzu woke and felt his head spinning. “ugh… fucking headache.” he whispered, avoiding to startle ‘you’ who he thought was in bed with him.

“Love, do we still have some Advil?—“ he asked, patting your side of the bed, yet there was nothing. “Y/n” he called, sitting up while he rubbed his eyes. “babe are you in the bathroom?” he continued, but when he was left with no response, he stood up and walked to the bathroom, finding it empty, without you and even the Advil from the medicine box.

“Ugh, maybe they’re downstairs…”

Sanzu made his way downstairs, and the first thing that welcomed him was the sounds from the movie and you who’s sleeping peacefully on the couch. Sanzu smiled at your sleeping form wearing the clothes he knew he bought for you on the first day you lived together. He fished his phone out and took one… two… three and more photos of you sleeping at different angles, before turning the t.v. off and placing the blanket on you nicely.

“I’ll just wake you up after I eat.” Then he left after he kissed your forehead.

Stopping in front of the fridge, he opened it and first grabbed some water. He scanned for any ‘to-be-heated’ food placed in Tupperware yet he found none. He scanned the other fridge beside it but still none. This made him a little confused, he walked back to the living room and lightly shook you asking, “Love, you didn’t cook tonight? You should have told me, I could have gotten us take-outs. Did you eat?” his voice was so quiet yet it woke you up, “Should I order take out?” he asked, but your attitude to let out a scoff with his words, confused him even more.

“I already ate.” you simply answered, sitting up and gathering all the throw pillows to move to the other couch. “You did? Well, where’s mine? I’m so hungry, love.” he said with a little pout on his face. You tried your best not to give in with his little childish act right now. Sanzu’s always been good to touch those guilt in your heart, but this time you decided to push those guilt away. You’ve done nothing wrong, and you’re still upset with everything that had happened earlier.

“I threw it away. You said you don’t want any of it right? So I took your suggestion of throwing it away to the heart.” you said, laying on the couch again, turning your back from him. “W–what? You threw the food away?” he asked, questioning your action. “Yeah, luckily the stray cats appreciated all of it.” you said, emphasizing the words ‘appreciated’

“But–”

“I am tired, Sanzu. I don’t want to make food for you. Order something or walk to the nearest convenience store out there. I’m sleeping. Hope you come down from your high soon.” you said, dismissing him immediately knowing the fact that the tone of his voice would want to make a request from you.

“Y/n… I– what?” he called but you ignored him.

Silence enveloped the room, leaving Sanzu dazed with your words and actions, he couldn’t get the hang of it, ‘did I do something?’ he asked himself and racked his head more with a few questions, then a wave of headaches hit him, giving him the answer that he was looking for. The flashbacks from earlier came into his mind, remembering the exact words he told you and how he dismissed you earlier, how he heard that you knew he had drugs– rather he got drugged at work.

“Fucking shit… babe! I swear I didn’t take any! I was not– no I was. Shit. Y/n? Are you awake?” he rushed to you and tapped your shoulder lightly, but you just shrugged it away. “Please baby, I’m sorry.” he said, his voice full of concern while his touch remained soft, “Please let me explain… I’m sorry.” his voice was shaking a little. “Y/n? Please?” you felt his head rest on your shoulder feeling his deep breaths against your neck.

The resolve you had earlier for not giving in so easily broke down, as much as you hated broken promises, you hate seeing Sanzu break himself for the things he does regret doing, ‘An explanation you say? Fine, I’ll hear it.’ you thought to yourself.

“Okay. Explain.” you sat up and patted the seat next to you, but Sanzu refused. He knelt before you holding both of your hands in his while he looked at you straight in the eyes with hurt and sorry.

“I– I didn’t take it…” he started, “I was with Ran and Rindou when it happened. You can ask them about it. You know, your cousins won't lie to you.” he looked at you with tears forming in his eyes. “We were asked by Mikey to deal with the small gang messing up with Bonten’s name. We hunted them down and found the warehouse where they had been staying. Not only was it their turf but it was also a factory where different substances are used. I hope y–you know that I am trying… I– I tried my best to withdraw because of you. I don’t know if you’ll b–believe me or not, but I fought a guy who threw some powder in my direction.” The tears from his eyes fell in sync, as his breathing started to get heavy. You know he’s trying his best to keep calm in this situation, as Sanzu knew that you were the type of person who disliked people who break promises.

“I swear… I didn’t take it. I was so mad that I—I went and killed… Y/n… I’m scared. Please don’t leave me. Give me a chance to change. I swear I won’t do it again. I did not take it. Believe me, a–accident Y/n… It was an accident…” your boyfriend’s now crying, looking sad and scared. “Believe in me Y/n, I’ll do better–”

“Haru, my love, You’re already doing great, and I believe you.” you cupped his cheek wiped his tears with your thumbs, and kissed his nose. “I believe in you, so you don’t have to be scared that I’d leave you because of that,” you assured him.

“But I broke one of my promises.” he looked at you with his glassy eyes,

“No, you didn’t. You said it, love, it was an accident.” you smiled at him, he looked down feeling guilty by remembering about the fight earlier.

“But you don’t deserve to be treated like that before.” he quietly said, his thumbs circling on the back of your hands.

“I understand that it was the effects of the substance. I know that you never meant anything about anything you said.”

“True! That’s true! I don’t mean any of it, believe me, Y/n.” you nodded, “I know and I know that when you’re sober you won’t say that even over our petty little arguments. I know you better now Haru. I just wanted time for myself earlier to sort things out, ‘cause even if we know you didn’t mean it, it still hurts being called unattractive when I am wearing the clothes you chose yourself, it made me self-doubt a little.” you said, “What did I tell you before? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in this life, Y/n. You’re even prettier than the moon!” this time Sanzu stood up and showed you his phone. “You’re so breathtaking that I could just die looking at your face!” you chuckled with how funny you think his exaggerations are. You know how Sanzu was before, hearing stories from your cousins about how he is cold, quiet, scary, ruthless, etc., but all of those impressions about him were nothing when you started going out with him. Sanzu's more like a puppy than a boyfriend, and that’s a fact you can only see.

“You’re so attractive! Look I even got it from different angles, and you even changed positions as if you knew you were being captured!” you chuckled about how he sounded like a bragging kid, with a tear-stained face, and glassy eyes that twinkled as if he didn’t cry earlier.

“Did you seriously take this?! Hun, this is too much!” you laughed, holding his phone and swiping the screens, even zooming in some funny ones where your mouth was open, and one where Sanzu took a selfie with your sleeping form.

“You’re so goofy in here, love!” you said, as you zoomed in his cross-eyed face with his tongue out, and a peace sign.

As you looked at his photo with so much love in your eyes, Sanzu felt a little better. Though he still blamed himself for the events before, he was sure that when you said you believed him, you really do. “Don’t leave me y/n,” he whispered, making you stare at the phone. You couldn’t explain how sincere and longing that voice was, but you knew that Sanzu’s really scared about the thought that you can easily walk away from him when you want to. “I love you.” with the same level of sincereness, he rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“And I appreciate every single thing you’ve done for me.” he pulled away and held your chin to make you look at him to kiss you. “Thank you, my angel.”

You felt Sanzu’s lips on yours trembling a little and feeling the shakiness of his breath. “I love you too, Haru.” cupping his face with your little hands as your thumbs caressed the scars on his mouth, you kissed him longer this time.

"I promise, I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

"As you should."

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

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[miekasa]

right where you want me (eren yeager)

↯ pairings: eren yeager x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: more modern au, fluff, eren is a baby but i think we all knew that

↯ word count: 1.2k

↯ notes: i saw @eremiie​’s post which reminded me of a draft i had, which resulted in editing this for eren. pls enjoy one thousand words of me, once again, pushing my quality time is eren’s love language agenda. 

“And then Jean said that he didn’t have aim assist on, but I swear he’s a fucken liar,” Eren rambles, completely in a world of his own as you rub sudsy circles into your face.

He’s been following you around since you came home from school, chattering about anything and everything that happened to him during his day off. It’s not an unusual occurrence; whether he knows it or not, Eren has a habit of hovering around you when he sees you for the first time in a while. Particularly when you’ve been out all day, and he’s been home (see: freeloading in your apartment) waiting for you to return. 

He’ll babble and follow you as you settle into your night routine like a puppy. A very loyal, very tall, very overgrown puppy. It usually carries on until you’re ready to shower, but today Eren seems to feel extra clingy; having followed you all the way to the bathroom, where he currently sits on top of the closed toilet seat, telling you about Jean and Connie and the details of their match earlier while you wash your face. 

You don’t even think Eren notices that you’re taking longer than usual; or, that, subsequently, he’s been talking for longer than usual. You know how much he hates to be home alone or bored, but you didn’t know that the result of a few hours of limited contact would be this. 

It’s cute. But you’re curious to see how far he’ll go; or, rather, how long he’ll stay. You think he might stalk you into the shower if given the opportunity. So, with a knowing smile, you pat your face dry, and decide to test your theory. 

“—Then, of course, Connie’s dumbass died. Armin was able to revive him, but he couldn’t play long after that, because he had to go to his lab.”

You hum, pulling the curtain back and twisting the knob to turn on the shower and adjusting the water to your preference, “Right, but I thought you said Armin wasn’t that good at this game.”

Eren huffs, bending his legs to sit criss-cross on top of the toilet now. You have to refrain from chuckling when you take a look at him—completely unaware of his size in comparison to the small porcelain underneath him. He looks like a child. You would take a picture of him if you had your phone with you. 

“He’s not,” Eren sighs, “But he’s more fun to play with than Jean, because at least Armin’s not a cheater.”

“But if the game comes with an aim assist option, is it really cheating?”

“Obviously, babe,” Eren gesticulates, hands flailing around him, “Everybody knows that you’re not as good as you say you are if you have to use the assist—it’s like, like… like people who say parallel parking is easy just because their car has one of those automatic sensor thingies.”

Ah, right.

You nod, pulling back when the water has finally heated up, now in search of your shower cap. “Of course, love,” you sympathize, reaching for the plastic, “Well, I’m going to shower now.”

Eren blinks, eyes wide like a baby. “Oh—now?”

“Well, we are in the bathroom. And I’m in a towel, and I did just come back from a long day at school, so, yes, now.”

Eren chuckles lightly, a faint pink dusting over the tips of his ears as he watches you unravel your towel and step into the shower. But that’s probably because of the steam—you like your showers really hot; definitely not because he saw you naked for a flash of a second.

“Oh—uh, yeah, okay,” Eren stutters, snapping himself out of his own thoughts, he stands up, stepping to the sink, “I think I’ll wash my face, too, first. Before I go.”

You hum in reply as you seemingly go on about your shower; when you simply stand under the water, keeping an ear out for Eren’s movements and words.

He suddenly takes great infatuation and care with washing his face—a whole ninety seconds if you’ve counted correctly—which, granted, is what he’s supposed to do, but you know damn well is not his regular routine. You think he might even brush his teeth, too, for the hell of it, and the familiar smell of one of your facial sprays begins to permeate the room.

He blurts out random thoughts in between—asking you briefly about your assignment, before going on to ramble about his least favorite professor; he tells you what he ate today, asks you what you had for lunch; he even asks you which body wash you’re currently using.

(The answer is none—you’re just barely holding it together trying not to laugh).

It’s almost fifteen minutes later, you think, when Eren starts whistling; clearly run out of things to say or do, but still hesitant to ask the one thing lingering on his mind.

“Are you still there, Eren?” you call wittingly. You can see Eren’s blurry figure through the shower curtain, an excited nod coming from his silhouette.

“Yup,” he chirps, hand reaching to scratch at the back of his head. You bite your lip—his hair probably needs to be washed. “I, uh… I’ll go now, though, I guess… wait for you to come out… maybe I’ll order food or something in the meantime. Do you want pizza? I think pizza would be good—oh, where should I order from? That place Mikasa recommended was really good last time—”  

It takes everything in you to not physically laugh out loud. God, he’s cute.

You pull the curtain back, just with your head peeping out to find Eren with one hand on the door, the other on the light—which you’re certain he would have accidentally tuned off had you not caught him—still lingering.

“Eren?”

He blinks. “Yeah, baby, what’s up?”

“Do you want to shower with me?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Eren’s eyes light up as bright or as quickly as they did in that moment. His head shakes with an overly enthusiastic nod, and is already clumsy in pulling off his clothes. He almost trips getting his sweatpants off, but you don’t think he’s ever gotten undressed that quickly—not even when you told him you would let him fuck your face.

Though, he was pretty damn quick to undress that time.

He finishes stripping with a complete lack of grace and coordination; a stupid, wide, boyish grin covers both his cheeks on his face when he finally steps into the shower behind you. He leans forward to dip his hair under the shower when you turn around to face him, resulting in droplets falling onto your forehead; you scrunch your nose, but Eren laughs, holding you face in his hands and craning his neck to peck your nose.

“Hi, baby,” he grins, his mop of hair now sticking to his face and neck from the water, “I forgot to ask—how did your assignment go?”

“You already asked me that, dummy. Twice, in fact,” you find yourself copying his smile, “You know, if you wanted to join me, all you do was ask.”

Eren squishes your cheeks between his palms and presses a kiss to your lips, “Well, I can’t make all the first moves, now can I?”

[sleeping-lilies]

robin era jason, dick, and babs headcanons because there’s too much comedic potential to ignore

- dick and babs were the ultimate gossip buddies. whenever dick was with the titans for long periods of time, babs always filled him in on everything

babs: dick you’ll never believe what hal said to bruce last night, i even have videos. dick, the look on his face please—

dick, immediately locking doors so his teammates don’t hear the mad shit about to be dropped on main: tell me everything

- vice versa too, dick filled babs in on everything going on with the titans and all they can say is thank god those lines are bat secured with no villains being able to listen in, imagine deathstroke hearing through bat gossip that joey’s dating who?!?! 😳

- batkids have been and always will be the holder of superhero gossip. it’s a business, you see, but we’re getting off topic 😡

- lmfao anyways this is literally how dick finds out about jason

babs: anyways, jason—

dick: who the fuck is jason

babs: ....

dick: barbara?!?!

babs: ok promise you won’t freak out

- babs and dick’s first reaction upon meeting jason being “why is he so small i wasnt that small” “dick you were literally nine when you were robin—“ “he’s tiny” it’s like those two share the same braincell

- i’m making it so that dick gave jason his number earlier because i feel like it 😡😡😡 (not that it changes much other than the fact that i want more gossip dropped in dm’s)

- when dick gave jason his number, he went to babs like “give me jason’s number” “didn’t you literally just give him your’s?” “ya but i’m gonna make sure he texts me” “ya ok that’s fair”

- whenever jason didn’t want to be in the manor (fight with bruce, boredom, etc) he went to wherever the fuck babs lived and they would facetime dick and talk mad shit. it was a thing.

- despite them all being able to drive, babs was the only one during this time with an actual, legitimate, legal license (jason was too young to have a license and dick is too lazy/busy/whatever-excuse-he-wants-to-use to take the permit and driving test) so babs drove them around everywhere and it was a mess™ consisting of a bunch of backseat drivers

- “dick omg look at this video i found from the batcave” “omg he said robin gives him magic” “robin gives him magic” they both cry about it for years to come

- babs sometimes kidnapped jason after school after telling the head of wayne manor (alfred) and took him to get ice cream, then to the library while she worked. jason was the greatest kid in the library, he even had his own throne special chair just for him whenever he came provided by library staff who adored this absolute angel.

- jason 🤝 babs 🤝 dick -> i believe in annoying yet endearing nicknames supremacy

- nicknames include (some used by some more than others or just one, or by both equally because they’re annoying pick and choose my good people)

little wing (iconic, we all know this one fellas and who uses it)

red (used for babs, absolutely fantastic, but in the future it gets confusing because some people with their goddamn hero names 😡)

boy wonder (classic, babs calls them both that)

barbie (for babs, jason uses this one and he’s the only one able to get away with it)

dickie (jason just really gets away with everything huh)

dickhead (jason’s lucky he’s cute)

baba black sheep (jeez i’m on a roll with babs’ nicknames she’s so nickname-able and that’s very cool and sexy of her)

jay z

jay allen

jay jay jay (shut up, dickhead—)

big bird

and a bunch more i’m too tired to look for them in canon or make new ones up, but you get the idea

- dick can totally bake, and babs and jason keep bugging him when he’s baking and add more chocolate chips while pretending to not notice that he can see them 😡😡😡

- headcanon that jason had hero worship for babs and dick because they’re so cool in and out of costume and it never really went away when he got older listen his older brother and pseudo sister are so cool and that’s not his fault but he’ll never admit it

- barbie movie marathons because barbie is an iconic legend and they all recognize it. they have the fucking “she’s the queen of the WA-A-A-AVES” song memorized along with all other barbie movie songs, they sing it on patrol.

- dick and jason’s sibling dynamic was and is basically “ur a little shit and i hate you but i will literally kill for you”

- dick had tension with bruce while jason was just a little shit who would totally cause drama for the sake of it, and people never take advantage of this absolute power duo for destroying bruce

- dick sending cryptid texts to jason through a burner phone because he’s dramatic jason totally knew it was him about things that drive bruce mad, like leaving the shower turned to the coldest setting before bruce got there, leaving the lights in the batcave on, etc. jason, a wise little child, totally took advantage of this. bruce came to accept his fate

- the gc names, guys the group chat names

- jason crashing into titans tower whenever he wants and dick doesn’t bat (hAH) an eye, occasionally he very sweetly asks babs to come with him and she agrees but only sometimes because some people have jobs, jason—wait dick is being flirted with by who?!?! i’ll leave it up to your imagination ;) and they totally crashed titans missions too

- one time bruce was busy with the league while alfred was on vacation and bruce absolutely could not dip (i’m imagining bruce getting a call from the headmaster during an honest to god fight and bruce just picking up while punching the daylights out of some asshole) (“mr wayne, what is that noise in the background?” “sorry, headmaster, the cat is having a seizure”), so when jason got into a “fight” (read: some jackass picking on jason before he snapped and yelled at him and the bitchass kid tried to punch him and jason’s no quitter) bruce called dick who was an adult and legally family (yes dick is adopted sometime after jason was, stay mad) like “son... son please” and dick was like “oh no need to plead with me, this is too good” but of course this bitchass doesn’t have an actual lisence yet and he was hanging out with babs anyways so he and babs rolled up to gotham academy and the kids stared at them like “holy shit they’re so cool” ya dick and babs are those power couple, whether romantic or not, that turn heads, they’re just that powerful strolled into the office, bailed jason out while intimidating the headmaster because the altercation was the result of school staff negligence of actual bullying like those cliche tropes, said “ayyy you got that brat good” and get him chili dogs or whatever the fandom made robin jason’s favorite food. omg i just made an entire fanfic in rough draft form someone please steal it and write it in full form and send me the link

- jason is very very tiny, you see. babs and dick pick him up and move him for any reason, whether because they want to sit on that chair or to just throw him out of harm’s way and take the bullet for themselves.

- jason and dick both get adorable blushes on their faces it’s genetic yes that’s how genetics work shut up meanwhile babs’ ears turn red when she’s embarrassed and all three of them clown each other for it

- i yelled about this to my mutual (cough cough @littlespaceboii) who also added to this absolute dogshit headcanon and then in the discord full of mutuals, but the basement of wayne manor is haunted. dick found it when he was a little gremlin (i stand by that dick was the original demon child) (“you see damian, before there was you there was me” the real reason he was good with damian lmfao) and was like “omg this is so cool” @littlespaceboii came up with that it was just alfred fucking with bruce and so when jason first came and dick was comfy around him he was like “so have you been in the basement” and jason was like “im literally robin i’ve been in the batcave?!?!” and dick goes “no the basement, the haunted one” and jason’s like “hAUNTED?!?!” cuz jason has at least some self preservations and knows not to fuck with the spookies until he too became a spooky and bruce was like “there’s no ghost it’s not haunted” because he’s a skeptic and a party pooper and babs is like “no go on let him finish” even though she knows full well there are no ghosts or does she? and uhhhh basically they becomes ghostbusters 2.0 but cooler and funnier

- this trio is basically baby pan/bisexual jason and two resident expert pan/bisexuals solidarity but that’s literally canon. they go to pride every year that jason’s alive what who said that?

- they all tease each other for their crushes like all siblings/family friends do, i don’t need to say it but it’s important that’s emphasized for my well being

- yelled about this in the discord to the mutuals who added onto this absolute train wreck too, but jason used to play baseball during his robin days, and dick never showed up to those games with being busy as an excuse, but babs always showed up with bruce and alfred and took pictures for dick so dick could be like “mlb players are jobless now that little wing is on the scene” babs (and sometimes bruce) always shouted loudest for jason whether he was in the field or in the dugout and jason would get this extremely adorable blush on his face (jason finds out in the future why dick never showed up (cough cough ptsd from two face’s massive baseball bat which led to everything that came after including being fired and veangance academy and nearly killing two face and omg that’s a ride) and is like oh my god my childhood is even more ruined—)

- remember when i said dick got adopted after jason did in this new absolutely fabulous canon i just created? bruce did that because “ahhh fuck that’s my kid and i want him to know i love him through every means possible since i have the ability to do so” i believe in good dad bruce supremacy and made a whole thing where he invited dick to dinner for like a week to work up the courage and bonding to ask him and show him the adoption papers and then everyone cried :) bruce decided to finally adopt dick after jason referred to dick as his brother and bruce was like “...oh” and alfred was like 👀

- dick, as the first child hero and one of the first heroes period like at least a year or two before babs, holds the “back in my day” card over literally everyone in the hero community in general and pulls it out to annoy babs and jason even tho babs literally joined the scene only a year or two after dick

jason, shaking in his panties: it’s so fucking cold

dick, standing strong in his tits out outfit, who had to wear the panties on his own decision: oh, you’re cold? back in my day—

babs, throwing her boot at his face: god shut the fuck up—

and then dick doesn’t give back her boot and it becomes a whole thing with lots of tackling and play fighting and someone nearly gets thrown off they rooftop for funsies but anyways

also on a side note, babs would take off her cape and wrap it around jason whenever she noticed his discomfort with the weather, or use the weather as an excuse whenever she saw him uneasy for whatever reason and they never mention it to each other

- yelled about this in the discord to the mutuals at some point too holy shit i have friends, but those three are team rocket. they went out as team rocket for halloween one year after bullying bruce to let jason out only jason because he can’t tell dick and babs what to do and jason is under his care and when they do convince him, dick and babs bully jason into being meowth. manifesting jason in a meowth onesie ARTISTS PLEASE—

- dick finally took his license seriously and took his driver’s test after babs became paralyzed.

- those were a rough few months for those three. and then another rough few months for those two

- yikes, sorry to throw angst at you (sorry (unfeeling)) anyways, in the future alfred finds those old photos and shows the rest of the fam, so dick and babs bully jason, 6’2 jason that towers way above both of them, and once again bullies him into being meowth “for tradition, little wing!” “shut up, dickhead” the rest of the batkids lose their shit over this, naturally. bruce and alfred stand in the back teary eyed reminiscing the old days when things were a little more simple.

- discowing walked so terrifying handsome squidward red hood helmet could run (even tho the ugly helmet tripped and fell and missed the mark because discowing wasn’t ugly and will always remain superior, i feel i have committed a terrible crime comparing the two)

dick: jason what the fuck is that

jason: it’s fashion

dick: it’s terrifying

jason: i’m only following in my older brother’s footsteps 😔

dick: listen here, you little shit strangles him haha just kidding that illegal wait theyre vigilantes they don’t follow the law—

- these three and cass refer to the rest of the batkids as “the kids” (if she’s older than jason, sometimes she is and sometimes she isn’t and i’m really confused but whatever)

- babs and dick’s relationship with jason pre death literally shaped how jason treats his siblings post pit madness like he literally goes “what would red and big bird do?!??” when he needs to go into big brother mode over the “little ones” (“little” because tim and steph are adults and duke is nearly an adult himself oh my god he’ll graduate from high school soon and jason never got to do that himself he’s totally going to the ceremony legally dead or not) 🥺

- holy trinity continue hanging out with each other, whether lunch or games or whatever, and just enjoy each other’s company after long, rough years

[howdywrites]

Chapter Zero

→ an In The Woods Somewhere excerpt

This is from my zero draft of ITWS that won't be in the new draft I'm starting for Camp NaNo. I still thought it would be fun to share since it gives a little insight into Jackie (park ranger main) and a side character named Benny who works under her. NOTE: there is a lot of info in this that's changed as I've outlined so some of the locations will be inaccurate.

Warnings: brief mention of recreational drug use (mushrooms)

Length: 2.3k words

[ WIP Intro ]

Breath burned aching lungs. Boots stomped in slick, dark mud. The icy mist clung to every hair on bare skin and the drumming of heartbeat became the rhythm in which Jackie fell in time with. She jerked, ducking beneath a low hanging branch. Her hair whipped as she cast a worried glance over her shoulder. It wasn’t following her anymore.

A disgruntled skunk and her litter of kits watched her sprint from the home they made in a thicket of bushes. If she had stuck around for just a second longer, Jackie would have paid dearly for her grave mistake. Up on [the mountain], there wasn’t a proper shower to be had at the lookout. In fact, there was almost no running water to be had at all. That’s exactly how she preferred it - being one with nature in every sense of the word.

“Fuck-” A patch of thick mud sent her sliding into the wooden Trail 46 sign that pointed southeast. Jackie held on to it, leaning over with her chest heaving while she caught her breath. A spring of curled hair fell over her forehead from under the brim of her uniform hat. Taking one last deep breath, she swept it back under and ran her hands along her two thick braids to make sure her rubber bands were still attached to the ends.

Static crackled from the radio on her hip. A voice snickered at her from the other end.

“I didn’t know you could run that fast,” the voice teased her, his laughter turning into crackles. Jackie lifted her head and dragged her eyes along the ridge behind her. Ancient trees and wild brush lined the rocky ledge. She squinted, trying to make sense of the map of greens and browns. Despite her year of working in Wyoming, she struggled making out shapes in the woods that weren’t blocky signs. “Surprised you didn’t lose your hat.”

Jackie unhooked her radio and held it up to her mouth. It trilled and went quiet. “Where are you? I swear to god, Benny, if you scare me again you owe me a cone at Marie Bettie’s on Monday.”

She stood there, a hand on her hip and her radio up by her ear. A crease formed between her brows. Birds flit from tree to tree down Trail 42, drawing her eye. Frowning, she didn’t see Benny there. Nor did he respond on the radio. She hesitantly clicked it again. “Benny I’m not playing. Where the hell are you?” She couldn’t hear herself on the other end. Wherever he was hiding, he had turned off his radio so she couldn’t gauge where he was.

Stepping out into the middle of the trail, Jackie circled around like an uneasy horse, feet pressed firmly into the packed dirt. A small creature of amber red and white darted out from a nearby thicket of prickly bushes and skittered across the trail. She gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. While distracted, a pair of hands touched down on her shoulders, fingers curling over her uniform.

Jackie screeched, launching herself forwards out of the grip of the intruder. The ranger hat on her head tipped off, rolling and bouncing off the gravel. Her arms barely caught her in time to save her face from getting superficial scratches. Squirming, she rolled onto her back and scrambled into a squat. Benny stood there, cackling loud enough to send a few birds flying from their nests in the trees. His smile took up most of his face. Smile lines deepend and the prominent gap between his teeth was on full display.

“I got you good, didn’t I?” He leaned in, holding a hand out for her. Despite the adrenaline soaring through her veins and the annoyance that tumbled within her, Jackie sighed and grasped at it for help off the ground. Freckles splattered his sun-kissed skin, his cheekbones turning to apples with his grin.

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me two cones, now, Wonderbird. Double scoops.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! You know volunteers don’t make squat here-” Benny stooped down to pick up her hat, dusting it off for her. It was true. When he first joined the park just six months ago, Jackie had been assigned as his mentor. The junior program was offered to any college students pursuing their line of work. To get a taste of life as a ranger. They didn’t make a salary, but their summers spent in action were funded by park leadership in the form of bunks and food. A far better deal than what was offered to her in Tennessee. She took up her hat and repositioned it proudly on top of her head. “But I guess it’s the least I could do for doing that.” He pointed down at her green trousers.

A small tear cut across her knee, thankfully protecting her skin from being lacerated by her fall. Sighing, Jackie lifted her leg and inspected the hole. “Luckily I brought my sewing kit with me to the tower. C’mon, let’s finish our rounds. Think the captain has extra radios for tonight? Last thing I want is to not be able to contact anyone - especially this weekend.”

The end of summer break brought in the most guests outside of the spring season. Mostly college students looking to get out of town, but not willing to commit to the cost of going to the Bahamas or Miami all the way down south. Jackie couldn’t remember most of the breaks from her college days. She crunched to get through with her degree as fast as possible. Any break she got was filled with studying or working wherever she could. She would have liked to go somewhere tropical and warm for her breaks, but she preferred the serenity that usually came with visiting state parks instead.

“How many people usually camp here during breaks?” Benny kicked a pale gray pebble into the grass alongside the pack dirt walking trail.

“Could be hundreds. Maybe even close to a thousand or more. Really depends.” Earlier that day, they had already received an influx of campers eager to stake their claim on the best spots in the park before the hoards arrived. Easily several dozen of them, all scattered between RV hookups, the rentable cabins and clearings for tents. “Just be glad you’re not working at any of the offices this weekend. I’d take firewatch over disgruntled campers any day.”

“I can’t thank you enough, you know.” An elbow bumped Jackie’s arm and she glanced at the grinning young man. “If it weren’t for you, Richards probably would’ve never let me take over tower 24. He told me you put in a good word for me.”

Smiling down at the ground, Jackie shrugged and reached out to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It wasn’t all me. You’ve got the passion for this. The drive. Can’t say the same for some of the other volunteers-”

A trill of squealing laughter caught her attention. The two of them paused right at the fork. One path remained wide open with wooden signs encouraging guests to stay on the correct path. The other had overgrowth and a dirt path so narrow, one could hardly call it a trail at all. The usual rope gate meant to block it off had been cut. Both ends laid useless on the ground with frayed edges. Another bark of laughter came from the end it shouldn’t have.

“Damn…” Jackie muttered bitterly under her breath. Just when she thought they could wrap up for the afternoon. Benny puffed out his chest and stood up taller.

“C’mon, ranger,” he chirped, marching towards the rocky side path. “No dilly dallying!”

“You just want to write up a citation.” She snorted and followed alongside him. “You’re starting to sound like the captain.”

Snaking down the path, the trees overhead grew thicker and wider. Branches from lowly pines scraped against their arms. Creatures that remained unseen skittered into their hiding places. The closer they got to the three or four voices chattering away up ahead, the more signs they saw. Brand new, the signs were nailed into the untouched bark of the trees along the path or plastered on wooden signs hammered into the thick dirt.

WARNING: do not proceed! This area has been sanctioned for investigation by the State of Wyoming and local police. Any violations will result in a $500 fine.

“Have these signs always been here?” Benny’s voice lowered to a faint whisper. Jackie stepped carefully around a pile of stones gathered around the base of a thick oak. Her boots slid against their jagged surfaces. “I don’t remember them putting these up.

“I don’t either. I remember some feds were here on Wednesday, but they weren’t up for much small talk.” They stood proudly in their dark suits and shade, holding boxes of flyers and paperwork and speaking in hushed tones to her higher ups. The single chance she had to greet one of them was met with silence. Very rude. “I don’t think this was a missing person’s case, otherwise we would have been informed about it.”

Like something out of a sci-fi movie, bright yellow caution signs littered a shady grove at the end of the short path. The sound of water trickling from a nearby stream joined the quiet voices. The blocky lettering on the big yellow signs yelled at them.

DO NOT DRINK THE WATER! Do not disturb local flora as issued by the governor of Wyoming.

“Dude! You’re going to get us in trouble!” A nervous voice murmured beyond the trees. There, by the creek, four college aged kids stood around a mossy puddle. Two girls and two boys, all wearing their UW school colors. Most likely freshmen given their wide eyes and round faces. One of them stood with his jeans rolled up to his knees in the shallow water, a fist full of curling brown mushrooms that looked like kelp. They went silent at the sight of the two rangers.

“This path is restricted.” Benny took the initiative, his voice wavering just a bit at the end of his statement. Jackie let him take the reins. If he really wanted to do this for a living, he would have to get used to this. As he went over what rules they broke being there, she made her way over to a damp patch of tall grass between two moss covered trees.

Squatting, she spied even more kelp-like mushrooms. They stuck out of the grass like limp, decaying fingers out of a grave. Jackie narrowed her eyes and used a pen from her breast pocket to jab at it with as gentle of a touch as she could manage. It released a pussy substance and a musky scent that reminded her of the single frat party she attended her last year in school. Similar to weed, but different. From looks alone, she couldn’t nail down from which family this fungus derived from. In fact, she couldn’t recall anything remotely similar in all her years of study.

“You can’t do that.” The kid in the water whined, trudging out of the water. He tossed the picked mushrooms. “C’mon, man, we’re just trying to have a little fun! I gotta pay for books next week!”

Jackie looked over her shoulder in time to see Benny’s head fall like a disappointed teacher’s. He sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to reply. Tucking her pen back into its spot, she dusted her hands off and stood.

“Here’s what we’re going to do-” She put her hands on her hips and took over for him. She spoke with authority and a rigid stance. “I’ll let you off with a warning, as long as you four keep to the official trails and stay out of trouble. If me or any of my associates catch you out of bounds again, it’ll be a $700 ticket. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The kid slipped his wet feet into his Nike sandals and hung his head. Blonde hair stuck to his pink face and despite his towering height over her, he still looked like a boy. It only made her feel older than she was. The other three murmured in agreement, following behind him. She watched them shuffle up the path until they disappeared behind a thicket of pines.

“I thought I could do it,” Benny sighed, his head swiveling side to side, checking for litter or anything else the rowdy guests may have left behind. Jackie moved to stand beside him and ruffled his mess of red hair. The way his nose scrunched and his shoulders relaxed from the playful exchange reminded her so much of Andre back at home.

“You did better than I did the first time I tried writing a citation - I cried.” Her sidekick blinked, surprised, and chuckled.

“But you’re so good at it. You’ve got a mom voice - in a good way, I mean.”

“Geez, I’m not that old, Wonderbird. First them, and now you? I’m aging by the second. You’ll have to explain to Richards why my knees are bad and my hair is graying when summer’s over, you dingus.”

Benny all but collapsed forward with laughter, holding his stomach and slapping his knee like a cheery grandfather. Jackie smiled so wide her cheeks ached. She had to avert her gaze to not let the homesickness creep in. She would miss him when he had to go back to school. Just like she missed Andre.

The mushrooms among the grass piqued her curiosity again. She stooped down beside them and inspected them without touching. Who knew what they did and who knew why the government and college kids were so interested in them.

“What are they? They were grabbing a lot of them.” Benny squatted next to her, reaching out to touch one. Jackie gently smacked the back of his hand and shook her head.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t touch them. Let’s get to the office, the captain’s waiting for us by now.”

-

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[highsviolets]

ne plus ultra

summary: you encounter acclaimed scholar obi-wan kenobi after an academic conference

rating: mature (not explicit)

notes: all my love and affection to brit and mia. @profkenobi​ you are my prompt muse & @goldenkenobi​ you win many awards by listening to my endless rambles about this fic. // CHAPTER TWO 

ne plus ultra (n). 

(1) the highest point capable of being attained 

(2) the most profound degree of a quality or state

the story starts in medias res, as all lives do. the beginning of your life is always in the middle of someone else’s. your death coincides with another’s gallant ebullience, your semi-colon failing to incise upon their life. so the scholars say.

the conference — your first since you passed your dissertation — had made you nervous, and you were glad to be spending an extra night before returning to the real world tomorrow.

your palms are slick, as they always are after too long spent in the company of other academics. the anxiety that swells in you is ballast and the deadweight forces you to slump forward slightly, the visible seam on your the shoulder of your shirt sashaying inwards.

when you smile at the concierge, it is tight, like a formation of soldiers in Napoleon’s day, and does not quite reach your eyes. still decked with traces of freckles and darkened by a summer spent abroad under the sun’s penetrating gazes, your skin fails to comply with demands of minuscule muscles pulling and stretching, commanding it into a thin arc.

but it is no matter — you receive your key and you sign the paperwork and are ascending the winding staircase to the seventh floor. emerald green carpet is your guide, swathing your ascendancy in a sheen of dark-hue velvet. sir gawain chasing after the knight in green armor, a lecture on virtue streaming from the knight’s mouth, materializes on the steps. the galloping thought makes you smile, this time more relaxed. that story is something you know. something you know so well you could almost touch it. indeed you had fingered its pages, during your apprenticeship at the British Library.

hope. the words springs forth, nearly unbidden, from your lips. the word is spoken so softly — merely a breath and a hint of sound disturbing the stairwell’s precious physics. it is a reflex of association. green means hope, the scholars had said, and during the course of your studies you had been disappointed to find that you agreed with them. you did not want to agree with the fashionably smug expert in the field. you wanted to rattle him. shake him to his sacrosanct core, the sanctimonious scum.

you had never met the man: the mysterious OWK. your advisor had raved about his breakout lecture series that had taken place years ago, when he was a newly minted phd and you were still in undergrad. sipping a cup of cafeteria coffee (they always forgot you preferred tea, all these years later), they had rambled on about the poetry of OWK’s phrasing and his decisiveness in speech and the unparalleled skill of his primary source research. the lectures had been sadly lost, the footage deleted, or archived, they didn’t know which. just that the man had refused to distribute them and speak on the matter further, nearly abandoning academia entirely.

the beverage was bitter but you laughed lightly. “is this thomas moore and his lectures on st. augustine, then? so legendary that no one can find them?”

your advisor had inclined their head, congratulating you on your witty reference. “i suppose so,” they had mused, leaning back in their office chair and staring at some point above your head, at the oaken bookshelves with brightly colored book jackets lining the walls. “now, your latest draft—“

the memory fades as your purpose alters. a simple twist of the key and the door opens. but you remain on the threshold, stuck between two modes, between here and there.

there is a man in your room, and he is as handsome as sin. he sits in a chair in the corner of the room and one leg is resting on the other’s kneecap at a ninety degree angle. he is wearing glasses, and has short auburn hair that gleams in the dull light of the lamp beside him (although, a few wayward strands obscure his eyes, layering over the frame of his glasses). he is reading. the cover is folded over so you cannot see the title but it is hefty, judging from its position on his thigh. shadows have formed over high cheekbones.

the man removes himself from the task, focusing his gaze on you. you see now that he has bright blue eyes.

“hello there!” his greeting is polite, and amiable, and accented, though not pleasantly so. “can i help you?”

“I’m afraid there seems to be a mix-up!” you say in your ‘adult voice.’ it’s same one you used on your dissertation defense. “it seems we were placed in the same room.”

“ah.” he nods sagely, as though this were to be expected, and unfolds himself from his chair.

you place a hand on your hip — near the phone snug in the back pocket of your jeans — and shrug. “I’m sorry.” the apology is saccharine and tastes like grenadine. “I’ll pop back downstairs and find out what the problem is.”

he urges you to stay, to let him call from here rather you lugging your things all the way down and all the way back up again. “it’s not proper,” he insists, dragging you in and closing the door behind you. in the time that his is so near to you and you feel the way his frown matches the steady grip on your upper arm, something warms in you at his indignation. your hand drifts away from your phone. he retreats to his corner to make the call while you linger just beyond the threshold.

the conversation is hushed and decorated with the raised tones of inquiry. when he hangs up, he sighs.

“they were under the impression that we were a married couple. apparently we booked under a similar last name.” his voice turns down at the edges. he sounds the way his frown had earlier: weary, confused, and a dash of inexplicable certainty.

“but—“ you gesture to the beds — “two beds?”

something of a grimace shadows his face. “all that was available, apparently.”

“oh.” there is a pause. he does not continue. “but they got me a room, right?” if you sound slightly desperate, perhaps it is because you are. you are sweaty. you are nervous. you want to relax. in your own room.

he zooms past your query. “i know you,” he says, and sounds as if he is surprised he knows how to speak.

“i —“ you shake your head — “i don’t think so.”

when you give your name and recognition fails to present itself, he falters and twists to stare through the glass behind him. “i thought…” but he breaks off.  in the end he rights himself and tells you of the situation — how there is no vacancy, but he does not mind the sharing a room with you, just for the night, it wouldn’t be a bother.

there is something different about him. maybe it is the way that he emphasized the word can. maybe it is the way he is pushing the hair from his eyes, and removing the glasses from his face. maybe it is the way that, now pausing his actions, the man cants his head and furrows his brow.

air grows thick with the brush strokes of caravaggio: he is in the spotlight, sure and solid and steady, pure against the whirlpools of unknowing realism.

you are on the cusp of stepping into his white light when he offers his name. the first letter of each word drags itself from his mouth and burrows into your ear, until you almost divorce the meaning but for the particulars.

the first instinct that you are aware of is one you cannot name — it is an anger that is sweet, and one that is shielded by sadness, yet fueled by frustration.

there are dozens of others that your heart and mind have already examined, of course, turning them this way and that, inspecting their corners with bloodied hands. but they are rejected, and expelled into the waxy shadows, without your being aware of them. that is the job of the soul: to know before you are even aware.

he senses the shift. perhaps uncertainty has clouded your eyes. obi-wan kenobi, OWK, takes a step back from rising mist and shadow and once more turns to gaze out the window. through the glass there is a gentle village scene, all cobblestones and iron street lamps and hills keeping time on the horizon.

“i — “ you start, but you stop again. you must start, you feel, but you do not know what path to take, and you halt. the time he thinks you consider you are in fact not considering at all. there is only one answer (answers that are wrong are never really answers, after all, just more questions).

“i’ll stay.”

—

Obi-Wan is courteous and deferential and demands that you permit him to treat you this evening as an apology. he departs to give you privacy as you shower, and the flash of shimmering emerald carpet you spy as he exits makes you wonder if you are the Lady Bertalik to his Sir Gawain.

the steam and the water beat down clenched muscles with gentle hands and lingering touches. it is for several minutes that you linger in their warm embrace, but as you wipe away fog from the mirror you cannot help but encounter the sensation that you are alone, and wrongfully so. you cannot feel Obi-Wan’s presence and the air feels stale without him — like there is no current disrupting the atmosphere’s mundane course.

droplets decorate your shoulders and the hollow of your throat. they hold fast even when you pad softly to your belongings for a fresh change of clothes.

The ache in this room is stronger. The walls themselves are mourning his absence. You feel it settle in your gut, a gluttonous mass that lightens when you consider that he should be returning soon. the sky outside the window is orange and gold, flattering the leaves of maple trees in autumn.

the room is pretty, in a simple way: the emerald carpet of hope has been exchanged for a darkened hardwood. Chrome accents gleam in the reflection of the wood, and two beds — one at opposite ends of the wall — are smothered silver-white sheets. a series of Malevich paintings are hung up in a neat grid, as though the dissembling artist would come barging in, screaming of the devil, if the French theories of symmetry were not obeyed.

as you dress and begin to comb your hair, you wonder why you miss someone whom you have just met, and someone you are not disposed to like. can you miss someone you don’t like? he is sporadic and paradisiacal; in motion and steady. his kindness had surprised you, as had his beauty. he was less corrosive than your advisor had made him out to be, less ambitious than the accolades awarded to his name. but he is zealous, hungry, seeking: you could see in the way his eyes bunched around the edges, in the crick of his neck when he sought wisdom from the hills, how he had contorted his body in the chair.

(he is like you, both here and not here, and although you did not yet know, your soul was aware and reflective in wonder)

when your flesh-and-blood sir gawain returns, you muse that you are a poor temptress in an thick-knit ivory sweater that encases your body from neck to wrists. it had been a steal from a second-hand store a few years back, and you had never found the heart to give it up. it was like a childhood book, or a favorite mug — the object, in all its durable materiality, was akin to you.

Your smile pleases him. Obi-Wan says he has found a place for this evening, nothing special, but nice. “We are celebrating after all,” he says, shrugging off a dark woolen coat.

“We are?” you look at him through the reflection of the mirror. blue eyes meet yours.

“Of course!” the phrase suspends itself for a moment, maybe two, as though it is waiting for something to slip in and complete its trinity. but it falls, tumbling back down to terrestrial concerns. “We are celebrating our meeting.”

He is absurd, and you laugh. Obi-Wan’s theory of festivity is not so mercurial as his speech — the declaration sticks to your ribs, pumping blood to your heart and flooding your cheeks with a natural flush.

Obi-Wan continues to examine you. “Might I ask,” he starts, hands stilling in their expedition of finding suitable attire, “where you bought your sweater?”

you respond: it was from a second-hand store, you found it during your apprenticeship, it was the only thing that kept you warm that terribly dreary winter, it was your constant companion.

“does it have a trio of red threads on the left cuff?”

satisfying his quench takes precedence to mystery of his request.

Obi-Wan’s smile engulfs the spirit of the room, and the two of you, and the bedding, and the glass window, too.

“that was my sweater,” he says. “my uncle made it for me, and i gave it to my brother after we adopted him. he wasn’t used to the dampness of English winters, but he didn’t like the itchiness of the knit. he always had an aversion to gritty textures.” he reaches out a hand with a faint smile, like the combined power of his simple offering can cross space and time and memory and return him to the days of him and his uncle and adopted brother.

you do not know what to say. you watch him for several moments. you want to speak, but your mind is blank, thrumming with the idea that it is so very right that part of him has been with part of you all of these years. parts have him has seen you through the long hours of a dreary apprenticeship and discovering the healing properties of English tea and catching tears and wisps of smiles and witnessing ink spill over pages as you churned out dissertation drafts until the argument was smooth and refined.

the idea makes you feel very alive, and alert, and you want to offer him comfort. “would you like to take it back?” one hand tugs at the edge of the cloth, near your waist. “it’s yours anyway.” the pain of parting is lessened by the joy of giving.

he demurs, you coax. eventually it is determined that he will wear the garment for the evening, but only if you wear something of his, too. “that way it’s even,” he says, and you laugh again to hide the dip in your stomach at thought of wearing something of his, of wrapping yourself in his scent, of placing your body in a place his had once inhabited.

you settle on a light gray blazer that you think must compliment his eyes, which sparkle with aquamarine and crystal. it is paired with a turtleneck and when you emerge to show him the completed ensemble, spinning in a circle, he chuckles.

“you look like me,” he says, one hand cupping his chin.

a feeling pulses in your mind but you let it go. you may like him after all, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a pompous academic whose theories had made your life hell.

—

you expect him to take you to a cozy place. somewhere where they serve the local brew and make homemade shepherd’s pie, but he doesn’t.

he takes you a bar that is sleek and modern, with soft yellow lights and paneled ceilings and marble counter-tops. Obi-Wan escorts you to a high table in the corner, a hand on the small of your back. the warmth from his palm spreads through his jacket and your turtleneck and it feels like cinnamon and candlelight.  

later, you will not remember what you ordered to eat, but you will always remember the two cups water that appear on the table.

the glasses have smooth edges and and rounded sides, curving around themselves ad infinitum or perhaps reductio ad absurdum. faint golden orbs hunch against the surface; integers of light cling to any sort of tactical reassurance. even the glass will do.

the cups are hefty, and not just with the font of life. the vessel is weighty, durable. Obi-Wan tells you that they are recycled.

he does not talk about what he does now and how he teaches, and you do not mention your work. you do not need to: what these truths have taught you is in every swallow, every glance, every gentle barb. the two of you do not need shields of citation guidelines to understand one another.

the conversation dances. he pulls you in with a question. you twirl around him, brushing his five o’clock shadow. artifice glistens and then falls away. with every pass and dip and pas de chat resentment and assumption weaken, and your eyes become bigger. he changes the time signature, the style (first it was a waltz, and then a swing step, and now it is easing into something unknown). the fabric of his jacket is smooth, and comfortable, and smells like him — warm and spice and clean. you ease into it like it is your birthright.

you do not see, but Obi-Wan notices, and grins into his water.

he does not see, but you notice, the way he couches into your sweater, and your eyes curl in some form of elation.

“what were they about? the lectures, i mean.” this is the question you have been waiting to ask. here, in the bar, with glass, you are emboldened to let go of one last grudge.

he looks at you, and his gaze stabs you, but then it softens — like the needle from a shot easing into muscle before retreating as swiftly as it came.

“what did your advisor say they were about?” he fiddles with his glass.

“they said…” you close your eyes in recollection. eyelashes flutter against freckles. “they said the lectures were about grief.”

Obi-Wan’s smile is wry, but he does not seem displeased. he is still too relaxed to be angry. how you can read his body language so quickly, you are not sure — maybe it is because he is wearing your sweater. so many things you are unsure of, but he is not one of them. not really.

uncertainty is different with him. he is not an ever-fixéd mark, nor a staid anchor in the waves. but he is resolved, and you can separate him from the rest of the particulars that impede your life. he is not just krei: distinguishing and judging and explanatory and crisis all at once, all at everything.

yes, uncertainty with him is less about judgment and is rather imbued with mystery. it is krei mixed with mysteriam: separating the hidden things from that which is known.

Obi-Wan taps his finger on the glass and the sound returns you to the present. he has caught you wandering, again, wandering the wayward halls of esoteric remembrance.

“they were about grief,” he nods, staring at the transparent material in his hands.. Obi-Wan’s voice is kingly and aromatic, like basil. it lilts and sways around the words he speaks as in a courtly dance, like those Anne Boleyn performed for King Henry.

lifting his gaze to yours again, he adds, “and they were about joy. those lectures were about everything, and nothing.” a hand rises, and rhythmic fingers sweep away invisible cobwebs. “they were,” Obi-Wan concludes, “about life itself. phenomena, as it were.” the hand floats down and rests on the table.

it is perilously close to yours now: mere inches from the edges of your body. you both look down at his hand in a brief moment marked and scratched with silence, and you are alone with  your thoughts. his hands are worn, like they have been used — little scars and wrinkles and a slight puffiness that tells you that he spent a lot of time writing today. you like that.

you point to the swelling, at the v of his hand where thumb and palm meet. the tip of your index finger hovers above the spot and your confession must linger too, because it takes several moments for him to drag his eyes upwards to study your face.

“how many ACE wraps did you fray while writing your dissertation?” he asks, and you want to push him for being such a competitive brat.

your hand is still suspended above his.

you tell him your answer, and he cups his fingers around yours in a spasm of revelation. “me too!” his grip tightens. “academia is one son of a bitch.” he catches you in a sideways glance, and when you laugh, he relaxes into a smile.

“I read your dissertation, you know.” the sweater itches against your wrist, where the sleeve of his blazer has ridden up and exposed skin.

“i didn’t.” you take a sip. “but i do know how you feel about scholars such as myself.” another sip. are you biding time? you are not sure. “you feel very strongly about the color green, Dr. Kenobi.”

his grip slackens but he does not release your hand completely. “please. call me ben.”

“no?” your eyebrow arches. “not OWK, either?”

“I don’t use that name with friends.”

“Are we friends?”

his eyes are earnest, open, porous, like blue tulle on ballet costumes. “yes. i dare say we are.”

—

when the two of you stand to leave, there is a still a table that prohibits unity. emptiness subsumes you; he is so near and yet so far; Ben should be next to you. the distance continues, grows, as you exit, and an ache pours forth from your soul, because you now know what you did not know before. you had seen it in the glass, and in the reflected light, and the way you had seen yourself in his eyes when you danced with him without touching his hand.

you halt, he pauses. you take a step forward and Ben watches you. darkness blankets the town’s cobbled streets; the stones gleam dully and swallow the street lamps all into an abyss. except his eyes: Ben’s silken azure eyes are your anchor.

people don’t make sense but you do.

a few steps more and the two of you are very close. you tilt your head to look at his face. you are there, reflected in his pupils. “maybe i am you.” you mean for it to sound teasing, but your soul knows before you do, and the words are laden with imperial import, like a royal seal.

those gemstone eyes flicker over your face. he has felt it too, he is telling you, but how you know this you cannot say. “no, i do not think so.” letters drip out, leaking in a slow stream. “but i think perhaps we are a part of each other.”

and then you have narrowed down the sum to its composite parts. the glass has shattered and the left hand swims in its sand and calcium carbonate and ash, drifting through a process of becoming. particles glimmer on skin, under nails, brandishing depth and texture and a pantone coloring book of the human heart.  

it is a mutual kiss, one where individualism no longer endures. his hands — swollen, calloused, firm — are grasping your cheeks. your arms are around his waist, winding around sweater and skin and soul. when you close your eyes, you think it will be dark. you are wrong. tenebrism creeps away and shadows vanish, and there is only him, and a resounding tenor of colors.

ben’s lips are soft, and his breath is warm, and it is the kiss for which you feel like you have spent your whole life preparing. he is safe (tender) and unexpected (his tongue grazes your teeth). he likes it when you grip him harder, the knit no longer coarse against your palms, not when his hand is wandering through your hair in flashes of blue and gold and pearl.

when you pull away, and nuzzle his cheek, Ben smiles — soft and comforting like the garment on his back. maybe this is why glass shatters and cracks around your feet, crunching as you sway slightly in each other’s arms — you have worn his jacket, and he has worn your sweater.

—

it is predawn the next time he kisses you. the two of you are on his bed, near the window. sweaters and blazers have been exchanged for baggy t-shirts and sleep shorts. Ben is facing you, cross-legged on the pale sheets, and he watches you as you take in the metamorphosis of the sky, from black to navy to the merest smidgen of blue and grey on the horizon, skating across the silhouette of the hills.

he watches you as you speak, too, about the way you loved the ocean as a child, and your favorite book is Moby Dick. it was so very ethereal to you, the way that sailors used the stars to navigate. it was like they were communing with the heavens.

Ben thinks that your voice glitters. it is weary with much talk and too little sleep but it shines the way diamonds do when they are stitched onto spanish lace, supported with the strength that is only found in delicacy.

your eyes, he thinks, are more like satin, for the way they gleam and mix their depth and shadows without losing their sheen, glassy in their wonder.

but you notice his regard, and you pause. he cannot see it, but he can feel a blush jogging from your neck to your cheeks.

you stare at each other. and then — he is next to you, and laying you down, and you are learning his labyrinthine ways even as you begin to come undone.

he is coming alive, or waking up—you’re not sure. his ends and beginnings are still a unknown to you: you must fashion yourself a mystic to enter his realm. somehow you suspect he is yours. your alpha and omega, the moral force that has driven you forward to now, to this point, where his forehead is meeting the jut of your jaw as he kisses his way down your neck.

you are hot and cold all at once and when he licks your pulse point, and sucks, you gasp. it is a gentle thing, more like a deep breath than an exclamation. you feel yourself leaning into him, straining for his touch. his auburn hair under your fingertips is soft and slick with his gel and you tug at it in an act of encouragement.

he pulls away. hovering over you, eyes blue and silver in the pale light — twin moons, perhaps — he smirks. “are you trying to tell me something, darling?” he asks lowly, and his voice is dark molasses. it is sticky and sweet and bitter, inching down your body. you want his kisses to follow its tortuous path, staining you with vermillion and black and dying you with pleasure.

he is color. you are cloth.

the durability of your nature returns in a rush marked with grains of steel. “no.” you swallow and the action traces where his lips met your skin just moments earlier. “i rather thought you were trying to communicate with me.” you sound ragged, coy, on the verge of aching.

Ben does not take your bait. “i was.” his breath is hot against your ear, and arresting. he pauses. the molasses continues to drip. “i was just wanted to make sure i had a clear answer.” and he nips your earlobe. you bite your lip in response: the two of you are in sync.  

“yes.” you are fabric, and your voice is terrycloth.

“Yes?” he repeats your fiat. Shards of glass collapse around you as he again meets your gaze.

this must be how the Virgin prayed her Magnificat, you think as his heart errantly beats against his throat. She must have been like he is now, brimming with humble righteousness and bound by understanding. Tenderness cords through you; it tempers your breathing, smoothes the bubbles of molasses. Reaching up to to cup his face, you let your fingers splay over his cheek, resting on stubble and skin. your pinky finger meets the angle of his cheekbone. the image falls into place and the symmetry causes you to smile.

“yes. etiam. ja. sí.” you are about to conclude in greek — ναί — but he halts your litany of assent by placing an offering on your lips. the greek is in the twists of his tongue in your mouth, and so is the hebrew, and the arabic, and all the languages yet to engrave themselves in your memory.

it is like the first time you experienced champagne at your father’s christmas party. one of his students had poured you, then sixteen, a glass and said with a wink, “the monks declared it was the taste of the stars.” you had raised the flute to your lips and drank as you were bid, and when you had swallowed, you knew the world was different now. or perhaps the old world had not changed, you had merely adapted to fickle ways.

your tongue did as it had then, skating across your front teeth onto your upper lips in quick, jabbing motions. unsatiated and incomplete.

he pulls away again and you frown. eyes closed, you tug at his shoulder in a nonverbal ask to come back.

silence meets your plea and you open your eyes. he is still above you, weight resting on his forearms, and he is smiling.  “you are so impatient.” the rebuke is fond and he soothes its burn with a kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, briefly.

“i am not impatient.” arms cross over your chest and eyes roll. “i am —“ the phrase is paused as he kisses your other cheek. you open your eyes. “i am.” he waits for you, as he always has, but after a few heartbeats he gleans the completeness of your meaning. existence is the watchword of this night, or this dawn: let sartre and his kind be put to rest.  

so the two of you kiss again, and when his arms get tired, you drape your legs over his lap and press yourself into his chest. the last vestiges of moonlight have settled upon you, but it is no thing, not when skin feels what eyes cannot. lips are languid and hands stroll up and down pathways and alleyways and sidewalks. brittle substances of impatience are burned away through the silk of his fingers. you are content to rest in chiaroscuro.

there is another breaking: transparent and fortified compound of ash and sand — let in by the moon and the rising venus — twinkles around your head, his spine. a whispered ask, a tender assent: shirts glide over shoulders and he guides in your descent.

breathing is knowing, feeling is seeing: for here essence and existence bleed into one consummate act of communion.

lips touch your collarbone, your breast. your hands plane over his chest in a crusade of knowledge. he does not begrudge your gasps, now, or the arches your back erects to his honor. ben’s lips, hands, the vehicles of his words to the world, at once analyze and soak in praise.

clothes fall away, skin uncovering skin, manifesting a reality that had resided in your souls far before today. before the bar, the hotel, the sweater, there was always the two of you, striving for eudaemonia.

“this is phenomena,” he whispers against the curve of your hip. ben presses a kiss to the bones that give form to your body politic (the totality of your shattered glass made whole).

fin.

Tags: @profkenobi @goldenkenobi @ohhellokenobi @obitwo @nobie @cherieboba @lazzwhile @rentskenobi @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @justrunamok @citadoll @obirain @catsnkooks @royalhandmaidens @kyjoraven @mcu-padawan @anakin-danvers @snips-n-skyguy0501 @saintlaurentkenobi @answer-the-sirens @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @icedcoffeeandgays // please send an ask or fill out this form to get added to my taglist!

[sparklydreamies]

Stray Kids 8 Part Series ~ (1) Bang Chan: Perfection

Group: Stray Kids

Member: Bang Chan

Genre: Light angst + hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,300+

Summary: Bang Chan can’t afford to take breaks in this industry. 

Stray Kids 8 Part Series MASTERLIST

A/n: This is the beginning of an 8 part Stray Kids hurt/comfort series!! I hope that you will all enjoy this a lot :) also writing this sort of theme about Chan absolutely killed me because this man deserves the entire world ;-;

TW: This story contains a descriptive anxiety attack.

Through the blurry, sleepy view his eyes gave him, Bang Chan could barely make out the small, digital clock on his desk that read 3:14. He groaned softly as he resumed his work on what was soon to be Stray Kids’ next title track. 

Normally, Chan considers himself a person who is able to work fast and diligently at the same time, which often comes in handy in an industry that demands perfection. Yet, as he sat slouched in his desk chair, fiddling with his laptop to try and create a proper bass line, he began to feel pressured. 

For a producing idol, having writer’s block was a death sentence. Nothing had the power to overwhelm Chan with the heavy feeling of anxiety like a deadline for a demo due at the end of the week which has barely been started.

It’s not that the song hasn’t been started, it’s that it has been started and restarted too many times to count after Chan deemed the previous draft unacceptable. Chan’s standards for himself might seem overkill to some people, but Chan calls it being a perfectionist. 

Everyone, including Bang Chan knows that real perfection was not possible for a man to achieve, however that didn’t stop Chan from striving for it. In a way, it was a blessing and a curse. Being a perfectionist meant that Chan was never finished with anything until he was one hundred percent proud of it. This demo was not an exception. 

As Chan listened to the basic beats he had recorded already, he began to drift out of consciousness. 

He had to finish the track. He was so tired. Maybe if he took a twenty minute nap he would feel better. No, he would just end up sleeping all night. Wake up. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep.

He was yanked out of his dreamy state by the harsh sound of his phone vibrating on his desk. He took a second to gather his surroundings before checking the text message sent to him. 

Changbinnie: Where are you?

Chan groaned. Changbin has been on his ass all week about taking care of himself as if he was made of glass. Changbin should know that this was how Chan worked. He always pushes himself to his breaking point and faces the brink of exhaustion in order to create the best music he could. There was no other way for him to make music. 

Channie: Studio

Chan cracked his back against his chair before getting back to work. It was only three in the morning, which was hardly late enough for Chan to admit defeat and give into his drooping eyelids. 

He didn’t get it. Music always came so easily to him. All of the lyrics he tried to write sounded too awkward for his liking. All of the beats were too overdone and basic. He was frustrated and tired, and far too busy to deal with Changbin’s nagging. 

Sure, Chan hasn’t been around for many meals during the past few days. Lord knows he hasn’t seen the inside of the dorm in three days straight unless it was to shower and change. Chan scoffed thinking of how he would react if it was one of the other members working to this extent. He would physically restrain them to their beds if that was necessary. He was different, though. He was the leader and the eldest. He didn’t have the time to worry about himself. He was responsible for all of their careers. He could handle a little bit of extra work. 

His hands were shaking slightly as he recorded another chord progression for the pre-chorus. At this point, Chan didn’t even know if they were shaking from exhaustion or from the sheer amount of caffeine he had coursing through his system. 

Chan let out another exasperated noise of defeat as he listened to the choppy way the verse led into the pre-chorus. He felt the frustration take right to his heart. His head was pounding, and he gripped the strands of his hair to ground himself. 

He was okay. He had pulled songs out of his ass before, he could do it now. It was going to be fine. Maybe if he added a lead-up sound into the pre-chorus, things would flow nicer. 

Why did he feel his eyes filling up with tears? He had no time to feel sorry for himself. Nothing was working out, and crying about it wouldn’t change the fact that his head was completely empty of original song ideas. 

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands before focusing again on the track in front of him. 

He hadn’t even started on the lyrics. 

The sense of panic was far too strong, and his mind was screaming for him to buck up, focus harder, create something that was acceptable. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts again by the sound of his studio door opening. 

“You’re going to kill yourself, I hope you know,” Changbin said quietly as he made his way over to his usual chair beside Chan. 

Chan tried to give a somewhat interested look to the younger rapper, but all he could manage was a slight head nod. He was still focused on the colourful lines of beats and chords on his laptop. He refrained from looking directly at the younger boy, not wanting to show any signs of the intense feelings that crushed his chest. 

“Jesus christ, you actually look like shit,” Changbin grabbed Chan’s chin gently and brought his gaze towards away from the track which was causing so much grief, “why are you doing this?” Chan’s gaze remained unfocused, looking at nothing in particular.

Chan took a second to process what he was saying. Why was he doing this? Because it was his job. Because the company, the members and the fans were all waiting for him to do his job properly. 

He wanted to say all of that, but what came out from his lips was “I have to”.

“That’s bullshit,” Changbin said, “I’ve been warning you about taking care of yourself-- Chan you’re shaking”. He moved to grab a hold of Chan’s trembling fingers. “You haven’t been eating, you haven’t been sleeping, you are a shell of yourself, and for what?” 

“For our jobs, Binnie” Chan pulled his hands away from the other boy, turning himself back towards the screen. He didn’t want the younger to see the fresh pool of salty tears threatening to fall down his cheeks without consent. 

Changbin sighed. “You’re more important than a deadline. You know that, right?” 

“What do you want me to do?” Chan asked, “I'm okay”. His voice was reduced to nothing more than a whisper. 

Chan didn’t need to look over to know that Changbin was thoroughly upset. Whether it was with him or the company, Chan didn’t know. All he knew was that when something upset Changbin, the aura of the room shifted. The air felt heavy and thick. 

“I’m worried about you,” Changbin said, placing his hand on Chan’s shoulder. The older boy involuntarily flinched at the unexpected contact. “I woke up in the middle of the night to see that you aren’t in your bed again, and I just don’t know what to do anymore,”

“Don’t”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be worried about me,” Chan swiveled in his chair to finally meet Changbin’s gaze for the first time that night, “it’s not your issue,” He was expecting frustration, anger or fury, but he was startled when all he could read in his brother’s eyes was shock and sadness.

“You don’t...” he trailed off, “you don’t sound like yourself...” Changbin slowly raised himself out of his chair. He was avoiding Chan’s eyes. 

“All you’re doing is distracting me,” Chan accused, “I can handle myself, I don’t need you worrying about me like my mother,” 

Changbin’s entire body was stiff. He looked uncomfortable, like he was trying to figure out what to say, but couldn’t. 

Why couldn’t he see that this was what Chan needed? Why couldn’t he see that this was best? Why did he have to stick his nose in everybody’s business like he has any say in their activities? 

“You should leave now,” Chan said coldly, “I have to get back to work,” 

Changbin hesitated for a moment, seemingly mulling over what his next words should be. 

“You’re upset that you are having trouble with a song... Big deal,” Changbin said, still quietly, but with so much more bite to his tone, which shocked Chan. “We have an entire group of kids at home who need their leader. You think that they don’t feel anxious these days? We all feel stressed, Chan” 

“Bin-” 

“These children look up to you because you’re a damn good leader,” Changbin began moving anxiously around the room, “they see their... role model throwing his health away for a song, and they think that should be the standard. It is sick, and it shouldn’t have to go that far,” 

Chan felt the pressure in his head return at the words Changbin was saying. “You don’t have any right to bring them into this--”

“You know I found out Jeongin’s been skipping meals?” Changbin’s voice was steadily rising. His face was darkening with frustration that was hidden earlier.

Chan sat in stunned silence. Jeongin has been skipping meals? For how long? Why didn’t Chan realize this before? Was he sick? Did he need a councelor? Was he self conscious? 

Before Chan got a chance to ask any of these questions, Changbin continued on his rant. 

“All of the kids are stressed because that’s what happens before a comeback! I don’t give a damn if you want to ruin yourself for your music, because I get it. I do too. But I am not going to let you create a bad example for the kids. I can’t and I won’t,” 

Chan finally found the strength in his legs to stand up and look at Changbin face to face. He could see that Changbin was furious by the fire in his eyes and the red colour that was taking over his skin. 

“You have no right how to tell me to live, you don’t know what being the leader is like!” Chan snapped, shoving his finger into Changbin’s rapidly rising and falling chest, “I am doing this for the kids, okay?” 

“If you honestly cared about them,” Changbin shoved Chan back away from him, causing the leader to stumble before gaining his balance on his desk chair, “you would make sure that they knew their health always comes first. This is a dangerous game, Chan! And sooner or later you are going to lose,”

“I think you should leave,” Chan said for the second time that night. He had enough. This was all so that Stray Kids could be the best group they can be, yet Changbin is acting like Chan is a maniac for being a perfectionist. 

Changbin was stunned. “Be that way.” he mumbled before ultimately leaving the studio. Before ultimately leaving Chan alone. 

The moment the door clicked shut behind the younger boy, Chan muffled his screams of frustration with his hands. The tears that have been on edge for a while now began streaming down his face, making tracks that felt like they burned the soft skin. 

He was mad. No, mad was an understatement. He was upset. Furious. Angry. Pissed off. Hysterical. Any of those synonyms could describe the feelings that Chan felt. His head was pounding, and the pressure was back worse than ever. 

He felt guilty because Changbin was right. He didn’t even notice that Jeongin wasn’t eating. He didn’t deserve to be a leader. He should quit. He should go to the company and tell them he failed. 

Chan began pacing around the room, suddenly feeling like the walls were too small. 

His gaze fell on the small, white laptop that was causing his pain, and he felt white hot anger and frustration. With a cry of anguish, he slammed the screen shut. 

He pulled at his hair so forcefully he wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped from his scalp. His chest felt so tight. 

The laptop. He shut it so hard... What if he shattered the screen? With a whimper, he raised the screen up to see that it was still in good condition. The contents of the screen however, were not. 

Chan felt the air leave his lungs when he saw he got bounced out of the software. He felt like his world was crashing down around him. 

With shaky hands, he moved the mouse to open the software again. Chan prayed to whatever deity there was up there that he didn’t just lose all of the progress that he most definitely didn’t press save for. 

The one attempt of a song that Chan didn’t hate ended up deleting from his laptop, never to fully develop into a proper song. 

That was the final straw for Chan. 

All at once, it seemed like the Earth’s supply of oxygen vanished. His hands flew desperately to his hair in an attempt to pull himself out of the spiral he was in. 

He was full on sobbing, clutching his knees to his chest once his legs gave out from under him. He struggled for breath on his studio floor. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep so bad. 

It felt like his body was being compressed, and he didn’t know how to save himself. He felt hopeless and weak, crying over some stupid lost progress. His world was shattering. 

Your work is gone.

Changbin hates you.

Jeongin isn’t eating because of you.

The members don’t want you as their leader.

The fans know you’re a fraud.

You’re a horrible idol.

You don’t deserve to be here.

These thoughts were ringing in Chan’s ears, bouncing around his skull. Chan cried out again, burying his face into the carpet, trying to breathe. 

He needs help, but he doesn’t deserve it. He brought this on himself, and now he’s actually compelled to inconvenience another person with this. The track was gone, his members hated him, and he was broken. 

Chan’s entire forehead was slick with sweat, and he felt his body tremble. He was a weak, worthless fool. He was clawing at any part of him that he could. He felt so weak and alone, sobbing his heart out on the floor. 

He didn’t know exactly how long he spent curled up in a ball beside his desk before he was able to calm his heart rate down enough to process thoughts. He needed someone. He needed someone badly, but the weight of shame kept him seated against the wall. 

He wanted to call Changbin and apologize so badly, but with how immature and selfish he had been acting, Chan didn’t deserve the kindness and support the younger boy would inevitably give him. The guilt of how he treated the other boy began to eat away at the shame. 

With a spinning head, Chan hoisted himself upwards enough to grab his phone from the top of his desk. The time on the screen read 4:53, and Chan desperately hoped that Changbin was still awake. 

Without hesitating enough to psyche himself out, Chan pressed the “call” icon, and waited. He tried to slow down his breathing enough so that Changbin wouldn’t know he was crying. 

“What do you want?”

Chan was startled at Changbin’s greeting, almost stuttering his response. “I... I’m sorry,” was all that Chan could manage to say. 

“You should be,” 

Chan cringed at the bitterness in the other’s voice, but remained calm. “Can you come?” Chan’s voice was shaking slightly, and there was a beat of silence from the other end of the line. 

“Are you crying?” 

“No,” Chan denied, biting down on his closed fist in a sad attempt to stifle the sounds that were threatening to escape from his throat.

“Are you okay? Fuck I was almost home, but I’m coming back, okay? Just wait for me,” 

Chan felt another set of hot tears trail down his cheeks, which sucked because he thought he didn’t have any more tears left in him. He wanted Changbin to come back to him, but not because he was afraid that Chan couldn’t handle simple emotions. “Okay,” he answered, and as soon as he felt the tightness in his throat, he hung up the call. Changbin didn’t need to hear him sob. 

Chan felt himself start to slip into his spiral again, and slapped himself in the cheeks. He needed it to ground himself. 

Just breathe. 

Chan counted all of the breaths that he took until Changbin came. He tensed up once he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and a face next to his. He was expecting Changbin to be mad, however the boy keeps surprising him. 

There were faint wrinkles of worry on Changbin’s forehead as he held a serious gaze with the blubbering boy in front of him. His touch was irritating to Chan, who shrugged the hand off his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” Changbin whispered, trying to meet Chan’s eyes. 

Chan raised his eyes. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, sniffling and rubbing the tears away from his abused and stinging eyes. Changbin didn’t have anything to apologize for; it was Chan who was stupidly self-destructive. 

Changbin moved so that he was sitting beside Chan, his back against the studio wall. “I was too harsh. I should have been more patient, I know you’re stressed,” he sighed. Of course Changbin had to be an angel. 

“You... you were right,” Chan admitted. 

“Bang Chan? Admitting I’m right?” Changbin teased, “that’s a first,”

Chan playfully shoved Changbin, and then moved to rest his head on the younger’s shoulder. The atmosphere was lighter now that Changbin was there to relieve the pain. 

“I should have been a better leader,” Chan whispered, “I’m sorry,” 

Changbin surely didn’t miss the way his voice faltered at the end of his statement. Chan felt his eyes get heavier, the post-panic attack fatigue getting to him. 

“You’re a fucking amazing leader,” Changbin replied, “I’m sorry for being harsh. Although I am not sorry about telling you off for setting a bad example because I know that you can do better,”

“’S fair,” Chan slurred. 

“Look at me,” Chan gave a half-hearted, half-interested moan, “Christopher, I said look at me,” Changbin commanded, grabbing Chan’s chin and bringing it to his face, “You are perfect.” 

Chan searched Changbin’s eyes for lies, but was met with nothing but the sincerity of a best friend. 

“You are perfection. And I know that whatever you end up doing is going to be perfect,” 

Chan smiled at his friend. Even though he could be annoying and naggy, Changbin was always there to pick him up. He was always able to wipe the dirt off of your face when you fell from the high. He didn’t pass judgments. 

Chan was stuck in his thoughts until the realization of his reality hit him like a freight train. “Fuck,” he said as he pulled his face away. 

“What?”

“The song...” he said, grasping at his desk until he was in a standing position and opening his laptop again. 

Changbin stood up too and sighed. “I thought you were going to take it easier from now on,” he whined.

“Fuck no, Changbin,” he said, tiredness still evident in his tone, “it’s gone,”

“It’s gone?” Changbin pulled his seat beside Chan, focusing on the newly opened blank track Chan started. 

Chan just nodded as he tried to remember how the song goes. Okay, it was 120bpm tempo... What were the chords that made up the verse? What was the instrument? How did the beat go? 

Chan groaned in frustration as he racked his brain. 

“We’ve done this before,” Changbin shoved Chan so that he could get a better view of the laptop. 

“Huh?” 

“You, me and Jisung,” Changbin looked concentrated, “we’ve produced songs in hours. I’m sure we could get something done if we worked together,”

Chan smiled, probably for the first time in days. “I would like that a lot,” he said gratefully. 

It was then that Chan realized that maybe some some people could be perfect after all. 

[oikaw-ugh]

I Will Make You Stay (BokuAka multi-chaptered fic)

When you fall asleep you wake up in another life, same age, same face, but a completely different place in a completely different area, and the line between dream and real life begins to blur and you soon question which is which.

a/n: HUGELY INSPIRED by ‘In Another Life’ by LittleLuxray! This is a very ambitious fic and though I wouldn’t be able to write this as beautiful as theirs, I want it to at least touch a little piece of your heart :> This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I wanna unload so yeah.

theme: fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort (?), fantasy

warning: prompt is altered according to my liking

word count: 1.2k

Chapter 1: The Encounter

“Be careful, sweetie, okay?” Akaashi felt the tender skin of his mother on his skin. Despite her tight corporate attire, she managed to crouch just to plant a kiss on his forehead, “Do great at school and make some friends for Mommy.”

Little Akaashi nodded, his mother's words passing through his ears like a plane. Akaashi watched his mother turn her back on him as she walked towards the exit of the elementary school he attended to. And before he knew it, his mother is gone, off for work. Something Akaashi loathed.

With head low, Akaashi went on his way towards his room. Teachers used to call him ‘the odd one’. He was not like the rest of the children they handled. If kids loved to boast about the beetles they have collected during break time, Akaashi preferred to sit at his assigned chair, pulling a storybook from his bag as he munched on his home-baked cookies.

Teachers were growing concerned with his weird behavior and his isolation towards his classmates. To the point that they have started reaching out to him.

They approached him gently, with their palms reaching for his little arms as they try to mask the concerned look on their faces with a smile, “Akaashi? Why don’t you go play with your friends instead of reading your book?”

And each time they asked him these, he would only shake his head slightly, an uncomfortable look written on his face. A sign Akaashi wishes they have picked up on.

That they did not, unfortunately, “You should try talking to your classmates. Like Koutaro.”

Like Koutaro.

Akaashi stopped on his tracks as he glance at the playground where his classmates are loitering. Though many of them are playing at the see-saw and the slide, only one of them stood out.

“I will save the day!”

With that, the white-haired child jumped from the top of the monkey bars towards the ground. Landing in a stance that superheroes in movies do. The children around him screamed as they circulated around him, showering him praises that made his smile grow wider.

Akaashi blinked before looking away.

»»—————————- ★ ————-————- ««

“I found a leaf!”

“Hey, not fair! I found the leaf first!”

Amidst the excited giggles of the children, Akaashi remained unfazed as he sat under the shade of an old tree, watching his classmates from afar. His chin resting on his folded knees as the warm breeze blew on his skin.

Then Akaashi hears a thud.

He looks to his righ. He sees a lying Koutaro, groaning as the ray of noon light hit his eyes. He rubbed them as he opened them slowly. A grin flashing on his lips when he saw Akaashi.

“I thought I was gone!” Koutaro exclaimed before shifting into a more comfortable position. He sat. His hands supporting his weight as his legs are widely stretched, "I was scared because I was feeling sleepy."

Akaashi only stared at Koutaro, bewildered with the fact that someone as outgoing as the famous child in his class is hanging out with him.

"Then you should sleep," Akaashi suggested.

Koutaro whined, his fingers now pulling the strands of grass, "That would mean I would have to go."

This caught Akaashi's attention. If he had cat ears, they would have long been perked up already.

"I don't understand," Akaashi furrowed his brows, "You're not Bokuto Koutaro?"

Koutaro gave a hearty laugh, "I am Bokuto, silly!"

"But you said you are not..." Akaashi's words slowly disappeared as he tries to decipher Koutaro's words.

"I am Bo!" Koutaro exclaimed before sitting straight, his upper body leaning to Akaashi. The distance between the two getting smaller with this sudden move, "Well, at least my friends and Mommy and Daddy call me that."

Earlier, when Akaashi was looking for a comfortable spot to settle on, he stumbled upon Bokuto Koutaro. His round golden eyes clearly confused as he looked around the huge garden of their school.

And when Akaashi decided to aid his confused-looking classmate, no words can express the sight of relief washing on Koutaro's face.

"Thank God I am not alone!" he cried before running towards Akaashi to tackle him with a tight hug. Something Akaashi never expected Koutaro to do. Well, at least to him.

"Well...Koutaro-Bo," Akaashi muttered, his eyes drifting away from Koutaro. Too close, "So you are saying that you are Koutaro?"

"Yup!" Koutaro chirped as he nodded.

"But you're not Koutaro?"

"Yup-yup!"

"That doesn't make sense," Akaashi complained.

"It doesn't!" Koutaro cannot agree more. But oddly, he found this fascinating. He laid laid on the ground, laughing so loud he had to cup his mouth while slapping the soil. This made Akaashi scratch his head.

Weird. The back of Akaashi's mind spoke. The person speaking is Koutaro, Akaashi can confirm. But there is something about 'Bo' that makes him so different from the Bokuto Koutaro Akaashi knew. And whether if he liked this version of Koutaro or not, he cannot answer. Both of them were...too overwhelming for him.

"All I know is..." Koutaro inhaled as he has recovered from his amusement, "Whenever I slept, I always wake up in a different body."

Akaashi wobbled his head to the side, "Another body?"

"Hmmm," Koutaro mused, "It's still me, though. Same Mommy. Same Daddy. But things are different when I wake up. Like, like, how I have Garfield yesterday, and today I have Scooby."

"Who is Garfield?"

"Oh, my dog."

"And Scooby?"

"My cat."

"So yesterday, you woke up with a Koutaro who owns a dog, and today, you woke up with a Koutaro who owns a cat?"

"Yup!" Koutaro nodded enthusiastically, his wild streaks of hair dancing along with every nod.

"Then does that mean..." Akaashi ran his fingers on the ground, finding comfort with the trimmed carabao grass, "You're always on a different body?"

"Whenever I fall asleep, yes," Koutaro said, his eyes now looking at the group of children gathering around the playground.

"So..." Akaashi glanced at Bo, "Where's your home?"

Koutaro sighed, pouting as he scratched his white hair, "I don't know."

»»—————————- ★ ————-————- ««

"Bokuto? Why don't you invite Akaashi?"

"Akaashi?"

This made Akaashi lift his eyes from his book. The eyes of his teachers, his classmates, and Koutaro glued on him. Akaashi squinted as he felt his cheeks flushed with all the stare.

"Yeah! You were with him yesterday! You didn't tell us you were friends!" a classmate exclaimed.

Koutaro looked around him. His eyes are so confused. The same eyes Bo had when he was all alone before Akaashi has found him.

"We did?"

Akaashi looked down as Koutaro's friends started to tell him that they did see him hanging out with him yesterday. His tiny fingers smoothening the creases of his favorite storybook.

"W-Well...then I guess Akaashi and I are friends!" Koutaro, despite his confusion, concluded.

"Akaashi, would you like to come to play tag with us?"

Akaashi was forced to look up once again, Koutaro is a couple of steps away from him. His hand opens as if he is willing to lend him his hand.

Akaashi scanned Koutaro's face. His round eyes are wide along with his toothy grin. His spikey hair disheveled given that he loves to move around whether he is in or out of class.

In the end, Akaashi shook his head before averting his gaze from Koutaro, "No thanks," he replied softly.

Chapter 2

Taglist: (well, if you wanna :> )

[fmdminaharchive]

❧ you’re like spring.

date(s): february-march 2021 mentions of: daisuke (briefly for happening reasons), jiah (extensively for gay reasons) word count: 1,712 (475 words composition, 748 words songwriting without the lyrics) warnings: none details: partial composition and full lyric verification for ‘the spring’. minah makes music again, it’s more of the same yet different. she’s also grossly in love, though she’s well aware there has been a time she wasn’t. also little extra bits of the whole Process because i can and they’re cute

“how about another spring song?” the creative director suggests and minah is quick to agree.

sure, she has some thoughts on that statement. the expected release date they gave her is late may, pushing near the end of spring but she can’t say she’s surprised. sure, these songs usually do best around early to mid april, when spring is fresh and the temperatures are slowly creeping up together with the bloom of flowers but she wagers that either bc doesn’t give her solo comeback enough priority over whatever else is planned earlier in the year or they’re aiming to recreate the same effect ‘hopefully sky’ had. 

it’s kind of ironic, minah thinks, the implied image of a late bloomer bc throws in her lap. 

she doesn’t mind it, it kind of suits her in ways.

➽───────────────❥

being informed that she will be working with the same producer she worked on for ‘hopefully sky’ and ‘being there’ only further confirms minah’s suspicions, they’re fully intending to let her stick to her niche. it’s not a bad thing persé, she likes her music, she likes the producer, the whole process will undoubtedly be a delight. but paired with the fact she had been purposely left out of writing for her debut album last fall, minah can’t help but feel bc doesn’t yet trust her quite enough. not enough to write on something important as an album, not enough to write on something she hasn’t done before.

which just means she has to prove herself.

when minah shows up for their first studio session, she shows up prepared, reaching for the acoustic guitar kept in one of the corners of the room

one eyebrow of the producer quirks up. “were you asked to compose it yourself? i thought i was, that’s why i prepared some things-”

minah just shakes her head, smiling serenely. “i wasn’t. but i have something i want to let you hear regardless.”

the guitar parts aren’t all that much, no bells or whistles. but minah likes to think that’s their charm. her instrumentals never are too flashy, not taking the foreground but instead serving as a gentle, guiding hand. the strums and chords are meant to be a base, to frame and support her voice rather than to be the main attraction.

the simple melody reminds her a lot of her busking days back in busan. sure, for the most parts she played and sang popular songs, ones that would be recognized by passersby and hopefully bring a smile to her face. but when things were slower, wen there weren’t as many people around, minah could spend stretches and stretches of time playing around with chords, improvising their structure as she went, their gentle hum to fill the silence until people came by again. it was a comforting sound, a comforting feeling.

of course, this time it’s not mere improvising, not tangent of chords that escape her memory the moment they fade out into the air around them but it still feels that way as she plays the song for the producer, a light-hearted, warm feeling teaching from her fingertips to her chest. 

when she finishes the song, minah puts the guitar beside her again, looking expectantly at the producer. “it’s not a full song-” she starts, sentence trailing off, searching for some sign of approval or dismissal, whatever comes first, whatever will tell her if she was right to go out on a limb.

“it’s not.” the producer agrees with a nod. “but it could be.” another beat of silence. “it will be when i turn it into one.”

the excited squeal that escapes minah is one of victory.

➽───────────────❥

“you know, i already wrote lyrics to go with it too.” minah brings up a little while later, by now both of them with a cup of coffee in their hands, having spent the last hour or so properly writing down the guitar part she had played earlier and fiddling with ideas how to expand on it.

“well why didn’t you say so earlier, go ahead, i’m listening.” 

so minah quickly pulls out the piece of paper the lyrics are written down on. they’re her words, she has sung them a few times but she doesn’t feel confident enough in her memory to do it entirely by heart just yet. 

she picks the guitar up again from where she had left it, leaning against the side of the table, placing her fingers against the fingerboard and strumming the strings, playing the same chords she had played before but this time accompanied by her voice. 

i think spring is coming again almost sick of the cherry blossoms once again, i face a lonely season as the wind blows

in terms of sound, the song sounds as warm and comforting as it’s spiritual predecessors ‘hopefully sky’ and ‘being there’ had, the sweet, family-girl charm minah had initially wrapped the general public around her finger with. lyrically, however, the tone is a bit more somber, lonely and longing for the happiness her surroundings seem to have found. it puts it smack in the middle of both her self-written songs from last summer and the tone of her first album and her portal collab with daisuke from last winter. a pretty clever way to bring together the two sides of her sound she has released so far if she says so herself.

that flower is so pretty, it makes me lonely that couple is smiling so brightly making me so sad why is it so beautiful? why am i jealous? everything’s spring spring spring but me

of course, the lyrics are hardly relevant for minah in the moment. she is entering her second spring together with jiah, their relationship having started roughly a year ago, when spring was creeping up on them much like it is now. 

but feelings didn’t need to be lived to write about them right, to be able to convey them all the same. minah’s entire ‘epilogue’ had been drenched in the sorrow of heartbreak while she was on cloud nine. much the same applied to this song, there is none of the longing for a spring romance, not when she has all of that right in the palm of her hands already, not when she gets to wake up stroking the messy strands of hair out of jiah’s face and kiss the tip of her nose.

you’re spring, spring spring spring you, where did you go? you’re spring, spring spring spring the spring wind is blowing

minah gets it, she really does, why spring is generally seen as a romantic season, the slow bloom of the world stirring awake after the winter. cherry blossoms showers during walks in the parks, couples huddled together due to the last remnants of cold wind. spring is romantic in it’s very existence. it’s soft, it’s comforting, a gentle welcome after the slumber of winter. 

and because of that, jiah is spring too. the pink hues of her flushed cheeks and the radiance of her smile, the tingling sparks of heat left across minah’s skin. she’s warm without ever being overwhelming, like the slowly rising temperatures giving the flowers time to adjust and bloom.

i’m dreaming of a fun love will my sweet love ever come? after another lonely day the wind blows

it hasn’t always been like that though, minah has been familiar enough with the bittersweetness of cherry blossoms. she’s a notorious workaholic after all. for as long as she can remember, she’s always been busy with something, be it her career or her family. it had left ample time for epic romances when she had been far too all over the place to open up her heart and whatever sparks did fly quickly fizzled solely due to the fact minah didn’t have the capacity to nurse a budding romance among everything.

so it isn’t like she doesn’t understand, it wasn’t like she has never kicked the ground scoffing watching the loved-up couples in springtime. minah knows the feeling all too well. so she knows how cathartic songs like this can be. sometimes you just need to be bitter for a bit before carrying on with life.

when the warm spring wind brushes my cheeks will spring come into my frozen heart as well? is it love?

minah has found her own love in the spring, only just a year ago, after watching the seasons slip by so often without much romance of her own. 

so minah hopes. she hopes that anyone who will relate to the song hearing it now will find their own spring love eventually. maybe not this season but possibly next, or the one after that.

even if not for many more springs, with every passing year, they’ll be one spring closer to that, and isn’t that enough reason to keep waiting? 

➽───────────────❥

a few weeks pass after that, minah doesn’t really keep track of the time where is so much she’s doing anyway but sooner or later, she finds the same producer waiting for her after she leaves vocal practice for lipstick’s upcoming comeback. 

“c’mon, i need to steal you away for a second, there is something i want you to listen to.” he explains briefly and minah is quick to follow the familiar path to one of bc’s in-house recording studios. 

of course, she knows this is about her solo comeback. she however doesn’t know if her draft got the bc stamp of approval. she might just as well be faced with an entirely different song.

as she takes a seat in one of the office chairs, the producer pulling up a file on his computer gracefully named ‘the spring’ minah feels pretty sure of her case though.

“i finished your song.” he simply says before pressing play.

it’s her song indeed, both of those parts are true. it’s hers, the familiar guitar strums in the background and a demo of her lyrics on top of it. it’s also a song, a full song this time, the blanks that were still missing from her rough draft filled in. 

minah really likes it.

when the song comes to an end, she turns to the producer and smiles. “i like the accordion.” she laughs. “it’s a nice touch.”

[fieryanmitsu]

A Steamy Morning | A3! (Tsumugi/Izumi) | 18+, NSFW

BECAUSE I’M STILL SCREAMING ABOUT ACT 3 TSUMUGI AND HE DESERVES MORE LOVE AND ATTENTION. And I am thirsty for more content for this precious angel…. Except he’s a devil now, so I guess I’ll just go straight down to hell with some long overdue Tsumugi smut. This one has been floating around in my drafts for a while and I finally had the motivation now to finish it up, haha!

This takes place during the “High Spirits at the Hot Spring!” event and is just… PWP... but it's fluffy! I’m not sorry, haha. You have been warned~

A STEAMY MORNING

CHARACTERS: Tsumugi Tsukioka, Izumi Tachibana

PAIRINGS: Tsumugi/Izumi

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

WARNING: 18+ (NSFW, contains smut/explicit sexual descriptions and situations)

Tsumugi grunted as his eyes fluttered open. The room was still relatively dark and he couldn’t see much light from behind the curtain that covered the window. All around him were the sounds of deep breathing and snoring.

Wriggling his arms from under his blanket, he reached for his phone and squinted at the backlit screen. 5:02 a.m. It was rare for him to wake up so early naturally – he was notoriously not a morning person. However, he felt wide awake and didn’t think he could fall back asleep.

Rather than toss and turn in his futon and risk waking the others, Tsumugi decided that he may as well take advantage of the early hour and take a quiet solitary soak in the hot spring. While it had been fun to be with everyone last night, he was excited by the thought of enjoying some tranquil alone time in the open air. After all, it wasn’t every day that he got to stay at a hot spring inn.

Desperate to not wake up any of his roommates, he decided to only grab his towel – which was conveniently laying on top of his bag to dry from last night – and quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. It wasn’t until he was in the hallway that he realized he had forgotten to grab a pair of contacts or his glasses.

Though his vision wasn’t terrible, the slight fuzziness that his lack of eyewear caused made him pause and consider if he should return inside. But, if he started fumbling in his bag, he would surely wake someone up. Deciding to take his chances, he set off down the hall towards the stairs and began making his way to the hot spring based on his memories from last night. A few minutes later, he saw the familiar doors leading to the changerooms. He was proud of himself that he had made it there without needing to squint at any of the signs.

Stepping inside, he noted that there was only one other pair of sandals at the entrance and hummed happily at his good luck that he wouldn’t have to share the hot spring with many others. Quickly stripping off his yukata, Tsumugi stepped into the shower room and washed himself off before he took a brief soak in the indoor bath – sighing as the hot water warmed up his core. After feeling sufficiently warmed up, he draped his hand towel over his neck and stepped outside to the gorgeous outdoor bath.

The morning air was crisp and cool, and the steam from the hot volcanic water gathered in heavy clouds above the surface. Squinting slightly, he could just make out the back of another person soaking at the edge of the pool.

As he walked closer, the other person sensed his presence and turned around. It was then that he realized that what he had thought was a slender man… was in fact a woman. A woman who happened to be the director of his theatre troupe.

“T-Tsumugi?! What are you doing in the women’s bath?!” Izumi squealed in surprise, quickly trying to cover her bare breasts with arms – but a moment too late, because, even without his contacts or glasses, Tsumugi still managed to get an eyeful of her pert, well-shaped breasts.

He immediately felt the blood rush to his face – and to his groin, much to his dismay – and he quickly turned around and tried to use his hand towel to cover himself.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize – I though this was the mens’ bath! We used this door last night!” Tsumugi stammered, shocked.

“U-Um, they switched the baths this morning. I guess you must have missed the sign.”

Tsumugi inwardly kicked himself for not just sucking it up and digging out his contact lenses earlier.

“I’m so embarrassed… Pl-Please forget this happened. I swear that I didn’t see, um… much…” he responded, his voice getting quieter by the second. “A-Anyway, I’ll leave now before anyone else walks in!”

Practically yelping out his last words, Tsumugi quickly began to leave. Unfortunately for the blue-haired man, in his haste to escape, he lost his footing on the slippery rock under his feet and fell down hard on his back, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Tsumugi!!”

He heard a splash of water from behind him as Izumi scrambled out of the water and to his side.

“Are you okay?! You didn’t hit your head, did you?!” she cried, gently clutching his shoulder with one hand. The other was already carding through his hair, reaching behind his head to see if he had injured it.

“I-I’m fine,” he managed to gasp out as he regained his breath. “I think my pride is hurt more than anything – though I might be a bit sore tomorrow…”

“Phew… Thank goodness,” Izumi sighed, sitting back on her heels and closing her eyes in relief. “My heart was about to jump out of my chest when I saw you slip.”

“It was a close call, that’s for su—” Tsumugi’s voice trailed off as he propped himself up on his elbow and came face to face with a close-up shot of Izumi’s bare breasts. Seated as she was, it only took one downward flick of his eyes for him to take in the area between her opened thighs, and suddenly his mouth was dry.

Confused by the sudden silence, Izumi opened her eyes and saw that Tsumugi was red and slack-jawed…. and that his eyes were definitely not looking at her face. Flushing violently, Izumi was about to turn around to shield her body from his gaze when her eyes fell on a very prominent and very erect object. She froze, morbidly unable to move her eyes away. She should say something, but all she could manage was a strangled squeak.

This was enough to bring Tsumugi back to senses as he finally took in the situation between them – and more specifically his situation. He didn’t think his face could feel any hotter even if he were to plunge himself headfirst into the hot spring.

“O-Oh no!! I-I, ah…. I’m s-so sorry,” he stammered, scrambling to grab his fallen towel to regain what little decency he had left, his brain churning at double speed to come up with something to cover up his indiscretion. “This… uh, this just happens for guys sometimes. Um, it’s a physiological reaction. It-It happens a lot in the morning – It’sdefinitelynotbecauseIsawyounaked.”

The second his half-baked excuse came out of his mouth, he immediately blanched at the implication of his words.

“W-Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, it’s not that you’re not attractive enough to cause this reaction. In fact, you’re very attractive – too attractive. You’re so cute and your body is amazing. You look even better than I imagined – Ahhh!! W-What am I even saying?!”

“Tsumugi!” Izumi interrupted him loudly, and his head whipped around to look at her so quickly that he thought he heard his neck crack. Her face was bright red, but that there was a fire in her eyes.

“Did… Did you mean that…. that you think I’m attractive?”

“U-Um… Y-Yes…” he stammered, entranced by her feverish gaze.

“And that… that you imagined…”

“Yes…”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Izumi’s face suddenly filled his vision and her lips locked onto his. The force of her kiss knocked him back onto the floor and his arms came up to brace her against him, one arm circling around her shoulder, the other sliding along her back. He could feel her soft breasts pressing against his chest and he felt himself twitch at the sensation.

His head was spinning. He didn’t quite understand how this had happened, but his brain finally registered that he was kissing the woman he’d been crushing on for months and all other logic flew from his mind. Acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, he pressed his tongue forward to part her lips. With a slight whimper, Izumi allowed him access into her mouth as she bore down on him further to deepen their kiss. He could feel his lungs burning, but he didn’t want to part – didn’t want to let his lips leave hers for even a moment.

Suddenly, he was breathing again as he felt Izumi push herself off his body. Before he could say anything – or even think anything – she unexpectedly shifted and straddled his legs. His breath hitched in his throat as she slowly trailed her hands up his thighs, creeping closer to his erection.

“I-Izumi?”

And then her hand was wrapped around his length and he let out a choked gasp at the sudden contact. Her fingers were smooth and soft, and his cock twitched reflexively at her touch. He couldn’t contain his moan as she began to stroke him up and down.

“Um… It-It’s been a while since I’ve done this, s-so please tell me if it’s okay,” she murmured, ducking her head in embarrassment. He could see red staining the tips of her ears as she began pumping more earnestly.

“A-Ah! Y-you’re doing fine. Loosen your grip a bit… You can take it slow,” he responded with a small chuckle. She was seriously so cute.

Slowly gaining more confidence, and urged on by his gasps and groans, Izumi applied a bit more pressure as she stroked up and down, making sure to give careful consideration to every inch of his length. She could feel Tsumugi’s muscles tense underneath her as she kept a steady rhythm and tension in her grip. Before long, she could see beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock. Swiping the sticky liquid with her thumb, she slowly dragged it down his shaft, using it as lubricant to speed up her motions.

“A-Ah, Izumi. W-Wait, st-stop,” Tsumugi gasped.

“S-Sorry, was I too rough?” she asked anxiously, moving her hand away quickly.

“No – you were great! I… I just… I want to touch you too,” he stammered, pushing himself up into a seated position.

He reached over and buried his hands into her hair – tied back behind her head in a bun – and pulled her forward for another slow and languid kiss. Izumi thought she would melt into him then and there and it wasn’t because of the heat of the steam around them. She had always been attracted to the handsome and gentle Winter Troupe leader, but she had never entertained the thought that he might like her back. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was all some fever dream.

“Izumi, will you… Will you let me try something?” Tsumugi asked softly as he parted from her.

Still stunned, the young woman could only nod. Disentangling their limbs, he gently grabbed her hand and guided her into the hot spring waters.

“It’s a bit warmer here, don’t you think?” he noted with a chuckle. He then turned her around so that her back faced him. “Can you lean over and brace yourself on the edge?”

“Uh, I can, but…  what are you going to do?” Izumi asked, though her mind was already jumping to the most obvious conclusion.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to go inside. I don’t have a condom on me, after all, so… this will be the next best thing. Just stand with your legs like this.”

Soon Izumi was bent over, with her backside towards Tsumugi. Her hands were splayed on the edge of the hot spring pool to prop herself up, and her legs were spread very slightly apart. She knew that her body was still wet from the hot spring water, but there was a distinctly different kind of wetness gathered between her legs.

Suddenly, Tsumugi’s hands were on her hips, and then she felt something warm glide between her thighs and along her folds. Izumi gasped at the foreign sensation and nearly lost her balance. However, Tsumugi’s hands steadied her and he continued sliding his cock back and forth against the outside of her wet lips.

“You’re… so wet, Izumi. You feel amazing…” he groaned in between his thrusts.

She could feel hot juices flow out of her as his pace quickened. The rubbing sensation against her most intimate parts made her moan and she could feel her heartrate quicken. It felt ridiculously good – way better than anything her own hands could do – and wanting to feel more friction, she unconsciously squeezed her legs closer together.

Tsumugi moaned behind her as she tightened her thighs around his cock. The heat from the steam and from the blood rushing into his nether regions was beginning to cloud his mind. He couldn’t help but pick up the speed of his thrusts, revelling in the feeling of the soft warmth.

As he hastened his thrusts, Izumi could feel the pressure building in the pit of her stomach. The feeling of his hard member rubbing against her was too pleasurable and she cried out involuntarily with each stroke. Desperate to ride the wave of heightening sensation, she began to thrust her hips back against him, feeling her ass slap against his hips.

An electrifying sensation started spreading through her body as her pants and moans became louder. And then, she was tipped over the edge as her orgasm crashed into her. She could only gasp out Tsumugi’s name weakly as she clenched her legs tightly together and shuddered, feeling the shocks of her pleasure rush through her entire body.

She could just vaguely register Tsumugi groan deep in his throat as he continued to thrust between her clenched thighs and she gasped at the feeling of his cock sliding against her sensitive pussy. But, before she thought she couldn’t handle anymore, he pulled back suddenly with a loud moan. His hands brought her hips down, and then she felt a splatter of warm liquid land on her back.

The young director’s legs were shaking and she thought she would collapse into the water, but Tsumugi slid one of his legs between hers and steadied her with his hands.

“S-Sorry, did I go overboard?” he asked softly, his breath still ragged. “Let me clean you up.”

He quickly grabbed the hand towel he had brought with him and gently wiped off his fluids from her back.

“N-No, I’m fine, just, um…. maybe a bit lightheaded,” she responded as she let herself sink down into the hot water. Her body still felt like it was on fire, she could barely even register the temperature difference despite the water being much hotter than the cool air on her skin.

“I-I’m so sorry, what was I thinking! You were already soaking in here already too. Let’s get you out of here and I’ll get you some water.”

Before he could panic any further, she grabbed his wrist and tugged on it lightly to get his attention. Suddenly feeling shy, as the realization of what they had done sunk in, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Um, Tsumugi, it’s okay! Please don’t apologize. I… I really enjoyed it…”

Tsumugi could feel his heartbeat speed up once more as he took in the sweet, coy look on her face.

“M-Me too….” he responded with a shy smile of his own.

He couldn’t be happier that he had suddenly woken up early that morning.

Annnnnnnnnd, that’s a wrap. I have nothing to say for myself, but I had a blast writing every second of this. Hopefully someone out there other than myself appreciates the trash fire that constantly burns in my head. As always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated! I look at every one to give myself motivation to keep writing! Or, if you’re shy since this is smut, feel free to just drop an anonymous comment in my ask box as well! Thanks for reading everyone~

-Anmitsu

[writingiyuu]

affection; sanemi x reader fluff hc 🌪🌧

requested.

posting it earlier because I can.

warning: slight or more angst

people wondered how you both get together. you were his tsuguko and you both only exchange words during training. who proposed first, they often ask. everytime you wanted to answer it you could sense sanemi’s malicious intent somewhere around you even though he dosent seem to be there. with that, you did not say any futher.

however, this relationship was quite a shaky one. not only he was busy slaying demons, also he refused to accept any affection you try oh so hard to give him.

“stay away from me”

“get out”

“go away”

and so much more. you were wondering, the fact that he accepted your proposal (yes you proposed first hehebebebe) and the day after you wanted to hug him and so on, any means of affection, he would quickly turn away. the moment you ask, he would tend to say for you to train more and not focus on this relationship right now.

you were confused. he accepted you but now he dosent want you to care about this relationship? about him? wehh???

despite all that you’ve been nothing but patient. waiting for the day he finally reacted to you lovingly and showed you the attention and love you crave from him. until one day, you utterly could not stand it.

that day was a rainy day. the storm continued from the wee hours to the current evening. and you absolutely hate rainy days. it reminded you of the past, where your entire family wad murdered right in front of your eyes. you can still remember it, fresh on your mind the pools of blood, mixing with the rain, seemingly making your house look like a bloody swimming pool. you only got out alive because your siblings hid you near the well behind your house. and after a long period of time, when you gathered courage to step out, you saw that. although this memory gave you the drive to train harder, it still traumatised you. and no one knew. not even sanemi.

back to the present, you were sent to do a mission with sanemi. news of many, not only villagers but demon slayers have been going missing in the recent nights. do you have been sent on a mission with sanemi to find out the situation and if there is, a demon, exterminate it. you kept thinking, at least im with sanemi. at least in with sanemi. at least-. a tree crashed down and nearly hit you, if not for your dearest boyfriend.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING. WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO RISK YOUR FUCKING LIFE? SNAP OUT OF YOUR TRANCE WE ARE ON A FUCKUNG MISSION HERE.”

you were in a daze but the amount of profanities suddenly shot at you and you were not even prepared for that, shocked you to the very bone. you could not control your emotions, you started hiccuping and the next thing you knew, turquoise tears was flowing down your cheeks.

your boyfriend, sighed and rolled his eyes. did he not care about you? you thought. bad thinking. it made you want to cry even more.

“this ain’t a fucking childcare. what do you want me to do huh? it was your fault that you couldn’t even take care of yourself. you could’ve been killed. stop playing victim.”

one thing led to another, you immediately raged out. “I CAN’T. I’M TRAUMATISED. THERE IS SO MUCH GOING IN MY HEAD AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE! I’M SO SORRY SANEMI, THERE’S ONLY SO MUCH I COULD HANDLE.” with that, more tears started flowing down your cheeks and you immediately ran, not knowing where your little feet would take you. you can hear your boyfriend,or at least, your mentor shouting after you calling you to come back but you just ran. and ran, into a demon.

you were shocked. how could you not sense the demon? and upon seeing it, you wanted to coil back in disgust so badly. it reeked, it reeked so badly. you may not have the nose of tanjiro’s but this smell, is so strong and foul, it can actually kill.

you looked around you, blood was flowing around your shoes, it was the villagers and demon slayer’ s blood. again, how could you not sense it. and immediately, it triggered your traumatic past and you immediately collapsed. then, the demon had started crawling towards you.

your senses were dulled. you couldn’t process to even take your sword. you could only crouch there, not functioning due to the smell and also whatever happened beforehand and that triggered memory. the demon smacked its lips, and opened its mouth. you could see layers and layers of teeth and the throat which lead to the dark abyss of the demon’s stomach. you thought it was the end when it’s tounge shot out to grab you by the waist and into the stomach.

in a blink of an eye, the tounge got sliced off. and you were carried to a safe distance. you could smell ohagi, yes, in this situation. immediately you thought of your boyfriend. you looked up, and saw sanemi. he immediately said “stay here”. and you did. you could hear some slashing, and you could hear internal organs bring ripped out. but you couldn’t hear him. you tried to, but you just can’t.

after what felt like hours, you were soaked, and you were uncomfortable being by yourself. but after being patient, your boyfriend came and carried you back to base. he did not say anything when he picked you up. he kept silent all the way back to base. you were fine with it, as you couldn’t say anything at that moment. you laid on his back with a faint smell of ohagi drifting to your nose along with the smell of rain, you drifted into sleep.

you woke up at the butterfly estate, with a cool pack on your head. shinobu came in as if on queue, and aided you. so on and so forth. you asked her then, “where is sanemi?” she smiled and said “(y/n)-san, you’ve been out for 2 days, he went back to his place on the first already and I’m sure he is there”. he didn’t even bother to stay to look after you. *sigh*

sensing your disappointment, shinobu added “he actually told me not to tell you this, however he came here thrice a day just to see you, so don’t feel disappointed that he is not here fufu~ maybe he is just too embarrassed or shy to admit that he cares lots for you”. immediately you looked at her and felt bad. kinda. maybe sanemi actually wanted to love you the same way as you love him but he just has difficulty to do it?

immediately you went back to the wind estate, but apologising to the insect hashira first. she seemed to understand what you wanted to do and sent you off. “ganbatte!” she said, before you left.

you raced back to the wind estate, only to see your boyfriend, training by himself again and again. your heart swelled when you saw him. after what you heard from shinobu, you couldn’t look at him the same way again.

sensing your presence, he immediately loomed at you. he stood there for a moment and processed for a moment before striding towards you. you looked at him, he looked so cute, but afterwards, you couldn’t help but blush. his abs was on full view and he was sweating through his white uniform. he became hot, the closer he came.

upon arriving, he asked. “you still having a fever?” you were taken aback, he cares? he cares??“sorry for letting you go for a mission in the rain, I’m sorry I didn’t know about your trauma. I should’ve asked from the start of the mission. you have been looking uneasy since then. I am sorry.” he said all these, while looking on the ground. he was standing in front of you, like a giant but yet he looked so small.

you hugged him, and he hesitated and then finally hugged you back before nuzzling his head at the crook of your neck. you could feel his breath on your neck as you touched his sweaty back. but you just don’t mind. “i forgive you, but in return you must pay me back all the affection I’ve given from start till now”.

“that’s not a problem.”

from then on, everyday when you both trained finish, in public, he would give you a light peck on your cheek, forehead and occasionally your lips. and after you both showered, lying on your shared futon he would be the big spoon and cuddling you with his legs wrapped around yours. sometimes, he would make ohagi and give it to you. otherwise he would cook you your favourite meals. but your favourite was when you would face him and cuddle towards his chest with legs tangled together while he caressed your hair and putting kisses on it.

bonus:

“sanemi,, thank you for visiting me at the butterfly estate when I was sick~”

“wha- how did you- SHINOBU!!!!”

he hugged you even tighter and buried his face deeper to hide the furious blush on his face.

a.n: sorry it was super longg I didn’t type a draft or this beforehand i came it up on the spot. sorry it so draggy :// but thanks for reading !!

[141119 @writingiyuu]

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part six Word count: ±5000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part six: Zoë remains one step in front Dean, which annoys the cocky hunter. As new details about the case unravel, both Winchester brothers find out that the independent woman is not planning to share. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer​​​, @soupornatural​​​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​​ & @winchest09​​​ who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Dean squints when he steps into the light. A clear blue stretches out across the sky, the bright color gradually turning paler as it closes in on the horizon. He’s outside in the parking lot crammed with cars; the desk clerk wasn’t lying when he said he was fully booked. The place doesn’t have a sinister feel to it anymore like it did last night, allowing the hunter to let his guard down on this caffeine-deprived morning. The older Winchester brother needs a fix and he needs it badly. Sam drank all the instant coffee and he refuses to drink that shit from the machine in the lobby. 

     He expected it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. Sam woke him up, turning up the volume of the radio completely during the drum solo of a Guns ‘N Roses song. Not because his little brother likes that particular music, but he does like to watch Dean bolt upward in bed. Payback, because the older Winchester can’t deny that he pulled a similar prank on his brother more than once. Honestly, he’s glad Sammy is starting to mess with him again. It’s been a while since they acted like siblings. The joke was a good wake up call, too, he has to admit, but he still feels hungover: wrecked, tired and in desperate need of a cup of coffee, or several. 

     Traffic rushes by, most of the cars and trucks entering the city of Rochester. It’s a big town, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment, he thinks of those the shapeshifter already took. Sam found a string of at least three disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had access to offline while Dean was driving up north. These people could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don’t find that bastard’s hideout fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs food, too. Dunkin’ Donuts, now that would be a treasure in this town. 

     When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was “out”, followed by, “she’s already getting us lunch” when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. He went outside anyway, in need of some fresh air. His shoulder is throbbing, shooting daggers through his arm whenever he moves it, but as long as he keeps it still, it’s not too bad. In the bathroom earlier, he did peel the gauze back slightly to check the injury, and he has to admit that he was impressed. He might not be able to stand Zoë, but she did an awesome job removing that bullet and sewing him back together. Plus, the painkillers she offered are a God’s gift.

     Slowly, he strolls towards his car. The pitch-black Chevrolet Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glistening. Dean smiles; what a sight for sore eyes.      He’s honored to own the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she’s such a joy to drive, but because it was Dad’s first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take good care of her. It’s what he expects him to do; to look after the family.      “Hey, Baby,” he greets his Chevy, letting his fingertips glide over the trunk.      “Since when have we reached the phase that you call me ‘baby’?”

     Dean looks over the top of the Impala and finds Zoë’s Harley parked on the other side, but he can’t spot the owner. When he moves around his car he finds her, laying on her back underneath her bike.      “Who says I was talking to you?” Dean returns, leaning against the hood.      She crawls from under the Road King and judgmentally observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench and slips back under. “Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that,” she nags.

     Dean grins and decides not to respond; it’s still early and he’s not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he has the sudden urge to pull his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But Baby is fine, she doesn’t need any TLC right now.      “What’s wrong with your bike?” Dean asks curiously.      “I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speed bump. It’s just the gasket, nothing serious,” she explains, keeping her eyes on the exhaust.      “And what’s wrong with you?” he rephrases his question.      “Excuse me?” Caught off guard, she pauses, but doesn’t make an effort to get out from under her Harley.      Dean doesn’t bother to repeat himself. “You heard me.”      “There’s nothing wrong with me, Shortbus.” Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago, annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t know where he’s going with this.      “Then what is that bandage doing there?” Dean asks smartly.      Startled, Zoë sits up and hits her head hard against the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. Cursing like a sailor she lands back on the ground. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

     She didn’t realize her shirt crawled up. Dean smirks at the string of strong language, but hides his smile when she surfaces from under the bike. Irritated, she pulls down her buttoned shirt to hide the gauze through which a little bit of blood has formed a perfect circle in the shape of a bullet wound. She uncomfortably pretends like neither he nor she saw it and disappears under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn’t going to let it go.      “Did Sam shoot you?”      “What?”      “Last night he fired two bullets. Did he shoot you?” Dean repeats.      The huntress scoffs. “Ha! Your little bro isn’t that fast on the draw.”      “I’m not kidding,” he states seriously. “Someone apparently was.”

     She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed, she looks up at him, lightning in her brown eyes. Zoë is nowhere near admitting to him what went down. Shit. How the hell is she gonna talk herself out of this one?      “Don’t worry, Sam won’t get the credit,” Zoë comments snarky, as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away.      “If he didn’t do it, who did?” he interrogates, clearly not accepting a smart answer.      “What does it matter? It’s nothing serious,” she mutters, getting up.      “It is. You got shot, damn it,” Dean argues.      “So did you. How’s that shoulder by the way?” Zoë quickly changes the subject, but Dean is smart enough not to take the bait.      “No - no - no,” He shakes his head and grins. “I’m not gonna fall for that one. My shoulder’s fine, thanks, but you’re still answering that question.”      She sighs; seems like there’s no way out of this.      “It’s not that bad, it was a clean shot,” she assures, still avoiding Dean’s question.      “Did you get the bullet out?” Dean asks, almost parental.      Zoë narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I got the bullet out.”      “Who shot you?” he asks again, slowly this time.

     Zoë doesn’t answer and saunters up to him, after which she leans against Dean’s Chevy as well. Her hair, still damp from the shower she took earlier and seems black. Despite the crappy night, her natural tan gives her a healthy appearance. The only thing that gives away that she’s tired, are the slightly visible dark circles under her eyes. When she looks aside, she meets Dean’s gaze, who’s waiting for some kind of response.      With a sigh, she gives him an answer. “The shapeshifter.”      Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, needing a moment to analyze her words. He doesn’t know which question he needs to ask first. “You ran into him?”

     Zoë averts her gaze, debating her conscience. Should she tell him? She knows he will keep digging until he does, but she could lie, obviously. Oh, what the hell. She might as well give him the whole story.      “Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him,” she explains.      “Wait… Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?” Dean double checks.      She suspiciously tilts her head while looking at him. “Yeah.”       “Shit.” He rubs his face, realizing what is going on. “You’re Sharon Evans.”      “What? How the hell do you know my alias?” Zoë asks with a tone.      “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Sam technically did get you shot,” he starts off hesitating.      “Beg pardon?!” she cries out, turning towards him, completely stunned.      “We rang Cliffer around five yesterday afternoon, to meet up with him,” he admits.      She stares at him as the missing links connect. She places a hand on her hips, switching her weight to one leg, radiating her attitude. “Let me guess! FBI?”       “Yeah. He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans’s partner. We didn’t realize we were on somebody else’s case,” he admits.      “You son of a…”

     She swallows down another waterfall of curse words and turns around furiously. That’s why the bastard changed! She didn’t give herself away, those dumbass Winchesters did! It’s a bit of a coincidence that two federal agents call, being on the same case without knowing it. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when it learned about the appointments, it changed shape quicker than planned. The fucker knew there was at least one hunter in town. It was on to her!      “Fuck!” she exclaims.

     Furious, she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean’s car and her bike. Dean just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that anything coming out of his mouth will only make her angrier, even if it’s just a smart attempt to lighten the mood.      “What time’s that appointment?”      “Five-thirty.”      “Where?”      “A bar. I’m not sure where.”       “You don’t know?!” she snaps.      “Sam knows. He made the appointment, not me,” he returns.      Zoë rolls her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment. 

     “I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Dean starts off, casually, but she doesn’t take it well.      “You don’t see why this is a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!” she hisses, lowering her voice when guests walk out the Motel Six.       “You don’t know that. There could be two of them walkin’ around,” Dean argues. “The shifter doesn’t know that we’ve met. That gives us the advantage. It doesn’t know we know.”      “What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?” she taunts.      “I don’t have a plan. Like I said–-”      “- Sam’s the geek, I know. God, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second child,” she huffs, turning on her heels as she crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest.

     Dean glares at her, offended. Not that she notices, with her back already turned to him. She picks up the tools she used for the repair and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. While she cleans up, Zoë tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she’s not even sure who Sam actually made that appointment with, then how can she work out a strategy? Big chance that she’ll meet the shifter, but it could very well be Terry, so she can't actually go in guns blazing. Cliffer hasn’t been reported missing yet, even though he has a wife and kids. If he did disappear, they would have called the authorities and Zoë would know about that. Nothing is certain, which makes this job so much more impossible to work. 

     She stops what she’s doing and stares at the asphalt. Gears are turning in her head as she goes over every scenario. Dean observes her for a moment.      “Did you eat?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or have coffee?”      “No,” she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything?      “Then how the hell can you think properly?” he wonders.      She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like there’s a war going on inside. She could certainly go with a good latte macchiato to jumpstart her brain, too. It’s no fun to admit, but Dean has a point.      “You’re right. I’m off.” Zoë throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle. She picks up her old biker jacket from the handlebar and puts it on.      “Can I come?”      The way Dean asks is like a little boy would, innocent and hopeful, adding ‘pretty please’ with his green eyes without actually pronouncing the words.      She chuckles and shakes her head. “Sorry, Dean. I fly solo.”      Her engine starts with a satisfying purr instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier. Content, she smiles and puts on her helmet. Dean, on the other hand, looks at her just like that same little boy, disappointed, even though he tries to hide it. Without another word, she turns the throttle and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a smirk from ear to ear.      “Thanks for lunch!” she shouts, overruling the sound of her Harley. 

     Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. Lunch? What lunch?       He feels his pockets, knowing he’s missing something. When the identical roar seems to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn’t exactly coming back, but drives up the ramp going to the city. She heaves her hand victoriously, holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean’s eyes follow her, his jaw dropping to the ground.      That dirty little thief! She just stole my wallet!       He gapes at Zoë, as she and her Harley merge into busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this…?      Stunned, he scoffs. Un-fucking-believable. He, one of the best goddamn hunters in the world, just got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly.      “Son of a bitch.”

     An hour later, Zoë slips her key in the lock of room 82 and walks in like she owns the world, a straw coming from her iced latte on-the-go firmly between her lips.      “Finally!” Dean complains.      He made himself comfortable on the bed with his shoes on the bedspread again, sitting up against the back wall reading a magazine Zoë doesn’t want to know the content of. Sam is behind his laptop, not surprisingly. The older of the brothers smiles happily when he sees the Taco Bell symbol on the paper bags she’s holding. It might have taken her a while to get back, but at least she brought the good stuff. 

     Without responding to his comment, she throws him back his wallet without Sam noticing, who is occupied by research. Dean catches it with his left hand and answers her victorious grin with an unintelligible mutter. She sets down a small tray with two more coffee containers.      “I didn’t know how you guys like your coffee, so I brought you both an Americano,” she says.      “Francis over there prefers a half-caf double vanilla latte,” Dean comments, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother, who on his turn glares at him and takes his coffee.       As if Dean hasn’t eaten for days, he attacks the burrito, quickly tearing away the paper wrap and taking a big first bite. Zoë isn’t surprised by his manners. Sam, however, can’t help but stare at his brother for a moment and clears his throat, disapprovingly. His sibling doesn’t seem to be bothered at all and lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’.      “This is good,” he comments with his mouth full.      “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, after which he also takes a bite of his lunch.      “Don’t thank me,” she nods at Dean. “He’s the one who paid.”            The younger brother frowns and looks over at Dean for an explanation. Dean and paying the bill? That’s new. He doesn’t need to observe him for long before Dean stops chewing and his facial expression goes blank. Uneasy, he looks away and swallows his bite. Zoë watches him, too, smirking like a cheshire cat.      “She - uh,” he pauses, studying his taco for a moment. “She kinda… stole my wallet.”      Sam almost chokes on his food and laughs out loud, the action earning a lethal glare. He then continues to look the huntress up and down. “That explains the new jacket.”      Dazed, Dean looks up. New jacket? What new jacket? Then he spots the black leather Harley Davidson bomber jacket on Zoë, brand new by the looks of it.      “You didn’t,” he reacts, shocked.      She grins at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I did.”      He grinds his teeth, trying to keep calm. “How much was it?”      “Not sure, actually. I didn’t bother to check the price tag when I slipped your card,” she returns, utterly satisfied.      For a moment Dean just stares at her, his upper lip nervously twitching. What would that jacket be worth? 400, 500 bucks, maybe?      “Oh, don’t be such a cheap jerk about it,” she comments, when she notices his expression, as if he has eaten something spicy yet disgusting. “You have at least a dozen more credit cards hidden in the trunk.”      “How the hell would you know that?” Dean snarls at her.

     As she takes a bite of her burrito, she looks up, digs deep down in her pocket and tosses him his car keys. While she casually continues with her lunch, Dean stares at the keys in his hand with his mouth agape, trying to figure out how the hell she got those as well. Sam has a hard time keeping a straight face, and who could blame him? There’s no finer entertainment than this: Dean is getting played.      “You touched my fuckin’ car?” his brother hisses.      “Obviously. I need to borrow this, by the way.” Zoë holds up a demon protection amulet.      “Give that back, Zoë,” Sam demands, trying to be strict. “What else did you take?”      “Some herbs, nothing expensive,” she admits, carelessly.      “You fucking thief. What did you take, Sullivan?”      It’s Dean who rises to his feet, holding his hand out to collect the stolen items. Reluctant, Zoë reveals a dried vine of Viburnum from her inner pocket.      “Gardener over here -” Dean nods at Sam, “- went through a lot of trouble to get ahold of that dead plant you have there. I’d give it back if I were you.”      “No. I need it,” she decides a matter of factly.      Sam narrows his eyes at the huntress, trying to read her. Why would she need that herb? He stares at it, two dried out plants tied together with a double shoestring. It only works for one thing…      “Not for yourself, I hope?” Sam asks, carefully.      “A case I’m working on the side, actually. Can’t find the damn plants anywhere,” she clarifies.      “Keep the damn twig, but I want the amulet back. Get your own supplies.” Dean ushers Zoë to hand the item over, which she does with a sigh.      He snatching his coffee from the table and returns to the bed without thanking her. In fact, he’s not happy at all that she has been sniffing around in his car. The silence that follows is awkward, even for Zoë, and she decides to change the subject.

     “I reckon you updated Sam while I was out?”       Dean nods, taking a sip of caffeine. “In detail.”      “Let me get this straight.” Sam, seated on one of the chairs by the table, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The shapeshifter knows you’re a hunter.”      “It does, but it didn’t know that at the time of the meeting. It knew one of the callers was out to kill him, but for all it cared, I could have been an FBI agent. The fucker shot me anyway,” she elaborates, finishing her drink and tossing it in the trash.      Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s your point?”      “Her point is that if we go to Beetles Bar, pretending to know nothing, it won’t take any risks. If the shifter shows instead of the real Terry Cliffer, it will try to kill us both,” Sam understands.      “You guys are not going in,” Zoë makes clear right away, taking a mental note of the bar’s name that Sam just mentioned.

     “So, what then? Lure him out and shoot the bastard?” Dean suggests.      “Not until I’m sure it’s the shifter, not Terry,” Zoë replies, as she walks over to the fridge.      Two confused faces follow her as she opens the door and looks inside.      “You’re not making any sense at all,” Dean returns, puzzled, after which he apparently gives up on the conversation and props his feet up on the bed again.      “You might actually have made an appointment with the real Cliffer guy, not with that chameleon. No one would be able to tell, unless you shine a flashlight in his face,” she explains, as she takes out three beers.

     Sam looks back at Zoë, who beckons one of the bottles to him, but he rejects it. Dean takes both the beers without hesitation.      “You’re serious? You haven’t even been up for two hours,“ Sam scolds at the older Winchester brother, astonished by the both of them.      “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Zoë defends, puts the bottle against her mouth and takes a swig, earning a grin from Dean.      “Want anything else, Sammy boy? Some juice, or milk perhaps?” she coos cheerily as if talking to a child.      Dean snorts, almost choking on his beer, but when Sam shoots daggers at him, he quickly takes another sip.

     “Don’t call me Sammy,” he warns the huntress, continuing their discussion on the case. “So, there is a possibility that we might actually have a meeting with Terry Cliffer–-”      “Okay, stop there for a second. Let me make something very clear: there is no ‘we’.”      Zoë leans on the table, her knuckles resting on the surface. Her body language is strictly business all of a sudden; apparently she’s not very happy about Sam and Dean joining in on the case, especially not without her permission.      Dean eyes her as he sits up. “You could use our help, Zo.”      “Help?” She scoffs. “Thanks to the big ‘help’ you’ve been, I couldn’t finish the case last night!”      “That happened, sorry about that. But as long as we’re here, we can offer a hand. Besides, we have an appointment with Cliffer,” Sam argues.      “I don’t care. This is my hunt. I’m going to that appointment myself,” she clears up.      A quick glance at the clock tells her that it’s a little past three. She still wants to dig up more information on her guy. The boys better get going.      “No, you’re not. That’s our appointment,” Dean bounces back.      “Seriously? You really wanna fight me on this?” she returns snappily, pushing herself from the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That appointment that you scheduled fucked up my entire case! I was here first and I’m gonna end it!”      “Oh, come on. How old are you? Five? Haven’t learned how to share yet?” Dean chuckles with an attitude, adding fuel to the fire. 

     Before Zoë can counter him, Sam comes between the two hot-blooded hunters.      “Knock it off, both of you. It will be easier to catch that shapeshifter with three hunters than with one, Zoë. Why don’t we go there together? You lay low and when we find the shapeshifter, we shoot it. We know he’ll probably be in the bar anyway, either as Terry Cliffer or someone else.”      “No,” she decides without any consideration. “I’m gonna deal with this alone and I do not need your help.”      “I can see that,” Dean comments, nodding at her abdomen, reminding her of the bullet wound that’s covered by her shirt.      “Who’s fault is that again?” she snaps. “I’m gonna say it one more time: I fly solo. I don’t do teamwork, certainly not with you two. End of discussion.”

     She takes one last sip of her beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a loud bang.      “Who do you think you are, ordering us around like that with your ‘end of discussion’? Our dad?” Sam bites back, defensive for the first time today.      She freezes at the comparison and turns her head. The boys can see the fury burning in her eyes, as if they just lit the fuse of a bomb that’s about to explode. His comment stirred something inside of her they should have left alone.      “I am nothing like your father!” she hisses.      “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean questions, offended.      “Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she counters with a tone.      “What did he ever do to you? He exorcised that evil son of a bitch that was wearing you to the prom, for fuck’s sake.” Dean gets up and steps towards her, clearly not too happy about the way she’s talking about his father. 

     Trying to not lose her cool, Zoë chuckles sarcastically, looks away, and places her hands on her waist.      “You owe him,” Dean pushes, halting before her.      “I do not owe him a fucking thing,” she snarls fiercely, staring him down.      Their eyes battle, waiting for the other to look away, but both Dean and Zoë are determined not to be the first. Her anger towards John Winchester radiates from her; the brothers can both feel it. They struck a nerve, that’s for sure.      “I want you out,” Zoë declares without even blinking. “And I’m serious.”

     Dean's jaw tenses as he grids his teeth. “Fine.”       With a sigh, Sam gets up from the bed and grabs his duffel, Dean already on his way out. The younger brother doesn’t feel like leaving her alone on this case, but Zoë clearly isn’t going to change her mind anytime soon.      “If you need us-–”       “- I won’t,” she immediately intervenes.      “If you do, we’re going south.” He leaves a card on the bed.      “Don’t bother, Sam. The stubborn bitch won’t call us anyway,” Dean responds, holding the door.

     She ignores his words, annoyed by the slightest sting that his bitter voice leaves. In a quick glance, Zoë sees two phone numbers written down on the card, but she doesn’t intend to pick it up. Sam looks over his shoulder, but he isn’t angry with her. His eyes ask her to please reconsider, but all she returns is a cold gaze. The door closes behind them and the brothers walk down the hallway.      “Unbelievable,” Dean scoffs. “What a fucking waste of time.”      Their footsteps echo through the hall as they pass the front desk. Sam nods at the younger guy who took over for the day when they exit Motel 6, and enters the parking lot. The sun is still shining and shimmers on the cars passing by on the 52 highway, tires rush over the blacktop. Dean halts on the driver’s side of his Impala.

     “Where to?” he asks, opening the door to get in.      “We’re staying in town,” Sam decides before he sits down in the passenger seat.      “What? No! We have better things to do, Sam,” Dean argues, still mad at the huntress.      “I know we do, but I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam admits.      Dean sighs. “Here we go again with that feminine intuition shit.”      Sam rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t respond to his words. He can’t understand why, but somehow he has the urge to look out for Zoë, almost like it’s instinct. Unnecessary, of course; she has been fine by herself for four years. Why should today be any different?      “Let’s just go. You said something about a possible case in Iowa yesterday? If she can handle this, why bother to stick around if we can hunt something else?” Dean reminds him.      “One night. We book a motel, check on her, and if she nails it, we leave. She doesn’t even have to know we’re there,” Sam suggests.      “I thought you were determined to find Dad?” Dean looks aside at his brother, waiting for a response.      “I still am, but we have no lead, not even a single clue where he is,” Sam points out.      “Hey, that’s what I’ve been telling you, but it didn’t stop you from looking. You were the one who was all, ‘I gotta find Dad, it’s the only thing I can think of,’ Dean bounces back, imitating his voice. “And now you’re ditching him for some chick?”       “I’m not ditching him for some chick!” Sam denies.      “Ah, come on. You like her and you know it,” Dean carries on.      “I do not like her, Dean! Jess just died, damnit!” he exclaims.

     Dean looks away and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows he went too far, so he keeps quiet and turns the ignition. When he flips the key, the V8 motor under the hood growls, impatiently waiting for Dean to back up and hit the road.      “You said it yourself: Dad doesn’t want to be found. I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to spend the night here, unless you have some kind of lead I don’t know about,” Sam suggests.      “Fine, whatever. As long as that motel has a bed. I really need to get some sleep.” 

     He puts his car in reverse and looks in the rearview mirror as he guides her out of the parking spot. The shift of his body causes him to grimace, pain cutting through his shoulder.      “Feeling alright?” Sam checks.                             “Yeah, just tired. I need more painkillers, that’s all,” he mutters.      Sam takes out his phone and calls a booking agency he had listed in his contacts earlier. As the call goes through, he sighs. It’s going to be a difficult task to find a room with that poker event in town. He waits for someone to pick up on the other side, meanwhile wondering why Zoë got so worked up about their father. Dean has a point; John saved her from that demon, so how could she possibly despise him? Something must have occurred; maybe she crossed paths with him later on and John did something to upset her. She wouldn’t be the first to cross blades with him, after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seven here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name​ @destielhoneybee​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @heartsaved​ @idksupernatural​ @laphirablack​ @magssteenkamp​