#-work hard on them but like. they came together Quickly in terms of the actual writing/ideas/etc. vs this one i've gotten stuck multiple Xs

[novvabee]

The Boys in the Band

AN: I got carried away with this one, but here is the second part to the band au

word count: 2.8k

cw: language? there is nothing really bad about this one.

Since your first show, you had been quite busy. You had opened for a couple bands at The Common Room, you booked a few nights at the popular club, The Hog’s Head, and managed to snag a spot in another festival. You had become popular very quickly amongst the girls, gays, theys, and young people in the city. Each gig you noted more and more fans, crowds growing, singing so loud and dancing so hard. 

This is what you always dreamed of, performing and making people happy. You lived for the drama and theatrics of it all, dressing up on stage and singing your heart out. The girls felt the same electricity, the same passion as you. That made your bond as a group that much stronger.

Not to mention, you were all good friends. Lily had mentioned to you that she and Mary had been messing around and found out they actually sounded really good together. Then they asked Marlene if she would play drums, which she said yes to in a heartbeat. And then Lily realized they needed a front woman, someone who could sing and bring the most energy. She thought of you, your bold and fierce attitude, your flirty and fun personality. And that is how you started.

The four of you wrote all the music you performed; the fun and girly songs by Mary, the campy over-the-top songs about women by Marlene, the sad and slow ballads by yourself, and the thought provoking and experimental ones by Lily.

Mary had the upbeat, girly, pop songs down. Her personality just flowed with inspiration for them, so those were the types of songs that you mostly sang and performed. You weren’t complaining, her songs were half the fun.

Marlene was full of something you all liked to tease her about; lesbian angst. But all that angst made for great songs to perform and were usually the crowd favorites.

Lily was slightly different, she was full of thoughts and ideas about the world, and her medium to get them out of her brain and into the world, was through music and lyrics. She wrote a lot of songs for women, for rights for all and for political change. If you had to pick, you would say hers were by far your favorites. She didn’t write often, but when she did, she had a message, something to say. You loved that about her.

Your songs were all ballads and sad. The girls teased you about that too, saying you shouldn’t let a man make you cry. It wasn’t exactly your fault, you had just gotten out of a long term relationship, and were drawing inspiration from all the confusing, mixed feelings that came with that. 

You had been dating this boy, Matthew, for about a year and a half, but everything seemed to take a turn for the worse a couple months ago. Your once sweet and charming boyfriend had turned into this cold, vacant man right in front of you. You two argued all the time, about small things as well as very important, serious things. He started accusing you of sneaking around, hiding things from him, cheating on him. None of it was true, and you tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.

So you had enough. You told him that if you two couldn’t work things out, you didn’t know if you could continue on. He said nothing, just agreed with you. He didn’t try to mend the broken relationship, didn't try to fight either for you or with you. You would’ve taken either, but he just walked away.

As much as you tell yourself you’re doing so much better, that you have moved on and don’t care about him anymore, that isn’t exactly true.

You leaned into the band to distract yourself, putting everything you had in it so that you wouldn’t be left with those feelings. You’re just glad you had your friends, your girls who not only could help you through it, but also help you see this band through. They ignited you.

You felt that way even just sitting on the floor of Mary’s apartment. The space was cute and cozy. You girls were sprawled out over fluffy rugs, a plush couch, and two oversized bean bags. 

Mary was nodding her head along to a beat that only she could hear, writing down what you could only guess were new lyrics. Lily was strumming a tune she had been working on for over a week. You and Marlene were talking about what to wear for your upcoming show. 

“I think you'd look good in that pink leotard with the matching cowgirl boots.” Marlene recommended.

“The pink tassels or the pink heart?” you asked.

She thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “The tassels, that way you can wear the boots and maybe a cowboy hat,” she paused looking at the other two, “maybe we can try out Pink Pony?”

Excited, you clapped your hands together. You had been dying to perform this new song in front of a crowd and this was the perfect opportunity. You were playing at The Common Room again, but this time it was only you. Unlike every other performance you had, this time there were no openers, and no one else after you. You got a whole set for yourselves and the whole night to perform and party with fans.

The night was going to be nothing short of magical.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

James followed Remus and Sirius into the stage door of The Common Room.

All three boys wanted to come and see the performance that The Pixies were giving tonight. They had gained a lot of traction recently, seemingly overnight.

James didn’t feel at all jealous or threatened, they were doing just as well themselves, and they made entirely different music. He was more curious as to the fact that this band came out of nowhere.

The Marauders were used to competition revolving around the music world. They had been doing this for a while now, they understood the fight to fill spots and book sets. This band was just another contender now.

James was more frequently used to The Snakes stealing their gigs or spots in festivals, but now even they were pushed aside for this new band. The Snakes was led by Sirius’s little brother Regulus, another person on the list James hadn’t spoken to in a while. James knew that Regulus was a grudge holder, hell, he was related to Sirius, so he shouldn’t be surprised that Regulus cut all contact.

He fucked up, he knew he did. But he still wasn’t ready to think about it.

Slipping through the crowd and continuing to follow as best he could, all three boys ended up in the back of the already packed room. 

“Holy shit,” Sirius began, “there are so many people. How much were tickets?” He asked Remus.

Remus answered with a head shake. “Don’t know, Lily told me to come in through the back door so we wouldn’t have to pay.”

James’s stomach sunk, maybe he shouldn’t have come. Lily didn’t even invite him, he just tagged along with Remus. But, she had to have known that would happen, right? The boys didn’t do anything or go anywhere without each other.

“Oh my god! Hi,” came a voice from a girl to his right. “You’re The Marauders right? I love you guys. I’ve been to, like, a bunch of shows.” James recognized this girl. She was always front row or close enough, always giving Sirius a look that showed she wanted to fuck him, or at least become a groupie. “Could I get a pic?” she asked.

Sirius smirked. “Course you can sweetheart.” he said while she handed her phone to someone she was with. She stood between Remus and Sirius for the photo, then thanked the boys, obviously wanting the interaction to continue. 

James did not. He would look like such an asshole taking pictures with fans at Lily’s show.

The thought was cut short when the house lights dimmed and the stage turned a hazy pink color. James lost every thought in his head when you came out on stage.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Walking out onto the stage, you were met by a wall of sound, cheers and screams. Your nerves and butterflies instantly fluttered away. This is where you were meant to be, up here on this stage, in front of a crowd, making music. You had dreamed of this since you were a little girl.

You pranced yourself out in a cowboy hat and high heel boots, a matching sparkly and intricately tasseled leotard to top it all off. Your ass may be out, but that was the fun of it, the aesthetic. Especially for the new song you had prepared for the night. 

“Hello my friends.” you said, the cheers and screams somehow getting even louder. “We are The Pixies,” you introduced, “and we are here to give you the night of your life.”

You looked around the crowd to see so many faces enhanced with intricate and beautiful makeup looks, so many fans copying looks from your previous performances, so many bodies in bright colors. So many people who felt confident in what they were wearing and how they looked. 

“We’re gonna start off with a new one if that’s ok with you.” You announced you got an astounding amount of cheers, noting many phones launch into the air to record this new one. “This song is a fun one but more importantly,” you paused, the whole crowd hanging on your breath, “it is about what my mother thinks I am doing with my life. Here is Pink Pony Club!”

The girls started playing the intro and you walked to the front of the stage, sitting down, legs dangling off.

I know you wanted me to stay

But I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA

And I heard that there's a special place

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day

You stood, walking back to center stage.

I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee

Hear Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me

Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene

She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream

You whipped around to the audience

God, what have you done?

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I'm just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It's where I belong down at the

You started dancing and jumping around stage, Lily and Mary joining you, smiles plastered on their faces

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

The audience had settled into the performance, had gotten into the groove of the song, and joined in the dancing and the fun.

I'm up and jaws are on the floor

Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door

Blacklights and a mirrored disco ball

Every night's another reason why I left it all

I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee

Oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me

Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene

She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream

God, what have you done?

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I'm just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It's where I belong down at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

The crowd was going crazy, right along with you, until you slowed down and the girls played quieter for the bridge.

Don't think I've left you all behind

Still love you and Tennessee

You're always on my mind

And mama, every Saturday

I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying

God, what have you done?

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I'm just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It's where I belong down at the

You jumped up and danced like crazy, the crowd joining in, loving this new song. Some picked up on the lyrics and were singing them back to you, the feeling indescribable.

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing

I'm gonna keep on dancing

You kept dancing as Lily and Mary played the outro, out of breath and so happy. Once the song was finished, the whole building was filled with cheering. You looked to Mary, then over to Lily, they looked just as ecstatic, you could imagine Marlene felt the same. 

“Thank you, thank you!” you said into the mic. “Well, if you like that Common Room, we’re just getting started.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

James had never seen a concert, a band like yours. There was no way to describe it, you were just, stars already. 

The rest of the concert was filled with just as much fun, joy as the first song. The dancing and singing and laughing was indescribable. 

The boys waited after the concert, waited until the last of the fans trickled out, then they made their way backstage. Walking down the halls and to the dressing room that had a piece of paper with the word “Pixies” in bold letters, Remus knocked on the door. 

The giggling and sounds of excitement were radiating from the room, loudly even with the door shut.

They waited for a moment before the door pulled open, revealing Mary. The smile dropped from her face for a moment before she put another one in its place, this one though, was more of an uncomfortable grimace more than anything. “Hey! I didn’t know you guys were here.” Mary said, opening the door to let the boys slide through. She hugged each of them on their way in.

James made eye contact with Lily who was on the couch with Marlene. She didn’t break away. He quickly looked over to Marlene and smiled. “We wanted to come and say great show!” he said, directed at them all, but not being able to look away from Marlene, who just smirked, knowing the situation and that James was incredibly uncomfortable right now.

“Thanks.” Marlene replied smoothly. 

Sirius noted the tension and decided to break it. “Where is she?” he asked.

All eyes went to him as Mary asked “Y/N?”

He looked at her and rolled his eyes, “No, the queen.” he said sarcastically.

“Are you going to try to sleep with her?” Mary asked, not holding back.

“What, no!” Sirius denied as if it wasn’t exactly something Sirius would do. “I just want to meet her. ‘Know thy enemy’ and all that.”

Lily scoffed. “She’ll be out in a minute, I think she's taking off her makeup.”

And as if right on que, you waltzed right out of the connected bathroom and into the dressing room. Smiling, you looked at the boys standing across from the couch. 

“Here she is!” Mary ushered you over, chipper and still energized from the performance. “This is Y/N, Y/N these are the boys in The Marauders.”

Your smile grew. “The Marauders? You guys were amazing at the festival.”

Sirius smiled back at you, charming as ever. “‘I'm Sirius.” you looked to the next boy, who was glancing at a fuming Lily.

“Uh, I’m James.” He smiled, seeming to come back to reality and out of whatever thought he was lost in. 

You looked at the final boy, tall and leaning against the wall. “And you’re Remus, right?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah we met a while back, lovely to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you! And it is lovely to finally meet you two.” you said to the newly acquainted Sirius and James, they nodded and smiled politely. There was a noticeable tension between everyone in the room, was there really that much of a rivalry?

“I think the boys were just heading out,” Mary said to the three boys standing in front of her. “Isn't that right?”

Sirius huffed and led the other two out throwing a “See you all soon.” over his shoulder as Mary escorted and followed them out into the hallway, shutting the door beyond her.

“That was… strange.” you said to Lily and Marlene. They just looked at each other and laughed, rolling their eyes. You didn’t understand.

“They're idiots.” Marlene supplied.

“They're boys.” Lily corrected.

Taglist 💌:  @adharalikethestar @mayuwolfstar @ieatboysalive @maraudereestauderelb @bugg06 @slytherinambitious (yell at me if I forgot anyone)

[iraprince]

OKAY..... finally made enough progress on R♡R for another round of playtests....! we're reaching the end (of writing. which would mean time to start on editing. and then a mountain of art)

still v much chewing on, like, "win state"... i have a fluffy/nebulous option that's like, narratively+emotionally v satisfying but in practice potentially impossible/frustrating, or a point-based option thats much more functional/more of a sure thing but might be kind of a betrayal of some of the stuff im trying to evoke...

okay maybe "betrayal" is a strong word. not gelling, more like. trying to hit that sweet spot in the middle where something is emotional and evocative and freeform (enough) but also like, actually mechanically replicable lmao

[lovemebutleavemewild]

The term "barrack's bunny" is probably offensive but as a quick way of describing your taste in men, it kind of works.

You like soldiers. A specific type of soldier, though. Not the young recruits who are rowdy and uncouth and don't know how to act. Not the stern pot-bellied paper pushers or the career types who spend more time polishing medals and rubbing shoulders than they do on the field, either.

No, the soldiers you like have experience. In all the aspects that matter. They're few and far between but when you find a good one ...

The 141 are perfect examples. They're the reason you've stuck close to this particular base for the last few months. You've never actually seen them, of course, and you've only heard whispers about them, but if the rumours are true, they're back on base, which means you're in the nearest bar, scoping out the scene, waiting.

It's starting to look like a bust. You've had three drinks, turned down four men, and are just getting bored when a new prospect slides into the tight space at the bar next to you.

He catches your eye, looking away, then quickly back. You see him look you quickly up and down and smile.

"Hi," he says. You smile back.

"Kyle Garrick," he says, holding out a hand, and you smile wider. Oh yes, you think, the rumours were right.

Kyle is just offering to buy you a drink when you're jostled from behind. He reaches out to steady you and you find yourself pressed to his chest.

"Soap, you idiot," he chastises and you twist your head to see who he's talking to. Another impossibly huge man is grinning down at you, seemingly unapologetic.

"Hello," he says. "M'name's Johnny. Where did Gaz find you?"

Things move quickly after that. You like a flirt, a tease as much as the next girl, but you know what you came here for and you've already waited long enough.

The three of you end up in a dark corner of the bar, squeezed into one side of a booth, and when Kyle kisses you, you lean into him. He's all hard lips, pulling back to feel you chase him, just to dive back in, again and again, leaving you hungry, always, for more.

In contrast, Soap's kisses are wet, messy. He doesn't pull away from you, even when it means he ends up panting heavily right into your face. When the two lean into you together, it's dizzying. You pull back, needing a second to just breathe and they barely seem to notice, crashing into each other instead. They're rougher when it's just the two of them, nipping, fighting for dominance. And meanwhile, as though without thinking, their hands squeeze your soft thighs and stomach.

You gasp when Soap's hand slips up under your skirt, looking around automatically. No one is looking in your direction; the corner you're in is so dimly lit you don't think you could see the next table over, even if weren't empty.

When you look back, Johnny is staring at you, eyes hooded. He keeps eye contact as he slips his hand further up, brushing over your panties, smirking when you squirm. And then they're slipping under your panties, pressing in and you have to close your eyes.

You feel hot breath on your ear and hear Kyle's voice.

"Give us one here, doll, show us how good you can be, and we'll take you home to give you the rest."

His hand joins Johnny's, rubbing circles on your clit and your head falls back. They start kissing you again but you don't even have the mental energy to kiss them back. Your brain seems to have dribbled out of your ears onto the cracked vinyl. They kiss you anyway, until your face is slick with their spit.

And you give them your first orgasm of the night right there, shuddering against them. If you could care about such things, you'd be glad the music was loud so no one could hear your moans. When you can force your eyes open, you blink at Gaz. He smiles sweetly before taking Johnny's hand. You just have time to focus on the sheen of yourself on his digits before he's sucking them into his mouth.

"Ready to get out of here, love?" he asks and you nod, dazed, letting him pull you up. You're nearly limp against him and he supports you with an arm around your waist. Distantly, you hear Johnny chuckle. You instinctively push back when he presses against your back, tilting your head back to receive his mouth at your ear. He nips it teasingly and his whisper sends a full-body shudder through you.

"Oh, Price and Ghost are gonna love you."

[al-the-remix]

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 2: nicknames and terms of endearment

thank you to the @bucktommypositivityweek mods for putting this together so quickly! please overlook any spelling/grammar errors...it normally takes me 5-7 business days to catch them all (if even) and I really wanted to write something for this event. Rated: E • 2K • Fluff, Romance, Humour, And some smut at the end.

Of all the things Buck thinks may prove to be a speed bump in his first relationship with a dude, (phrasing he’s still getting ragged for), like who gets to be the big spoon, if he was going to have to start buying his own shampoo (the bottle Natalie left in his shower had entered a critical state of near empty), the whole dick situation, none of them actually turn out to be much of an issue. 

As it happens Tommy is pretty indifferent when it comes to their sleeping arrangements (together, preferably); he offers to drop by the CVS and pick up more shampoo for Buck when he realizes he’s out (are you sure Herbal Essence is really what you want?); and let's just say Buck finds he takes to cock like a duck to water. 

In the end, he’s so busy worrying about whether Tommy would want to be the little spoon on occasion, or if his boyfriend now thinks he doesn’t know how to wash his hair, he completely overlooks one of the most obvious hurdles of them all: pet names. 

And the worst part is that it’s totally a one sided issue. “Sweetheart” slips out of Tommy’s mouth so easy and so smooth, his tone warm like butter sliding around a hot pan, just a little gravelly, especially first thing in the morning and late at night. The word rolls down Buck’s spine like condensation, gaining speed, to pool warm and liquid in the cradle of his hips. Tommy makes it sound so natural: a little cocky, a little, flirty, a little tongue and cheek, like the word was created to be formed by his lips and not the other way around.

Buck tries it out in the mirror one time, it’s clunky and awkward and he embarasses himself too much to keep going. He’d been surprised, maybe even a little underwhelmed (in a good way), by how few differences there really were when it came to dating men vs. women. Sure, he didn’t think any of his previous girlfriends would have been charmed if he tried one of his new grappling moves on them pre-fuck (but he bet he could proabally find a woman who did if he tried hard enough), and the stubble burn on his ass was new but not all that different from eating a girl out one week post bikini wax–the important part was the kisses felt the same, Tommy’s skin didn’t taste any different against Buck’s tongue, and his heartbeat still fluttered high in his throat when Tommy looked at him and smiled or reached out to interlace their fingers. 

The point was, the things that do stand out to him about Tommy: his strength, the way he carries himself, how he’s in equal measures serious and goofy and sarcastic in a way that has Buck bubbling fondness and unable to hold back his grin, makes it difficult for Buck to come up with an enderment he feels encompassess all of that. He’s probably overthinking it (he definitely is), but it wasn’t the first time Tommy had left him reeling and feeling slightly unmoored, and it likely wouldn’t be the last, so he better pull himself up by his bootstraps and get to work.

Buck decides the best way to feel Tommy out was to work it into casual conversation. An experiment of sorts. He’s already got a list of potential options on his phone; he leaves sweetheart off it because it just doesn’t sound right coming out of anyone’s mouth but Tommy’s. 

Tommy’s working in the garage when Buck decides to give his first option a go. The heat spiked around noon, and Tommy’s got a box fan blasting in the corner of the room. He’s still got a massive gray splotch on the center of his back where his shirt is stuck to his skin and Buck’s a little surprised (and disappointed) that hasn’t ditched it yet. 

“Hey honey, it’s smokin’ in here, do you want some water?”

Tommy jerks, bumping his head on the hood of the Charger. Buck winces. The look Tommy shoots over his shoulder is an incredulous one, rubbing at the back of his head. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not backing down now. “Honey.”

Tommy raises a brow. “What, are you going to make me a sandwich too? Get me a beer?”

Buck throws his hands in the air because he can, he knows Tommy finds his dramatics charming, the poor sucker. He turns on his heel, a smile eating away at the corner of his mouth. “I was just trying to be nice, but if you’re fine–”

Tommy lunges out and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Buck’s shorts, reeling him back. “Whoa, wait a second. I didn’t go that far…”

Buck is very happy to let himself be dragged into the circle of Tommy’s arms, broad hands slipping into his back pockets. Tommy smells a little funky, like sweat and grease and the spearmint gum he likes to chew when he’s working with his hands, an old habit from quitting nicotine post-military. 

He slips his fingers under the damp cotton at Tommy’s waist, rolling the hem of his shirt up inch by inch. “Well, what do you want then?”

Tommy gives him a quick peck on the lips. “I can think of a few things, but water does sound pretty good right now.”

Buck leans in for another kiss, letting this one linger. “Mmm, alright.”

“What,” Tommy drawls, “No, ‘alright, honey’?”

Buck slaps him hard on the ass, Tommy letting out a full body “oof” a Buck steps out of the circle of his arms. 

“Maybe later if you ask nicely.” Buck wags a finger at him as he walks slowly backwards towards the door to the house. Pretty proud of himself when he doesn’t trip over the first step.

Well, he can scratch that one off the list. 

The next up is babe, which Buck regrets almost immediately. 

“Babe, do you know where my running shoes ended up?” he calls down from the loft, and gets in return: “Where you left them babe, right on top of mine!”

Tommy spends the rest of the day parroting him, “pass the remote, babe–do you need me to pick anything up on my way home, babe--don’t drop the soap, babe–” and Buck thinks it’s best to lay that one to rest before he goes insane. 

It becomes clear that the rest aren’t going to make the cut either and Buck decides to take the opportunity to have some fun with it instead. “Honeybun” makes Tommy snort coffee out his nose; “Gumdrop”, specifically employed in front of Eddie, makes Tommy glow, pleased and a little flustered at being razzed about it by his new friend; “Lover” makes the corners of Tommy’s mouth writhe and his eyes roll and his nose scrunch up like he’s sort of embarrassed by how much he likes that one, (Buck slips that information into his back pocket for later).

They all live within the sliding scale of reactions Buck expects from him: fondness and humor and affection. It’s not until he reaches the end, the one Buck had almost not bothered putting on the list it was so commonplace, that he elicits a reaction that makes him pause. 

Tommy’s in the kitchen, kneading pasta dough into a soft ball, they’re making handmade ravioli to take to a housewarming potluck at Bobby and Athena’s new place, when Buck asks: “Baby, what time are we supposed to be leaving again?” and watches the back of Tommy’s neck flush a vibrant red. Interesting. 

Buck doesn’t draw attention to it. He doesn’t push or tease. He just drops it into their conversations, here and there, not frequently enough to really give Tommy a reason to call him out on it, though Buck finds it telling that he never does. It’s obviously having some effect on him, albeit a silent one: high color rising in Tommy’s cheeks, his eyes casting quickly down and away. 

Buck waits for the right moment to really set the hook and see what he can draw out; it’s just chance that that perfect moment happens to be when they’re naked in bed. 

Tommy’s legs are hooked around his waist and his fingertips are digging white crescents into Buck’s biceps where he’s gripping him like he’s holding on for dear life. His eyes keep circling down to where Buck is spreading him open then back up to catch Buck’s gaze like a closed circuit.

The cling of Tommy’s body is slick and sweet, and he looks up at Buck like Buck's giving him everything he wants and he can’t quite believe how good it is. His eyelids droop like he’s struggling to keep them open and Buck swoops down to capture Tommy’s mouth in a kiss. Tommy moans into it and Buck can feel where his cock is kicking insistently against his stomach, wet and hot to the touch. Buck curls a fist around it, stroking him from base to tip and watches the way his eyelashes flutter and his mouth drops open in silent pleasure. 

Tommy’s other hand slips from Buck’s biceps to his back when Buck dislodges it so he can brace himself on one arm, get a little closer, suck wet kisses into the razor edge of Tommy’s jawline. He slows their rhythm down a little, grinding in with deep swivels of his hips. Tommy’s knees pinch tight at Buck’s sides and he manages to pry his eyes open just enough to sweep his gaze down to where Buck’s stroking him and his rim is stretched nice and slick and pink around Buck’s cock, and back up again. His pupils are blown wide and his hands twitch on Buck’s lower back, slipping down to the meat of his ass, pawing at him, pulling him in–

“You're going to come aren’t you? I can feel it,” he says right in Tommy’s ear. 

“Evan–” Tommy cuts himself off on a moan, his nails dig a little deeper into Buck’s skin, and Buck barely feels it; all of his attention narrowed down to jacking Tommy off and fucking into him at the angle that makes get all tight and twitchy, his muscle tensing up, panting all hot and heavy against Buck’s temple. 

“Common, I want you to,” Buck says, flicking his wrist tight and fast at the head in the way he knows will finish Tommy off quick. “Tommy–Baby–Let me feel it.”

Tommy’s brow crumples and Buck gets to feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his hand and around his cock as Tommy comes undone, slicking his chest with thick, white streaks. 

Buck presses his face into the damp crescent of Tommy’s neck and rabbits his final few strokes into the hot clutch of Tommy’s ass. He can taste the salt on Tommy’s skin as he groans against it, rolling his hips indulgently as his cock softens. 

Tommy strokes his back as he pulls away, arm falling to the side as Buck gets up to ditch the condom. He’s staring up at the pebbly stucco of the bedroom ceiling when Buck returns to bed. “No one’s ever called me that,” he says quietly, contemplatively. 

Buck shuffles closer till he’s pressed up along his side, draping an arm over Tommy’s midsection to anchor himself. Buck finds that hard to believe. He can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t want Tommy to be their baby, but he’s glad he’s Buck’s.

“Well, it’s only fair that I’m your first for something too.”

Tommy rolls his head to the side, a dopey smile on his face. He looks fucked stupid and Buck feels unbearably fond about it. 

“Sweet talker,” Tommy accuses softly, hooking two fingers under Buck’s chin and pulling him into a kiss. 

Yeah, Buck thinks, I like the sound of that.

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

[fruittt-punchhh]

Pop My Cherry!

this is part 9! read the rest of the parts here.

Synopsis: your dad's best friend is none other than Toji Fushiguro, and you can't help but wonder what he could do with his hands.

Characters: Toji Fushiguro x reader. Choso is mentioned a few times.

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, afab! reader, fem! reader, dad's best friend! Toji, suggestiveness, cursing, marijuana and alcohol use, angst (forgive me)

Word count: 6.9k-ish (ayoooo)

Notes: hi bestiesssss!!! I’m so sorry for the angst in this chapter, but it had to be done. I’m too much of a wimp for heavy angst tho so it won’t be around for long I swear it. Next part is already in the works so I’m hoping you get to read that soon as welllllll🫶 as always ily tysm. (not to spoil but things will continue to be freaky next time, just trust me on this one)

More Notes: SO. I think I have everyone tagged that has asked me to tag them for this. However, if I missed you or you didn’t get tagged and you’d like to be for all of my future fics or just future parts to pop my cherry, leave a comment or send me a quick message and I gotchu!!!

There’s no fucking way you took off like that. He thought you must have left a note and started searching through every drawer, on every surface, even in the couch cushions. He was desperate for an explanation at this point.

Did something go wrong? Was he too rough with you? You seemed to enjoy the sex and even though he could be a dumb brute, he felt like he could tell when something was going on with you, usually. So far, you’ve been pretty open with him in terms of your wants and desires. But now all of sudden you’re gone? With nothing left behind except a lighter and one of your hairbands?

He must have done something wrong. He felt so fucking stupid. He was going through the events that had occurred over the last few days. Sure, he wasn’t always a “gentleman” and he certainly wasn’t attempting to court you, but he actually put in effort for once. He hasn’t done that since… well, he truly couldn’t remember it must have been so long ago. Maybe it was the allure of the “naughty” nature of it all. It was forbidden, so maybe that’s why he felt like he needed to step up his game.

But maybe that’s also why you left.

He had to take a shower to clear his head. At some point he even felt like crying, but only for a split second. He had to get his shit together.

He turns the water to a nearly boiling temperature, hoping to feel anything other than the confusion he felt now. Maybe he should have mentioned he had to take the job so you two could go on a proper date sometime. Maybe he should have waited to get to know you better before going all the way. Maybe he shouldn’t have even came through that door in the first place, knowing all too well what you were doing underneath the covers. Maybe he was doomed to an eternity of being a major fuck-up.

The water hits his soft skin, leaving bright red splotches wherever it lands. It felt good despite it all. He watched all of the dirt and blood wash down the drain and he couldn’t help letting his mind wander. He was tired of thinking of all the what ifs.

He reminisced on the time you two were in the shower. How you looked up at him with a smile on your face, how your hair looked when it was wet, how much you seemed to admire him. Even the little things like how the water fell off your shoulders was stuck at the forefront of his mind. He felt a rush of blood surge to his groin and he almost felt embarrassed. It felt wrong to do anything pleasurable right now. Especially to the thought of you. He immediately turned all the hot water off, hissing at the abrupt change in temperature. He finished up the rest of his shower quickly, knowing he had to make a plan.

He couldn’t remember the last time he got even semi-hard and didn’t take care of it. He was in far too deep.

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

He quickly found his clothes and sat down on the couch. He had to try calling again or sending a message. Maybe it was just poor service.

No answer. The texts didn’t deliver at all. Your dad said he got a text from you so you had to have had service at some point.

You had really taken off. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, but he had to think of something.

At some point.

But right now, all he could think about was getting out of the house. Being here with you only a few hours earlier was making his head hurt knowing you were gone for who knows how long. He didn’t even know what university you went to, so he had no clue how to find you. Although he was good at finding people, he was almost scared to find you. You obviously didn’t want to be here anymore and he wanted to respect that. But you couldn’t just leave things up in the air like that.

Maybe he could call your dad and find out?

Was that really fucking weird though? And borderline stalker behavior?

Enough thinking. He had to get out and go somewhere. Anywhere. He grabs his keys and doesn’t forget to slam the door on the way out.

He grabs his phone and waits for Shiu to pickup.

“What’s up?”

“You wanna go out for drinks?”

“Is this you asking me on a date, Toji?”

“Shut the fuck up and just come get drunk with me. Please," gritting his teeth, embarrassed that he even had to say please. How fucking desperate could he be.

“A please? From Toji himself? Fine then. But you’re buying the first round.”

“Fuck off. Fine. Meet me in ten?” He asks before Shiu confirms the location.

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

He tries his best not to speed on the way there, but his mind drifted as the speedometer rose. He got there in five minutes instead of the planned ten. He went inside and found his seat at the bar.

He ordered himself two shots, and ordered one for Shiu. He downed them quickly, all too ready to forget about the day. He orders himself a double vodka cranberry and cringes at the familiarity of the taste.

Shiu arrives, patting Toji on the shoulder roughly. He downs his shot before fully seating himself at the bar. He orders himself another drink, turning to Toji who already seems a little tipsy.

“What’s with the girly drink?”

“Fuck you,” he spits, finishing the rest of it with one big gulp.

“Okay…. Wanna.. talk or something?”

“Nope.” He responds quickly, going to order himself another drink, before Shiu stops him. Toji gets a wild look in his eye, believing that Shiu is trying to prohibit his future hangover.

“Holy shit, chill. I-I’m getting the next round. And we can have a beer or something like an actual grown up.”

“I don’t want a fucking beer. Get me something strong.”

Shiu complies and lets him know he’s going to the restroom.

“What brings you here tonight?” Toji hears from behind his right side. He feels a dainty hand grab his shoulder and squeeze. He immediately straightens, uncomfortable of the thought of anyone touching him but you.

“Leave me alone,” he states plainly, trying his best to remain calm.

“Sorry, honey, I didn’t hear you. Could you repeat that for me?” She says as she inches her painted red lips close to his ear.

“I said leave me the fuck alone,” he says firmly, raising his voice enough that he knew she heard.

“Damn. Fine. Fuck you too then,” she says before she saunters out of the bar.

Shiu looks from across the room, eyes wide in disbelief. He didn’t know Toji all too well, but from the brief conversations the two had in the past, he knew Toji to be somewhat of a ladies man.

He rushes over to him, scared that someone has replaced Toji with a clone. This was so unlike him.

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t even look at her! I mean maybe she wasn’t your type, but I think she’s everybody’s type.”

He was right. She was tall, blonde, face full of makeup and had on a tight dress that accentuated her figured beautifully. Precisely his type. But he couldn’t care less right now.

“Just not in the mood, man.” He admits honestly.

“Typa’ guy you are, figured you’d always be ‘in the mood’,” he says as he laughs.

Toji looks him in the eye for the first time that night.

“Y-You think there’s any jobs we could do right now?” He says, trying his best not to stutter. He was started to feel the alcohol, and not a minute too short.

“Are you dumb? You’re bound to be drunk any minute now and I’m still tired from earlier. You good man?”

“Yeah. Just need to start working more. Gotta distract myself.”

Shiu furrows his brow, “Look. If you really need money or something I could probably help you out. It wouldn’t be much, but still”

Toji laughs for the first time tonight. Shiu was actually concerned about him.

“I don’t need your money jackass. Just need to stay busy for a while. Got some shit goin’ on,” he tells him.

“Okay. I know of one we can do tomorrow, I think. The pay isn’t great but it’ll probably take all fucking day. I’ve been avoiding it.”

“What time are we meeting?” He asks, knowing there’s no room to discuss the possibility of taking on this job.

“I never said I was gonna’ do it, what if I’m hungover?”

“My god, are you twelve? We’re doing it, so when are we meeting?”

The two discuss the details of the mission, the time, and the location. Shiu leaves shortly after, wanting to get enough sleep to be prepared for work tomorrow. Toji follows behind him, desperate to lay down. He got very drunk, very quickly, and his head was now pounding.

He walked down the block, fumbling for his house keys. He didn’t want to go back to the apartment or his friends house, but driving elsewhere was no longer an option.

He reaches the door and sighs before struggling to put the key in. He leaves the lights off like he usually does and opts to lay on the couch, not being able to stand the sight of his bedroom right now. He nearly falls and busts his ass, tripping over something in his way.

They were your shoes. From that night. The night that he put away his selfish desires to make sure your face was cleaned well. The night you relied on him to get home safely. The night where he started feeling like maybe this could go somewhere.

He picked up the shoes and tossed them aside, trying to think of anything but you. As he laid his head down, he felt nauseous. He wished you were there to tell him he’d be fine.

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

Three weeks had passed. Your time was filled with learning the new syllabi, familiarizing yourself with the material, and already starting new projects and assignments.

You had to keep yourself busy to avoid thinking of him. You felt like you saw him in every man you passed. Maybe a similar haircut or build, or even the tone of voice. But in everyone, you saw something that reminded you of him.

You kept telling yourself what you did was right. You only blocked him for your sake, knowing you’d feel too guilty if you saw a message from him. At this point, he’s probably long forgotten about you. He may not have even sent a message. He got what he wanted after all, so maybe this was all a huge relief for him.

Daily, you reminded yourself that he didn’t care. Whether it be true or not, you felt as if that was the only way you’d start to feel better. And it was finally starting to work.

You actually took it upon yourself to hangout with Choso more. You needed a friend more than anything right now and he ended up being a very good listener. Nothing had occurred in the way you originally thought they would, but you were thankful for that. You weren’t interested in being anyone’s partner or romantic interest, at least not for a while.

After you told Choso about Toji, omitting all the specific details, he was surprised you had such a hard time making the decision to leave. He sympathized with you, of course, but he also saw through what Toji was: a casual fling, and nothing more. And you found yourself agreeing with him, as stupid as it made you feel. You decided to lose your virginity to someone that couldn’t care less on how that made you feel. You had to remind yourself that afterwards, he immediately left for “work”. Who knows if that’s even where he went? Maybe he was the one who left first after all.

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

Three weeks had passed. Toji’s time was filled with missions, drinking, more missions, and an occasional smoke or two. When he was sober, he was working. When he wasn’t sober, he wasn’t thinking. Of you, of anything. It made perfect sense.

Toji and Shiu had grown closer over the past few weeks. Shiu was quick to catch on to Toji’s behavior. He reeked of desperation and was constantly busy. Obviously, something was going on. Maybe talking about it would set him straight.

It was after a particularly brutal mission that Shiu crossed the line.

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

“Okay, the target is this older man. Maybe early 50’s? I don’t know much more about him than that. I know he’s done some pretty fucked up shit, though.”

Toji was relieved. The less information he knew about his targets, the better. He liked discovering things about his targets as the mission progressed. It made the mission more of a challenge and knowing Toji, he was always up for a challenge.

“Fine with me, that’s all I need. Let’s get started,” he says, before grabbing his supplies from the trunk.

The mission location was at a gala, much too fancy for Toji’s taste. He was dressed in a suit that fit him too well, although he felt like he was wearing cardboard. The suit was stiff on his shoulders and prohibited his movement slightly. It hugged his thighs and he felt as if his circulation was cut off to his feet. Toji was more of a casual man, loving a loose shirt and sweats. This attire made him unbelievably uncomfortable, but he had to be able to slip in and out of the crowd unnoticed.

It wasn’t too long before Toji located his target. Shiu’s job was to keep the peace and make sure the target’s partner was distracted while Toji took care of business.

He matched the description Shiu gave him earlier. Tall, handsome for lack of a better term, and older. He sauntered around the room with an air of confidence, and looked to have no care in the world. He had a thick cigar glued to his lips, a glass in his hand, and at some point, a woman on his arms.

Toji never cared who his target was or who they were with. The frivolous details just made him get sloppy or too involved. The less he knew, the better.

Enough thinking. The man started to walk to one of the back bathrooms. As he opened the door, Toji got a glance inside and it seemed to be relatively empty. Maybe now was his shot.

He traipses through the crowd quite easily due to his large figure, and his hand is on the doorknob before he knows it. Opening the door slowly, he sees the man bent over the elegant counter, using a credit card to separate some sort of white powder. How classy.

Toji grabs him by the neck, much like you would a small kitten. The man immediately stiffens and starts to panic. Per usual.

Usually, Toji loved this. Seeing the panic in his victim’s eyes, the pleas for their life, the frantic begging. Offering anything they have to save their life. He’s even had men offer up their wife and children in order to save their own skin.

But this one was different.

“P-please, I-I-I have a wife. Please. She can’t lose me, please sir. Do you w-want money- it’s in my back pocket, please, t-take all of it. Please don’t do this,” he manages.

While this started to make him feel slightly bad, he reminded himself that this was a bad person that needed to be eliminated. Like all the others.

Until his wife walks through the door. Screaming, then crying, then pulling on Toji’s pant leg like a toddler begging him to stop. So fucking desperate.

Once he got a good look at her, it was over. Her makeup was smeared everywhere from crying. She had snot pouring out of her nose. A real mess. Apparently, she got a tip from a staff member that a 'suspicious looking man' followed her husband into the bathroom. Although Shiu was supposed to be here to prevent these things from happening, he was known to be an asshat sometimes.

Seeing her beg for someone else’s life so selflessly, even offering her own in exchange for her husband’s piece of shit life, snapped him out of it. He felt that no amount of money was worth separating something like that, even with how greedy he is.

“You two leave and do not come back. If I find you again, I will end both of you. Understand?”

The two scrambled to their feet, crying and thanking the stranger for sparing their measly lives. The man even left a few bills on the counter for his troubles. They hug immediately before leaving the bathroom hand in hand, heading straight for the parking lot.

Toji pockets the money and returns to the bathroom door. Shit.

He really forgot to lock the fucking door? He was asking to be caught.

He heads back into the ballroom, finding Shiu lazily attempting to find a lay for the evening. He grabs him by the arm, much to the protest of Shiu.

“Hey man, what the fuck? I-I almost had something there.”

“We’re leaving,” is what he can muster before he all but drags Shiu into the car.

It’s silent. The car isn’t even on yet.

“What is going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Shiu sighs, ”I saw the targets leave a minute ago. I thought it was some sort of master plan of yours, to kill them both outside or something. What happened?”

Toji contemplates even answering. His head is in his hands. What point is there in dishonesty now?

“I just couldn’t do it.”

“You? Couldn’t complete a mission? What is going on with you?”

“I couldn’t. Wife came in there screaming, snottin’ all over the place. I couldn’t fuck that up.”

“Fuck what up? Only thing you fucked up is the job.”

“Their marriage, I guess. I felt bad.”

Shiu was in disbelief. Since when has Toji ever cared about the personal life of their targets? He was always so bloodthirsty and ready for a payout that he had to remind him to keep the job clean to not risk getting other innocents involved.

He finally connected the dots.

“Ohmygod. Is this about that bitch you were telling me about a while back? She must have really fucked you up or-“

He doesn’t get the chance to finish before Toji’s fist is meeting his cheek. The impact is akin to a supersonic force and he wonders if he lost a molar or two. He doesn’t have time to think, feel, or respond before Toji is out of the car, slamming the door.

Toji wouldn’t stand for it. It was too far. You weren’t a bitch. You were someone he cared for deeply. Regardless of what distractions he chose, they all fell short. He saw you in everyone, in everything.

He walked home. For the first time since you left, he stayed sober on his own accord. He had to find a way to see you. He felt like driving to your university, but he still hadn’t allowed himself to find out where that is for his own sanity, and out of respect for your wishes. But he had to find you somehow.

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

Your dad was having a retirement party in a week. You were excited for the break in school and to get a chance to see your family again. You tried not to think about Toji being there. Yes, he was your dad’s best friend, but he worked most nights. The party didn’t start until six, so he more than likely would be gone. And even if you did see him, you’d be able to handle it, surely. The last week or so has been really great, and you’ve found yourself thinking about him less and less.

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

The retirement party. That’s how he would see you again. He needed to talk, that’s it. Nothing nefarious. He had to know why you left and if it was his fault. He had to try to fix things, or at least get closure for his own sanity. He didn’t even plan on attending, already telling your dad he had a previous shift at the time of the party. Which wasn’t entirely true, but he planned to be busy regardless. Parties weren’t exactly his thing, but if gave him a chance to see you, it’d be worth losing out on a couple thousand dollars.

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

Here you were, driving home for the first time in over a month. You were nervous, sure, but you felt okay. You had on a cute outfit and felt good about yourself for the first time in a while. Things would be fine, and if they weren’t, they’d be fine eventually.

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

Here he was, actually managing to arrive on time to something. He had your shoes, lighter, and hairband in a bag. He wanted to give you back your belongings in case you needed them, and it gave him an excuse to talk to you if you were there. He needed to be smart about this. The last thing he needed was to see you running off in tears, especially in front of your dad.

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

You arrive to the party a little early to help your dad set up. He was on the grill, finishing the last of the burgers. You’re actually excited to see him after leaving on the spot like you did earlier that month. During your break, you were so involved with Toji that you didn’t spend much time with your dad at all. It left you feeling guilty, but you knew your dad was not one to hold a grudge. You were an adult after all.

When your dad spots you in the yard, he exclaims a loud ‘heyyyy!’ while he opens his arms to give you a big hug. He dotes on how well you’ve been doing at school to his other friends around the grill, much to your embarrassment.

You hated to admit it, but you were starting to get increasingly nervous about Toji. For all you knew, he was on his way now. Probably not, but you had to find out for yourself.

“So, dad, who all’s coming tonight?”

He goes on to list a handful of your extended family members, some work friends, and his golf buddies. But no Toji.

Without thinking you ask, “So To- Mr. Fushiguro isn’t coming?” You feel your face get warmer. Why the fuck would you ask that?

“I mean no, he said he had to work. Were you needing him or something?”

Quite the opposite actually.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing! I just figured you’d want him here is all.”

“Oh yeah, of course. He said he’d take me out for drinks next week and he’s paying. So I can’t stay mad at ‘em.”

Phew. What a fucking relief.

“Hey, would you grab the buns out of the house? Food’s almost done.”

You tell him it’s no problem as you turn to the gate leading up the steps. You put your hand on the handle, until you feel yourself freeze in the shoes you’re walking in. You see a familiar black car turn into the driveway.

fuck.

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

He pulled into the driveway and his mouth goes dry. His heart is racing. Here he was. This was the first time he had been back to your house since you left. It made him feel sick to his stomach, thinking about everything that happened here in a few short days.

And he thinks he sees you. And suddenly his heart is in his stomach. It could have been anyone going into the house, but he could have sworn that looked like your hair. Maybe not. Maybe it was getting too dark outside and Toji was becoming far too hopeful.

He decides to leave your bag in the car. He grabs your dad’s retirement gift, a nice watch he had seen at a department store ages ago. He hasn’t worn it yet, so he figured someone else could put it to good use.

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

This could not be happening. He was supposed to be at work. You felt so hot all of a sudden, and not in a good way. You pilfer through the pantry to find the hamburger buns and take a deep breath. He may not even stay long, and you knew you’d be able to keep your emotions at bay. With how well you’ve been feeling the past week or so, seeing him may not be as stressful as you thought.

Hopefully.

You walk back outside and luckily your dad is already setting the tables. You bring the buns to the table and take a seat next to where your dad was sitting, desperately avoiding watching Toji get out of his car. Your dad's chair was at the end of the long table, decorated with balloons and even had a sash (that he was absolutely not going to wear).

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

Fuck it. People were starting to sit down and it would be more awkward the longer he waited. He saw you walk outside of the house and it hurt his chest seeing how good you looked. You weren’t too dressed up, but you had an air about you that genuinely made his head spin. He had to take a few moments to himself before he could get out of the car after he saw you fully.

He grabs the watch box from his passenger seat and turns the car off. Luckily, plenty of people were still standing and mingling, and Toji knew how to blend into a crowd well. He wasn’t too hungry, much like the last few nights, but his dad insisted he grab a plate.

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

Hearing his voice was interesting. It sounded quieter than usual. You couldn’t tell if maybe something was going on with him or he was simply trying to avoid you noticing him. Or neither. It was nice to hear again and to know he was okay, but that’s all you were allowing yourself to feel about that for now.

Your dad and Toji walk over to the table. Toji had given him his present when he first saw him. Your dad insisted Toji sit beside him at the table, since it was such a surprise to see him, he got him such a nice watch, and he hasn’t been around in a few weeks because of work. Not only that, but his seat was right in front of yours. How perfect!

Toji makes brief eye contact with you. He looked… nervous? He was just off in some way. Maybe he was tired from working so much. But it seemed like something else was going on.

He cleared his throat loudly from the shock of looking you in your eyes after what’s felt like so long. Less than two months ago he was inside you and now you feel like you could cut the tension with the knife. It felt strange being so close to you again like nothing had happened. Even knowing his shoes were a few inches from yours was making him feel sick.

You felt like your father could tell something was going on. Toji wasn’t his usual, boisterous talkative self, and you were also being quiet. Toji had his eyes glued to his plate. You in the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at him. Yes, although you hate to admit it, he was nice to look at. But more so than that, it almost seemed like he was scared to look at you.

“So, got any new love life updates, huh?” your father asks, naively. The question had made it seem like you had given him information about your nonexistent love life beforehand, which you hadn’t. You two called every now and then and he had asked about a boyfriend a few weeks ago out of curiosity when you mentioned you had been hanging out with Choso. You told him that Choso was simply a friend and you were too busy with school to even think about boyfriends right now.

“I-uh, well no. No updates, hah,” you answer honestly and much too awkwardly.

Hearing your dad ask about boyfriends made Toji’s stomach turn. He felt so angry and he knew it was irrational but he truly couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, shouldn’t you be focusing on school right now anyways, y/n?” He asks, boldly. Almost as if you two haven’t been completely absent from each other’s lives for over a month now.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing, Mr. Fushiguro,” you spit back, trying to hold your anger for fear of your father catching on.

But he did catch on, at least in the slightest. He furrowed his brow and abruptly changed the conversation topic, not wanting to frustrate anyone anymore than he already had, apparently.

Hearing you refer to him as that was at one point, endearing. But now, it’s like a slap in the face. No more loving “Tojiiiiii”, just a cruel reminder of what he was to you: an older man that knew your father.

Having finished your meal, eliminating both your appetite for food and conversation, you let your dad know you were headed inside to lay down. The party was starting to die down and you didn’t want to give Toji a chance to speak to you privately.

And there you went. Stomping off into the house with an attitude. He shouldn’t have said that shit about your schooling. He shouldn’t have really said anything at all to you, but the words were coming out before he could shut his stupid mouth. (Was it fair to believe that you were swaying your hips as you walked inside?)

"Alright man, I’ve got a job later so I’ve gotta’ get back to the house. I’ll catch you later, though!” He exclaims, desperate to leave.

Well, leave the backyard at least.

Toji walks to the car and puts it in gear, backing out of the driveway slowly. He couldn’t leave his car there as he already felt like your dad was becoming suspicious. There was an abandoned warehouse at the end of your road that would be a perfect spot to park.

Not wanting to intrude further, he sends you a text message, hoping it delivers.

‘Hey, y/n. Can we talk?’

Short and simple. But it still says undelivered. Which leaves him no choice, unfortunately.

He grabs your bag of things and parks the car. The sun was nearly set now, which made this insane idea a little easier to pull off.

He walks down the road, careful not to alert anyone from the party. Thankfully, most of the guests had left or were still talking, so there were no strange passerbys on the road.

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

You lay into your bed with a huff, frustrated at how the past hour or so had went. Why couldn’t Toji just keep his mouth shut? And why would he act like he cares if you have a boyfriend or not? Per usual, you put in one of your headphones to drown out the persistent thoughts of him.

And that’s when you hear it, faintly. A *tap tap* at your window. Which was located on the second floor. Must have been a bird or something, right?

Until it continues.

*tap tap* *tap tap tap*

Although you were creeped out, you had to investigate. It might have even been a rogue branch.

You pull open the curtains to find none other than Toji, peering into the sliding balcony door. It takes everything in you not to close the curtains, but you had something to ask him.

You barely slide open the door to leave just enough room for your voice to travel through.

“How the fuck did you get up here?” You asked in a shrill whisper. There was no ladder, no fancy magical hanging vines, nothing. Just the balcony and the ground one story below.

“I climbed,” he admits, and you swear you see a pink hue cover his cheeks, even in the dim light from your bedroom.

Not wanting to entertain any of his antics, you reach for the handle on the door. Until he stops you with his hand on yours. You hated admitting that you didn’t mind feeling his warm, rough hands on yours again.

“Look, I have some of your stuff to give you. I can just leave it here, i-if you want. But I need to talk to you," was that the best he could come up with. Really? He felt like such a fucking loser. Nothing more than a groveling dog at the doorstep of a kind face that left food out once in a while. But he had to get an explanation from you.

There was a beat. You were nervous about talking to him. Although you felt like you had self-control, he somehow managed to be in your bed with you in the first place, against all your better judgement. But you also felt a knot in your stomach. You did miss him at least a little bit, and you have been trying to reconcile with leaving on the spot like you did. It left you feeling guilty, although you kept telling yourself it was for the better.

Fuck it.

You slide open the glass and the screen door and take a step onto the balcony. You closed the glass almost entirely, and left the screen door closed so you could hear inside the house.

You take a seat on the hardwood, motioning for Toji to take a seat as well. You knew you’d be here for a while, explaining your motives and whatnot, and standing was not on your mind at the moment.

He grunts as he sits down, placing the black plastic bag in front of him. He scoots it towards you, mentioning something about shoes in a sheepish tone. You grab the bag and low and behold, your shoes from your night in the club were there. It sent a wave of memories through your mind but you tried your best to ignore them, for now.

The only noise to be heard was the crickets chirping and the occasional car driving by.

“Wanna smoke?” You ask, not knowing how to proceed. It may be stupid, but you felt like your nerves were getting out of control, being so close to him again. You two were in each other’s space for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. He’s made you nervous ever since that first night in the kitchen, and you failed to realize the power he still held over you, even though he seemed to want you to take the lead now, which was unusual for him.

“Sure, it couldn’t hurt. I can’t have much, ‘gotta drive home afterwards. Thank you.” He said, choosing his words carefully. He was not an overly considerate person, and the words “please” and “thank you” were not often in his vocabulary. But this was different.

As you start to roll up, Toji interjects.

“Can I start? The t-talk, I mean. I just have some stuff I need to say.”

You answer with a nod of your head as he continues.

“Look, I know I left right after… well after everything. The job paid well and I wanted to use it to take you out again, or something. I know I should have just cancelled it anyways, and… I-I’m sorry for that. But then I get back and you’re gone? I couldn’t find a note and I guess you blocked me. I was so scared something had happened to you. I figured it was something I did, but I need to know why you left.”

It was as simple as that. Even though he was not much of a smooth talker outside of the bedroom, that was the best he could manage.

You light the blunt and inhale deeply, processing what he just said. So he did care. All the while you’ve been reminding yourself he’s moved onto the next lucky lady that would sleep with him. You take a few more hits before passing the blunt to Toji, and having your hand that close to his again felt embarrassingly electrifying.

Although you were a seasoned stoner at this point, it had been a minute since you smoked with school keeping you busy most of the time. You felt your high set in already. It was just enough to clear your head and relax the tension in your shoulders you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Look, Toji. I was really upset that you left after we.. did everything. I thought it was rude, especially since it was my first time, or whatever. But I just got freaked out. It’d be different if things were.. different. But they’re not. You’re my dads best friend -“

“- I know,”

You continue, “and you’re older than me, I live farther away now, you murder people for a living-“

“- I know,”

“It just all got to be too much. I had to go back to school anyways and I’m not fond of goodbyes. I didn’t think you even cared enough to look for me or reach out. It wasn’t easy for me to leave without having a proper goodbye, but I didn’t feel like I could handle it at the time. Basically, I spazzed out and left. I didn’t even say bye to my dad before-“

Yet another, “- I know,” from Toji.

“How do you know?”

He takes another small hit before passing it back to you. He feels the same embarrassing ‘electricity’ you felt earlier.

“When I got back to the house I freaked out because you were gone. I tried texting you before I even got there and it didn’t go through. Then I called when I couldn’t find you and it went straight to voicemail. I called your dad and he said that you texted him that you had to move in early or something.”

Oh. Although you’ve already confirmed it in your mind, you can tell he did actually care about your safety, even if you weren’t there to see it.

“I see. Do you have any questions or anything? I’m lost on what else to say about it. I feel bad for leaving and it’s been difficult trying to make myself feel okay for doing it. But I felt like I had no choice.”

He did have a lot of questions. Some that could be saved until later, and some that he really wanted answers to now.

“Did you leave because of me? Was the.. sex too rough or did something happen?”

“Yes and no. The sex was… well, the sex was great to put it plainly,” you say, emitting the quietest chuckle from the man opposite you, “no complaints from me. I was hurt that you left right after, but I understand that you can’t ignore all your responsibilities for someone who isn’t even your girlfriend. But I was more so stressed about the whole situation. I don’t want to do long distance and it’s something I’ve never wanted to do, and I really didn’t want my dad finding out. I didn’t want him thinking you ‘corrupted’ me or convinced me to do things I didn’t want to do. I also didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. Not that you’re disappointing. But you know what I mean, right?”

He sighs, “Yeah, I do. I am really sorry I left. I regret it more than you’ll ever be able to understand. I know it’s childish of me to ask and I probably have no right, but do you have a boyfriend?”

Wow. That question from your dad earlier did strike a cord within him apparently.

“No, I wasn’t lying,” you say, unable to stop yourself from smiling. The high was hitting both of you and you felt like you were talking to an old friend again. Maybe smoking wasn’t the best idea, after all.

“I have a friend Choso who I’ve been hanging out with, but he’s not my boyfriend or anything close. I mentioned him to my dad once like two weeks ago and he has it set in his mind that he’s my future husband. I think he just wants grandkids before he gets too old, or something.”

So you actually weren’t lying. Not that he even liked thinking about you being close to another man in any type of way.

“Okay, sorry to ask-“

“I have a question too, Toji,” you blurt out, not realizing the words were leaving your mouth before they already had.

“Shoot,” he says as he takes the blunt from you yet again.

“Why do you care?”

“About the boyfriend orrrr…”

“About all of it. Me, whether I have a boyfriend, why I left. All of it,” you respond unabashedly, genuinely curious as to what he would say.

He was surprised you were even asking. Maybe if you knew how he behaved in relationships or with women in general in the past, you’d have no doubt in your mind how much he cared for you.

“Can I answer your question with another question?” He asks. You nod yes, shooting him a confused look as you do so.

“Can I kiss you?”

@theobsidianempress @scorpiosugar @voloslobotomyservice @lostsoul526 @shhreya @placxdbaby @iminurwallsgege @slvttyplum @bluejayreadsanddreams @iheartsuya @sebastiansssmasterrr @nekodasu222 @batladss @nahmoon

[f1bordeaux]

The String That Binds Us. (Chapter 1) | ln4, cl16

You fell in love with this sport all because of him. It would be selfish not to thank that boy for his help in getting you here today, even if you both ended on rocky terms. However, after finding yourself in the same paddock as your childhood bestfriend, your mentor, your first true love, and the boy who left you for the bigger picture, you realize that he wants nothing to do with you. So, as fate has it, perhaps you'll end up in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, that string that has been tied to the two of you since birth will pull you back into eachothers lives. Warnings : none Pairings : Lando Norris x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader Word Count : 1923 Poetry style | Story style A/n: here, my lovelies, is chapter one. Not proofread srry lolsies. Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

one; y/n. 

There was something about it, something in the early morning rays reflecting off the cherry-red paint that just wiped away all exhaustion previously held in your bones. You were wide awake as you stared at the cars being rolled off the truck and into the garage. It was only five am but the sun had already crept over the horizon well enough to illuminate the sight in front of you. Golds and reds, blacks and yellows all mixed into a work of art nobody else could recreate. This is what you were here for. This is what you were living for.

“Gorgeous, innit’?”

You turned to your left, face to face with two others donning the same uniform as you. The woman who had spoken seemed a bit older than you, but now way had she yet reached her thirties. A man was accompanying her, although his eyes rested not on you, but on the tyres now being rolled out of the truck. He seemed close to her age, his deep-tanned skin a high contrast to hers.

You smiled at her before looking down at your lanyard. It was still so hard to process being here, on a Thursday morning in Bahrain, waiting for the weekend that was about to ensue. You were one of them now. You were an insider, a person that got to see everything on a deeper level. People dreamed of getting here, people worked their whole lives in hopes of getting here and yet here you were, 23 years old and face-to-face with Carlos Sainz’s car. It looked so much better in-person.

“It really is.” You sighed, looking back up. The truck was empty now, they were beginning to close the back door. “I still can't believe I’m here.”

The blonde lady leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of your badge. “Y/n y/ln? You're new, huh?”

You turned to meet her eyes, a large smile on your face. “Yes, I just graduated University.”

“What an amazing first job to have then.” She smiled back. The man beside her now looked at you as he adjusted the ballcap on his head. “I'm Bridgette, but everyone in the garage just calls me Bridge.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” You extended out a hand which she gratefully accepted.

“This is Lorenzo.” Bridgette nodded to the man who offered a toothless smile and his hand. “Enough standing around, we’ve got work to do. Walk with us.”

So you did. The garage wasn’t too far away, just around the corner, but Bridgette loved to talk; that you quickly found out. “Where are you from?” Was her first question.

“Bristol.”

“I hear it’s nice. They’ve got that beautiful river running through it, no?” She asked, looking straight ahead. You just nodded, unsure if she saw your response, but when she kept going you assumed she had. “I’m from Perth. Nothin’ quite like Australia, I must say.” “Isn’t Lando from Bristol?” Lorenzo added. His accent was thick as he spoke.

You nodded again, this time opting to expand on the question. “He is, yeah. We actually grew up together.”

Bridgette turned her head to look at you. “No way! Why didn’t your mate get you a job over at Mclaren?”

A blush coated your cheeks. You didn’t know where it came from, maybe embarrassment, maybe fear, hell, maybe even sadness. Lando wouldn’t have put in a good word for you, not today. Perhaps seven years ago when the two of you were teenagers and on a completely different page, but not now.

“We don't talk like we used to. He was gone a lot but he moved away for good when he was seventeen. He never really looked back, either.” You sighed. An odd sense of pity hung over the three of you. In an attempt to lighten the mood you clapped your hands together and smiled at the two engineers next to you. “But he got me into cars and engineering! So, I owe him a thanks for that.”

Bridgette nodded and pressed her lips into a thin line. “There ya’ go.”

The next few moments were rushed. The three of you entered the garage where people worked on putting everything into place. You were introduced to management and owners, mechanics and bosses. Tyres were being placed on racks, tarps were being placed over backup cars, tool boxes were being passed around. It was thrilling, even if you were just standing on the sidelines watching as it all happened. Soon, however, someone called your name. You were sure it was Bridgette or Lorenzo, but it was someone else. Alessandro, Charles' chief mechanic, was heading straight for you, clipboard in hand.

“Have you been assigned a team yet?”

“No, sir.”

He smiled. “Call me Alessandro. No need for formalities. But anyways,” He looked down at the clipboard then back up at you. “Our front jack guy broke his wrist and I need someone to replace him. Care to run some drills?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. “I would be honored.”

“Awesome.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Let's go get you a suit and helmet, then.”

x

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t get the spot.” Bridgette sipped her coffee. “You absolutely crushed it.”

You blushed, rolling your finger around the rim of your cup. The Ferrari motorhome was gorgeous with its meeting rooms and rooftop balcony, with its relaxation spots and cafe. It really put into perspective where you were and who you were working for.

“Thank you,” You said quietly.

The day had gone by rather quickly. The sun was already setting over the desert and exhaustion clung to your body just as tightly as the uniform you wore. You’d spent hours running drills, practicing the most simple yet vital job-jacking the car up. You did it over and over again, improving with every run. After that you were tasked with doing inventory. Sure, it was a small task, one that didn’t require you to get hands on with the car, but it was still important. You wandered the garage counting tyres, drills, wrenches, going through tool bags and drawers. It helped you get situated in the space, to learn the layout and whereabouts of everything. Once you had finished that, you were offered to help wash Charles’ back up car. You gladly obliged, happy to be finally touching the car at least. You washed the tyres, the halo, the rear wing and a bit of the body before standing back to revel in the beauty of the car. It seemed to shine, even in the dim garage lighting. You felt so fulfilled, so privileged, so at home.

“Alessandro likes to give everyone a shot, he doesn’t discriminate.” Bridgette continued. “Today might have been your lucky break.”

“I’d be happy even being a back-up jack, honestly. Just wearing the fire suit and helmet makes me feel all,” you paused looking for the right word to describe it. “Giddy.”

“Well,” Lorenzo began, setting his phone face down on the table. “He needs to pick tonight so we can have that person participate in tomorrow's practice. You should know if you got it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Guess I’ll be tossing and turning all night, then.” You joked.

A small laugh cluttered the table. It was getting late, the track becoming more and more empty with each passing moment. The motorhome was silent, save for the three of you lingering around. “We should go grab the last shuttle to the hotel,” Bridgette stood, taking one last swig from her cup before tossing it into a bin. “Are the two of you coming?”

Lorenzo stood up, as did you. “I left my bag in the lockers. I can wait for the next one if you both would like to go.”

“It’s ok,” he said. “We can wait for you at the front gate.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be quick.”

You jogged through the paddock, grateful that the heat had subsided. Lights poured out of each garage, illuminating pit lane in a way the sun hadn't. The sun, harsh and bright, brought a form of intimidation onto the pavement. The lights however, soft and orange, seemed to bring peace. It was a gentle reminder that at the end of the day, everything would be alright.

You dodged into the Ferrari garage, running to the back lockers to retrieve your backpack. Although your head was almost completely submerged in the metal box, you could hear faint-chatter? You leaned back, wondering if Bridgette and Lorenzo had come to find you. No, it didn’t sound like them. The voice sounded much more familiar. It was like listening to one of your favorite songs after a long while.

Lando paused at the entrance of the garage. His phone was pressed into his ear. He stared at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed. Did he know it was you? Could he see you? Did he even remember what you looked like?

You swung your bag over your shoulders and closed the locker. As you approached, Lando lifted his brows, erasing the confused look on his face. He surely could see you now.

“Hey, I gotta call you back.” He sighed. “Yeah, everything is good. See you tomorrow.”

A few feet separated you and him. You debated on starting conversation, on asking how he’s been. But you decide just to nod and walk past him. That is your plan until he stops you.

“Y/n?”

You pressed your lips together in a flat smile. “Hey, Lando.”

He looked you up and down. You were uncertain if he found your Ferrari uniform insulting or fitting. What if you were wearing papaya? What if you were sporting  orange instead of red? Would he be looking at you in the same way?

“So you really did make it, huh?” Lando crossed his arms over his chest, smirking as you avoided eye contact.

“I suppose so.”

“Have they assigned you a driver?”

You looked up for the first time since your conversation began. A bit of pride swelled in your chest as you said, matter-of-factly, “Yeah, Charles Leclerc.”

He blinked hard, shocked that you landed not only a job with the most infamous F1 team, but on their star drivers car. Maybe you were better than you let on. Maybe it was more luck. But deep down Lando knew how good you were. He was able to experience it first hand as a kid.

“Wow. Most people remain without a designated driver for their first year. They kinda’ just float around doing all the dirty work. At least, that's how it is at Mclaren.”

“Right.” You gripped your backpack straps like a kid. “Good thing I'm not over there, then.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you fell quiet, only the sound of nearby passing cars and people walking by filled the air. To any bypasser this surely looked sketchy. Lando Norris, Mclarens golden boy, and a new engineer for an opposing team, just staring at one another. How odd.

You broke the silence first saying, “Well I’ve gotta’ go. I have some friends waiting for me to catch the shuttle.”

Lando just nodded, staring at the ground as you walked by. As you passed Carlos’ garage, he called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

You could barely hear it with the way he spoke so quietly. But you stopped, turning your head and offering a real, genuine smile. “Yeah,” You breathed out.

He smiled back. “Good luck.”

[atinystraynstay]

When Are You Coming Home - Choi Seungcheol

Inspired by: Home - Catie Turner

Synopsis: You met Seungcheol while you were studying abroad in Seoul. It was a meeting by fate. Now, he was watching you live your life on the other side of the world. Would he ever get to see you again? Would he ever get to confess how he feels?

Pairing: Idol! Choi Seungcheol x reader

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 2.6k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was 8:44pm Seungcheol sighed as he watched his members Weverse posts. It's been killing him that he hasn't been able to join the group, as he was still recovering from ACL surgery a few months ago. He was starting to regain his strength which was making him feel more like himself. The problem was that the company wasn't fully confident he was ready to give it his all, so they were proceeding on the side of caution.

The boys had just wrapped up their dome concerts in Japan. Truly, those concerts were some of Cheol's favorites. He loved them not just for the carats that always showed up in massive numbers for them. Those concerts were more a testament to how far they've come as a group. He was proud of not only himself but his 12 members, his brothers, who have overcome doubt from the industry. They truly were the biggest name in K-pop at the moment.

That's why it pained him not to be there with him, not being a part of the schedules and activities. He was able to attend some events in person, like Inkigayo or Music Bank. He was able to attend backstage, but his true place was right on that stage beside everyone.

He pushed himself hard through his recovery, hoping to bounce back sooner rather than later. His doctors urged him to take it easy and to consider his long-term health rather than getting immediate results.

Truly, the toughest part of this whole recovery period was not having you beside him. You were attending graduate school in the United States, working towards your masters degree in education. He thought that maybe if he got healthier and stronger sooner, not only could he rejoin his group but he could actually come out to visit you in the States.

You were his best friend. You met at the same bar in Seoul when you were visiting during your study abroad trip. He was out with friends, celebrating the end of a hectic schedule. You were with friends from the program, eager to experience what nightlife was like in Korea after seeing one too many TikToks. Seungcheol never knew that someone could mean that much to him in such a short amount of time.

You were only going to be in Seoul from January until early May. He made it his mission to see you as much as possible. You two used to spend every day together, at least until comeback season came around for FML. Leading up to the anticipated album release, you would wait for him, excited, with a bottle of water to keep him hydrated. His favorite memory was when you got to watch him during Caratland, when he got to have the time of his life with his fans and his members. The reason why he kept grinning as hard as he did was because he knew you were waiting for him backstage.

Unfortunately, time seemed to slip away too quickly for Seungcheol's liking. During your last week in Seoul, he was asked to be at every meeting, every promotion, and everywhere but with you. He was lucky he got to see you the night before your flight, but it still tore him up inside that he couldn't even take you to the airport because he had to be at a dress rehearsal.

In that short amount of time, Seungcheol fell hard for you. You intrigued him in ways he never thought someone could. You brought a level of normalcy into his life that he didn't know he was missing. You were there to help him calm down after a tough dance practice. You often would cook dishes from your hometown, to give him an insight into where you come from. He wanted to know more about your world.

Why did he wait so long to confess to you? Now, seeing as you are more than 6,600 miles away from him, he regretted it every day. Sure, he could easily tell you over the phone or slide in your DMs, but you deserved better than that in his eyes.

Before his injury, he had hoped to come visit you right before the school year started. He got to experience the United States last summer with his members when they were on the Be The Sun tour. This time though, he wanted to experience what America was like with you. He wanted to do all the cliche romantic things like drive-ins, going to diners, and baseball games. He wanted to create memories with you, to be with you. He wanted you to be his.

The two of you still maintained contact. You would have FaceTime calls when you got the chance, would send postcards and little gifts to one another, and would cheer each other one from afar. Whether it was you waking up at 4:30am to catch a live concert or if he was reading one of your research papers - you were a united force.

He was hoping he would have been able to called you tonight, but you had told him that you had gotten busy with final assignments. While he hasn't been in school for a while, he knows how important school is for you. He didn't want to come across as overbearing, so he just waited patiently. He would watch your stories on Instagram and Snapchat, seeing you at a coffee shop or out with friends. He wanted so badly to be there with you.

He was scrolling through social media. It brought a smile to his face to see you had gone home for Thanksgiving, a holiday he was able to recognize easily as it was similar to Chuseok. There was a photo of you in a white turtle neck. Your hair was down in natural curls with light makeup on. He could see the mole that is planted on the right side of your face, close to your jawline. You were breathtaking. You were sitting beside your mom, someone who almost was an exact copy of you. There is no denying you two are related.

He knew family was important to you, so getting to spend time with your parents meant the world to you. He wondered if he was of the same importance to you, or if he could eventually get to that spot.

He looked through the other photos you posted. Some were with friends who still lived in your hometown. He tried his best to remember their names without looking at their Instagram handles. He remembers you mentioned them quite a few times. You were an only child, so you had a tendency to consider your friends part of your family too. He saw other photos of your hometown, wondering if he would ever get the opportunity to visit it up close.

What he took away the most from your post was how happy you looked. In all the photos, you were smiling wide to the point your eyes were hidden. Seungcheol remembers the few times you guys took photos together. You hated the way you looked, but he was obsessed with you. He never met someone who just naturally glowed. You were his own little disco ball, full of energy and wonder. He couldn't help but claim responsibility for making you that happy in those moments.

Seungcheol often wondered if you were happy back home. When he wasn't able to be there physically, he often wondered if you were happy. At least when you were here in Seoul, living in the same city, he could better fix whatever may be troubling you. He hated feeling helpless when you were upset. Especially now, it was more difficult than ever for him to just jump on a plane to you.

A knock at the door interrupted his deep thought. He raised an eyebrow, trying to go through who it could possibly be. All the boys were just now flying back from Tokyo. Could it be someone from the company? Why didn't they just call?

Thankfully, Seungcheol had reached the point of his recovery where he wasn't dependent on crutches. He could move freely. It might've been slow movements at times, but it was still moving at his own regard without the dependency of other people.

He made his way over carefully, not wanting to accidentally trip or bump into something. He was not about to jeopardize a setback when he was so close to getting back to where he was a few months ago.

Once he got to the door, he twisted the silver lock and undid the bolt. Making sure he had enough room, he stepped back to allow the door to swing open without it hitting his knee. He was just a more cautious guy until he got the green light to get back on stage. Seungcheol had his gaze to the door, watching it open so if he had to move, he could do so without straining himself.

"Are you crazy?" A voice shouted at him.

His eyes widened at the abrupt voice before looking up. There was no way.

There you stood. You had a pink backpack on your shoulders. Your hair was pulled into a loose ponytail held back by a silk white scrunchie. You had on a red hoodie with black leggings, and tennis shoes hugging your feet. "Y/n? What are you doing here?" "Would you like to tell me why Jeonghan called me saying you were overworking yourself? Do I need to remind you that you just had knee surgery about two months ago?"

You slipped the straps of your backpack off your shoulders. Seungcheol watched as you stepped towards his apartment, setting your backpack down by the threshold of the door. Your arms soon wrapped around Seungcheol, gently hugging him. His arms wrapped around you slowly, being in a bit of a shock of you actually being here in front of him.

"You have to take care of yourself, Cheol. Especially when I'm not here to help you," you whispered. You had tucked your head into his neck. He was able to get a smell of your shampoo, instantly settling his racing heart. God, he missed your scent. He squeezed you gently, almost as if he needed confirmation that this was reality and not some false, cruel illusion.

"I didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart. There was no need for you to fly all the way out here. What about your family? Your final assignments?" "You are a part of my life, Cheol. I had to be here. And my assignments can wait. Now, come on, old man. Let's get you back to the couch."

Coming from the guys, if they teased about his age, he would have been annoyed. Coming from you though was a sense of endearment.

Seungcheol followed your lead back to his couch. He got himself situated where he could rest with his leg up on the couch, alleviating some of the discomfort he felt from walking. He had his moments of weakness, but he wasn't sure if it was weakness from still recovering or from being in front of you for the first time in over 6 months.

Once he was situated on the couch, he saw you sitting on the opposite side of the couch. Your eyes were on him though. It was a sight that brought a smile to his face, a genuine smile for the first time probably since the surgery.

"So are you really just here because Jeonghan called?" "Well yes and no. Yes because I wanted to make sure you were ok. I know we FaceTime and you keep me updated as much as possible, but I just had to see for myself that you were ok."

He took note of the light blush on her cheeks. So she has been thinking of me? She's been worried about me? Cute. His ego was rising just at the sheer idea of you being into him, even in the slightest.

"No because I was planing to come visit you for the holidays. I get a month off of my studies, and realized that if I was spending Thanksgiving with my family, I want to spend it with you."

Well damn. He never would have predicted this.

"So you like me or something?" Seungcheol teased you.

This time, your cheeks turned a deeper red. It was then his eyes widened again. "Oh," he said silently. There was no need to further interrogate you on the matter.

Seungcheol eaned forward to gently grasp your wrist. You looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He gently tugged you towards him. You looked hesitant as if you were going to be hurting him. He offered you a reassuring smile. You began guiding herself closer to him until he situated you in between his left side and the back of the couch. He wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him.

"Something tells me Jeonghan just didn't call because of my recovery," Cheol chuckled lightly under his breath.

Man, was Seungcheol lucky to have a best friend like Jeonghan. He owed him. Big time. You looked up at Seungcheol, a gentle smile on your lips but your eyebrow raised. Do she even know how cute she is?

"Since you left, y/n, I've been miserable. The few months you were here were just magical. It was like I was getting a chance to star in my own romance movie. Life hasn't been the same without you here." "And it doesn't help that we haven't really been able to visit each other, right?"

His smile grew slightly. He lowered his head so his face was hovering just above yours. If only he had gotten the courage to do this a few months ago then the last couple of months wouldn't have been full of torment.

"Because I didn't tell you how I felt about you before you left. Y/n, I really like you. I wanted to tell you so badly, but I held back. I need you in my life not just as a friend."

Hearing him, you could have thought you weren't actually in his apartment or in Seoul, for that matter. You were convinced you were asleep in your own apartment, having the best dream but about to wake up to a cruel reality. You moved your left arm over his torso, left hand extended to cup his face. Touching his skin, feeling the light stubble underneath your fingertips confirmed that this was reality.

"Jeonghan called because you liked me? And that you've been struggling since I've been gone?" You whispered. "Seems like Jeonghan took it upon himself to play cupid," Seungcheol laughed lightly, biting his lip though to try not to speak too loudly.

It was as if he spoke too loudly, he himself would wake up. But much like you had to, he needed a confirmation that this wasn't just a dream.

He guided his lips down towards yours but hovered over them. He was afraid of moving too quickly. It was a common thee in his life at the present moment. "Say the word, y/n, and I'll make both of our dreams come true."

All you could bring yourself to do was nod. However, Seungcheol needed more. He needed to know that you fully wanted this to happen as much as you did. The words were just trapped in your throat because you couldn't believe that you had flown all the way to Korea for the man of your dreams for him not just to be in your dreams. He was real. He was laying beside you, staring and waiting for your own greenlight.

"Yes, Cheol. Please. It's all I've been waiting for."

There it is. The green light. "Me too, princess," he whispered. He soon leaned I all the way, allowing his lips to press against yours without hesitation or worry. It was a kiss that sealed our destiny, your fate to be together without further interruptions or obstacles.

You were all his, and he was all yours. Officially.

[iseos]

: CHERISH

wc. 978 archive. pairing. nishimura riki x fm!r synopsis. imperfect chemistry genre. fluff now playing. cherish by ive

  HIGH SCHOOL WAS A CONFUSING TIME, and for niki, navigating the complexities of teenage emotions felt like solving a never-ending puzzle.

he had harbored secret feelings for y/n since they first met in their freshman year; but, expressing those emotions was an intricate challenge he was yet to conquer. instead, he often found himself acting rude towards her, which, to his dismay, she often returned.

  now with graduation quickly approaching, niki and y/n were still, to put it mildly, not on the best terms when it came to their interactions. from snarky comments in class to unintentional eye-rolls during group projects, their relationship was fraught with tension and misunderstanding.

  yet, underneath the façade of bickering and sarcasm, it was obvious to those around them that there was a connection waiting to be explored.

  it was just a question of when, or if, it would happen.

  having grown tired of watching niki push y/n further and further away with his ruthless teasing, all while in private hearing how hopelessly enamored he was for the girl, his friends convinced him to take a different approach. urging him to set aside his pride and initiate an open conversation with y/n, they hoped it would bridge the gap between the two teens and pave the way for a genuine friendship.

  niki found her in the library like he expected, and he couldn't help but notice the frustration etched across y/n's face. she seemed utterly absorbed in her book, scribbling down notes in a frenzy. despite approaching with good intentions, he couldn't resist the urge to interrupt.

  "working hard, i see," niki teased, leaning his hip against the table she was using.

  y/n looked up, her expression a mix of annoyance and weariness. "what do you want, niki? finally come to help with the assignment we were both supposed to work on?"

  niki hesitated for a moment, his confidence slipping as he briefly made eye contact with his friends, who were sitting at a table on the other side of the room as support, animatedly trying to encourage him with dramatic arm movements. realizing this was his chance to finally try and mend their tense relationship, he cleared his throat and decided to be more sincere for once.

  "look, i know sometimes i'm rude to you—"

  "sometimes is the understatement of the century," y/n interrupts monotonously, her eyes back on her notes as she continues to write.

  "—but i wanted to say i'm sorry for that. we have to work on this project together, and i want it to go smoothly."

  y/n looked up at the dark-haired boy with a raised eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her gaze. "you're apologizing?" she turned and looked around the relatively empty library, expecting this interaction to just be some cruel prank. she didn't even notice his friend group quickly busying themselves with random books.

  she eventually turned back to the boy standing in front of her again.

  "yeah, i am," niki nodded, his voice tinged with genuine sincerity. "i don't want us to keep arguing like this. i think we could actually make a pretty good team if we put our differences aside."

  y/n regarded him with curiosity, her guard slightly lowered now, "you really mean that?"

  "i do. i want us to work well together," he nodded again, his determination shining through, "i also need to get a good grade on this project so i don't fail this class..."

  his last comment made y/n scoff, however, there was a hint of laughter behind it as she pointed to the empty chair beside her for him to sit in.

  as they worked on the project together, niki and y/n slowly started to shed their defensive layers and engage in more meaningful conversations, some of which occasionally taking place outside the regular time they spent working in the library together. the arguments became less frequent, replaced by laughter and shared moments of understanding.

  their chemistry project became the turning point in their animosity-turned-newfound friendship. they spent hours working side by side, forming a deeper connection between discussing equations.

  y/n began to see the kind, thoughtful side of niki that she hadn't noticed before, and niki found himself admiring her intelligence and determination even more.

  one sunny afternoon, as they wrapped up the final parts of their project, niki couldn't help but steal a glance at y/n. her eyes sparkled as she explained a complex chemical reaction, and niki realized he couldn't keep his feelings hidden any longer. he cleared his throat, trying to sound as genuine as he could.

  "y/n, there's something i need to tell you."

  she turned to look at him, a hint of curiosity in her gaze as she hummed in acknowledgment.

niki hesitated for a moment, it felt like he flashed back to the day their friendship began to form; the weight of his unspoken words once again hanging in the air

  "i really like you, y/n. i have for a long time."

  y/n's eyes widened in surprise, and niki could see the mixture of shock and confusion dancing on her features. she didn't know how to react.

  niki cleared his throat once more, his heart feeling like it would pound out of his chest at any moment. "i know i was rude to you a lot — so i don't blame you if you don't feel the same, but i really do like you a lot."

  she remained silent for a moment, her gaze locked with his. then to niki's surprise, a smile crept across her face.

  "you're serious?"

  niki nodded, his vulnerability evident. "i am."

  y/n leaned in closer, face just inches from his, "you're the most confusing person i've ever met, niki, but maybe i like you too."

“although im selfish, i never lie you know, i really like you”

© iseos

[captain-mj]

The Vampire AU

The au no one asked for but by God will I deliver

Soap laid on the luxurious bed, the robe around him fluttering and exposing most of his body. It shimmered, a dark red color, and across from him was Ghost. His Ghost. The Ghost. 

The skull mask made it hard to see his expression, but Soap could read the hunger in his eyes without a problem. A desperation that would make a lesser man nervous. But Soap could never be nervous. Not of Ghost. 

He crossed the floor quickly, the air around him bending slightly. It made him glow. And then he was on Soap, touching him with his gloves and feeling him up. His large hips pressed between his thighs, forcing his legs further apart. 

Pulling the mask up enough to expose his fangs, Ghost sank his teeth into his throat and ripped it out, blood spraying everywhere. 

Soap’s alarm clock broke him from the dream and he buried his face in the pillows and screamed for a few minutes. 

Interviewer: So, what exactly do you like about your…

Soap: The technical term is Master, but everyone keeps insisting I just call him Ghost.

Interviewer: Got you. So your Ghos-

Soap: Well, he’s not really mine. I’m his but he’s not really mine. I just kinda work for the guy.

Interviewer: And in exchange he…

Soap: Will turn me into a vampire!

Interviewer: So how long have you been working here?

Soap: Six years. 

Interviewer: Uh huh. And what do you like about Ghost?

Soap: Oh, he’s perfect. Tall, dark, mysterious. Never actually seen his face, but I’m sure he’s handsome. Never takes the mask off unless he’s feeding. He could kill me easily. He has a very sexy voice. His accent is from modern day Manchester instead of being centuries old! Apparently he changes it every few decades. I wonder what his original voice sounded like and-

The Interviewer stopped taking notes and tried to politely withstand the next thirty minutes of Soap gushing about anything and everything he could think of about Ghost. They decided not to ask about the whole “could kill me easily” part. That was this guy’s prerogative. 

Interviewer: So, what’s Ghost like?

Rodolfo: He’s a fucking loser.

Interviewer: Really? His familiar-

Rodolfo: Is lovely and all, but he has terrible taste in men. I’ve seen Ghost lay on the ceiling for six hours straight, during the night no less, because he was pouting. 

Interviewer: And why was he pouting?

Rodolfo: Soap was doing laundry. The laundry Ghost ordered him to do. So Soap couldn’t hang around him. Then, he wasted what time he could’ve spent with Soap on the ceiling.

Interviewer: oh…

Rodolfo: Like I said. Fucking loser. You’re not allowed to call him that though. Only me.

Interviewer: Yeah… Okay.

Soap did like he was told and ignored that there was a person watching him. He woke up a few hours before sunrise and dusted just like every other morning. He also put out an ad online pretending to be a single woman looking to lose her virginity. Usually the men that came would be sleazebags so it both cleaned up the streets and meant easy meals for the vampires. 

Gaz would always say hi to him when he left for some party. Sometimes, he’d try to stop him and get a rise out of him, but Soap had long since learned how to put a pause on his feelings. If Gaz fed from him, Ghost would get all weird. Talking about nutritional value and that Soap smelled funny. 

Soap had taken four showers the first time it happened but eventually he put it together. 

Then, he woke up Ghost. Well, wake up was a loose term. Half of the time, Ghost would already be up. He more went to Ghost. His room had blackout curtains so if he got up during the day time, he didn’t have to risk scorching himself. It was also the plainest. Rodolfo and Alejandro’s room was gorgeous, full of rich colors and soft fabrics. Gaz had strobe lights and neons. Tons of weird furniture too. He insisted none of them were a sex thing, but Soap didn’t believe him. 

Really, really, did not believe him. 

But Ghost kept his plain and usually only had candles. For once, he was still in his coffin when Soap came to get him at sundown. 

Soap gently knocked before he lifted the large lid. 

Ghost was… large. Very, very large. Besides being 6’4, he was broad. Big arms, big shoulders. Just… big. It definitely did not influence any of Soap’s decisions. Nope. Not at all. 

Thick black fabric covered every inch of his body, besides leather gloves on his hands and a ski mask on his face. Soap silently thanked God he had managed to get him away from the loose fitting balaclava he wore originally. It looked… 

Anyway, the sky mask was an improvement. It had a skull design on it, though there were fangs added. 

Soap only snapped back into himself when he noticed Ghost’s eyes were open. 

“Johnny. Are you just going to keep staring? You’re blocking my way out.”

“Oh, of course, sir.” Soap stepped back and offered Ghost his hand. Sometimes he took it, sometimes he didn’t. Really depended on the day. 

Today was one of the good days where he did. Even through the leather, Soap could feel just how cold Ghost’s skin was. It was borderline frigid and he wondered, not for the first time and definitely not the last, if it would hold heat or simply give him frostbite if they pressed against each other. 

Ghost’s hand left his once he was on the floor. Sometimes, Soap wondered why he walked the way he did. There was something stiff, like a general, about his posture but he had a certain amount of grace that didn’t match how the other vampires walked. All vampires were graceful. Cat like. But Ghost always seemed like he was floating. Feet barely touching the ground. 

Soap helped him out of the thick robe he slept in. It felt soft and he assumed it was used a bit like a blanket. Ghost pulled on his jacket but his eyes followed Soap. 

“Did yo-”

“Laundry is done. Place is dusted. And I’m currently setting up a virgin guy to come visit.” 

As if something heard him, his phone dinged. Someone responded to the ad, asking how soon he could come over. 

What a fucking loser. 

He was using photos of a girl from only fans (with her permission, she made him pay a small fee, but when he explained it was a “To catch a predator” type thing, she thought it was cool), so it was a hot woman, but still.

Soap checked it and responded to the message, saying the sooner the better. 

Ghost reached over and slowly patted Soap’s head, making him beam. It was the closest thing he got to praise from the guy. 

“So, what would you like to do, sir?” Soap smiled at him. 

Ghost hummed, looking away. There was a large mirror and while his clothes could be seen, nothing else could. Soap couldn’t see his mouth, but he knew he was just about to speak when someone knocked at the front door. 

“Go answer.” Ghost ordered. 

Soap nodded quickly and went downstairs, noticing Alejandro and Rodolfo when he passed their room, in various states of undress, he decided to just ignore that. So no one they were expecting. 

He opened the door and had to look slightly up at the man in front of him. 

The man had a fishing hat, a shirt that said “Fish fear me, women love me” and a pair of military fatigues. He stared into Soap and there was a brief pause.

“Hello, sir.” Soap noticed his ears. They had a large point and when he glanced at his hands, he noticed the dark claws.

Interviewer: So what do those features mean?

Soap: Means he’s an older vampire. As I’m sure you noticed, my vampires look mostly human, besides their fashion. But once they start getting older, they look less and less human. So the less human they are, the more respect you’re supposed to show. 

Interviewer: Oh. Got it. 

“Price.” The man responded before just simply staring at him.

Soap winced and looked back. “Uh… Master? Alejandro? Rodolfo?” He half shouted. “We have a visitor!” 

“Uh. Little familiar. Invite me.” Price didn’t sound rude, maybe a tad impatient, but not quite rude. 

“My name is Soap.”

Price tilted his head. “Uh… Okay. Anyway, is Simon here?”

“No?” Soap frowned. He ran through everyone in the house. “Yeah, no. We don’t have a Simon here.” 

Alejandro shoved Soap out of the way. “John! I didn’t know you’d be visiting! Come in.” Now that he had been welcomed, Price quickly stepped in the door. 

“Ale. Very, very nice to see you. How have you been?” Price smiled. His fangs flashed, wicked sharp and a pearly white, just like all the other vampires in the house. 

Soap quickly stepped back to let them talk, but he didn’t leave, pretending to be doing anything besides eavesdropping, which is exactly what he was doing. 

“I haven’t seen you since they invented lightbulbs.” Alejandro grinned. His clothing was a little more old fashioned. Closer to what was expecting for a vampire at least. Soap thought it was funny that the youngest of the three vampires (not including Gaz, but Soap felt he didn’t really count), was the only one that still wore clothes from his own era. Alejandro was still up there in age, almost two centuries, but with Rodolfo being over three centuries and Ghost being around eight, well… it didn’t seem that old. 

Soap couldn’t really talk that much, because he was 26, but semantics.

The two of them babbled on about the changes in technology and how hard it was to keep up and how touch screens were so unreliable because they only picked things up half of the time. 

“They have gloves.” Soap interrupted, not thinking much of it until Alejandro glared at him. 

“Gloves?” Price frowned. 

“Yeah, they have stuff in the finger tips to let you use a phone. It’s because when humans wear the gloves, they can’t use the touch screen either. Gh- My master uses them.”

Price hummed. “Might have to get me a pair. Phones look so fun! I see why you keep him around, Alejandro. He’s not as dumb as most humans.”

Soap decided not to take offense to that, as a human.

“Oh, he’s not mine. He’s Simon’s.” Alejandro put his hands behind his back, altering his stance a bit.

“Nevermind. I guess he is a little stupid. He said there was no Simon here.” 

Soap felt like he was short circuiting. “You mean Ghost?”

Alejandro snapped his fingers. “Oh! That’s right! We never told you his name. He doesn’t exactly need to know it, ya know?”

Price hummed. “And he never asked?”

“I did ask!”

“No, never thought to ask us.” 

“But I did! You told me familiars don’t get to know!!!”

“Wow. Humans.” 

Soap got the distinct feeling he was being fucked with. 

Then Ghost appeared. Or more accurately, came out of his room. The world shifted, Soap’s focus, like always, being on him. Ghost quickly made his way down the stairs. His boots hugged his legs, going all the way up to his knees. He had chosen one of his longer coats so it fluttered around him. 

Soap quickly wiped his mouth and tried to focus on something besides how devastatingly hot Ghost looked at all times. 

“My little batling!” 

BATLING

LITTLE 

BATLING

Soap choked and half expected Ghost to kill Price where he stood, vampire or not. Alejandro wheezed a little. 

Instead, Ghost visibly shrank down. “Sire… I am not a fledgeling anymore.” There was an accent there, and not his usual Manchester one. It was almost lyrical. Soap wished he’d use it more. “I’m also almost a millennia old.”

“Yeah, but you’re still the spunky soldier I turned! Still wear the mask I see.” Price’s disappointment was palpable, but Ghost, Simon, just shrugged it off.

“Yeah. Well. Don’t like my face being seen.” 

Alejandro chipped in. “Awe, are you anxious, little batling?” 

Ghost hit him so hard Alejandro’s head popped off and Soap let out a small scream.

“Suppose it’s better than when you first turned.” Price completely ignored that Ghost just fucking killed him.

Rodolfo fluttered down the stairs. “Hello John! You look lovely!” Price smiled immediately.

“And you look just as lovely as the last time I saw you.”

Soap was shocked. They were married for decades!!! And he just moves on?

“Get your nasty mitts off my husband!” Alejandro’s decapitated fucking head started to yell. 

Rodolfo rushed over. “Mi noche! Mi pobre amor!” He scooped up his head and kissed his cheek before reattaching it. 

Soap tried not to gag. 

Alejandro’s limbs quickly started to work again and he kissed Rodolfo several times. 

Ghost was already pulling his sire far away from him, the two of them falling into line like old friends. 

“Do you have anything to eat? Your familiar looks delicious but I know how hard good help can be to find.”

Soap flushed and it only got worse when Ghost gave him a passing glance. “Didn’t you say someone would be coming over soon?”

“Yes, around 10. It’s 9:30 now, so shouldn’t be too long, sir.” He beamed at Ghost and Ghost just shrugged him off to keep walking. Soap tried to not let that get to him. He never liked when Ghost was in his moods like this and this new guy seemed to trigger them.

Price and Ghost disappeared and Soap was left standing there awkwardly. Alejandro had wandered off, probably back to Rodolfo. 

He sighed and started to tidy up. If he knew a guest was coming, he would’ve prepared more. Probably tried ot get multiple guys to come. Or ladies if that was more this guy’s taste. Luring women in was a lot harder, but he could’ve tried! He still had a tinder set up that he could’ve used. 

Soap fiddled with his hands, not sure what to do with himself. By this time of night, usually he hung out with Ghost, keeping him entertained. Without him, he didn’t really have anything to do. He already cleaned the place up before he went to bed the morning before.

Soap sighed and sat down, trying to lure more people to the house. 

Around midnight, after all the people who came in were dragged downstairs and eaten with Soap not having to lift a finger, the vampires decided to have a night out. Ghost grabbed on to Soap’s arm and tugged him along, clearly wanting him to come too. He pulled away from him just long enough to change, ignoring that his foot kept tapping and his growing impatience that Soap wasn’t willing to go out in what was basically pajamas. Soap also ignored that Ghost didn’t leave the room, but he clearly wasn’t looking at him undressed. 

When he was done, Ghost yanked him along and Soap had to jog to keep up. They fell in line with the other three and went to a nearby nightclub. Soap noticed it was for humans, not one of the vampire focused ones they usually went to, but just brushed it off. 

Ghost quickly scouted the darkest corner table and went to hide there, Soap followed along. He sat next to Ghost. Rodolfo went to sit with them and Alejandro quickly grabbed him and yanked him to the dance floor, immediately grabbing a handful of his ass. The two of them were dressed like people from the 1800’s and Soap tried to pretend he didn’t know them because it was honestly a little embarrassing. 

Rodolfo’s tongue ended up down Alejandro’s throat. 

Embarrassing. 

Alejandro said something that was clearly horrid in Spanish. The bartender looked positively horrified. 

Very embarrassing. 

Very fucking embarrassing. 

Soap looked at Ghost, suddenly making eye contact with him. Ghost must’ve been staring at him. He tried not to let that thought get to him. 

“Can I get you anything, master?”

Ghost clearly grimaced. “Ghost or sir, Johnny. Master thing feels weird.”

“Need anything, sir?” 

“Unless you’re willing to drink bourbon and let me suck you dry later.” 

Soap choked on the scotch he had. “What?”

“I’d have to kill you though. To really get a good taste.” Ghost said it so matter of fact that Soap was pretty sure the sexual way it sounded wasn’t on purpose. “And that would be a shame.” 

Soap quickly drank his scotch. “How do you even know what bourbon taste like?”

“There was a similar drink when I was alive. Also, for a couple of years, I lived near a bar that only served bourbon. Once your blood has enough alcohol in it, I can taste it.”

“Can it get you drunk?”

“Yeah. Don’t like getting drunk though that’s when bad stuff happens.” Ghost moved away. “You should enjoy yourself. Go talk to people.” 

“And leave you alone?”

“Yes. Leave me alone.” 

Oh. 

Soap watery smiled at him and nodded, quickly leaving. He went to the bar and ordered another drink. 

Price glanced at him, but already a woman was trying to flirt with him and Soap didn’t want to interrupt the two. Instead, he just took the drink he ordered and downed it. 

Soap made sure not to get more than tipsy. Even if his vampires didn’t get drunk, unlikely, he wanted to be alert in case he was needed. 

Someone moved closer about an hour after his little exile. Handsome guy. Tall, built. If he looked a bit like Ghost, that was between Soap and God. He talked and it was clear he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the shed, but Soap didn’t care about that. As long as he was a good lay, that would work. And if he could make it quick. Maybe they could just go to an alleyway. 

The man, Craig? Greg? Caleb?, went pale and looked up right as Soap felt Ghost’s hand on the back of his neck, grabbing him like a puppy he was scruffing. The cold leather pressed tight against his skin, making him shiver. 

“Ghost?”

“Johnny.” He said it with an exhale. “Wait outside.”

“What?”

“Wait outside for me.” Ghost forced him up and away, unnatural strength and where he grabbed him combining so Soap couldn’t exactly fight back. He frowned at him but did go outside after deciding to just not question it. 

Soap sighed and leaned against the wall near the door and lit a cigarette. He had been trying to quit, but it was hard. He took a deep puff and watched the smoke then drift to the sky. 

Soap started to count down the minutes before breaking and getting his phone out. The thick concrete walls around the nightclub kept it pretty much sound proof. It was so the music wouldn’t bother everyone on the street. 

Ghost didn’t usually ask these things of him. He didn’t like it. 

Soap got on tinder and wanted for someone to be rude to him or condescending. He scheduled dates in areas that were secluded enough the vampires could snatch the victim but not so secluded as to ring alarm bells. 

Rodolfo stepped out, Soap could tell by the sound his shoes made. He grabbed him and Soap flushed. “Maybe we should have you for dessert huh?” 

Soap shivered in his grasp. “Don’t think Ghost would be too happy about that.” He turned around and had to resist the urge to flinch back. 

Rodolfo was soaked in blood. He must’ve realized the state he was in because he let go. His hands had left bloody prints on Soap’s clothing. “Thought it’d be fun to clear the place out.”

“Ah… That why Ghost told me to wait outside?”

“Told him he shouldn’t bother, but he wasn’t sure if we’d recognize you if you got scared. Would you have gotten scared?” Rodolfo smiled at him. “I don’t think so. I mean last time I ate in front of yo-” 

Soap got flustered and grabbed his cross necklace through his shirt. “Rodolfo!” He kept it on for the exact scenario Rodolfo mentioned. If one of them ever had too much bloodlust, ever didn’t realize it was him, he could pull it out. Never had to use it before, luckily. But it was always there. A weight on his chest. 

“The sex we had was phenomenal.” Rodolfo assured, as if that was why Soap interrupted him. Maybe to him, that’s what it seemed like. They were so… shameless when it came to sex. Soap was almost jealous of it. Catholic guilt and the devastating fact he was human kept him from ever having that. “I can see why Ghost keeps you around.”

“Oh, Ghost and i have never…”

“NEVER???” Rodolfo laughed. “Seriously?? Huh. Guess it makes sense.” 

Ghost came out with Alejandro hanging all over him, the two of them carrying each other basically. “I think that last guy… had more than just alcohol.” Ghost said while Alejandro made a motion to his nose to show it was likely cocaine. 

Rodolfo laughed. “I told you two he smelled funny. Where’s Price?” 

Alejandro opened his jacket to show where a bat was hanging on the inside of it. “Got tired and decided to take a name.” 

“Old fucking man.” Ghost grinned, mask still pulled up. Soap took in what he could. Even bloody, he could make out more features than he could before. 

Soap followed slightly behind and Rodolfo led them. Alejandro started singing some old drinking song in Spanish and Ghost hummed along, stumbling a little. Without thinking, Soap put his hand on his back to right him, only realizing when he felt Ghost stiffen beneath his hands. Before he could pull away and apologize for touching him without warning, Ghost’s arm was around his shoulder, yanking him closer. He used Soap to help balance himself and Alejandro. 

“Ghost, if I turn into a bat can you carry both of us?”

“No.”

“What if we all turn into bats and Soap carries us?”

Ghost paused and looked at Soap, as if asking permission.

“Oh… Uh… Sure?” Soap had a hoodie on but he managed to fit Price and Alejandro in his hoodie pocket. Ghost wiggled directly into his hoodie before he could offer to let him ride on his shoulder, instead poking his head out of the neck of it, right under Soap’s head. Rodolfo, not one to walk if it could be avoided, hid in the hoodie. 

Soap decided not to point out they could just, ya know, fly home. Instead, he gently carried his family back to the house. He thought about a few things and wondered briefly if Price would be his grandsire when Ghost turned him. 

Would they do things like this with him? He also wondered what Gaz was doing. For good reasons, they didn’t go to the club he was at, probably not wanting to mess with him feeding, but he kinda wished he was there. Gaz probably would’ve waited outside with him. 

Ghost suddenly moved and Soap put an arm on him through his hoodie to support him. He felt him get cozier in the hoodie before stilling again. 

Once home, they all disappeared to their respective rooms. Sunrise was a lot closer than he realized and he suddenly felt sick for not rushing home faster, even if none of them cared. 

Fuck, he’d probably have to burn the hoodie. It was disgusting. All of them had so much blood on them and it was now all over all his clothes. 

He grumbled as he shoved his clothes and all of the vampires’ clothing, after they so graciously gave them to him to clean, into the bathtub and dumped a bunch of hydrogen peroxide and cold water. 

Gaz came home and had brought coffee for both of them. Must’ve been a great night because he was glowing and didn’t even try to steal a bite from Soap, which he was grateful for. Soap started to clean and Gaz watched him. 

Interviewer: Oh, we didn’t talk much earlier.

Gaz: Yeah we did.

Interviewer: I don’t… 

They notice they have notes from them discussing how Gaz is an energy vampire that feeds off excitement and happiness. And how after those feedings, memories can get fuzzy about them. 

Gaz: So yeah.

Interviewer: So why did you bring Soap coffee?

Gaz: The happier he is, the better the house vibe. Plus, his happiness and gratitude is delicious. Not for a meal, too sweet, but he’s a nice little snack. 

Interviewer: Huh. 

Note to self, they’re all kinda selfish assholes. 

[gachawolfiebloom]

Two Hearts In The City of Love

Chapter 14: Confessing Under the Full Moon

It was just them now. No wacky shenanigans from Mario. No Mr Puzzles trapping them for his entertainment. None of their friends. Just them. Both of them noticed how they were tightly squeezing while holding hands. Four was still a little shaken up by all of this and he missed being by Three's side. Three was so relieved to see his counterpart, his partner, his friend, his crush. He wanted to keep Four close by since he had almost lost the other half of him.

"Uhh..Three? You're gripping my hand a little hard." He instantly blushed and shy retracted his arm, whispering "Sorry..." Four felt bad for what he did. He actually enjoyed holding Three's hand. His gloves made his hands feel so nice and warm. He then saw a bridge next to them as he pointed to it and said "Let's rest here for a while." Three wasn't sure, but shrugged and followed.

Both of them noticed all the locks chiming in the cool breeze. Three shifted his gaze from the locks to the full moon above. "Geez...must have been gone a long time for the moon to be full." Three leaned himself against the railing, head in his hands as he stared up at it. He wanted to ask Four something, but then noticed that he wasn't next to him. He was standing behind. "You can join me if you want." Four shook his head and looked at the ground in silence. "What? Are you afraid of water or something?"

"No...not exactly."

Three didn't get until Four timidly asked "Would you push me?"

"Huh?"

"Would you push me off the bridge?"

Three got up from the railing and concernedly approached. "Of course not! Why would you think that?" Four wanted to tell him about the nightmare, but then he had a thought of realization. Would this all go away if he finally admitted his feelings? "Just wondering." Three wanted to say something else, but Four stopped him by grabbing hold of his hands. His hands still felt soft and warm.

"I need to tell you something Three."

"Okay."

Four gave him a stern look and said "Please listen close. It's really important."

"I'm listening." Three playfully teased him by looking off to the side. "I'm serious Three!" He laughed and said "Alright Alright. I am 100% focused." Four sighed as he didn't know exactly how to say this. A monologue seemed kinda sappy, but he really wanted to sum up his experience for Three. Oh just forget it. "It's now or never Four..."

"Three, I know we didn't start out on the best terms. We hated each other from day 1 and it seemed like we would be enemies for life, but somehow we didn't. When we learned about our meme guardian connection, it made us closer and we showed each other how well we work as a team. But, I haven't just been here for you. You've been there for me."

"How we bonded during the heist, getting stuck in those TV parodies, and how you told me how you would always be there for me during the...incident. I haven't forgotten what you told me." Three listened intently to every word, holding back his words as Four smiled and intertwined their fingers. "But now I've realized, my feelings have grown stronger. I thought it was when I was with my friends, but it's you Three. I want us to be together, laugh together, hell even competing with each other like that. The point is...I-I love you Three."

As those words escaped his lips, the air around them felt thick. Three's eyes widened as Four gasped and shut his mouth. "Four...you do?" The blue eyed man then had flashbacks about the nightmare. He just had to open his big mouth. "I'M SORRY! I DON'T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME! I KNOW YOU HATE ME, BUT PLEASE DON'T PUSH ME OFF! I'M STUPID FOR THINKING THAT! I'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!" His body shook in fear as he covered his crying face with his hands.

Three quickly said "NO! That's not what I was going to say! I could never hate you! Really!" Four sniffed before cautiously lowered one hand. "You're not pulling on my leg are you?" Three slowly came over and softly held him. "No. Why would I say that after you told me just what I've been waiting so long to hear." Four felt his puffy eyes being replaced by pink, rosy cheeks. "Four...I've loved you for even longer! I've spent so many countless moments thinking about you, how you've change my life, but I ignored it because I was worried about what you would say."

Four felt his fears slowly fade away as their foreheads touched and they looked into each other's eyes. "I love you so much Smg4. So much you moron." Four was so overjoyed that he didn't hold back and pressed his lips against Three's. He jumped at the touch, but let himself melt into it as he wrapped his arms around Four and played with his hair. When they finally pulled back, Three asked "So...what do we say to the others. Are we boyfriends now?" Four giggled and said "I guess so.

Three looked back to the sky and said "It's getting late. We should go back before the others get worried." That was fine with Four. It was after midnight anyway. They walked back, hand in hand as Four laughed and told his new boyfriend "Pretty cliche how we confessed in Paris." Three rolled his eyes and said "Soooo cliche."

"I guess we're just Two Hearts In The City of Love."

Chapter 15: Sick Day

[quietblueriver]

Hi! For the prompting: Imodna, luminescence

Hello! Okay so I started writing and realized I actually want to answer this in two parts, so please find below part i, which is incandescence/Imogen. Working on a part ii, luminescence/Laudna.

Thank you so much for the prompt!!

PS- Usual disclaimer re: errors and prompts. Pls excuse.

-

The idea came to her last week, when she helped Laudna take the old door out of her refurbished little cabin. It had been hacked in half for some reason but the wood was still good, not rotted through, and she’d tucked it away behind the cabin before she left, telling Laudna vaguely that she had an idea for it.

She thought briefly about paint, but figured Laudna should get to choose the color and they could always add it later if she wanted. The only thing she really needed was rope, which was easy enough to get from the farm’s store, Harlan waving her off when she offered to have the cost taken from her pay. 

She made sure to do it when Laudna was out foraging, mindful of the process. The scars on her neck were hard to misinterpret, and she knew some of what had happened, shared quietly under the stars outside Laudna’s cabin or, once, memorably and horrifyingly, through Pate. The last thing she wanted was for Laudna to watch her string rope up in the tree. She hoped the swing itself would be okay, was ready to take it down immediately at the slightest sign of discomfort, felt her palms get sweaty with nerves before she forced a deep breath. 

Steady, Imogen. You’ve gotta actually put it up before you panic about takin’ it down.  

She wound some rope across the length and around each end, connecting the separate loops in a series of knots she was pretty proud of and, when she was satisfied, hung it on the massive oak with the best view of the sunset. 

Imogen had nearly destroyed her thumbnail by the time Laudna made it back, but the immediate and obvious joy on her face and in her thoughts as she emerged from the forest and saw Imogen standing next to the swing soothed all of her nerves. She dropped the basket of mushrooms and clapped, eyes looking between Imogen and the swing like one or the other might disappear if she stopped. 

“Imogen! Is this…is this for us?” 

Imogen nodded, cheeks aching from the size of her smile. “For you, mostly, but I’ll join you as often as I can. If you want, I mean!” 

Laudna tilted her head, an increasingly familiar and comforting melody of fondness in her mind. Her voice carried that same fond feeling as she said, “Whenever you can, please. Thank you, darling.” The flutter in her stomach at the term of endearment ended quickly as there was, to Imogen’s distress, ichor pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Shit.

Laudna must have seen the concern growing on her face because she waved Imogen off, tucked her fingers next to her eyes so that the ichor reabsorbed. “I’m sorry. Happiness, I promise. It’s been a long time…Actually, I don’t think anyone has ever…” Her fingers moved to Pate but stopped, smoothed at her skirt instead. “Swing with me?” 

Imogen smiled again, moved to hold the door steady so that Laudna could get comfortable. “After you, m’lady.” She felt silly, something that generally made her uncomfortable, but it was worth it for the laughter it earned her. She was finding she didn’t mind being silly for Laudna. 

When Laudna was settled, she hoisted herself up next to her, shoulders touching, and then pressed her right foot against the ground and began a gentle movement. Laudna sighed happily, and they were quiet for a while, the sounds of the frogs and the crickets playing around them. 

As the sun set, reds and purples spreading over Faramore’s land and the bluffs, Laudna tangled their ankles together, eyes cutting at Imogen in that way they always did when she initiated physical contact.

(The first time she really touched her, placing a steadying hand on Imogen’s back as she nearly tripped over a log, she yanked it back so fast, her mind in such a panic that Imogen thought there must be danger.

Laudna? What’s wrong?

She turned to find Laudna staring at the ground and fisting her skirt so tightly Imogen was afraid she might tear it. It was like she couldn’t hear her.

Imogen understood once the panicked thoughts cleared enough for her to be able to separate them, found tears stinging at the corners of her eyes and felt a rage on Laudna’s behalf, more and more common, at a low boil in her stomach.

Careful. Disgusting. Cold. Ichor will stain her pretty shirt. Don’t want to scare her. Can’t believe I...she’ll leave. She should leave. Dangerous.

She stepped closer carefully, placing a gentle hand on Laudna’s forearm, which was smooth and cold and a little clammy but certainly not disgusting. Laudna raised her head slowly to meet Imogen’s eyes.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, and Imogen took another half-step in, let her fingers slide down and tangle with Laudna’s. Her eyes left Imogen’s again to stare at their joined hands.

“Imogen, you don’t have to…I know I’m not…it’s not…”

“I don’t mind you touchin’ me, Laudna. I’m real clumsy, so it’s nice, really, to have somebody there to help.” She squeezed very gently at Laudna’s fingers, ran her thumb over the skin of her inner wrist, leaned forward and said the next part near Laudna’s ear, sure but soft. “And you’re not disgustin’. I’m sorry anybody ever told you that. You’re just a little different.” She let go of Laudna’s hand to remove her glove, took it back and raised them between their bodies, her scars facing Laudna. “I am, too.”

Laudna raised her head then, a tentative half-smile on her face, pulled Imogen’s hand closer and looked at the purple lines scattered across it. Imogen ignored the embarrassment and fear and shame for once, didn’t pull her hand away.

“They’re quite beautiful.”

Her face was burning, suddenly, and she set her own eyes to the ground. “Well, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.” She cleared her throat and looked up again, gathered some bravery. “It feels nice. Your hand in mine, I mean. I run real hot and you’re so cool.” She winked, felt immediately ridiculous but got Laudna’s smile to widen so called it a win.)

Like always, Imogen did her best to show it was welcome, pressing her ankle back. Laudna stared down at their feet as she asked, “How would you feel about a picnic tomorrow?”

She answered immediately, “That sounds perfect.” Laudna’s hands had only fluttered a little as she proposed the idea, and she didn’t even follow her question up with a dozen qualifications about the value of Imogen’s time. Imogen felt a swell of pride and satisfaction that Laudna was becoming more comfortable with her. She added, positive reinforcement and also the simple truth, “Real excited to get to spend a day off with you.” 

Laudna’s cheeks stained a bluish purple in the low light, and Imogen felt an entirely undue sense of accomplishment, leaned over to let her head rest on Laudna’s shoulder.

This was something Imogen was trying, the physical affection. She wanted to be sure Laudna didn’t feel like she was the only one ever reaching out, wanted to reassure her, push back against some of the shit she’d been told about herself.

Mostly, though, she wanted to be close to her. They hadn’t known each other that long, in the scheme of things, but Imogen was pretty sure both of them had been touch-starved for a long time, and she felt more at home with Laudna than she had with anyone, ever. So she was slowly letting herself give into the impulses to touch and tease and be lighter than she was anywhere else, with anyone else. To be at home. 

“That can’t be comfortable,” Laudna laughed, even as she lifted a hand to wrap around Imogen’s shoulders to keep her in place.

Imogen scooted closer. “It’s plenty comfortable, thanks.” 

She walked back to the house humming to herself and thinking about what Laudna might like from the market for their picnic, making a plan for her morning. She was excited about spending a whole day with Laudna—dipping her feet in cool water and watching at least one performance from Pate and eating fresh bread and cheese and fruit and, assuming she didn’t get stampeded in line, a few slices of the first chocolate pecan pie of the season from Mackey’s stall.

She laughed into the quiet of the forest. They were going to have a picnic.

-

The market was more crowded than usual, and Imogen’s headache was threatening, a steady pulsing reminder at the base of her skull, but she was undeterred, buoyed by the promise of the rest of her day. 

She avoided a cart and brushed by a family with a teenager whose brutal (and correct, from what Imogen could tell) running internal commentary on her uncle’s bullshit. He must’ve picked that up from that circle jerk of a riding club. What fucking clowns…was so loud that Imogen had to bite into her bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

She refocused, picking her way through the stalls looking for the best fruit she could find rather than the best bargain because she was in a good mood, and she’d just gotten paid, and she could almost hear the delighted noise Laudna would make if she could find some of those sour apples she liked so much. She blocked out someone’s mental rant about stepping in dog shit and grinned triumphantly as she spotted a bucket of green apples. 

Prize in hand, she moved the already secured slices of pie and perfectly crisply loaf of bread carefully to the side to make room in her basket. “Now, cheese…”

She made it back to the house without incident, headache still only a threat, and loaded her pack and saddled Flora, who was off the roster for the day same as Imogen, before heading to Laudna. 

Her cabin was empty, a little surprising because Imogen was almost certain they’d agreed to meet here last night. She had been exhausted, though, so maybe they’d decided on the creek after all. 

Redirecting Flora, they headed in the direction of the section best for picnics, a little bend with big flat rocks and enough tree cover to create a little privacy. 

She heard it about halfway there, the familiar music of Laudna’s thoughts discordant with panic and fear. Imogen had Flora at a gallop immediately, cussing and hissing as thin branches whipped at her face. 

There was a group of people crowded around a set of boulders, Laudna’s lanky form easily identifiable, surrounded and pressed almost all the way against a the rocks. The group consisted of a dozen or so people, including Amos, the local cleric, and some other folks in religious robes she didn’t recognize. There were also several of Imogen’s least favorite men from town, a combination of assholes and real creeps whose thoughts made her wish she could give her brain a shower. At their head was Davey Moore, the sheriff’s brother who thought he was big shit. 

They all turned as they heard Flora’s approach, and Imogen barreled through them without hesitation, forcing them to either move or be moved. They dived, crying out, thoughts temporarily diverted to their own safety. They’d be able to block them in before Imogen could get Laudna up behind her, but this at least gave them a moment. 

Imogen stopped Flora next to Laudna, whose normally wide black eyes were even wider and whose thoughts were jumbled and afraid and now worried, not for herself but for Imogen. 

Imogen smiled at her, as softly as she could manage given the worry and fury that were mounting in her body. 

Well, hey there. You okay?

I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to…I thought you might like…

Imogen saw then the flowers in her hand, beautiful yellow and purple and blue blooms whose stems even now Laudna was trying to keep from crushing in her anxious grip. Her hands rose the smallest amount, in offering, and Imogen felt such an intense surge of affection and the desire to protect that it nearly winded her. Probably would have, if she weren’t also burning hot with anger. 

Trying to let some of that affection out through her eyes, she projected, You got nothin’ to be sorry for, Laudna. Those flowers are real pretty. I’m sorry that these fools… 

She turned to glare at the group of men who had recongregated around them, one of the clerics having cast some kind of barrier spell that Imogen could see glinting in the light over their shoulders. 

Well, shit. 

Moore yelled out, “Temult! Of course you’re wrapped up with this…this…”

Imogen flexed her hand around the reins, ground out, “I’d be real careful how you finish that sentence, Davey.”

Imogen. Don’t put yourself at…

“Ma’am,” one of the clerics she didn’t recognize tried, blue robes shifting as he put a foot forward, “Clearly you’re not aware that you’ve been associating with an abomination.” His voice was kind, gentle, like she was a child and he genuinely wanted to protect her, but he had his staff raised in one hand and the other out, ready to cast at Laudna. 

“She’s not an abomination.” 

Imogen. Be careful. It’s not worth it, darling. 

She heard what Laudna wouldn’t say: I’m not worth it. She sure as shit was, though, was the thing, and Imogen wasn’t about to let these fuckers have her. Imogen looked down at Laudna again, steel in her eyes this time, and brought Flora’s body forward and around a little, a half-shield for Laudna. 

Stay as much behind Flora’s body as you can. When it’s safe, I’m gonna pull you up and we’re gonna go. Okay? 

Imogen. 

Laudna. 

“Don’t bother with this one. She’s a freak, too. All messed up in the head like her mama was. Actually,” he sneered at Imogen, moved his hand to the sheath on his belt, “better be careful with her, too. She might try to mess with your mind.” 

A set of frowns deepened, confused thoughts pressing at the barrier of her mind as Amos stepped forward. Nobody in her day-to-day life was deeply religious, but Amos had once offered to pray over Imogen while her daddy stood stoically and silently next to her. (He’d told her later that it “couldn’t have hurt to let him try,” while a cacophony of thoughts about Imogen sounded in his mind. Stubborn. Just like her mama. Didn’t sign up for this. Wish she’d just act normal. Can’t even have a fuckin’ ale in peace since she screamed at Darius’s boy. The thoughts were familiar enough at that point that she should’ve been innoculated against the hurt they caused. She wasn’t.)  She’d declined as politely as she could, pushing down the part of herself that wanted to tell him to shove his prayers up his own ass, and Amos had been gravely concerned that she wasn’t open to being healed. 

Now, in his most pious voice, he said, “Imogen. I feared when you declined my offer of prayer that you had given into darkness, and now I see that it’s true. After we handle your…this…unnatural creature…”

“Hollow One,” another supplied, and Amos turned slightly to nod in acknowledgement. 

“Yes. In any case, after we handle it, we can bring you to your father and see about…”

Her heart pounded, and her head rang, her whole body flushed with heat, as she said, “You won’t be handlin’ anything, especially not Laudna.”

“Ms. Temult, is it? I don’t think you…”

“Enough.” Moore unsheathed his knife and Flora tried to put distance between herself and the man, whinnying when she realized there was nowhere to go. 

“Shhh,” she rubbed a hand down her neck, eyed Laudna, whose hands were even darker than usual, ichor and magic bubbling up and bleeding across now-wilted flowers to drip over the ground. 

With a last pat to Flora, she dismounted, stepping in front of Laudna and sending Flora out toward the path they’d come from, the group of men parting and reforming to let her pass. Flora made it through the barrier without issue and Imogen filed that away, wondered if it was just for humans or just for Laudna or maybe, if they were lucky, just for show.

Imogen. 

It’ll be alright. 

There was almost no space between her and Moore now, his sharp blade glinting in her eyes as his vile thoughts cut at her mind. She pushed them to the side. 

“You’re right. That’s enough.” 

She wasn’t the Imogen Temult he knew in that moment. She wasn’t the weird, reclusive girl whose mind wasn’t quite right but who was “real good with those horses.” She wasn’t the panicked, overwhelmed teenager breaking down in the market, the attention-seeking, unmanageable girl yelling at the people around her when there were no more boxes in her mind for the vile thoughts of others. She certainly wasn’t the polite, palatable version of herself she had learned to present to keep the peace. 

She was Imogen Temult without filter, and she was done. 

Moore blinked for a moment, a break in his thoughts, but then he turned to the clerics around him and said, “Someone knock her out first. Then we can finish the job.”

The minds around her were conflicted at the order, but enough accepted it that someone began to cast, voice loud. 

She heard Laudna cry out behind her, saw a flash of black streak by and hit the cleric in the shoulder. He yelled, shock and pain projecting from his mind, but then he started again, and soon his voice wasn’t alone. 

There were too many of them, too many of them with too much belief in what they were doing and they had trapped them here, in these woods, where nobody could hear them call for help. 

Something in her chest, familiar, hers, but never let loose before, cracked open, and heat flowed out, across her chest and down her arms. It almost felt like her scars were…she raised her hands and confirmed—they were glowing, pulsing purple with power. 

“Imogen,” Laudna breathed out behind her, something close to awe battling with concern in her tone. 

“What the fuck?” 

She looked Moore in the eye as she said, “I said, that’s enough.”

She didn’t know what she was doing, but it felt natural, right, to extend her hands in front of her, nearly pressed to his chest. He lunged with the knife and froze mid-way, body stiff, wrapped in light that beamed from Imogen’s hands over and through Moore and Amos and all the rest of them, her whole body hot and surging like a live wire.

And then Moore was screaming. He was screaming, and so were the others, out loud and in their minds, loud, so loud, a horrible, inescapable set of voices becoming one.

“Ahhh!!!” It burns! Make it stop! “Mercy! Mercy!” So hot, so hot, my gods, I can’t…“Please!” Mother save us…

Hands grasped at heads as their bodies shook and fell to the ground, and bits of their skin, where Imogen could see it, withered with burn, strange purple and white flames appearing and disappearing on their bodies and clothes.

When it was over, all of them prone, Imogen took half a moment to feel both relief and a deep kind of sickness before grabbing Laudna’s hand, pulling her toward Flora, the best girl, who was waiting for them at the edge of the forest. 

She grabbed the reins, scars still alight with purple heat, lightning still in her veins waiting to be let free, and they ran. 

[zerobaselove]

my favorite | park gunwook

pairing: gunwook x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 939

warnings: none! lowercase intended, not proofread

prompts: 7. "dont tell me you're jealous" 30. "you make it hard to think straight"

notes: my wookie ohhh i love him so bad. i've been pretty busy lately but i did manage to pop this out in a pretty quick time so <3 anything for him tbh

ever since you started dating gunwook you had found yourself getting close with the other members; it was inevitable really, always visiting gunwook at practice and the dorms meant you were also always visiting them. surprisingly you actually got along really well with everyone, despite your fear that they wouldn't like you.

you had especially gotten to be on good terms with gunwook's best friend, gyuvin. he was always fun to be around and the three of you found it easy to hang out together without anything being weird. it was nice. after years of longing for a close group of friends, you finally had one, and you had gunwook; it didn't get much better than that.

today was a day off for the boys, a rare occasion that you knew you had to take advantage of. according to gunwook he had the dorm all to himself, almost. gyuvin was there too, both deciding to stay in on the free day instead of going shopping or out with friends like the others. so in an attempt to be nice, you stopped at the store to grab them some snacks for all their hard work lately.

you grabbed a few snacks, one you had seen gyuvin eating with gunwook once, a safe option you'd like to think, as well as some drinks and gunwook's absolute favorite snack.

soon enough you found yourself knocking on the door to their dorm, hearing some muffled shuffling before being greeted with gyuvin's smile. "oh gunwook is just in the shower, c'mon in." he opened the door, gesturing you into the kitchen as he locked the door behind you.

"i brought treats!" you enthused, holding the convenience store bag in your hand before reaching in to grab the snacks you got for gyuvin.

the two of you chatted for a bit, gyuvin even sharing his snack with you to show his gratitude until gunwook made an entrance. his hair was still damp and sticking to his forehead, partnered with the glasses resting on his nose. "hi love," he came up behind you to drape his arms over your shoulders. you relaxed into his touch despite the drips of cold water coming off of his hair, giving him a similar greeting before standing up, not noticing the way his eyes grazed over you and gyuvin in front of him.

"you two go have fun, i have to catch up on a show." gyuvin smiled, heading off to his bedroom with his drink, opting to leave his snack on the counter. now that you were alone you couldn't help but notice the expression plastered across gunwook's face. "what's wrong wook?" you questioned, bringing your hand up to brush a damp strand of hair from his eyes.

"it's nothing," he mumbled, barely audible through the pout that he displayed as his arms crossed in front of him.

gunwook was stubborn, this wasn't news to you, but he also knew you weren't stupid, so you ran over anything that could've made him upset today. you quickly scanned the room, eyes landing on the snacks and the empty seat that once sat gyuvin a few minutes ago. bingo.

"wook," you chuckled, "don't tell me you're jealous."

"you got him snacks," he pouted again, unable to control his tone as he stood there staring at you. you could only laugh for a moment as you picked up the bag on the floor, "i got you snacks too, silly." you pulled out a bag of home run balls and a carton of chocolate milk for the boy sulking in front of you before holding it out to him.

he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, "those are my favorites, how'd you know?"

"i pay attention gunwook," you placed the snacks down on the table as you gestured for him to sit with you. "did you really think i'd get gyuvin snacks and not you?" he shrunk into himself at the statement; yeah, it seemed a little weird that you'd do that, but he didn't always prove to be the smartest when it came to the person he loved.

he shook his head, mumbling a "no" under his breath as he shyly opened the chocolate milk carton. "thank you." his voice was a little louder this time.

"no need to thank me," you ruffled his hair, letting out a small chuckle at the endearing boy in front of you, "you're cute when you're jealous by the way."

the blush that dusted across his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got so lucky to have such a cute boy in your life.

"listen it's not my fault," he sighed, taking another sip of his drink, "you just," he paused for a moment, "you make it hard to think straight."

now it was your turn to blush, a little flustered at the innocent confession from the boy sitting beside you. you took a few moments to compose yourself before responding, "well i'm honored," a slight questioning tone in your voice, but genuine nonetheless.

a shy smile spread across his lips as he grabbed your hand with his free hand, the other holding the snacks and his drink, "well c'mon," he started, pulling you off towards his room, "you promised me you'd play games with me."

and that's how your afternoon went; back and forth bickering as you competed in various games. as much as you loved your boyfriend, you'd be damned if you went easy on him, so that incident wouldn't be the last time you saw pouty gunwook before the day was over.

[slashhinginghasher]

Dog Day Afternoon - Ghoap x reader

I've been binge-reading @ohbo-ohno's blog all day and just had to write a companion piece to their amazing story Don't Leave Me Locked In Your Heart.

No warnings, just fluff, but like, really really stupid fluff.

***

In a normal housing situation, you'd be baffled by how quickly your shampoo tended to disappear. You'd carefully measure how much you used each time, eye every roommate with suspicion when they emerged from the bathroom with wet hair. Maybe you'd even hide the bottle in your room between baths for safe-keeping, or fill an empty bottle with something gross to see who came out covered in a gunky mess.

But you didn't live in a normal housing situation, and you didn't have to wonder where all your shampoo was going because the thieving Scot who took it also made you wash his fucking hair with it. Every. Damn. Time. Sometimes even more than once.

"Can't have me gettin' split ends, bonnie," he said knowledgeably. "No' like Simon over there."

You didn't inform him that washing one's hair multiple times in the shower did not make the shampoo work better. You did not point out that he and Simon, being military, both cut their hair too short and too often for split ends. You didn't even accuse him of only knowing what split ends were because it was written on the shampoo bottle.

No, you kept your thoughts to yourself. Because while Johnny was apparently in possession of mad military skills - including manhandling, referring to Simon by his rank, and probably guns or something - they paled in comparison to his true talent: spouting an endless amount of bullshit at you until you accidentally said something sexual in return, and then taking that as an opening to be actually sexual.

Once, when you were fussing over a blemish forming on your nose, Johnny had sworn that you could contract flesh-eating bacteria and he'd still love you, holes and all. You had been physically incapable of stopping yourself from muttering that his love of your holes was what had gotten you into this situation in the first place. Johnny immediately got an evil gleam in his eye, and Simon had laughed. Out loud. Then they took you to bed for an entire day. Literally a full twenty-four hours. You hadn't been able to walk right for almost a week.

So yeah, you'd learned your lesson and you didn't goad Johnny, even when you had something spectacularly clever to say.

"Think you're a bloody show dog now, Johnny?" Simon rumbled. "Yappin' on about your hair like a damn poodle."

"A poodle!" Johnny shouted, affronted. "Am no fuckin' poodle, LT. Naw." He rubbed his hands together, warming up to the subject. "A german shepherd, maybe. Or a doberman. One a' those fuck-off big boys that makes you piss yerself a little when you get too close. What d'you think, hen?"

Oh, there were so many answers you could give to break this man's ego. Breeds they'd have to look up on google to feel the full impact of your devastating wit. But no, you had to stay strong. You pressed your lips into a tight line and maintained a dignified silence.

"Oi, I'm askin' ye a question."

"You ask me a lot of questions, and almost all of them are stupid."

Johnny looked positively offended.

"They are not stupid!"

"'If a guy was on the moon and he jumped hard enough in the right direction do you think he could launch himself back to earth?'" you quoted. "'Do we say things suit people because suits look good on you or is it called a suit because it suits you?' 'If unicorns were real do you think they'd let people ride them and if they did would you attach the reins to their mouth like a normal horse or would you tie 'em around the horn?'"

"All of which are important questions and not at all stupid!"

"Everything is stupid when you're asking it at 3 am, Johnny!"

Simon's eyes were bouncing between the two of you like a tennis match. He looked like he was having the time of his life (in Simon terms, which meant that one corner of his mouth was turned up in a microscopic smirk).

"I cannae help it that my deepest thoughts come late at night," Johnny said solemnly. "An' you're avoiding the most important question: what dog am I?"

"You're a mutt, Johnny," Simon said. "A scraggly little mutt that's gonna get muzzled if it doesn't learn to stop asking stupid questions when people are tryin' to sleep."

Johnny grinned. You weren't sure if he was the sort of person who could shrug off vitriol from anybody, or if he was so over the moon about Simon that he would preen under any kind of attention he got from him. And the last thing you wanted was to feel bad for either of your captors. But damn, the bigger man could be downright mean sometimes.

"Belgian malinois," you said.

"Come again?"

"Mouthy police dog that starts trembling if you order it to stay still for too long," you clarified.

"Sounds about right," Simon muttered.

Johnny cocked his head, mulling over this with extreme deliberation, before pointing at Simon.

"What about him?"

You considered Simon. Big, scary, unflappable Simon. "Shit your pants if you see him in a dark alley" Simon who could definitely rip your head off your body but also somehow gave the best hugs and turned into a pile of goo if you scratched his head right.

"Caucasian shepherd," you announced. "Also known as the Russian bear dog."

Simon nodded. You were pretty sure he had no idea what kind of dog that was and would have agreed with anything that sounded appropriately large or menacing enough.

"Aw fuck off!" Johnny cried. "How come I've gotta be the vibrating cop dog while he gets to be the fucking bear dog?"

"And that's what you get for askin' stupid questions, mutt."

Johnny huffed and pouted for a moment before turning back to you.

"And you, love? What kinda dog are you?"

"I'm a cat," you replied. "Obviously."

Your stomach dropped as that devious spark kindled in Johnny's eyes.

"Too true, kitty, too true," he purred. "Fancy a bit of a chase?"

How the fuck did he always manage to do that???

[red-bat-arse]

Just Date Someone Better!

*I don't do tag lists*

Eddie and Chrissy were friends, completely by accident. There was a late winter party with a few too many black out drunk basketball players that pushed the tipsy and sober crowd to migrate into the garage; Eddie made a snipe about pompoms and the mating rituals of high school preps that Chrissy, a little high, cackled at before asking him if his species did the same but on top of cafeteria tables, and they'd gone from there.

Sure, it was mainly based on having a weed buddy to talk shit about high school boys to, but hey, everyone started somewhere. The rumours about him had already paved the way, so when Chrissy asked him how many drinks it'd take before he would kiss Patrick Mckinney, he took the out and avoided the confrontation he always dreaded with new friends. And when Chrissy cried over him buying her Mcdonald's for dinner one day, he got to learn something about her that she kept close to her chest too.

Eddie was queer as a two dollar bill, and when he got comfortable with someone he didn't bother hiding it. It was no wonder that several weeks in his circle tripped Chrissy into figuring something important out about herself, granted the waterworks she burst into when she finally confided in him in late January were a touch less dramatic than his own coming out to Wayne, where he'd freaked out so bad he'd tripped and broken his nose. And then just being two queer kids getting through high school in Hawkins would've been fine and dandy, figuratively and literally, if not for two major factors.

Chrissy had a judgemental prick for a boyfriend, and her mother had held her college fund over her head from the moment she voiced an inkling of doubt in their relationship. Apparently good christian boys like Jason, nephew of their church's preacher, were the cream of Hawkins' crop, and it would set her up for life if she accepted that she would follow him to college, get married when he graduated and come back to town to raise their kids all before she turned 25. It wasn't even that Chrissy didn't want that life -actually, she desperately wanted to find someone who would love her, marry her and settle down for a long, quiet life -but she wanted to do it on her terms, not her mother's or Jason's.

Eddie quickly learnt to hate Chrissys' mom and look at Jason with something akin to pity. At least Jason, despite being a self absorbed teenage boy, did actually seem to love Chrissy -though it was clear after watching for a few weeks that he didn't much listen to her or notice when she was struggling. The less said about how Eddie felt concerning the way Chrissy's mother treated her, the better his blood pressure would be, but he could work out that animosity by getting Chrissy out of her head and eating, and there wasn't a damn thing Laura Cunningham could do about it.

Or at least, there wasn't anything physical, Eddie thought grimly one day when he picked up Chrissy's shirt off his floor -she always changed at his place to be more comfortable -and noticed the rough edges of hastily taken in seams. Or the way that on Mondays Chrissy had recently started flinching at loud voices and would pick at her food, never actually eating it, and always, always make a point to sit closer to Jason at lunch and in class even though after school she told Eddie she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Eddie was pretty sure she was going to snap one day and it wouldn't turn out well.

He wished he could just tell her to kick Jason to the curb, but it would only make her other problems worse, and there were still months until graduation, not to mention she couldn't skip town without any funds. Even if they left together, that would be potentially months living on one income, and she'd start to hate herself for 'being a burden' even if Eddie could never think she was. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He'd never tell the shrimp this, but Dustin really saved them when he came up with a plan one night after Hellfire, right around March when they'd spent all of the last campaign watching Eddie craft enemies who were holier-than-thou royals or witches who cursed the party with various ills. Honestly it was a miracle Chrissy herself had never witnessed one of those in action.

"So it's all about reputation?" he asked as they were packing up, a look on his face that spelled trouble whenever he pulled it during a session. Eddie nodded back, saying something about how Carver was apparently high royalty in the eyes of the waspy control freak mother population in town, and Dustin perked up even more. "Well then all Chrissy has to do is date someone better in the meantime."

That pulled Eddie up short, which made Gareth bump into his back as they left the drama room.

"How do you figure that, casanova?" Mike rolled his eyes and shoved a little at Dustin's shoulder. "Going to set her up with a winner all by yourself?"

"It wouldn't be real, Mike," Dustin rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, huffing. "She wants alone time and someone she can drop when she goes to college, boom. If he's better than Carver, that should keep her mom from complaining, and give her a boost in school if it's someone really impressive. The gossip chain loves a good romance," he spread his hands wide, like they should all be following him to some predestined conclusion. "Who do we know that's age appropriate, a nice dude, with a good reputation, and, more importantly, available and hung up on someone else?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Mike whined.

"You want Chrissy to fake-date Steve goddamn Harrington?!" Eddie hissed.

Steve Harrington -who better in Hawkins than Steve 'The Hair' Harrington for a hare-brained scheme like this? Steve, who still held clout from his high school days with the current juniors and seniors who hadn't noticed his fall at the time, but definitely remembered that he'd become kinder. Steve, whose name was well respected in town both for his parents' reputations and the way he'd saved people during the starcourt fire last year, and then stepped between Sinclair and Billy Hargrove the year before that. Steve, who may've been working retail but could easily fudge his situation as 'gaining independence and responsibility before he leaves town to learn under his father and take over the family business'. Steve, handsome and charming but a meangirl at heart. Steve, still hung up on Nancy wheeler so he wasn't a threat. Steve, the abdicated King.

Sue him, he'd listened to the kid's hero worship of the guy for six months, Eddie could wax poetic about his stupid tiny crush if he wanted. Thank god he'd never named serious names when he and Chrissy were bitching about the Hawkins male population before this.

More importantly, when Dustin and Eddie met with him to talk it over, Steve listened with a weirdly intense look on his face as to why Eddie was even entertaining Dustin's insane idea. It was the first time Eddie really vocalized the magnitude of how much his worry about Chrissy turned his insides out, and that if he didn't have such a negative reputation himself he'd have put himself up for grabs in a heartbeat. Eddie didn't say it outright, but the fact he was willing but unable to play Chrissy's beard really got to him, but part of the sentiment must have shone through, because in the end Steve agreed -but only if he could talk to Chrissy about it first.

It was surreal to host Chrissy, Dustin and Steve freaking Harrington in the living room of his trailer the next evening -really made him want a cigarette in the lead up, quietly fretting about what the kid and his big brother were going to think about the small, cluttered space he called home. But he shouldn't have been worried. Dustin flopped down on the couch without pause, and Steve just asked whether Eddie wanted him to take his shoes off before he followed, looking as comfortable as if he were in his own house.

Eddie had, of course, briefed Chrissy on the proposed plan on their way back from school to give her time to think on it. She was only a little miffed that Eddie had talked to Steve about it without consulting her first, but admitted it would've been awkward approaching Steve about something like this either way. She was still stewing in her thoughts by the time they showed up, brow furrowed and fingers tapping at the sweats she'd stolen from Eddie's dresser the minute they got in the door.

"So you're really still hung up on Nancy Wheeler?" she asked bluntly, and Steve choked a little. He glared at Dustin when the kid laughed and shook his head, getting up to pull him away from the couch.

"Okay, no, not having this conversation with the peanut gallery present. Take your dork master outside and let me and Chrissy talk in private," Steve shot Eddie a disarming little grin, and despite himself Eddie felt his feet move to follow a protesting Dustin right back out his own front door. The kid huffed something fierce but had a big smile on his face when he dropped into one of the porch chairs and looked up at Eddie.

"Steve's got this," he said, perfectly confident, and Eddie -well, he let himself believe it.

Steve didn't just have Dustin's admiration, he had his trust, and that didn't come cheap. If he said Steve would go along with this if Chrissy was on board, exactly to her specifications and no further, then that was what would happen. If he said Steve was still pining over the elder Wheeler, well, Eddie had his doubts based on how glued to Buckley's hip the guy was, but it meant Steve wasn't going to actually develop feelings for Chrissy. And if the guy born with a silver spoon could settle in Eddie's home without even a hint of distaste, whether it meant he was a good actor or just a good dude, either way, they were golden. Who better in Hawkins was there for a plan like this?

Well, maybe it'd be better if Eddie wasn't going to be crushing on his best friend's fake boyfriend, but no plan was perfect. He'd be fine.

[cupiidzbow]

Ok no one move . here’s an excerpt of a thing I’m writing. augh (<- poison damage)

Dixie quirked her brow at the response, thoughts swirling through her head for a quick moment before tugging at the side of his skirt to get his attention. “Wait….wait….. Hang on a second.”

Freddie stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head to look down at his friend, his forehead wrinkling in confusion at her sudden pause. “Huh?”

“Funky asked you to go watch the shower with him…. together?”

“…Yeah?”

Diddy popped his head at Fred’s opposite side. “Just, you and him…. alone?”

He turned his head in his direction, “Wh- Yeah?? I think?”

The two Kongs shared a look between themselves, seemingly having the same idea in their minds. Freddie snapped his head frantically between the two of them, bewildered, and still blissfully unaware of the implications. “Why are you- am I missing something??”

Diddy snickered as he patted his elbow in a congratulatory manner, “Hee hee!! Well look at that! He finally asked you out!!!”

Freddie bristled, eyes widening and nearly dropping all the corked bottles of banana juice in his arms. “WHAT?”

No that couldn’t- he didn’t- there’s no way that was even-

…..Finally?

There’s no way Funky felt that way about him…. right?

Hell, he spent so long pushing the feelings about him down because he convinced himself there was no way for him to even THINK of him that way. He already came to terms that finding love was probably not going to happen as long as he stayed in this kingdom. He’s just a human, not sturdy and resourceful as most Kongs were. Just fragile and vulnerable, most of the wildlife could gobble him up in one bite, a coconut could literally fall from a tree and kill him in one hit if he wasn’t careful.

He was fully convinced that no one would spare even him a passing glance, so of course he found it hard to believe that the friend he’s grown so close to could ever feel such things for him.

He deflated at the thought of that.

“That’s not funny.” Freddie pouted, moving his eyes downcast, continuing his slow trek up the hill. “He was probably just being nice to me.”

The two watched as he walked away from them, briskly picking up their own pace following after him.

“Hey, It’s not a joke!” Diddy corrected frantically, waving hands in front of him reassuringly to insist he wasn’t messing with him. “He really does like you, honest!!”

Dixie wasn’t far behind him, “Yeah!! I mean have you seen the way he looks at you when we all hang out together? He always asks about you when you’re not with us!!”

Freddie, frustrated, turned back quickly at the two, “Then how come I’ve never noticed!” He frowned, “I’m sure I would’ve seen it if he actually did that!!”

Dixie couldn’t help but stop and roll her eyes at the huffy response. “Fred…. be serious. You’re as dense as a brick wall.”

“Wh- Hey!!”

“Please, don’t tell me you haven't noticed the little nicknames he calls you.”

The mere mention of that made Freddie bite back a response. The sudden memory of casually bumping into him out of work. Surfboard tucked under his arm and the gentle exclamation of ‘Hey, Sweetheart!’ gracing his lips in a smile as he locked eyes with him. He swore he could still feel the aching feeling in his chest he felt that very day, the silent and starving yearning for him to call him that again.

But…… he did that for everyone…… right?

Right….?

……… Oh god…. maybe Funky did ask him out.