#I slowly but surely chipped at this each day

[alexiroflife]

"megumi is annoyed with gojo for getting distracted with you and being late for everything because of it, so he makes it his life’s mission to ruin gojo’s chances of dating you..."

fluff, crack

gojo has a severe issue with constantly following you like a puppy dog wherever you go. after that day he had run into you on a whim at the park, your pretty (e/c) eyes locking with his as you both shared passing glances the moment your shoulders brushed, he was stuck to you. gojo stopped dead in his tracks, calling out to you and asking what your name was. you turned over your shoulder, stuttering to a stop upon realizing that handsome guy had been talking to you. you told him your name, that you attended the university down the block, and he was set.

gojo was sure to secure your number before you parted ways that day, approaching you as interested in friendship rather than someone completely enamored by your beauty and desperate to get to know you more. he would text you every day, from then on, pressing further about your hobbies and inserting himself into your daily routine, which you fortunately did not mind. the two of you end up spending a lot of time together, thoroughly enjoying each other’s presence.

megumi, ten years old, witnesses gojo’s clinginess with you fast because it quickly has an affect on how often gojo fulfills his responsibilities in looking after him. megumi remembers the first time gojo forgot about him because he was distracted by you. he had been meant to purchase and drop of megumi’s weekly groceries, but he ran into you at the supermarket and ended up helping you take your groceries home instead. megumi had to wait three hours for gojo to bring him his next week’s supply of food. things like this continued to happen the longer you to knew each other, but megumi knows it isn’t your fault that gojo is attached to you at the hip and flirts with you shamelessly but won’t muster up the courage to tell you he likes you. 

megumi’s last straw is when he is left stranded outside of his elementary school for forty-five minutes because he ran into you “eating at a cafe by yourself and you needed company.” the ten year old watches gojo pull up slowly with you in the passenger’s seat, waving at him apologetically with a kind smile. his blood boils as gojo smiles, shrugging bashfully and saying he lost track of time. megumi decides with a hastiness that he would ruin every chance gojo takes to flirt with you after the twenty one year old suddenly announces that he is driving twenty minutes opposite of his house to drop you off at your dorm. 

gojo first senses something is off when you are over at megumi’s house one day after school, looking for snacks in the cabinets. gojo and megumi are sitting at the kitchen island while megumi does his homework and gojo watches you move around with a soft smile on his lips, chin propped in his palm. you turn over your shoulder and ask the two if they have any chips, to which megumi beats gojo to answering: “gojo ate them all. he’s always eating everything in my house. i try to get him to stop, but i guess he just gets too hungry.” the white haired man slowly turns to face megumi as you carry on about your business, eyes wide and a mortified smile on his face. megumi doesn’t look at him, continuing his english homework. 

gojo knows he’s being targeted the second time around, when he suggests that you sleep over in his room because it is getting late and megumi advises you not to because he allegedly saw a nonexistent redhead leaving his room last night and is ‘worried about your exposure to lice.’ gojo chases the spikey haired kid around his living room later on after you inevitably go home, threatening to take him back to the zenin clan. 

the day megumi outright proposes that you get a boyfriend during a car ride over to your campus, gojo almost loses control of the steering wheel and decides he has to keep you as far away from megumi as possible. megumi gets his wish when gojo begins to pay more attention to the days he’s supposed to pick him up from school and separates his days with you from them accordingly, but megumi doesn’t plan to let this slide so easily. for weeks, he suffered the aftermath of gojo getting distracted by being your shadow, and for weeks gojo would suffer his karma.

when he hears you on the phone with him, megumi barges in the room and loudly asks to talk to you. you, overhearing, welcome the conversation gladly and ask gojo to hand over the phone while he glares animatedly at the boy’s blank face. he has to wait twenty minutes for megumi to finish talking monotonously about his day into the speaker, and by the time gojo gets his phone back, you have to head to a meeting with your classmates. the call ends and gojo ponders over why his kid is praying so intently over his downfall. 

and of course there are the days when you ask to come over to see gojo and megumi, and gojo is physically incapable of refusing quality time with you or telling you no in any regard. he practically begs megumi on his knees to behave five minutes before you arrive, to which the fushiguro blatantly ignores. the blue eyed sorcerer is fuming with rage as he sits across from you and megumi, watching as you help him with his science project after him asking for your assistance, a stunning, bubbly grin on your face. gojo’s initial frustrations shift into envy for your attention, and before you know it he’s pouting with his arms crossed in silence. 

megumi is satisfied with himself, concluding that gojo is officially fed up and has given up completely on pursuing you. he commends himself mutely for his successes after working so hard, though his actual enjoyment of your tranquil company made the experience more tolerable. he runs off to take a shower when you’re grabbing your belongings, preparing to uber back to your dorm. normally gojo pesters you about letting him drive you home when you’re over, so when he only flashes you a smile and holds the door for you as you walk through, you immediately think something is wrong.

the blue eyed man’s lips press together, eyes blank as he shakes and tells you everything is okay. your eyes slim in suspicion as you look over his face, unconvinced by his horrible lying skills. you ask again and he smiles again, telling you he is fine and to go enjoy the rest of your day without him. you furrow your brows in confusion before realizing that you had been busy with little megumi all day and hardly paid attention to your friend. he’s jealous. you giggle, and find it cute the way his half smile melts and he broods, perplexed by your laughter. 

you tease your friend of a few months, telling him that the next time you hang out, you two will spend the day alone. pink rises to gojo’s cheeks. “you still wanna spend time with me?” he asks and you scoff. “yeah, why wouldn’t i?” “i don’t know, i just thought megumi convinced you not to like me…”

you laugh again, the sound ringing like church bells in his ear. you tell him he’s ridiculous for getting worked up over a ten picking on him and puffs his lips and rolls his eyes. you know there is a mutual attraction shared between you and gojo. you’ve liked him since the second he asked for your number, but never said anything because he limited your relationship to what you assumed ws platonic flirting. now, watching him pout over the thought that megumi pushed you away makes you realize that there may be something real to his attachment to you.

a smug smile lifts to gojo’s face and his mood immediately improves. he tells you he’ll pick you up from your math class tomorrow for a ride, just the two of you. you hum in agreement and lean up to your tiptoes, holding the side of his face with your fingers and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “it's a date,” you say. you pull away and his expression is dopey, eyes dazed and grin bright. 

megumi runs back into the living room at the wrong time. he goes to grab his bookbag from the sofa and return it to his room when he catches a glimpse of the horror, his face scrunching in disgust as you peck gojo’s cheek at the front door. megumi turns grim, mourning over his failed plan. oh well, he tried. he wishes you luck dealing with that freak, and figures that the next time gojo annoys him, he can just save himself half the trouble and log him out of the shared netflix account.

you are halfway out the door, smile making your cheeks ache and heart bursting, when you hear megumi shouting from inside. “wash your mouth when you get home, (y/n)! you don’t know where he’s been!” you hear the front door slam and dramatic, muffled complaining follow as you walk to your uber stifling a laugh.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 16: Dress up - Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut, kissing, marking, fingering, degrading (nothing too bad) I don’t think it’s too graphic.

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word count: N/A

Prompt: You were trying on Halloween costumes when Billy walks in on you.

Notes: Literally don’t bully me.

Definitely frustrated with your wardrobe, you were trying anything and everything to make something work. Of course nothing felt right, you feared you had to buy something last minute for Stu’s yearly Halloween party.

You know you should’ve planned ahead, you kept telling yourself that for the past few months and now here you were in a skintight black bodysuit with an old pair of cat ears that you just didn’t like.

It had been two hours since you told Billy you were ready, not that you were lying, but it just didn’t feel right to you.

You’ve been friends with the boys since you were in middle school. When Stu brought up the party at the mall, Billy offered to drive you, it wasn’t out of the ordinary, it didn’t take long for him to be friends with your brother, then you.

Shuffling through your wardrobe, you kept ratteling your brain to make the best of what you had. You could only be so creative. You opted to keep your best friends away from making any choices for you. How hard could it be? However, the more you pulled from the hangers, the more complicated it seemed to become.

Your eyes scanned through the remainder of the clothes still on hangers when a sparkly number caught your eye.

It was pink, coated in iridescent glitter. It made a mess in your closet, sure, perhaps that’s why it was tucked so tightly away close to the wall. You yanked it from the hanger, causing the plastic to pop off the pole and into the rest of the pile of clothes.

Walking it over to your full length mirror, you pressed it against your figure. After a few seconds you opted to try it on. Before you did, you were sure you had some accessories to go with it. Along the shelf in your closet, you pulled some boxes that were hidden away, knowing you stuffed a few miscellaneous items in there. You couldn’t remember exactly what was in there, but it had to be something to go along with a costume of some sort.

As the boxes fell onto the floor, you pried them open, quickly digging through them. There was a few headbands, some satchels, a tiny hat. “What a bunch of junk” you murmured to yourself. Your hands kept digging through when something shiny caught your eye.

It was a crappy tiara, tiny and cheap, but it would do.

You tossed it onto your bed, with a sigh you pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side. You then struggled out of your jeans, stepping over each leg to free yourself from them.

Standing in your room, clad in your underwear, you unhooked your bra, knowing there wasn’t one to go well with the dress when you felt a pair of eyes watching you.

Turning around, you pressed your loose bra against your breasts when your breath hitched to see Billy at the door frame. “I thought you said you were ready-“ he whispered as he stayed leaned against the frame.

“Change of plans” you argued.

“We’re going to miss the movie.” He added, yet stayed in the same position.

“You don’t have to take me.” You snarked, half joking. It didn’t phase him though, he was used to your bratty attitude.

“I know. Doesn’t make us any less late.” Still in the same spot.

There was a silence between you two, only interrupted by the music playing through your radio.

You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything

“What are you choosing?” He wandered out loud, you didn’t know if you were more annoyed or embarrassed that he seemed to have no reaction.

“I don’t know, I was going to try this on.” You confessed.

“Then try it on.”

The music again taking place instead of your bickering. Suddenly there was a knot in your throat, he was slowly chipping away at your wall.

“Are you just going to watch me?” Your face contorted as you tried to keep the facade.

“Yeah.” He said in a matter of fact manner. There was a faint appearance of enjoyment in his face, if you squint you could see it. You knew your cheeks reddened at his abrasive mannerism, there was a silent mutual agreement that if anyone was uncomfortable, something would be said.

Secretly, Billy was expecting you to yell at him or shoo him out of the room.

“I mean, I think you would’ve closed the door if you didn’t want anyone to see you, but you didn’t.” Billy argued, letting a smirk form on his lips. He got you there, but you didn’t think he would check in on you like this.

There was nothing for you to say, other than to let your bra fall to the ground along with the rest of the piles.

The air only seemed to thicken. You hated that he was getting his way, but you hated even more that you were sinfully proud that your bare chest finally caused a reaction, even if it was so subtle. You saw the shift in his posture, but his face remained the same.

Reluctantly, you pulled the pink dress into your body, shimmying into the bodice, for a moment forgetting Billy was watching your breasts shift around with your movements. You pulled your spaghetti straps to sit upon your shoulders properly.

“Spin.”

He really had some nerve and again, you hated that something in you listened to him. You twirled around once, the skirt of your dress along with your movement.

You flattened out the wrinkles of your dress after it set from the abrupt spin.

“Put the crown on.”

“What?” Your breath halted, you looked over at Billy in confusion.

“The crown” he gestured to the piece of plastic on the bed.

“Really?” You pressed your lips together throwing daggers at him through your eyes.

“Really.” He confirmed.

You hesitantly reached for the tiara, holding it in your hands for a few moments before putting it on your head, the teeth of the tiaras band hooking into your locks.

When you felt it secure onto your head, you waited for a moment before looking back to Billy, who stared at you in awe.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss a princess.” Billy hissed through his teeth, taking the pressure away from the frame and making his way towards you. Your body turned to face him, staying put until he reached you, nearly breathing on your head.

Taking a step back, he took a step forward to follow you. What the hell is he doing?

His eyes were eating you alive, tracing all the outlines of your face, then your neck, down to your collarbones. You could feel his mouth watering, you could see his pupils getting larger.

Billy’s hand rose to touch your bare arm, his other trickling into your waist. You felt goosebumps form as his hands met your body for the first time. Your face looked up to him as he towered over you.

You’d never admit out loud that you were completely his, if he said strip you’d strip, if he’d ask you to bend over, you would, if he told you to pose for a photo, you would.

But he didn’t ask for any of those things.

Instead he dipped his head low, lips open and ready to consume you. His hot breath grazed your chapping lips, he stood there for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you abruptly.

His hands gripped you in an animalistic manner, his lips clashed against yours, you felt his tooth bump against yours as he bit down to your bottom lip. You were just limp in his arms, opening your mouth to let his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and against your own tongue.

Billy’s hands gripped your figure as he backed you up against the bed, the back of your knees hitting the corner. His hands reached down to lift you by the back of your knees, your dress hitched up by his grip. His hands traveled up your thighs as he gently placed you to fall against the mattress. Your hands wrapped around his neck, trying to intensify the kiss as you felt more and more of his hands explore the bare side of your body.

You felt his fingers hook onto the waistband of your underwear making way to shimmy it down your legs. You moved however you could to help him undress you, your arms still attached to him like he was going to disappear any second.

“Pretty little princess.” He murmured against the corner of your lips. Billy opened his mouth to press wet kisses against your cheek, his tongue and lips clashing against your jaw, then down to your neck. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive regions of your neck, slow at first, but eager not too long after.

All you felt was the sting of his bite, feeling the welts form as he kept sucking and nipping, not giving you time to catch your breath.

“Let me hear what makes you feel good.” He pleaded, smiling at the breathy moans he worked out of you.

“I’ve always wanted this little princess sitting on my lap. But I think this is better.” He groaned out, pushing two fingers against your folds. Your heart raced when you heard his breath hitch as your slick coated his fingers, he was already involuntarily moving his hips against you, pants still on, constricting him. He must��ve been aching.

You gathered up all your strength to reach down to his belt, trying to work at unhooking it.

“Don’t be a fucking brat.” He hissed, abruptly using his free hand to pull yours back causing you to lay flat on your back. You looked up at Billy through your lashes, his cheeks were flushed, hair was tousled and his chest was moving faster than normal.

Before you could whine, he sunk two fingers into your wet mouth, pulling them down against the corner of your mouth, forcing you to moan louder. He took this opportunity to sink his other two fingers into your slick hole, pumping in and out slowly before forming a hook with his fingers.

The feeling was pure bliss, your tongue spewed out, trying to describe your pleasure through a moan, it just sounded like a wet mess. Your eyes crossed as he wiggled his fingers roughly inside of you, he did this more for him than you.

“Bi-“ you choked out, causing the fingers in your mouth to grip your cheek tighter. Your legs were held open by his waist, only your knees were able to touch each other.

“Fuck. Good fucking princess. You’re such a mess.” He groaned, smeared lipstick stained your cheeks due to his grip, mascara stains were already forming due to the sinful tears of delight he was brewing in you.

“Fucking good little whore too, y’know that?” He asked without wanting a real response, you cried out when he kept his moment fast, still hooking into your cunt, your hips bucked at the overstimulation, forcing your eyes shut as you descended into bliss.

“My slutty princess looks so good when I play with her. Haven’t even sticked my dick in her, I wonder how many times I can make her squirt before I even take off my pants.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, half there, half not. Squirt? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before it turned into pleasure, feeling your core tighten as he kept his speed only adding a third finger.

Eyelids closing again, you felt yourself wetter than before, choking out moans at the feeling of defeat in your core. When your eyelids barely opened again, you only saw Billy’s mischievous and delighted grin. “Come on princess, I’m just getting ready.”

[jayrisingx]

MORE PLATONIC WARRIOR CAT DOODLES RAHHHHH rant under the cut as usual

their bond is so important to me it’s the one good thing canon has ever done. but canon is my playground so i’m adding onto it lololol

the head-canon that briarlight has gnarly upper body strength is so real and she for sure just tackles this twiggy little twink like it’s nothing just cause she finds it funny. she annoys the shit out of him every single day but he would literally die without the banter. if i remember right this is already sorta canon but she’s one of the few cats that just lets jay’s repulsive attitude bounce right off of them. she’s so unapologetically affectionate and open about how she feels. jayfeather is not LMFAOO so he’s just stuck with the absolute ray of sunshine that is slowly chipping away at this rough exterior. briar doesn’t want him to change. he’s insufferable and mean but that’s why she loves him so much. he’s honest and real in a way that she wants people to be with her, their attitude balance each other out in a way. while their relationship is platonic to me cause let jayfeather have friends, they argue like an old married couple and it’s SOOO funny. like it’s over the most ridiculous things and it’s so entertaining for the both of them and anyone watching. they’re my little sillies i’m crying

also i don’t wanna sound like i’m ripping on jaybriar shipping cause i’m not i swear. i just love exploring platonic and familial relationships in warriors cause i feel like they’re so neglected most of the time

[earthtooz]

x : AFTERGLOW :*+ﾟ it's all me, just don't go !

in which: rin doesn't realise what he has until it's gone. now that you're gone, he will do anything to get you back.

warnings: 5.2k wc, ANGST TO FLUFF, breakup, toxic relationship towards the beginning, rin is really mean to gn!reader, hopeful ending, rin is devastatingly in love and pathetic, reader and rin are adults + he's a soccer player, other characters make an appearance and are friends with reader, mentions of throwing up, mentions of food, both reader and rin cry, just listen to taylor swift's 'afterglow'.

a/n: FINALLY, THIS FIC THAT I STARTED ALL THE WAY BACK IN APRIL IS DONE. GOODNESS. i have mixed feelings towards this piece, but i cannot withhold it from the world any longer. i'm going to forget i ever wrote this and move on! this literally took three drafts to finish.

you don’t know when your relationship with itoshi rin began to crumble since it isn’t an event that can be pinpointed, not a date that can be marked in your calender, and most certainly not a reminder you can set in your phone. 

your friends keep telling you that you need to think back on it, that although it hurts, it was a necessary step in healing and getting over him. the more you reflect on it, however, your heart would only shatter into more fragments, with each one piercing you with the memories of better times. 

when did his expression turn sour? when did he begin looking at you with such disdain? when did he decide he didn’t need you anymore?

when did rin’s chips of insecurity wedge themselves between you?

the only memory that serves as an answer occurred at 7:00 pm one regular night. if you think hard enough, you can remember how the plush couch cushions sank under your weight, the clicks of the clock that had a second hand minutely too fast, and the sinking feeling of premonition in your gut. 

the latest rin ever comes back is 6:00, and if not, he would have let you known why he wasn’t home.

so where was he? the takeout you bought for dinner is getting cold and your stomach is growing louder and more impatient by the second. you didn’t want to eat without him though since it’s something you did daily; eating together as a way of debriefing and letting go of the stress that the day brought.

after an onslaught of unanswered phone calls from you, at 7:15, rin merely texts a ‘won’t be home for a while. eat without me’, and although rin was naturally curt and straightforward, the text had a depravity of… him, somehow. either way, his message causes a swirl of emotions in your stomach; unpleasant ones that begin to grow a nauseous shade of green.

you put rin’s takeaway in the fridge regardless, sending him a quick text telling him to be safe and that you’ll see him soon. 

he probably got caught up with something. you’re sure it’ll be fine. 

you shouldn’t have ignored that sinking feeling of premonition. shouldn’t have pushed down the unease swirling in your stomach when shutting the door to the refrigerator before stalking over to the kitchen island with slow steps as you prepare to eat in silence. no one to keep you company except your own thoughts and the ghost of rin’s presence.

and when rin does come home almost two hours later, he stills calls your name as usual, you still go to him as usual, he greets you with a tired smile as usual, you hug him as usual, he doesn’t kiss the top of your forehead, though. you ignore it, pushing your thoughts aside because he was home. he finally came back. you’ll wake up tomorrow and this uneasy feeling will sort itself out.

except it doesn’t.  

from that night onwards, rin changes. slowly, but surely, the cracks of change manifest in your relationship and through it all, you choose to cast a blind eye, plastering over it with sightless belief in your love. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the queasy feeling in your gut never stills. it fades at times when your mind is busy with other things, but it inevitably gets drawn back into the whirlpool of concern regarding your lover- or, rather, rin.

you think you’re still in a relationship, but you don’t really know anymore. you haven’t seen him in a while. the only indication of his existence that you get are the stray bowls he leaves on the kitchen counter whenever he’s done eating, the lessening weight of his protein powder containers, and the decrease of various food items from the fridge that you restock here and there.

it feels like you’re living with a ghost.

some nights, when it gets the most lonely, your mind betrays you, completely eliminating any and all trust you had in rin. 

you wonder if there’s another person. another lover that he feels more passionately for. another lover that his heart had gravitated towards, abandoning yours in the process. perhaps that is the explanation behind his absence. 

but no evidence points towards that conclusion. there has been no suspicious deduction of bills from his bank statement that would suggest infidelity, his location is constantly at the sports stadium whenever you check, and there are no traces of a lover on him- not even you. 

it is not totally blasphemous to assume that itoshi rin wouldn’t be engrossed in soccer to the point that he’d spend unhealthy and obsessive hours into honing his abilities, but it feels a little traitorous that he could forget about life outside of the sport. it isn’t just you he’s neglecting. his mother and father have been constantly asking when he’ll come over to spend some time together, his teammates have been asking you about rin’s whereabouts and when he’ll be free and what’s worse is that you never know how to answer every time. 

it’s embarrassing to be seen as a lover that is forgettable enough for rin to dismiss, so you lie and lie and lie, telling everyone that you’ll tell them later, that he’s fine and just busy, and you lie to yourself. you tell yourself that rin will be home soon so you two can talk about it, and then everything will return to normal.

(your reflection looks through your facade, disheartened and worried.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“why are you late?” 

you jump at the voice that greets you when you step foot in the apartment and the sight before you causes you to wonder just how tired you feel, because rin is in your apartment, where he’s meant to be, for once. not only that, but he’s leaning against the couch, adorned in loungewear and slippers, and the sight is too foreignly domestic for your comprehension. 

coming home to a house with someone there feels nice. 

he’s lost a little bit of muscle and fat, but his frame is still as intimidating; shoulders broad and built, just the faintest indicator into the athletic body he’s developed over the years. his hair is a little longer too. 

“oh, rin, hi.” you mutter, surprise evident in your tone.

“hello.”

“since i got a promotion,” you respond simply. rin makes no move to approach you, no initiative to take your bag and put it on the couch for you. instead, he stays rooted in his position leaning against the couch, arms crossed.

the air around him feels hostile, and suddenly you’re almost afraid to speak. “and does that promotion change your work hours or something?”

(he doesn’t congratulate or celebrate your achievement.)

“i work with flexible hours now but the office is further and the commute is so bothersome.”

rin uncrosses his arms with a thoughtful hum, gaze glued to the floor, mind occupied. you approach him slowly, pulling your bag off your shoulder and setting it in the entrance near the genkan with a thud, the sound sobering to him.

when he looks back up, you don’t want to acknowledge the emptiness in his icy eyes, barren of the usual determination that defined itoshi rin. but if you knew that that day would be the beginning of the end, perhaps you would have done something about it.

when you opened your arms for him, perhaps you would have hugged him a little tighter, a little longer, strained all the stress out of his shoulders.

perhaps you would have protected him a little harder from the cruelties of his own mind; shown him that the world was not out to get him, and that there was a place for people like him in the world (people who can’t see their own value and instead, berate themselves for their waning self-worth because they cannot see the light behind them).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“i’m going to shower,” rin declares once the moment both of you step in the safety of your shared home.

“no, you’re not! not before we talk,” you demand, hurriedly taking off your shoes so you can face him before he slips out of your grasp. the dark-haired turns to look at you with an unamused expression, the way tonight seemed to drag on obviously taking a toll on him.

“you’re gonna stop me from taking a shower, really?”

“yes because what the fuck was going on with you tonight?”

he narrows his eyes into slits, the pure intimidation that rin naturally emanates almost threatening you into submission. however, for the humiliation you’ve had to endure tonight, you won’t budge.

“i don’t understand,” rin says monotonously. you roll your eyes.

“you don’t understand? what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know what you’re getting mad over.”

“the fact that you didn’t even try to talk to me- let alone look at me, once this entire night?”

your partner looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “that’s an exaggeration,” he huffs.

“no it’s not!” you recall the looks of pity sent your way when rin sat beside you unmoving and unresponsive to any conversation you tried to make. “would it have killed to show you some sort of interest?”

“would it kill you to not receive attention for one night?” he retaliates. 

“it’s not about that-”

“really? sure feels like it. i don’t have time to shower you with all my attention, y/n, there are other things i have to do.” 

there are a million things you want to say to rin, a million emotions that you have felt whilst he’s been absent, a million examples of how he’s been leaving you behind and how you’re now fed up of keeping these millions to yourself. yet, not a word leaves you, too stunned by the stranger in front of you to voice it all out. 

rin, however, takes your silence as defeat and turns to leave.

“you’re being dramatic. i’m going to shower before i waste anymore time with this lukewarm conversation.” 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the night your relationship officially fell apart is one you still remember vividly, because it only happened a few days ago.

in your memory, the night was nearing 9pm, yet rin had still not come home. 

your heart takes you to him because as much as your relationship with him has caused you nothing but pain recently, you know itoshi rin. you know him because you’re soulmates and where he goes, there’s a fragment of your heart that follows. 

the drive to the practice pitch is nothing but heavy. heavy with your anticipation and stress, you feel your chest constrict and tighten, especially when you pull up into the very empty parking lot. 

“rin!” you shout for the fifth time and only then, does the dark-haired look up at you from where he’s doing dribbling drills. he almost trips over the ball from your interruption. 

“wha- oh,” he turns away just before you can catch the roll of his eyes, the snarl of frustration (one that lovers should never bare at each other). “what do you want?”

you pause a few feet away from him, utterly gobsmacked with the attitude your partner was showing you. after driving all this way, the least you’d want is a little concern, but alas.

“it’s time to go,” you stand your ground. “i’m here to pick you up.”

“yeah, right, i’m not going home.”

“that’s ridiculous! are you not tired?”

“no.”

“rin. c’mon, that’s enough, you need to rest.”

“what the fuck do you know about being enough?” he asks.

the silence is deafening and most hurtful. 

you stammer out the only response you can, “wh-what?”

he doesn’t give you anything. unrelenting, he is. rin has always been the embodiment of stubbornness served cold. not finding much productivity in his silence, you continue speaking with a wavering voice. “let’s go home. please, you shouldn’t be working yourself like this-”

“-leave me the fuck alone!” he finally comes undone. “can’t you see that i don’t have time to deal with headaches like you?”

the thread keeps unravelling.

“fucking lukewarm. i can’t deal with this right now, i don’t need you here.”

“fine,” you murmur. rin has his back turned against you and he prepares himself to kick another ball. “i’ll leave then since you don’t need me.”

when rin arrives home that night, he reasons the unease churning in his stomach on the physical exertion of practice as nothing is out of place. the apartment is as kept and tidy as it typically is, the lights are off because you’ve gone to bed, and there is a meal on the kitchen counter sealed by plastic wrap.

he won’t eat it because he’ll want to throw up otherwise, so rin tucks it neatly into the fridge, not thinking twice about the emptiness on the shelves, right where your favourite drinks are normally kept. 

the athlete washes up quickly and efficiently, a good night’s rest sounding too appealing for his battered body that felt as heavy as lead. 

that night, sleep takes rin and lulls him into a temporary sanctuary, protecting him from the reality that he would wake up to. because when morning comes, he will turn and find that you are not beside him like he expects you to be. your side of the bed is untouched, devoid of any warmth or indicator that you were there.

he checks the bathroom- you’re not there. he calls your name in the hallway- you don’t respond. he scans the kitchen, the study, the living room, and finds nothing but loneliness in each room. there’s no text from you indicating that you were elsewhere.

you’ll return, though. rin’s sure of it.

except you don’t, the hours pass by with rin anticipating your return, and his confidence slowly dwindles with each minute. by the time it’s been 24 hours since he last saw you, his patience runs thin. finding your contact, rin presses the ‘call’ button and is surprised that it does not go through, stopping him after only one ring when an automated voice says ‘this caller is unavailable’. 

the dark-haired stares at your contact in contempt, furrowing his eyebrows when all of his following attempts receive the same treatment, but rin continues stubbornly because you couldn’t have blocked him, right?

was it because of what he said? he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to blow up on you like that- how is he supposed to say sorry if he can’t even reach you?

checking his private accounts on various social media, he sees that you’ve blocked him there too. running in to the master bedroom and checking the closet, half of your clothes are missing, and the bag you keep on the shelf is missing too. the bathroom lacks some of your products, your laptop and various chargers are gone from your study space, and the heaviness of your absence hits itoshi rin like a train.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you never did come around to collect your stuff. rin finds a little bit of pain in that fact.

he feels like a ghost, haunted by the trinkets of you that remain littered around his apartment. he doesn't have the heart to throw them out, not when they're the closest thing to you he can get.

a few times rin sees you in his dreams. a few times he sees you in his nightmares, looking completely hurt and run-down by his recklessness and neglect, but most mornings he wakes up feeling emptier, no one to turn to on your side on the bed. not anymore. there’s no body to hold when he needs it most, there’s no one to keep him company whilst he eats dinner, there’s no love. not since the day you left.

you, on the other hand, find it odd to live life without a second person in the periphery. you thought rin was the one for you, you never had any thoughts about what life could be without him because you were certain that it would be him that you spent the rest of your years with, so learning to accommodate without him is gnawing you away, the little bug of loneliness festing on your newfound independence. 

you’re seated on the floor of your best friend’s living room when reo texts one day, interrupting your apartment hunt.

reo: Are you still coming to my party?

you scrunch your eyebrows at the text, unknowing of where it was coming from.

y/n: not anymore. what’s up?

reo: Why not :( reo: Please it’d be so fun

y/n: don’t you know that rin and i broke up?

reo: Ok but he’s definitely not coming reo: It’s Rin, he doesn’t have a life so you’re fine. Pls say you’ll come

reo: Plus he’s been all mopey ever since so I don’t think he’s in a party mood

you dutifully ignore the last part of reo’s statement. after a little more coaxing, he finally manages to get you to agree to come, but not without a feeling of apprehension settling in your gut. still, it would be a shame to miss out on an invitation from a friend because of it. 

besides, reo’s bargain of offering to buy your outfit was too tempting to let go. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“practice was rough,” bachira murmurs, flopping on the sides of the soccer field with a sigh. his sweat causes his hair and clothes to cling to his skin, and isagi takes a seat on the bench beside his best friend, tossing the dual-tone haired his water bottle.

wiping the sweat off his forehead, isagi agrees with a hum. “i know. i just want to go home.”

“i don’t know how rin does this, staying overtime and all of that.”

“he’s insane. it only got worse after his breakup and everything.”

bachira frowns, looking over to where the dark-haired in question is standing. “i feel bad for rin-rin, seems like he’s not taking it well at all.”

a beat of silence passes before bachira speaks again. “you know y/n’s coming to reo’s party this weekend?” 

the black-haired wipes his mouth before setting the water bottle down. “really?”

“yeah. reo told me.”

“that’s nice, it’s been a while since we’ve seen y/n so it’d be nice to catch up.”

“i wonder if rin knows.”

“i doubt it,” isagi reassures, “he hardly goes to parties like the one reo’s throwing.”

“maybe that’s why y/n agreed in the first place.”

“probably.”

a cold voice suddenly cuts the two from their conversation “y/n’s going to reo’s party?” 

isagi feels his blood cool over before looking up. there, stands itoshi rin, who has a frazzled, yet equally determined look in his eyes, one that isagi has not seen in a while (not since you left). “what? no! where did you hear that from?” 

bachira laughs nervously, “you’re hearing things, rin-rin!

but they are soccer players, not actors or professional liars. “shut the fuck up, asshats. y/n’s going to reo’s party this weekend?”

the two exchange a look and their silence is the only answer rin needs. 

“hold on, you’re not thinking of going, are you?” isagi asks, accepting defeat and now switching tactics.

“why wouldn’t i? my partne-” he pauses. “y/n is gonna be there.”

“yes but-”

“-you can’t stop me from going, so don’t even think about it.”

without another word, rin is gone, stalking away with a scary determination that was previously dormant. 

“what did we just do?” bachira mumbles. “should we tell y/n?” 

“nah.”

“agreed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you should have never come to this party.

how stupid and foolish of you, but how utterly cruel of the universe to let you hurt like this, to let the same pain that has walked all over you for the past few months return; this time ramming into you with the ferocity of a bull, knocking the air out of your lungs

“y/n!” comes the dreaded call of your name. you walk a little faster, breaking into an-almost sprint.

“y/n!” 

“for fucks sake- y/n!” this cry of your name is broken, rasped and pathetic, and your chests clenches from how pained it sounds. like a howl from an injured wolf, it is broken enough for you to pity it, luring you into a trap that will inevitably end in chunks being torn from your heart, but you don’t have much left to spare, so you keep running, no matter how badly you want to give in.

except it’s not enough to deter rin, nothing ever be when there’s a goal in sight, especially one so close that he can taste it.

“y/n, please, i need to talk to-”

“-go away, rin!” you cut him off, hugging yourself tighter to shield yourself against the cold and rin’s pleas from piercing you. 

“not until you listen to me!”

fury powers you, igniting you with the courage to turn around and finally face him. you don’t look him in the eye, keeping your gaze elsewhere, but he shuts up nevertheless, awestruck by finally being able to see you face-to-face after being so long away from you. all words die on his throat, withering away to nothing as his eyes slightly widen in shock.

you’re just as beautiful as the day you left; perhaps even more so.

rin wonders if your radiancy was birthed by his absence, and if the answer is ‘yes’, he might wither away on the spot.

“it’s always about you isn’t it?” you shout. “always about what you want and never about what others want. you said you wanted me to leave, so i did! what more could i possibly give?” 

he gulps, utterly entranced as his heart makes itself known in his chest, racing wildly and vividly; the first indication that it was alive and hadn’t been replaced by a gaping hole in your absence. he hasn’t felt this human since you left. 

“i didn’t mean for you to actually leave,” rin confesses shakily. 

“well, it didn’t seem like you wanted me to stay either.”

“no, that’s not-” he falters. “it’s… not the same without you.”

you hug yourself tighter. “i don’t believe you, you’re just saying that now that there’s nobody to warm your bed.”

“no, it’s not like that- i don’t like living without you,” the athlete continues, admitting something so heavy with such airiness.

“you can’t just say that after so long. not when you’ve been living without me months before we broke up.”

there are a million and one things that rin wants to say to you, but none of them break through the whirlwind that is his thoughts, rattling around in his brain on overdrive and overwhelming him with the intensity of them all. one thing he knows for sure is that you are the single muse behind all of them, the only thing that is keeping him sane amongst the flurry of disturbances.

then, you shiver from the chilly breeze of the night, and the whirlwind is silenced into oblivion to awaken a dormant instinct of his instead. one that commands him to fulfil a duty that he’s not inclined to do anymore.

quickly, rin takes off his jacket and holds it out to you, as if expecting you to take it. 

he drops it when you don’t, hope dwindling in his stomach.

swallowing weakly, he then asks “would you ever give me a second chance?”

“you’ll hurt me again,” you glance away, the street lamps highlighting the melancholy in your profile as rin observes you closely. his eyes outline the curves of your face, each divet and slope that he used to trace with his hands now out of his reach. “you take and you take, but you never give and i’m so tired of it.”

“don’t say that,” he pleads, voice barely louder than a whisper as the dark-haired takes a heavy step towards you. “you’ll break my heart.”

“i shouldn’t love you anymore, you’re bad for me.”

“then i’ll be good- i’ll become whatever you want me to be-”

“-we won’t work like that.”

“we’ll work as long as i’m yours again, just, let me fix us, i’ll do whatever it takes. i’m not giving up like this.” 

the first tear makes herself known and paths the way for your downfall like a tsunami, washing away whatever you had built up during your time away from itoshi rin; the good and the bad. the hurt and the healing, all undone by a singular, stray tear. in your vision, he becomes nothing but a blur, a kaleidoscope of colours that you once loved.

a kaleidoscope of colours that you still love, much to the chagrin of your broken heart. 

a hand wraps around your wrist, a warm shackle that grounds you to rin like he’s your lifeline. no matter how bad you want to push him away, something in you will always bend to him. 

“don’t cry,” he pleads, voice airy and breathy. “i’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

please don’t cry because of me.

“i don’t want to be with you if it means i need to go through all of that again.” you whisper, slipping out of his grasp like sand and wiping away your own tears, rejecting his callous and prickly touch. 

rin’s world dims as panic seizes his throat. “please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.”

“i do though. you left me first, don’t you know?” 

“-i do.”

“and now i’m not yours to care about anymore-”

“i know, i know,” words are merely spilling out of his mouth without much purpose at this point, because he’ll do anything just to delay you leaving, to push back the possibility of you turning around and never seeing you again. why did he have to break who he loved so much? 

still, he pleads for another chance, desperation shining in his eyes as pure longing fills him. you have always been too good to him, he knows, but like the tumultuous tides and their inability to stray too far from the shore, rin will come back to you with his undying devotion. 

even if he thinks you should find someone better than him, that you should be adored by someone who could love you so much better, he can’t let go. to let you go is to let go the one good thing that came to him in life, 

you exhale shakily. “we’ve loved each other for too long.” 

“what do you mean?” he stutters, eyes widening helplessly. 

“i have loved you too much for too long, rin,” you choke, “there has to be an end to us somewhere in sight- you need to accept that.”

“no,” his look of absolute devastation causes a physical recoil in your stomach. “no- not long enough, it’ll never be enough, fuck- even forever won’t be long enough, i can’t let you go like that.”

he crosses the distance between you in the blink of an eye. you can’t see him clearly under the dim light of the night, but you can feel him, so close and so overwhelming, but so cold as his hands come to grasp yours. his grip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his determination. 

tears dance along his lashline. 

“please, tell me you’re still mine,” begs the dark-haired. rin’s tears are diamonds, in which they are precious, but they also crumble into a precious waterfall that rolls down his cheeks, tempting you towards his beautiful ruination. 

words continue to tumble out of him, each one sharpened to pierce your defences. “tell me that we’ll be fine, that i’m all you want, please. i’m so fucking sorry for hurting you, but please don’t leave me. 

i’ll fix us, i’ll become everything you need, i’ll be good.”

the dark-haired’s hands find their way to your face, cupping each side of your jaw with a scary gentleness; one that you’d never expect from someone as ragged as itoshi rin. 

“i love you,” he declares, so raw, so full of passion that it makes you sick. the rin you know never lets his heart on his sleeve like this. 

you cave. “how will you fix us?” 

slowly. he’ll rebuild everything that you have given him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

first, rin takes you out on dates again. calls you beautiful and really means it.

second, rin leaves practice at regular times, and listens when you tell him that he needs to take care of himself. because for you, he will. 

third, rin picks you up from work. his practice ends a little earlier than your job, so he always goes the extra mile to be there for you at the end of the day. even if you tell him that he doesn’t need to go out of his way to do so, he’d rather see you get home safe than only receiving a mere text of confirmation. 

plus, it gives rin more time with you.

fourth, rin sends you regular gifts. from bouquets, to random items that he just knows you’d like, they all get left at your door at the best times. 

fifth, rin lets you set the pace. you wanted things to go slow so that you two didn’t have to force anything back in place. no point recreating something that’s in the past, you reasoned, so might as well try again.

sixth, rin takes his time in welcoming you back into his space. it’s a few months after you two have reconciled, and majority of your items are back where they belong (you poked fun at him for not being able to throw away the stuff you did leave, and he just mumbled something indecipherable, all embarrassed, before moving on). the life has been restored in his apartment, now filled with more remnants of you loitering around his space: your various chargers and laptop, your products, your clothes, they all sit beside his things like that’s where they are meant to be.

and you are back in his arms, because it is where you are meant to be (more for his sake than yours).

rin stirs awake one morning under the gentle light of the morning sun and you’re there beside him, occupying the space that he has left devastatingly empty. mattress still curved to your frame as he never dared infiltrate it, in hopes that you would return.

now that you have, you feel too warm, too familiar, too unreal that he wonders if you’re just another dream of his. 

then, you stir, and press yourself closer against his chest, face to face with the heart that only beats for you.

a stray tear rolls down rin’s face; a salvation for the utter relief he feels, as well as the overwhelming amount of adoration that he stores for you. his ‘i love you’ is sweeter than the chirping of the birds outside, and certainly more meaningful as he wraps more of himself around your sleeping figure, hoping to attach all of him to all of you. 

you’re home. he won’t let you leave again.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: choi hansol

forced proximity

'coincidence? baby, they don't exist'

'so, what's your name?'

you blink, turning around to face the guy with who you got stuck in the elevator. he is now comfortably sitting on the floor with his knees tucked closer to his chest, leaning on the wall. the look on his face has zero traces of nerves or anxiety, he's opening bag of chips with a small smile on his face, looking at you like what is happening right now is absolutely normal. is this how an average day goes for him?

'you think this button is broken?' you ask instead, turning back. you push at 'call' button again but no sound comes out. 'we can't actually be stuck here with no connection to the outside world, right?'

'it happens quite often.' my god, so you were right, this is an average day for him. 'but no, this button works, we just need to wait a little. maybe these guys are out somewhere.'

'out where?' you ask, turning back to him. smell of chips starts filling up the cabin and you try to concentrate on it instead of thinking about being stuck here forever. 'should i just keep on pressing that button?'

your voice gets caught in your throat because the guy looks at you with... you don't know what. his gaze is piercing and it's like he's looking right at you, within you, in your soul. it's unsettling, especially when it comes from someone that handsome. in all three months since you moved into this apartment complex, you only met several families and few kids here and there, but never this guy. your brain unnecessarily reminds you that right now you're standing in front of a really handsome guy in old washed out t-shirt and pj pants, while he's at least dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.

'i'm hansol,' he says suddenly, breaking your thinking spiral. 'your neighbor from the forth floor.' he then pats a space next to him: 'come sit? i think it's more comfortable than standing.' you open your mouth to argue when he adds: 'i'll be the one pressing that button, no worries. just come sit down, yeah? you can meditate that way better, no?'

your nose scrunches in confusion. 'meditate?'

it's time for hansol to look sheepish. 'isn't this what people do when they start panicking? i mean- i am not implying that you are panicking right now, but you look pretty worried and i thought- shit, you are not panicking, right? there really is no need to, i promise we will be out of here in no time. i thought if you can sit and mediate then you can-' he shuts up, noticing his rambling and how your eyes grow only bigger with each word he says. after a second of hesitation, he stands up, grabs his chips and comes over to you, shoving them in your direction. 'here. chips.'

there are a lot of things that you can say or do, but your mind chooses to grab offered snack and silently move to where he was sitting. hansol seems to approve, as he smiles a little and leans with his back on the opposite wall so he can still look at you, while insistently pressing the 'call' button. 'so.'

'yes?' you raise your head, slowly munching on the chip. it's salty taste helps you stay here in the moment instead of disappearing in the anxiety.

'i feel like it's my fate, you know? to get stuck in the elevators. like god is trying to tell me something through it, you know? like i don't get stuck just because, i get stuck for something. and then i think-'

it takes you five seconds to realize that hansol is doing this on purpose. he is distracting you so you won't panick and this gesture is incredibly sweet for a random stranger. you're not sure how much time passes, because hansol's storytelling is fascinating (and a bit weird, but in a more 'not ordinary' way than bad). you don't notice how your spine is not rigid anymore, but hansol does. he notices how you slowly relax, hold his gaze more and eat chips more actively. he notices how corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile and how cute you look with confusion written all over your face. in truth, he has no idea what he is even saying, but he can't stop, can't let you remember even for a second that this stupid elevator is not working. his thumb is numb from how strongly he pushes on that 'call' button but he ignores it in favor of staring in your eyes, catching every emotion that sparkles in them. you are cute and you don't even realize it and that makes you even cuter.

'hello? is someone there?' when static voice cuts through, both of you jump a little. 'apologies for this horrible inconvinience, elevator will start working in few minutes. are you alright?'

hansol takes a look at your surprised face and half-finished bag of chips. 'yeah, we are all good.'

pang of regret slashes through him when you hastily stand up and cheer, when cabin finally starts descending. shit, he didn't even manage to learn your name! when elevator door opens, hansol reaches out for your hand and is pleasantly surprised when you take it with a smile, rushing out with the cutest little 'whoop!' he saw in his life.

'i think you are right,' you suddenly speak, making him look up. 'what you said about you getting stuck in the elevators meaning something? i think you're meant to help people like me.'

i think i was meant to meet you, he wants to say but doesn't. instead what comes out of his mouth is: 'you owe me.' at your confused expression, he points at his snack. 'chips.'

'oh. oh!' you exclaim, getting flustered. 'of course, i will-'

'-and your name.' he adds, making you freeze. he watches understanding dawn on you and smiles. 'and your favorite drink. so i would know what to buy for you.'

it's bold. not exactly his style, but his head-to-mouth filter is not working anymore. for a second he thinks he overdid it, but then you blush (so prettily), then smile (so, so prettily) and he knows he didn't mess up. when you step closer and introduce yourself, hansol knows he not only didn't mess up, but also won something out of this whole situation. (and he doesn't know it yet, but this big win? it's your heart. it really is).

a/n: guilty for having this trope as my most favorite one!! and who is better than hansol to write this for, am i right? - nini

my other works are here

[halfmoonaria]

when she lied

pairing: g!p sam carpenter & female reader

summary: your relationship with sam takes a turn when it’s supposed to be perfect.

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: based on the scene from the last kiss. my posts are flopping so bad its ridicilous, so if this does i wont be surprised.

Dating a professor was never in your plans growing up, let alone one tangled in rumors of being a serial killer.

But despite the unsettling rumors about Sam, you found yourself getting pulled in; as if she was a magnetic force.

You first met Sam at a local bookshop's author event, a quaint spot filled with the scent of old books and freshly brewed coffee.

The moment she walked in, you immediately thought she was the most breathtaking woman you'd ever seen. Her presence commanded the room, and you couldn't take your eyes off her.

It was no different for Sam. She thought you were straight-up gorgeous from the moment she saw you.

However, with her troubled past and a promise to only trust Tara and the twins, it was hard to break through her defenses. But your persistence and genuine care slowly chipped away at her walls.

You showed her kindness and understanding, proving that love and trust were still possible.

Over time, she began to let you in, sharing parts of herself that she had kept hidden for so long. Your patience and love helped her believe in a future where she could trust someone new.

Sam allowed you to take her out on dates, cautiously at first. You spent evenings at cozy restaurants, weekends exploring the city, and quiet nights at home, gradually building a bond that felt unbreakable. Each date brought you closer, and before long, you couldn't imagine life without each other.

It wasn't until Sam had built a solid trust in you that she felt comfortable introducing you to Tara. She was an important person in Sam's life, and she wanted to be sure you were someone who could truly be part of their family.

Tara was skeptical, her protective nature making it difficult for her to warm up to you.

However, as she observed your genuine care for Sam and saw how well you fit into their lives, her perspective softened. Tara eventually grew to appreciate you and welcomed you into the family with open arms.

Eventually, you both had decided on taking the next step and move in together. It was a big decision, but it felt right. You found a charming apartment that was perfect for starting your life together.

During this time, Sam transitioned from being a high school teacher to a college professor. She was passionate about her work and excelled in her new role, gaining respect from colleagues and students alike.

Her career move not only marked a professional milestone but also brought a sense of stability and accomplishment to your shared life.

In your own professional life, you worked as a child psychologist, helping kids navigate their emotions and overcome challenges.

And even though both of your busy occupations demanded a lot of your time, you both cherished the moments you could steal away together, whether it was meeting up after work or spending hours of love making past midnight; not caring if you had work the next day.

And you always made an effort to prioritize each other. Often, Sam would come to meet you after work, witnessing your interactions with the children.

She admired the ease with which you connected with them, the patience you showed, and the gentle way you guided them through their struggles. Seeing you in your element, she felt herself  being moved by your compassion and dedication.

It was in these moments that she became even more eager to start a family with you, convinced that together, with your nurturing nature, you could offer a child a truly loving and supportive environment.

She never said or mentioned it to you, afraid you'd find it too soon and leave her because of her sounding too pushy or desperate.

However, when you showed Sam a positive pregnancy test, beaming with joy and excitement. She failed to keep the thoughts inside her.

She couldn't wait to have kids with you. It was all she ever wanted, it was going to make everything even more perfect.

It was all perfect.

You had everything. Everything you could've asked for.

A wonderful girlfriend, a job you enjoyed and cherished, and now; a growing life inside of you.

You were going to be a mother, alongside the love of your life.

In your mind you had it all. And Sam had not yet to disagree.

Until you started to question everything you have.

Cracks began to appear as reality set in. With your pregnancy, you knew that your stomach would soon begin to grow, and you would have to make significant changes.

As your pregnancy progressed, you faced the undeniable truth that you would need to quit working soon. The physical demands of carrying a child meant that your ability to balance work and personal life was diminishing.

More troubling was the fact that the time you once spent with Sam seemed to evaporate.

She had begun to claim she was "working late" or "staying at the office," but these excuses were becoming increasingly frequent.

You started to notice that instead of spending evenings together, Sam was often absent, and it became clear she was spending her time elsewhere.

You had never had second thoughts or hesitation about you and Sam, but as the dinners alone and nights that was spent waiting for her to come home increased, you were starting to.

The life you had envisioned seemed to be disintegrating, replaced by an unsettling uncertainty about your future together.

It was a damp and dreary Thursday, the kind that soaked through your shoes and lingered in your bones.

The clock was nearing midnight, and Sam had yet to come home.

You sat alone in the couch of the living room, remnants of a cold dinner in the kitchen waiting for her just as much as you were.

The clock ticked louder with each passing minute, amplifying your growing concern as Sam continued to miss your text messages and calls. Your anxiety was palpable.

Finally, the front door finally creaked open, and Sam walked in, her face looking weary and her clothes slightly disheveled. You rose from the couch, feeling the weight of your pregnancy more acutely with each movement. Though your belly was still modest, the curve was noticeable.

You walked over to her, standing firmly in front of her, trying to meet her gaze. "Where have you been?" you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady and calm.

Sam seemed momentarily taken aback before she quickly tried to mask her discomfort. "I was at work," she said, though her eyes avoided yours.

You shook your head, hurt seeping into your tone. "You weren't at work until eleven o'clock at night." Taking a deep breath, you added, "Please, don't lie to me."

Sam's shoulders slumped, and her gaze fell to the floor. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken truths, and you could sense the growing distance between you. The warmth and closeness you once shared seemed to be slipping away, replaced by a cold uncertainty that left you questioning everything you had believed to be true.

You watched her closely, noticing the disheveled state of her clothes—her shirt slightly untucked, her hair a mess. Something about her appearance didn't sit right with you. The scent of an unfamiliar perfume lingered faintly in the air, a detail that only heightened your unease.

"Who were you with?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of fear and suspicion. The late hours, the unanswered messages, and now this—everything pointed to something being terribly wrong.

"I was at work," Sam insisted, avoiding your gaze. "There was no one else. I was the only one who had work and essays left to correct."

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, your voice trembling. "Who were you with, Sam?" Tears threatened to spill over as you thought about all the nights she'd been late recently, all the missed dinners, and the growing distance between you.

You needed to hear her say it, to confirm the gnawing doubt that had been eating at you.

Her eyes flickered with panic, her facade starting to crack. The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick and suffocating.

She looked down, unable to meet your eyes.

"This girl I met it was nothing," she blurted out, her words rushed and desperate.

Your heart sank, the weight of her betrayal crashing over you. And without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped her across the face.

The slap wasn't hard, it didn't physically hurt her. She just felt the contact, her reaction one of pure shock. Her eyes widened more stunned by the act than the impact.

You were shaking so badly that the force behind the slap was minimal, driven more by your emotional turmoil than any physical strength.

Sam's expression shifted from shock to a mixture of guilt and sorrow, her shoulders slumping. She knew she deserved it.

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath, but your voice still quivered with anger. "Did you fuck her?"

You didn't care about the specifics—who the girl was or how Sam had met her. "Tell me, did you cheat on me?"

Sam's face was a mask of regret, her eyes pleading for understanding that you couldn't give. She took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but there was nothing that could make this right.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, heavy and oppressive.

Her shoulders slumped further, her body language betraying the truth before she even spoke. She took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but there was nothing that could make this right.

She nodded slowly, whispering, "Yes."

The single word struck you like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of your lungs. It was as if the ground had been pulled out from under you, and you were falling into a bottomless pit of despair. The room blurred as your eyes filled with tears.

A searing pain tore through your chest, unlike anything you had ever felt before. It wasn't just the pain of betrayal; it was the shattering of dreams, the destruction of trust, and the end of the future you had envisioned together. Your heart, which had once beat with love and joy, now felt like it was being ripped apart.

You turned around, walking away, your hands in your hair as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions. "Oh god, you make me sick," you almost screamed, the pain and anger tearing through your voice. The tears flowed freely now, blurring your vision as you tried to make sense of the reality that had been thrust upon you.

Sam's eyes followed your every movement, filled with regret but devoid of tears.

She had felt a gnawing disgust with herself both before and after sleeping with her. The guilt had been a constant companion, whispering in the back of her mind and tarnishing her thoughts.

But seeing the raw pain and heartbreak in your eyes now, the depth of your betrayal laid bare, was a torment far beyond anything she had imagined.

The reality of what she had done, the gravity of her actions, hit her with an overwhelming force. Her own self-loathing was nothing compared to the devastation she had caused you, and the weight of that realization made her feel truly sick to her core.

Yet she seemed unable to cry, as if knowing her tears would do nothing to soothe the hurt she had caused.

The tears continued to fall, each one a silent cry of your broken heart. You had given Sam everything, your love, your trust, your future; and she had thrown it all away. The realization was almost too much to bear, the pain so intense that it felt like you were being torn apart from the inside.

As you moved through the house, Sam followed, a sense of desperation in her steps. She knew she had to say something, anything, to try and fix the situation.

"Wait, please," Sam pleaded, her voice breaking. She reached out but didn't touch you, afraid her touch would only make things worse.

You walked into the living room, your mind racing, needing space to think, to breathe. Sam's presence was suffocating.

You began to pace, your movements erratic, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Sam stood a few feet away, wringing her hands. "It was one time," she began, her voice trembling. "And it meant absolutely nothing."

You stopped pacing but didn't turn to face her, your eyes filled with hurt and disbelief. The reality of her words only made the pain sharper, cutting deeper.

"It was a stupid thing, baby" she continued, her tone pleading for understanding. "Just a stupid thing." She repeated shortly after.

"I'm so sorry." Sam tried.

Her attempt at an apology only left a more bitter taste in your mouth.

How can she apologize when she had been keeping this hidden from you for weeks, months even?

Just then, Sam's phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. You glanced at the phone in her hand, a sudden, cold suspicion gripping you.

Without thinking, you reached out and snatched the phone from her. Sam's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't stop you. She knew she couldn't.

You looked at the screen, and there it was; a name you didn't recognize, but the message was clear: "Had a great time tonight. Can't wait to see you again." You read the message aloud, your voice dripping with disgust.

Sam's face crumpled, the regret etched deeply in her features. She stood there, the weight of her actions crashing down on her, unable to do anything but watch as the person she loved crumbled before her eyes.

Your heart sank, the final piece of evidence falling into place. You turned the phone towards her, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "Who is she?"

Sam's face paled, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and fear. "Her name is Lily," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Lily." You repeated.

"How old is she?" you demanded, your voice barely holding back the fury and disgust. The interest of who was worth ruining your whole future together growing.

Sam hesitated, avoiding your gaze. "Is she your colleague? Boss? Student? You've always liked them younger."

"Stop," Sam pleaded, her voice barely audible.

"How old is she, Sam?" you pushed, your desperation breaking through.

"Nineteen," Sam blurted out. "She's nineteen, alright?" The moment the words left her mouth, she seemed to regret it, her shoulders slumping further under the weight of her confession.

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you, threatening to make you sick. "She's nineteen, Sam? You slept with a fucking nineteen-year-old?" you screamed, the reality of her betrayal hitting you with full force.

She didn't answer, her silence only deepening the wound. She stood there, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and self-loathing, knowing that nothing she could say would make this right.

Sam had always been the most confident and strongest woman you had ever known. She had faced down her own demons and the judgment of the world, standing tall when people whispered about her being the daughter of a serial killer.

She had protected Tara fiercely, fought off threats both physical and emotional, and had always seemed unbreakable.

You remembered the times she had confronted dangers head-on, her bravery almost intimidating. The way she took charge during crises, her unwavering resolve, and the sheer force of her willpower. Sam had always been a rock, someone who never showed fear or doubt.

But now, as she stood before you, she looked scared. Her eyes, usually so steely and determined, were now wide and pleading. She seemed small, fragile, a stark contrast to the woman who had faced down killers and public scorn without flinching.

As you looked at her, you saw something you had never seen before—pity. Pity for herself, and maybe for you too. Her gaze was filled with it, and it made your heart ache even more. Sam had never felt pity for anyone before, not in the way you had seen.

She had always been the strong one, the protector. But now, she looked at you with eyes that seemed to say she was sorry for everything, for every ounce of pain she had caused.

Although her puppy eyes and guilty stare didn't help. In fact, it made you even more furious. And the rage was starting to boil over.

Your head felt like it was pounding, and you felt sick of the thought that Sam had let somebody else touch her. And you wanted to know why.

"What's so wrong with me then?" you technically shouted, your voice breaking. "Am I too old for you now?"

Sam flinched at your tone of voice, her eyes filling with tears, threatening to fall when she shook her head as soon as the question left your lips.

"No, it's not like that" she whispered.

"Does she have a better body?" You continued, voice breaking.

"No, Y/n please, it's not about that." Sam pleaded, but you were relentless.

"Did I not fuck you good enough?" you demanded, the hurt and anger making your voice tremble. "Is that it?"

Sam's face crumbled, and she shook her head desperately. "It wasn't about you. It was never about you"

"Then what is it, Samantha? What's so fucking special about her? Is she prettier than me?"

"No!" she replied as soon as the words left your lips, the answer immediate and forceful. Sam's eyes locked onto yours, filled with a raw honesty.

Your looks had always captivated Sam, from the way your eyes sparkled with emotion to the way your hair framed your face perfectly. She loved the way your smile could brighten a room, the way your presence brought her comfort.

You were everything she had ever dreamed of having in a partner when she was little, and she hoped you knew that.

She used to tell you all the time, to remind you how much you meant to her. But she had stopped when Lily started showing interest.

She wished more than anything that you could see yourself through her eyes, to understand the depth of her admiration and love for you. But now, as she stood there, seeing the heartbreak in your eyes, she realized she had ruined everything. Her betrayal had shattered the trust and love you had built together, and she feared she had lost any chance of you ever believing in her again.

"Liar!" you screamed, the fury in your voice reverberating through the room.

You knew something had pulled her to Sam, some inexplicable attraction that drew them together, but it only made the betrayal sting more. The knowledge that she had chosen someone else, even for a fleeting moment, was unbearable.

You pushed Sam, your hands hitting her shoulders with desperate force. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and regret. Her back hit the lamp on the drawer, the shade tilting precariously before falling to the side.

"What am I supposed to do now?" you demanded, pushing her again. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" Each shove punctuated your words, your voice breaking with anguish. "You've ruined everything!"

Sam flinched with each push, her hands raised slightly as if to steady herself, but she didn't try to stop you. She knew she deserved every bit of your anger, every word of your pain. Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed, her heart aching at the sight of your devastation.

"Will you listen to me, Y/n? It meant absolutely nothing!" Sam pleaded, her voice breaking as she tried to reach out to you.

You stopped pushing her, your hands trembling with a mix of rage and sorrow. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words and the betrayal pressing down on you.

"Nothing?" you echoed, your voice filled with disbelief. "You slept with her. You were out with another woman all night. I'm pregnant, is that fucking nothing to you?"

"Yes! I mean, no," Sam stammered, her voice cracking under the pressure.

"How many times did you fuck her?" you demanded, your voice icy and resolute. "And don't you dare lie to me."

Sam's face went pale, her eyes pleading as if begging you to retract the question. She hesitated, her gaze flickering between you and the floor, clearly struggling with the weight of her confession. Each second felt like an eternity as she fought to keep her composure.

You remained silent, staring at her with a mixture of anger and heartbreak, your eyes unyielding. The room seemed to grow colder with the intensity of the moment, the air thick with tension.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, Sam looked up at you, her voice barely a whisper. "Three times," she said, her tone cracking with guilt.

You turned away, unable to bear the weight of her confession. Your heart felt like it was being crushed under a mountain of stress, shock, and disgust. "I think I'm going to throw up," you said, your voice barely a whisper as you walked toward the kitchen.

You needed to get away from Sam, to escape the suffocating reality of her betrayal. The sight of her was too much, her presence a painful reminder of the lies and broken trust.

But of course, she followed you, her footsteps echoing in the silence that hung heavy between you.

"But it didn't mean anything, baby," she rambled, her voice trembling with desperation.

"She made me realize I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know that now." Her words tumbled out, as if saying them repeatedly would somehow make everything right.

You stopped just short of the kitchen entrance, turning to face her with a look of fierce anger and hurt.

"I'm five months pregnant, and you're already out trying to fuck other women!" you screamed, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions.

The words hung in the air.

Sam stood there in silence, the weight of her actions pressing down on her like a ton of bricks. She knew there was no justification, no excuse that could make this right.

The realization of what she had done washed over her, leaving her feeling hollow and regretful. She had always prided herself on being strong and confident, but now, faced with the consequences of her betrayal, she felt weak and powerless.

The sight of you, the person she loved and admired most, looking at her with such hurt and anger, made her stomach churn. She wanted to speak, to beg for your forgiveness, but the words caught in her throat, tangled in her guilt.

You stared at her, waiting for something—anything—that could make this less painful. But her silence only deepened the wound. "Fuck you, Sam. It's over."

You turned away from her, walking into the kitchen with a sense of finality. Sam followed, her voice trembling as she called your name. "Y/n..." she started, her tone almost pleading as if she couldn't believe this was happening. You walked further, needing to put distance between you and her.

"Get out right now," you commanded, turning around to face her, your voice filled with a quiet threat. "I'll tell you when you can come and get your shit. Maybe Lily can help you pack." You spat the girl's name like a curse, the mere sound of it making your skin crawl.

Your head was pounding, the pain intense and unrelenting, threatening to explode. The pressure of trying to hold back sobs was almost unbearable, and the anger in your voice was the only thing keeping you from breaking down completely. You stood there, trembling, every muscle in your body taut with the effort of keeping it together.

Sam took a hesitant step forward, her voice trembling but attempting to remain calm. "Y/n, we're having a baby together," she reasoned, her tone a poor mask for the panic bubbling beneath the surface.

She knew deep down that her words wouldn't reach you, that her calm facade was crumbling. Her mind was spiraling, grasping at any hope to salvage what was left.

You turned around sharply, your eyes blazing with anger. "No," you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I'm the one having this baby. I'm the pregnant one. Not you."

Sam opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, your voice rising with each word.

"Get the fuck out, Sam, or I swear I'll call the police," you threatened, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. Sam's eyes widened with shock, and she took a step back, realizing the gravity of your words.

You didn't know what you would say to the police, or if you'd even call them to begin with, but you saw how she looked at you as if you were ready to do whatever it took to get her out of there, so she believed you would actually do it.

"Y/n, please..." she started, but the look in your eyes silenced her.

"Leave," you commanded, your voice steadier now, but no less fierce. "I can't stand the sight of you right now."

But when Sam didn't move, you realized you no longer had the strength to scream at her.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You needed her to understand, to listen to you just one last time. "Will you just get out, please?" you said, your tone softer now, almost pleading.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, making your limbs feel heavy and your vision blur at the edges.

You felt like you might faint from the sheer emotional toll of the confrontation. Sam hesitated for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness, but finding none.

With a resigned nod, she turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, the silence of the room pressing in on you, suffocating.

Your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, and disbelief. The betrayal felt like a raw, open wound, each memory of Sam's deceit a fresh stab to your heart.

The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in as if to suffocate the last remnants of your strength. You reached out for something to hold onto, trying to anchor yourself in a reality that felt increasingly surreal.

The silence now felt deafening, a stark contrast to the heated exchange that had just occurred. It was a silence that spoke of a fractured future, of dreams and trust irrevocably shattered.

When you two first met, Sam was the one who struggled to trust strangers or new people.

Now, you were the one left with the painful understanding that even those you've loved for years could betray you.

[tacticoal]

「V.I.P. for me ?!」: ̗̀➛ part 2 to biker!racer!simon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sfw, gn reader, unedited, suggestive content if you squint, mdni !!

wanted to throw in a big big thank you for all the recent support loves, you have no idea how welcomed you've all made me feel. please enjoy.

you. are. beaming.

ecstatic, delighted, overjoyed, hysterical, your mind lists all the words that could only ever possibly describe how you're feeling as you grasp your phone with nearly enough force to crack the screen.

simon riley, the #1 motorcycle racer in britain, upholding a 5-year champion streak, the man you've known and adored for years, is doing a meet-and-greet in your town.

and you're staring down at the VIP ticket on your phone.

your friends messaged you in the group chat, explaining that they all chipped in for your special invitation, buying the standard, cheaper tickets for themselves to come with you. the VIP admission gives you access to a shorter line that simon gets to first, as well as a photo with him and his bike. oh, that work of beauty, you think, already smelling the gasoline it burns off.

you spammed them with several thank you's and holy shit's, before calling a nearby restaurant to reserve a table (the poor lady on the other end could barely make out your warbled and giddy speech). just imagining next week makes you squeal and giggle into your pillow all night.

next week. the event is next week. exactly 6 days, 10 hours, 54 minutes and 4 seconds from now. 6 days to go out, get a fresh set of clothes, hair trimmed, and figure out any other essentials. surely that's more than enough time, right?

well, with no more than an hour left until you have to be out the door, you're pacing around your bed, 5 different outfits splayed over it. your friends -- who knew you'd be in this situation and arrived about an hour earlier already dressed up -- sit around your room, either watching you or on their phones listening as you ramble about how this outfit would catch his eye, but this one looks more comfy--

they knew not to interrupt you, providing the most company they can while you grumble, beginning to get impatient with yourself. eventually, you settle on something loose and airy, but revealing enough to gather the right kind of attention.

"what if he thinks i'm ugly.." you mutter, brushing down a stray hair in front of the mirror with a shaky hand.

"then y'know he's knocked his head into the concrete one too many times," your closest friend giggles.

huffing out a laugh, you nod and go to arrange a tote bag, throwing everything you want simon to sign. an official t-shirt promoting his name, two framed photographs of him, and a notepad. obviously the bag is getting signed too -- you'd throw in your arm and forehead in there if they weren't attached to your body. sigh, modern day problems.

finally, finally the time comes where you're waiting in line. holy shit, this is really happening. you can see a glimpse of his tracksuit from here, your body trembling with nerves. you've separated from your friends a bit ago, jaw dropped as you passed by the crowds of people lined up for this event. music blasts through your earbuds, in an attempt to tune out the bass blasting throughout the streets and boisterous screams 'n chatter. keeping your friends updated on where you are, you stay hunched over your phone as you slowly inch up the line.

"'nd what's your name?-"

simon's gaze tilts up from the checkerboard table to you, his breath immediately caught in his throat. you were still looking down, thumbs tapping on the screen in your hands. your glance flickered up for a split second, before your head completely snapped up to him, eyes widening as they get caught in the riptide of his deep, darker ones. with your mouth agape, you both stare at each other in silence. a beat or two passes before you rip your earbuds away, shoving them into your bag, alongside your phone.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry, i wasn't paying attention to the line, i was texting my friends and got distracted with them-"

it's you, he thinks. the one from the pub those few weeks back. he clears his throat and nods, watching you hastily pull out the things for him to sign, his heart clenching the same way it did when he first laid eyes on you. you giddily point at where you want his signature, and he's quick to oblige, the permanent marker squeaking against glass.

"i'm a really big fan," you admit bashfully, unable to hide the excited grin that stretches across your face, "since freshman year of college, 'm pretty sure."

now, simon's heard that from basically every fan he's encountered, but he's never truly believed them until now. he looks up to you, sliding the framed pictures to the side to make room for your notepad. your eyes glitter with a childlike glee as you stare back at him, and he wonders what your pretty head's thinking.

"that so, love?" he muses, tilting his head.

"yeah," you beam at the nickname, "i don't know how you do it -- everything you do is so cool."

he breathes out a laugh, ignoring how he's holding up the line behind you.

"i'd be glad to show y'round it sometime."

"really?"

you watch him with gleaming eyes, jaw dropped, as he writes a string of numbers below his name.

"text me anytime, love," he teases, handing it back to you before flicking his hand, "now shoo off, before security gets on ya."

"what about the photo?" you pout at him in disappointment, and he can't help but grin wolfishly in return.

"i promise you much more than a photo if you keep in touch."

@ tacticoal do not repost !!

[bleedingoptimism]

Steve likes to watch youtube videos of a guy who restores old consoles. It soothing to him, it relaxes him. He likes watching how he restores them, fixes them, makes them look brand new.

He also enjoys watching him work for… other reasons. Weirdly, he thinks the guy is kind of hot, even if he never shows his face. He looks fit, with the way his shirts stretch over his chest and are loose on his tiny waist and he’s always wearing cool belts, black leather with studs or chains. He likes the way he moves around, manic and a little clumsy but incredibly precise when necessary.

Steve especially likes watching his hands, thick strong fingers, bony wrists, noticeable veins, and short clean nails that sometimes have chipped black polish adorning them.

He sometimes thinks about those hands when he's alone, but, well… no one needs to know about that.

🎮🤲💖

Eddie has a fairly popular youtube channel… And a huge crush on his next-door neighbor. He simply cannot decide if the dude is cutter than hot or vice-versa.

'He sure is nice, though,' he thinks, when one day he gets a large package of replacement parts that he’s struggling to get inside and the guy walks up to him, asks if he needs any help, and takes the heaviest box with no effort at all.

He says his name is Steve and then stares at Eddie's hand for a really long time when Eddie extends it for him to shake after getting the boxes inside his studio.

He hears Steve’s little 'oh', under his breath and then sees him blush prettily before mumbling ‘He needs to go, now.' And stumbling out of Eddie’s place.

Eddie chuckles to himself as he watches him leave, definitely cute AND hot in equal parts.

🎮🤲💖

A few weeks later Steve's mom tells him she needs help getting rid of some of his nonno's old things and he finds a LOT of cool stuff that look just like the ones Eddie restores on his channel.

He and Eddie have been slowly getting friendlier over these last couple of weeks and he’s been dying to have an excuse to talk to him more, so he takes the items home and then goes to Eddie's and very nervously tries to offer them to him but doesn't know how to explain he knows he's a youtuber without looking like a weirdo because Eddie’s never shown his face.

He stumbles and blushes a lot, barely making any sense and Eddie mistakenly thinks he's trying to ask him out and says, 

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Smiling and hiding his dimples behind a lock of hair he's been playing with since the moment Steve started stuttering.

Steve completely forgets what he was trying to say or do and says he'll pick him out at 6.

The date is amazing, it feels like they are meant to be. They get along so well, talking, laughing, and already making fun of each other as if they’re old friends. And they are definitely attracted to one another. If the way Eddie practically tackles Steve with his rush to get his mouth on him when they get back, it’s any indication.  

Steve is very on board with this and he enthusiastically kisses him back. They kiss desperately as he fumbles with his door handle to get it open. When he succeeds, he walks them backward into his place not wanting to stop kissing Eddie, but stumbles and falls flat on his ass.

When Eddie turns on the light he sees Steve sprawled on top of a bunch of boxes full of old technology. A lot of emotions go through his face, ‘he’s so expressive’ Steve thinks a little enamored, having still not realized how much trouble he’s in.

But Eddie looks confused, then shocked and scared, and finally, angry,

"Steve, what the fuck?"

‘Oh, shit…’

“I can explain!” he says immediately, standing up and walking toward Eddie as he backs away,

“I didn’t want to ask you out-” Steve starts but interrupts himself when Eddie huffs, turns, and starts walking towards his own apartment, “Shit, fuck! No- That’s not what I meant, Eddie! Wait-”

He turns again and glares at Steve but then his eyes go wide, “Steve,”

“Please, let me explain-”

“Steve-”

“I did- do! Want to ask you out! I like yo-”

“Steve!” Eddie screams and Steve stops, shocked, and finally focuses. Eddie is staring at him and he’s so pale even his freckles have changed color. But no, wait. He’s not staring at him, he’s staring at his arm and Steve looks down to see… a lot of blood.

“Oh,” he says faintly. He must have cut himself on a sharp edge when he fell. Too worried about Eddie, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, but now that he’s seeing the cut, it fucking hurts.

“Oh,” he says again, realizing he’s feeling kind of dizzy, ‘that's way too much blood,’ he thinks.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie huffs, takes off his flannel shirt and wrapping it around Steve's arm, he pulls Steve by his other hand toward his van.

“Oh no, your cute shirt,” he mumbles and hears Eddie snort before he slams the door of the passenger seat and goes to the driver’s one.

They go to the hospital in silence. It's tense. Steve tries to explain himself but Eddie shuts him up harshly, tells him to save his energy.

Even so, when they get there, Eddie still holds him gently by his good arm as he helps him inside. He tells the nurse what happened because Steve is having a hard time focusing right now and then tells him he’ll wait outside for him.

He gets stitches and a tetanus shot just in case because he doesn't remember when was the last time he got one and gets weird looks when he refuses painkillers, but no arguments. He’s given a little juice box and is told he can't get up until he finishes it.

A few seconds after the nurse leaves, the door opens and Eddie walks in. Steve looks up and smiles at him, but Eddie doesn’t smile back and Steve shrinks a little on himself.

Eddie sits on the chair facing the overbed table Steve is perched on and sighs, moving his hand in little circles motioning like, ‘Well go on. Explain yourself’

Steve looks around the room and thinks about where to start. He can't look Eddie in the eye, so he stares at the little juice box in his hands. It's got a cartoon orange in the front. The drawing it’s awful and kind of scary.

Taking a deep breath, he starts, “I've been watching your videos for a long time now. I have- I am- I-”

He fumbles for what to say, even if this date is already ruined…it's not exactly a good first date topic, is it? How fucked up he’s inside.

In a flash, images of his father’s violence, running from home with his mom, going to live with his nonno, taking care of him as he slowly lost his mind with age while his mom worked her ass off to feed them, getting cheated on, losing his “friends” because he didn't want to bully freshmen, working as a babysitter and getting almost beat up to death by his kid’s stepbrother… he shakes his head and shrugs,

“I've been through some…stuff” is what he says in the end, looking up at Eddie. He doesn't look mad anymore, his expressive eyes look concerned. Steve worries about what was it Eddie saw in his own expression, but it surprises him how easily he read him. He’s usually so good at hiding it. 

He breathes in again and keeps going, “Your videos, they calm me down when I've, sometimes I get anxious and-” he clears his throat, again, not wanting to tell Eddie about the panic attacks, the nightmares.

But it seems he doesn't have to, Eddie looks at him like he gets it.

It makes Steve want to keep talking, “Watching you work, seeing you fix things, leave them like new, no sca- marks, no problems, just working again and beautifully clean. It makes me feel better.” 

Eddie gives him a small smile and Steve returns it, “I really like your hands…” he blurts out and then closes his mouth quickly, blushing furiously.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and then he smirks and stands up slowly walking up to him and taking Steve’s hands on his own, they both stare at their joined hands for a while, the touch feather-like and soft.

“You recognized me because of my hands?” Eddie asks him a little incredulous.

Steve giggles, “I saw the logo for your channel on your studio that day I helped you with the boxes,” he clarifies sheepishly.

Eddie blushes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘oh,’

Steve draws small circles on Eddie's knuckles with his thumbs, “When I came over today, I was just trying to offer you those stuff at my place, they were my grandfather's” he explains, “I didn’t know how to say I knew who you were without looking like a weirdo and I got nervous and you thought I was going to ask you out and I wasn’t planning to but you are so beautiful I-

Eddie kisses his cheek and Steve shuts up and looks at him surprised,

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Eddie says, “I thought- I don’t know what I thought- I was just upset you didn’t actually like me.” 

And Steve immediately answers, “I like you” a little too excitedly.

Eddie smiles at him so warmly it makes his heart rate pick up, “Good. I like you too.”

He blushes and looks down at their hands again unsure, “Do you really? Even tho I’m…”

“What?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

“Broken?” Steve whispers.

Eddie hums and drops his hands to hold his face, “Not broken, baby” he says lovingly and kisses the crease between Steve’s brows, the top of his eyelid, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. Then hugs him and Steve buries his face on Eddie's neck, and breathes him in.

A minute goes by or an hour, Steve is not sure, and Eddie leans back enough to kiss him again softly and whispers, “Some things don't need to be fixed Steve, just held.” 

𝒻𝒾𝓃

coffee? a hug? ☕🥐💕

[soubeomies]

꒰୨୧◞ ₊˚ 𝓨𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

⤷ 𝓟𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ﹕ leehan x fem!reader

⤷ 𝓦𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ﹕ mentions of reader sitting on ihans lap

⤷ 𝓖𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ﹕ fluff

⤷ 𝓦𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝓒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ﹕ 457

⤷ 𝓐𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝓝𝗈𝗍𝖾 ﹕ oh i forgot to ask, wdyt of my somewhat new format ?!?! it’s not much different, just the font hehe. anyways! i’ve just had this ihan thought in my head ALL day. i had to write it ASAP!

⤷ 𝓢𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ﹕ leehan hated being interrupted during his fish tank decorating sessions. you thought he’d also be upset at you, but i guess you can be an exception.

leehan hated whenever one of his members would interrupt him whilst he was in the process of decorating a new tank of his. he would always brush them off by ignoring them or in some cases, he would tell them to leave.

he was always in his little world whenever he was decorating a fish tank. he cared so much for the little creatures that would swim in the decorated tank. he always made sure everything he put in the tank was safe for the fishes that would inhabit the tank.

you knew about this whole thing, which is exactly why you would always avoid disturbing him while he works on his silly little fish tanks.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

today was supposed to be no different, but of course something had to go wrong. leehan was working on a new tank, though he forgot to inform you. that resulted in you barging into his dorm as per usual, only to find him fixated on a new fish tank. his gaze shot up to yours, pushing up his glasses.

he looks like he’s ready to curse everything right then and there, until he sees your face. his stoic expression quickly softened, his eyes gleaming with nothing but affection. “i’m so sorry! i didn’t know you were working on a new one!” you claim. you can only hope that he’s not upset at you..

“s’ okay baby.” he calmly replied, “wanna watch?” he asks. you look at him, wide-eyed. you thought that he’d be upset at you, just like he would be with everyone else.

you silently nod, “are you not mad at me?” you say whilst you slowly approached him. he gently pulled you onto his lap, which resulted in your body pushed up against his warmth. he softly chuckled, “why would i be?” he asks the question as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“you get mad at everyone if they disturb you.” you mutter under your breath, chills run down your spine as you feel his warm breath against your neck. “there’s your answer. you’re not everyone, you’re y/n. my y/n.” he says in the most nonchalant way ever. he says it so easily, each and every word rolling off his tongue so prettily.

your cheeks flushed a slight tint of pink as you smiled to yourself. you replied to him with a simple nod, trying to hide the fact that your heart was quite literally in your throat right now.

he carried on, continuing his fish tank as usual. all while having you snug on his lap. he occasionally reached his hands into a bag of chips and feeding you before returning to whatever he was doing.

you really were the only exception.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ networks : @kstrucknet

© soubeomies 2024 all rights reserved ♡ do not copy/repost my works.

[loulovingho]

For a prompt: bucktommy moving in together and the 118 helping them move? 🥰 or them throwing a housewarming party

this turned... dirtier than expected. they both really enjoy clipboard buck, I'm sorry!

“You'll notice some boxes have green stripes, some are red, others are blue, purple, etcetera. You'll also notice, when entering the house, that there is a color on every door or along the entryway to each room. Each box should be placed in the room with its designated color. Example-”

“Buck,” Chimney groaned from where he stood inside the moving truck, “we get it.”

“Example,” Buck continued with a glare. “The living room has been given the color blue. Only boxes with blue stripes should enter the living room. Pop quiz! Maddie, should green boxes go in the living room?”

She responded with a glare.

Buck got the point. “Moving on. Bobby, if you happen to come upon a box that doesn't have a color, what should you do?”

“Make a citizens arrest?”

“No.” Buck pointed the pen in his hand at Tommy, “But that's a good idea for later,” he said, earning him gagging sounds from the majority of the people surrounding them. All except for Tommy, who simply smiled and winked.

“You see,” Buck explained, “Tommy went to the store for more boxes and accidentally purchased 7 of them that had no color on them. Not a single stripe to be found. Those particular boxes are miscellaneous. They should go directly into the garage until I can open and inspect them.”

He glanced down at his clipboard, marking off a few things before looking back up at the group. “Alright, I believe that's it. Does everyone know the jobs they've been given?”

The majority of responses were given in grunts and hums.

“Excellent. Please bring any and all questions to me. I will be wandering around throughout the house all day. I should be easy to find. If you cannot find me, please head over to Tommy, who will then direct you to me. There will be a provided lunch arriving at noon. A designated thirty minutes for eating. If there are currently no questions, you may begin.”

As everyone began to disperse and started unloading the truck, Tommy smiled over at Eddie. “Is he not the cutest thing you've ever seen?”

“Oh dear God,” Eddie replied with a grimace. “You two really are meant for each other.”

*****

“You were amazing today,” Tommy said, peppering kisses down Buck's neck. They were laying on the couch, surrounded by blue-striped boxes.

Buck hummed. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to give Tommy more space to work with.

“Mhm. Took control of the whole thing. Had it all planned perfectly. And when you yelled at Eddie after he put a red box in the bathroom?” He bit lightly against Buck's pulse point. “That was so hot.”

“God, Tommy,” Buck replied breathlessly, before adding, “he should have known better. Purple was posted on the door.”

“I know it was. It was very clear.”

“It was clear,” Buck agreed. “Purple and red are very different.”

“Very different.” Tommy continued to alternate between sucking and biting on Buck's neck as he brought a hand down and slowly began unbuttoning Buck's shirt.

Buck ran his hands down Tommy's back, pushing his hips down when he reached his ass, causing their bodies to grind together.

“I could call him up,” Buck suggested, “yell at him some more. Or call Chimney and tell him I- I know he was the one who chipped the paint on the front door. Tell him I'm sending him a bill.”

Tommy responded by smashing his lips against Buck's in a wet kiss, licking his way into Buck's mouth. “I'd love that, Evan,” he said, parting just enough to speak, “but Eddie already told me he wouldn't be answering your calls for two days. And I'm pretty sure Howie blocked your number.”

Buck nearly growled, his eyes darkening. “God, I love your dirty talk.”

They kissed again, even sloppier this time with hands roaming and grabbing, shirts being tugged on and nails dragging against skin.

After a minute or two, Tommy pulled back with a gleam in his eye. “Now, about that citizens arrest you mentioned earlier...”

Buck grinned. “Bedroom,” he demanded, giving Tommy's ass a couple of pats to get him up.

Tommy pressed one more kiss to his lips with a, “Yes, Sir,” before getting up and letting Buck lead the way.

[hederasgarden]

Series: Bound - Part 1

Summary: When a dangerous situation pushes you out of the only home you've never known, you take refuge with an unruly pack of wolves. Tyler Owens might not be the alpha you think you want, but he’s the one you need. [Werewolf!Tyler Owens x Human!F!Reader | 2.3K]

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Magical realism, supernatural themes, violence, and angst. Future chapters will include explicit sexual content  This series will include untagged themes and elements. 

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who patiently helped me write this including @mermaidxatxheart @a-reader-and-a-writer @blue-aconite and @clairewritesandrambles. The beautiful banner was created by @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

Masterlist

The rain comes in droves, the wipers on your car barely able to keep up with the deluge. Anxiety grows with every passing second, fear blooming in your chest when you glance in the rearview mirror. You half expect to see lights from another car but the road remains empty. You should be relieved but all you feel is mounting unease as you navigate the winding gravel path. The lack of moonlight makes it hard to see much of anything.

Your hands tremble on the steering wheel, and you grip it tighter, leaning forward to navigate a sharp turn. It's difficult to see beyond the narrow beam of your headlights, and despite the growing sense of panic, you’re forced to follow the winding path slowly. Suddenly, the dense thicket of trees gives way to a large clearing, where a massive wooden cabin stands in the center. Warm light spills through the bay windows onto a wrap-around porch, illuminating a line of rocking chairs.

You cut the engine, but pause with your hand on the door. Coming here seemed like the best option earlier, but now in the moment, your courage flags. You know from experience that lingering too long on that doubt will consume you, and the truth is, there are no other choices. You push the door open and sprint for the porch, the cold rain soaking through your clothes. There hadn’t been time to grab a raincoat when you left home in a hurry. Besides the car and the hastily packed duffle bag in the backseat, you have nothing—no personal belongings, not even the necklace with your mother’s wedding ring.

As soon as your boots hit the bottom step, the front door swings open. A young wolf with shoulder-length brown hair stands there, a bag of chips in hand. He tilts his head, taking in your disheveled and drenched appearance while he pops another chip into his mouth. You can only imagine how you must look to him, a half-drowned human seeking refuge on his porch.

"Hey," he greets. "Can I help you?”

You climb the final two steps and straighten your shoulders, trying to muster some courage. “I need to see Alpha Owens.” You pause and then add, "Please.”

The young man leans in, his nose twitching as he not-so-subtly takes in your scent. "Yeah, sure. Wait here," he instructs, closing the door.

You wrap your arms around yourself, seeking some warmth and comfort. It’s hard not to think about the last time you were here over four years ago with your father when the cabin was still under construction. Back then no one thought much of Tyler Owens and his small, ragtag pack of lone wolves. The Alphas’ council had dismissed them as insignificant and unworthy of attention. In your father’s world, those bitten and not born held little power, and the idea of Tyler becoming an Alpha of a pack seemed improbable at best. 

Despite this, your father kept a semi-friendly relationship with Tyler over the years, mostly because their lands bordered each other. No one, certainly not even your father, could have predicted how Tyler’s pack would grow the way it had or how he’d become a formidable Alpha with exactly the kind of strength you needed now. 

When the door opens again, Tyler stands in the entryway. His honey-blonde hair has grown longer, nearly touching the collar of his shirt, and his sharp jawline is obscured by a light beard. He's dressed casually in a pair of jeans, feet bare. You stare until he clears his throat.

"I’m not sure if you remember me..." you begin, but he interrupts with a smile. 

"I remember you," he says kindly. "I was sorry to hear about your father's passing. He was a good man and a great Alpha."

His words stir up the familiar ache of grief in your chest, threatening to choke off your response. It’s only been four months since you lost your father and you feel adrift without him. A nod is all you can manage for a long moment before you’re able to speak again. “I'm here because I need your help. I need sanctuary."

Tyler’s expression shifts to one of surprise, his brows drawing together in confusion. When he doesn’t speak for a long moment, you hurry to add, “It’s just for the night. I promise I’ll leave in the morning.”

"You need sanctuary from your father's pack?" He questions. 

You shake your head. "It's not his anymore."

Without thinking, you touch the unmarked skin of your throat, and Tyler’s gaze follows the movement. 

“What about Daniel?” Tyler questions. 

"He’s dead.”

Tyler's brow wrinkles, his sharp little "What?" nearly lost as the wind picks up.

Although you were never in love with your father’s chosen heir, Daniel was good and kind. You liked to think those feelings might have come with enough time but that’s impossible now. You should be grieving him too but it's hard to feel much more than numbness and horror when you think of what happened to him. 

“Let’s talk inside," Tyler urges, cupping your elbow to draw you closer as he surveys the darkness behind you, his green eyes flashing golden. Relief washes over you at the invitation.

Inside the foyer you’re overly aware of the wet squelch of your shoes against the hardwood floors and the water dripping from your clothes. The young wolf who greeted you earlier observes from a doorway to your left, exchanging a meaningful look with Tyler that you’re all too familiar with. The nonverbal communication an Alpha could share with their pack was something your father often utilized to dole out commands.

A light touch on your elbow draws your attention back to Tyler, who guides you into a spacious living room filled with couches and mismatched throw rugs. He urges you closer to the fireplace until its comforting warmth reaches you. You stay like that, staring into the flames until Tyler speaks again but when you turn to face him, you realize he’s addressing the young wolf who hands him a towel and steaming mug.

“Thanks, Boone.” 

“Aye, aye captain,” Boone replies, giving his Alpha a sloppy salute before leaving. 

You stare at Tyler, shocked by the casual way the other wolf addressed him. His only response is a raised brow as he offers you the towel. You take it, drying your face and hands. There’s nothing to be done for your clothes. 

“Here,” he directs, hooking his leg around a chair to pull it closer. “Sit.” 

“I’m drenched.”

He quirks a brow. “Sweetheart, it’s a chair, not my grandmother’s hope chest.”

You lower yourself gingerly and accept the mug of tea Tyler presses into your hands. Though you’re not especially thirsty, you take it, finding the warmth that seeps through the ceramic soothing. 

“Tell me what happened,” he encourages.  

“Daniel died three days ago. Sheriff Riggs—” you falter, your eyes darting nervously behind Tyler as if mentioning the man's name might summon him. Your voice trembles as you continue, now barely more than a whisper. “The sheriff says it was a car accident, but h-he—” your voice fizzles out, your throat tightening around the words you want to say.

“You can tell me. Whatever it is.”

You shake your head and look up at the ceiling, fighting to keep the tears at bay. The lump in your throat that’s been there since Daniel died feels like it's choking you. Telling the truth would be a relief but it’s dangerous. To accuse another Alpha without proof….

“I can’t.”

Tyler says your name softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Everything about him, from his tone to the expression on his face is gentle and encouraging. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I think… I think Scott had him killed.” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and as soon as they’re spoken, you wish you could take them back.

“Scott?” He repeats, his brows knitting together as he tries to place the name.

"Scott was expected to be my father's heir, until, out of the blue, he chose Daniel a few months ago.”

You never liked Scott, always wary of his ambitious and calculating nature. While most wolves were feared for the beast within, Scott’s human side set him apart. He was cunning and careful. Every move he made seemed designed to advance his own interests, often at the expense of others. You had half-expected him to leave the pack and start his own after being passed over for the coveted position of your father’s second. Instead, he stayed, and now you realize he was biding his time.

“That’s a serious accusation,” Tyler says, his tone guarded.

You shrink back as if trying to distance yourself from the weight of your words. Tyler’s nostrils flare, and you wonder if it’s the acrid tang of your anxiety or the sourness of your fear he smells on you.

“It’s not that I doubt you,” he adds quickly, “but I need to know what makes you think Scott is responsible.”

"Scott was careful not to show it but he was angry my dad chose Daniel.” You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to reveal what you’ve kept to yourself since Sheriff Riggs delivered the news to your pack three days ago. “The official report said Daniel was drunk, but I saw him earlier that night. He was sober.” 

Thinking about the last time you saw Daniel brings a sharp, painful sting to your chest. You didn’t see it at first, too caught up in your grief, but Daniel was the right choice to replace your father, handling things with the same calm confidence as his predecessor. It’s still hard to believe that the man who looked at you with those sweet, hopeful eyes, that promised he would be everything your father envisioned, is dead.

“It’s possible he went out after you saw him,” Tyler suggests. 

You breathe out sharply, shaking your head. “He wouldn’t, not with so much going on. He was a good Alpha. He was focused on the pack."

Tyler seems on the verge of saying something more but then he nods and gives you a soft, “Okay.”

You look away from him, trying to gather your thoughts. You need him to understand, to believe what you’re about to say.

“Scott’s uncle is the sheriff,” you continue. “He was the first to arrive at the scene of the accident. He and Scott have always been close.”

Tyler’s brow furrows as he processes your words. “So you’re saying Riggs might have altered the report?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “All I know is that with Daniel gone, Scott finally has what he’s always wanted—what he believed he was owed.”

“Do you think Scott would hurt you?”

“I don’t think so. He needs me to win over the rest of the pack.”  Scott certainly had his supporters, his uncle chief among them, but your father’s influence ran deep. The pack would expect to see you at the side of the next alpha. “But,” you continue, thinking of what drove you to run tonight, “I don’t think he plans on waiting to make me his mate.”

Tyler’s lip curls in disgust at your unspoken meaning. “You mean he intends to force you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, stomach churning at the idea of being bonded to a man like Scott. Someone who saw you as a means to an end to solidify his own power. Daniel was so different, allowing you time to grieve and adjust after your father’s passing before even broaching the subject. Part of you wonders if he would still be alive if you hadn’t waited to establish your bond— or if he would have just died sooner.

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Tyler assures you, tilting his head to catch your eye and hold your gaze. “As long as you’re here, you’re safe.”

“You’ll let me stay?” 

You didn’t really think he’d turn you away—after all, that’s why you came to him. Still, there was always a chance. Wolves were loyal to one another. You were painfully human. 

“I’d never turn away a lady in need,” Tyler says with a grin, that easy confidence you remember surfacing before his expression turns serious again. “Will Scott know to look for you here?”

“No. He probably expects me to seek out another Alpha on the council.”

“That’s good,” Tyler says. “But I gotta ask, why did you come to me? Your father has many friends you could have turned to.” 

"They would have sent me back," you explain simply. “Scott’s the new Alpha. In their eyes, I belong with him."

“Well,” Tyler begins, a small grin on his face, “I’m flattered you chose the charming but rogue Alpha over the law-abiding ones.”

His response startles a watery laugh out of you, a foreign feeling after all the grief and fear that’s kept you company these last few months. “I also chose you because my father always respected you.”

“Even when the others didn’t,” Tyler agrees. “I’ll always be thankful for that.”

You share a small, bittersweet smile with him and exhale, your shoulders slumping. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. 

“Now come on, let’s get you out of your wet clothes. In the morning we can figure out what to do.”

“We?” you ask, surprised.

Tyler flashes you a brilliant smile, leaning in close as if sharing a secret. “Didn’t you hear? Our pack is fond of strays. You’re one of us now, sweetheart.”

[colonelarr0w]

Geto w an S/O that’s extremely anxious and overthinks a lot, needs lots of validation and just gets so tired from having such bad anxiety. not a “i can’t stand up for myself” anxiety but a “what if that look means he’s mad at me” anxiety. i just think he’d be so caring and patient with her, gentle n soft and puts her mind at ease with careful dominance. especially if his S/O is always taking care of him and others first.

Sypnosis - Read above request.

Warning(s) - mature themes, Geto is so sickeningly sweet it's insane

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Suguru never failed to notice the dimness of your eyes as the sun set over Jujutsu High. 

Just like the rising sun, your eyes were bright and lively in the mornings when you greeted him; lips turned upward in that smile he adored kissing and eyes crinkled with smile lines indenting the softness of your face.  

But throughout the course of the day, while exorcising curses and assisting Shoko with tending to the injured, Suguru also noticed how the light in your eyes would slowly extinguish, like a candle left out on someone's bedside table.  

It felt as if you were at everyone's beck and call.  

If Gojo needed help with an assignment, you were there. If Utahime begged you to come on a mission with her instead of Mei Mei, you were there. If Shoko needed a light and a shoulder to lean on, you were there. If Mei Mei needed help covering her bill when you found yourselves out, you were there. If Nanami needed help before a mission, you were there.  

But at the end of the day, Suguru had to ask – who was there for you? 

Who was there for you when you returned from tougher missions? Who was there for you when you needed a shoulder to cry on? Who was there for you when you needed an extra body to hold at night?  

Who was there for you in the way that you were there for others? 

Well...he was. 

"Oh, there you are angel. I was looking everywhere for you," Suguru says with a smile, arms laden with white plastic bags from the convenience store. His eyes quickly take in the sight of your face, smile fading as he notices the noticeable bags beneath your eyes and the dulled color of your irises.  

"Were you?" you mutter offhandedly, leaning against the doorframe of your dormitory and willing yourself to smile at him – though it doesn't quite reach your eyes the way that Suguru was used to.  

He nods at you, silently stepping past you as your body shifts to permit him entry into your dorm. Your eyes flicker curiously down to the bags that he holds, but you say nothing to him as he sets them down on the countertop of your dormitory's kitchenette.  

"I got you some of your favorites," he pauses to remove the snacks mentioned, shaking the bags at you and smiling, "and I picked up a movie that we could watch together." 

You press your lips together to suppress the yawn that claws at the base of your throat, wanting nothing more than to curl into your bedsheets and simply vanish. But at the same time, Suguru's voice was doing wonders to drown out the cold whispers that lingered in the back of your mind.  

You continue to keep your eyes on Suguru, watching as he removes bags of chips, candy, and soda bottles from the plastic bags, laying them out over the countertop and smiling as he points each one out to you. Sure, his voice was a muffled buzz to your ears – but it was better than listening to whispers of the worst "what if's". 

"Angel?" Suguru turns to you, eyebrows pinching together in worry at the faraway look that had glazed over your eyes. You quickly shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality with a quiet hum, paired then with a flicker of your gaze. "Are you feeling alright?" 

"Fine," you quickly reply, clearing your throat and wringing your hands out in front of you like a wet towel, "I'm fine." 

Suguru closes the small distance between the both of you, hands extending to tenderly hold the sides of your face. The pads of his thumbs smooth against the skin just underneath your eyes, gentle gaze holding your own.  

"I hope you know that I'm very proud of you," he whispers, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your forehead. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his lips against your skin, a small yet tired sigh falling from your nose. Your body melts into his own, your face squished against the palms of Suguru's hands. 

"You do so much for everyone, you must be exhausted," Suguru comments, tilting your face so that your gaze meets his own. He purses his lips, his eyes softening at the exhausted expression that had worked its way onto your face. "Come on angel, why don't we go sit down?" 

You allow Suguru to lead you towards the couch, sitting you down and holding a finger up at you. He walks quickly back to your kitchenette, gathering the snacks that he had bought into his arms and bringing them to you, allowing you to pick and choose which snacks you wanted.  

Your boyfriend takes a seat beside you on the couch, opening his arms to you and humming in content as you crawl towards him, resting your head on his chest and squeezing your arms around his midsection. His cheek leans against your hair, fingers rubbing gentle circles into the exposed skin of your sides.  

Your cheek smushes gently against his t-shirt, eyes fluttering shut as an odd feeling of relaxation finally washes over you – eliminating any and all exhaustion that had been previously shackled to your ankles. His scent had always been so comforting to you; that mixture of incense and sandalwood that was just so unapologetically him.  

Suguru hums as your arms squeeze around him, the vibration against your cheek lulling you further into a state of relaxation, one that you welcomed like a warm hug. "Better?"  

You grumble something incoherent against his shirt, squeezing at him as you feel his body begin to shift underneath your own. He smiles, craning his neck to press a chaste kiss against the top of your head, tugging you closer and threading his fingers through your hair, nails raking your scalp comfortingly. 

"I'm so grateful to have you in my life angel," Suguru whispers against your hair, the hand resting on your waist continuing to draw comforting circles into the exposed skin. His lips ghost your forehead, then pressing a gentle kiss there as you lean further into him. "I love you." 

You feel your heart warm at his declaration, squeezing your arms around him and pressing a kiss against his clothed pec. Every bit of worry, every tiny ounce of anxiety melting away with something as simple as three words. And even though you knew that tomorrow would likely be the exact same... 

...at least Suguru would be there to gently pick up the pieces.  

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

A Sting in the Way You Kiss Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written, raunchy smut, Dom/sub dynamic, p in v, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), prostate stimulation

Summary: You and Daryl take the next step in your relationship. And it’s a big step.

A/N: Lawd, this took forever! I’m not 100% happy with it but happy enough to call it complete. I think I like Sub!Daryl. I’m sleepy now so I’ll proofread and fix errors tomorrow.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl Dixon made you feel powerful. 

Given his nature, you could never be sure if it was intentional. From day one at the quarry, he was rude, standoffish, and vulgar. You found him difficult to tolerate, but hey, you didn’t get to choose the people with which you had survived an apocalypse. It was a random twist of fate that had brought you all together. Better to just make the best of it. 

So, you did. You made it a priority to get to know everyone in your group, saving the Dixons for last. Merle, you quickly surmised as a lost cause. Women, to him, were meek and fruitless, destined to die without a big strong man to ensure they were protected, fed, and bred like cattle to repopulate the earth. 

You found Daryl to be a tad more reserved. He only offered his opinion—usually loudly and to include several swears—when the conversation revolved around an important topic that would directly affect him or his brother. He otherwise attempted very hard to keep to himself. So when you began to follow him around, he naturally bucked against the idea. Still, you saw potential there and persevered. 

You took an interest in the things he was doing, namely hunting and trapping. He was a skilled tracker and a marksman with his crossbow. You started small, asking how the weapon worked. He had been skeptical and scrutinized you for sincerity, all with a glower in the span of five minutes. It was only uphill from there. 

When Daryl began to teach you his trades, he made sure you learned by doing. His only praise for getting something right was usually a curt nod and a “that’ll do.” By giving you weapons, having you track a buck that would feed the group for days, spear a fish, and skin and clean your own kills, he had put power in your hands. He had single-handedly molded you into a force that could survive in the new world. 

When it came to walkers, Daryl somehow knew things that others didn’t. “S’gotta be the brain! Don’t ya’ll know nothin’?!” You knew. Thanks to him. You had spent a lot of time in the woods, the perfect place to learn how to take down the undead. It was virtually impossible for them to sneak up on you. Too many ways to make noise if you weren’t actively trying to be silent. Once again, a weapon had been placed in your hand and you were thrown to the wolves…erm…walkers. The difference between this and hunting, you noticed, was that Daryl was never too far away with his own weapon ready. He knew how to make you feel independent without wagering your safety. 

The months and tragedies continued to pass slowly, each profound in their own way. Surviving was top priority and to continue to do so as time marched on became more and more of a victory. You lost people and homes, each leaving a mark on your soul that would never be erased, chipping away at your humanity bit by bit. Surprisingly, it was Daryl who kept you grounded. 

By the time you arrived in Alexandria, things between you and the archer had evolved into something just short of a romantic relationship. You had been sharing space with him for months now, falling asleep warm in his arms every night. You would show him affection in front of your friends and, though he scowled and grumbled, he accepted it. Kisses alternated between slow and passionate and long and needy, each accompanied by intimate touches that never seemed to go far enough. 

Today, you had been helping him with the bike Aaron had gifted him to keep him busy. He had shown you back at the prison how to make repairs, along with the correct name and function of each part. He was sitting beside you while you both diagnosed what could be causing the thing to sputter and die randomly. Your eyes were drawn to his muscles when he would tighten a bolt, and more than once, you had caught his gaze roaming up the length of your bare legs until he reached the hem of your shorts and quickly looked away. 

It was becoming a problem. An absolute dilemma that was resulting in a pulsing, wet need between your thighs. You chose to ignore it and focus your energy on the task at hand. Daryl, however, decided that he needed the wrench that just happened to currently reside between your lower thighs. When he reached for it, you were unprepared and reacted instinctively. You smacked the back of his hand before you even realized you had moved. He pulled back the limb with surprising quickness, wide blue eyes zeroing in on the red welt that began to form just below his knuckles. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed his hand to inspect it yourself. He let you pull it closer even though it meant he had to lean forward awkwardly. Your fingers brushed over the irritated flesh and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips to the mark you had left. A chance look from under your lashes showed he still wore the wide eyes, but the brilliant blue was merely a thin ring around his dilated pupils. 

‘Oh.’ Could it really be? You had honestly thought Daryl just wasn’t into sex since the world ended. He had never made a move, never given you any indication that he was waiting for you to make one. Sure, your make-out sessions would get pretty heated, but honestly, things were always too hectic or dangerous for anything more. Maybe, just maybe, now that your family was safe behind the walls here…

You knew Daryl had lovers in the past. It was a topic of conversation once during a night watch before the prison had fallen. Your head was on his shoulder as you recounted — in more detail than he had liked, if his growls and grunts had been anything to go by — your average-size list. When it had been his turn, he hadn’t been as forthcoming as you but you at least surmised that he knew his way around a pussy if ever the opportunity presented itself. 

On a whim, you flipped his hand and let your lips whisper over his wrist next, drawing up your legs to sit on your knees. He still didn’t stop you while you moved up his arm with hot, open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks. Eventually, you needed to skip over his clothed shoulder (for now) and his neck became your next target. He leaned back slightly when you threw a leg over both of his to straddle him, unleashing an onslaught of attention over his carotid pulse. His breath hitched, his palms hovering over your hips but seemingly not yet willing to touch you. You would use that to your advantage at some point. 

Salt, smoke, and earth were mingling on your tongue. “I like how you taste.” You whispered in his ear, smiling against his skin when you felt him shiver. You leaned back to bring your face in front of his, fingers grabbing his chin when he started to look away. “I think we need to go to your room.” He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing. 

You stood straight up from where you were on his lap, leaving your feet on either side of his hips and the apex of your thighs directly in front of his face. Once again, he tried to look away. “Don’t.” You ordered before you thought better of it. To your surprise, he stopped short and turned back, even as he scowled from being bossed around. ‘Oh.’ The things he told you without saying a word. “Don’t keep me waiting, Dixon.” You stepped back and then over, swaying your hips more deliberately than usual as you exited the garage. 

You didn’t turn to see if he would follow. If you were reading him right, he would. 

And you were about to have the time of your life. 

Entering the home you, Daryl, and Carol shared, you passed the staircase that led up to your room and stepped into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. You probably had a good ten minutes before Daryl would stop pacing the front porch and actually come inside. 

Descending the stairs from the kitchen, you opened the basement door and flipped the light switch. Even though you had separate rooms, you spent more time in his room than your own. The things you used most were down there. You slept there. Nothing was really going to change if this happened, right?

Pursing your lips, you shook the thoughts away and placed the water on the nightstand, twisting the switch on the small bedside lamp. After you turned off the overhead light, satisfied with the subtle glow left behind, you grabbed the bottom of your shirt, pausing just before you were going to lift it over your head. No. You’d stay dressed for now. Your boots came off, along with your socks, and you sat on the edge of the mattress and waited. Sure enough, after a little less than ten minutes, you heard the slow, heavy footfalls descending the stairs. 

He must have needed another moment because there was a silent span of about fifteen seconds before the door slowly opened and Daryl entered, already gnawing on his thumbnail. 

“Hi.” You beamed, crossing your legs and leaning back. The bowman nodded minutely, looking so adorably uncomfortable that you came close to calling the whole thing off. You did need to ensure this is what he wanted. If it wasn’t, you could live without it. You had him and he would always be enough. 

When he closed the door and didn’t take another step, you rose to your feet and walked toward him, adding that extra sway to your hips. It was a pleasure in and of itself to watch him watching you. When you were close enough, you started by pushing the open vest off his shoulders, smiling when he dropped his hand from his mouth to let the garment fall from his arms to the floor. 

“Daryl.” You purred his name, and his eyes found yours instantly. “I need you to answer some things for me, and I need you to use words.” You worked at the buttons of his shirt agonizingly slow. “Can you do that for me?” He nodded. You shook your head and tutted. “Words, Dixon.”

“Yeah.” He answered immediately in a quiet tone. 

“Do you want me?” A button came free. 

“Yeah.”

“Do you know that I want you?” Another. 

“Yeah.”

“Will you let me be in control tonight?” Your fingers paused when he hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah.” He may have hesitated but his answer sounded certain. 

You smiled. “I’m going to give you a safe word. If at any time, you’re uncomfortable or you need or even just want me to stop, do you promise me you will say that word?” Another button opened. You had zero intention of going very far, but it would never hurt to establish rules when you wanted so badly to play with him. And he was letting you. You feared getting carried away in the heat of the moment, and his safety and comfort were the most important thing in the world to you. 

Daryl inhaled sharply and nodded, following quickly with a mumbled “yeah.”

“And if at any time, you can’t speak and want me to stop, will you double tap somewhere on my body to let me know?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good boy.” You felt his sharp inhale beneath your fingers while you finished with the buttons, opening the shirt but not removing it. You could see a few of his scars like this. Not wanting him to grow self-conscious, you stepped into him, tracing one with a gentle fingertip only to follow with your lips. “You’re beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?” Daryl shook his head. “Daryl.” 

“No.” He whispered. 

“Well, you are.” You let your finger continue upward to stroke his jaw before abruptly turning away. “First thing’s first.” When you reached the bed, you turned back to him. “The safe word is chupacabra.” A flicker of annoyance was immediate in his eyes. “Say it.” Your tone remained no-nonsense.

“Safe word’s chupacabra.” He drawled, trying not to sneer. 

“And what do you do if you need to stop and you can’t speak?” 

“Tap on ya twice.” The archer replied almost immediately. 

You cocked a brow at him. “Good. I need you to understand that I will never be upset or disappointed if you need things to stop. Ever.”

“Alright.”

You smiled at him fondly. “Good. Now, come over here and undress me.” There was that hesitation again as his eyes raked over your body, pausing at every curve just long enough to let you know he was appreciating what he saw. Finally, he stepped toward you. Once he had reached you, he again paused. You let him. He had touched every part of you before through your clothes. This was the first time he would see you bare.

After a few moments, he reached for the bottom of your shirt while you raised your arms above your head. The garment was pulled from you and tossed aside. Your bra wasn’t anything special. Something you had grabbed on a run a few months back; white and at least one cup size too small. You decided to do this part for him, unfastening the clasp at your back and removing the thing yourself. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, his gaze lingering on the newly exposed skin. Men and boobs, a tale as old as time. 

“Shorts.” You stated simply, a smirk firmly plastered on your face when he snapped out his daze and met your eyes. There was a slight tremble to his hands as he reached for the button, his eyes narrowed. You watched him and he watched what he was doing. Button open, he dragged down the zipper, and his eyes flickered up to yours. You gave him a nod. 

His thick fingers dipped inside the waistband at both hips, but just as he started to pull, you interjected. “Panties, too.” You heard the shaky inhale as he adjusted his hold to grip your underwear as well, lowering to one knee as he pulled both garments down your legs. They were quickly shed and kicked to the side and your hand found the top of his head when he made to stand. “I think I like you there.”

Daryl tilted back his head to see you, taking the hint and lowering his other leg so he was fully kneeled. 

“Good boy.” You breathed, feeling a pulse between your legs. You had wanted to do a few other things with him before really jumping into the fun bits but your needy cunt simply would not be denied. The mattress dipped as you sat in front of him, spreading your legs in an obscene display just to gauge his reaction. The blush that crept across his cheeks should have been adorable but only served to stoke your arousal. “Come here, Daryl.” A few feet separated the two of you, so it was only natural for him to assume you wanted him to stand. 

That isn’t what you wanted at all. 

“I didn’t say get up.” 

The archer paused halfway. The look he sent you had you wondering if this was where he would end this game. He’d say ‘fuck this’ and do things his way, pounding into you until you were red and sore and screaming his name through your release. The thought was appealing. 

You arched a brow when he lowered back to his knees, a quiet curse on his lips. Would he do it? The minute he leaned forward to place one palm against the floor, you thought you might cum then and there. Daryl Dixon was crawling toward you because you told him to.  

He stopped just short of your spread knees, one of your legs coming up to rest on his shoulder. He looked over at it but quickly turned back to you. 

“Closer.” As soon as you could, you started digging your heel into his back, urging him onward until his warm breath was wafting over your core. You bit your lip, reminding yourself of the role you were playing. Your first instinct was to beg him to touch you. No, not tonight. He’d have his turn. The thought of Daryl taking charge sent another sharp pang of arousal straight to your center, your cunt clenching around nothing. The way his eyes left your face and focused on the wet mess between your legs confirmed that he had noticed. You had to reel this in if you wanted to continue. Clearing your throat, you placed your other leg across his other shoulder. “I can’t decide if I want to feel your mouth on me or those fingers inside of me.”

You tapped your chin, feigning deep thought. You had every intention of utilizing both of those delicious options. Dropping your hand, you rested back on your elbows. “Let’s see how good you are with your tongue first.” Daryl gave you a look that would have melted your panties clean off had you still been wearing them. Goddamn, he was handsome, even more so when he was showing some confidence. 

Before your mask had a chance to slip, you felt his fingers spread you open but dare not venture between your lips. Blue orbs stayed on you when he leaned in and pressed his tongue flat against you, dragging it from opening to clit before pulling back to repeat it. The second drag ended with the tip swirling around your bundle of nerves. Sparks of pleasure jolted from where he touched you. You could feel it coursing through your veins like lightning, burrowing deep in your lower belly. 

He paid special attention to your clit, taking his sweet time alternating between flicks and swirls of his tongue to gentle sucking to grazing his teeth over it with just enough pressure to make your head fall back and your fingers tangle in his hair. Then he moved down, lapping at your opening with the same attentiveness, the wet slurps and appreciative hums pulling the knot inside you tight. When he dipped his tongue inside, pumping in, out, in and then wiggling it against your inner walls, you were already close to orgasm, panting and pulling against his scalp helplessly. 

He was moving back toward your clit and you knew if he made contact, you would spiral. Not a satisfaction you were ready to relinquish to him. “Stop!” You ordered breathlessly. He almost didn’t, the brat. His breath hit hard against the sensitive nub but he didn’t touch it. “I want your fingers inside me.” You kept your head back, staring at the ceiling. “Nowhere else.” Your climax had receded but it wouldn’t take much to call it back. 

You never had a problem cumming from penetration only, but it took time and effort. It would give you a moment of reprieve to gather yourself and draw this out a little longer. 

Or would it? 

You were wet enough for his middle finger to easily slip inside, the feeling of your walls pulling him in further earning a drawn out moan from somewhere deep in your chest. You raised your head to look down the length of your body. Thank whatever deity that Daryl was watching his digit move in and out of you instead of meeting your eyes. He felt so fucking good. 

Your legs pulled toward you, leaving your ankles balancing on his shoulders and your thighs opening further. You couldn’t fucking help it. “Another.” You demanded and he immediately obliged, drawing his finger nearly all the way out so that his index finger could join the onslaught. “Mmm, so good,” You praised. Your hips began to roll in time with the slow thrusts of his hand, the hot coil that was low in your belly getting tighter and tighter. 

The sounds that filled the room were a testament to just how soaked you were, and they were only becoming more prominent. It was no longer about how long you could keep this up. Your body ached for release, your mind too clouded in a euphoric fog to care. 

“Make me cum.” You looked down again and his eyes met yours as he lowered his head, drawing your clit into his mouth. He sucked the swollen bundle and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers curling each time they pushed inside of you and tapped that sweet, soft spot that had your toes beginning to curl. 

“Yes, yes, right there. Don’t stop!” And he didn’t. He increased his efforts, humming around your clit. “I’m gonna cum!” You had no more than uttered the words when the coil inside you snapped and released wave after wave of intense pleasure; a wildfire of sensation burning through you while you cried out his name and pinned him against you with your thighs. Daryl didn’t let up, collecting all you offered as your cunt pulsed around his fingers. 

“Shit,” you murmured, your body going limp. Fingers carded through the archer’s hair while he pulled free from within you. He directed the digits toward his lips. “Let me.” The command came out breathless and shaky, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Daryl appeared almost sad that he was losing that last taste of you, but he did as he was told and leaned forward to press his fingertips to your bottom lip. You sucked both digits into your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed. 

“Goddamn.” 

Your eyes peeled open to find the bowman watching you intently, those blue pools brimming with desire. You smirked and made a show out of opening your mouth and letting your tongue sweep across his skin, gathering every drop of your nectar. The man looked as if he was going to jump your bones. He was trembling from restraint, among other things, you were quite sure. With a hum, you pulled your mouth away. 

“Stand up.” The authoritative tone was back now that you were focused on a new goal. Daryl blinked, arousal replaced with irritation. His scowl deepened but once again, he obeyed. Rising up onto your elbows, you watched him stand, flexing his fingers at his sides. Using the ball of your foot, you pressed into his groin, against his obvious desire. The archer hissed through his teeth but he dared not move. 

“Take off your clothes, Daryl.”

A smile crept across your face at how quickly he began following that command. His shirt was shrugged off in seconds and you couldn’t even be sure when his boots and socks had been removed, but you pressed your foot into him again when he reached for his belt. He stopped with a grunt. 

“Slower.”

If looks could kill, you’d soon be a walker. His hair blew away from his eyes with each hard exhale through his nose. Once again, you wondered if this was where your fun would end. And once again, he surprised you and began to follow your instructions. Your foot fell away once he had worked the belt loose and popped open the button. Your eyes tracked the downfall of the zipper, only barely concealing your excitement. 

His pants fell first and the regret of not demanding he remove those and his boxer- briefs simultaneously was immediate. Though his underwear left very little to the imagination in his current state. You met his eyes for a moment and raised a brow to urge him onward. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, Dixon.” You teased. Moving up onto your knees at the edge of the mattress, you barely waited until the last garment was kicked aside before your hands were on him. You wanted this experience to be positive for him, and while you had so, so much planned for him tonight, taking a moment to just appreciate how stunning he was wouldn’t hurt. Your lips found the skin just above his clavicle, sucking gently. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” You whispered before dragging your tongue up the length of his neck to his jaw. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real. And you’re mine.” Your hand wrapped around his cock just as your mouth pressed against his, allowing you to swallow the delicious whimper he offered at the new contact. You kept your grip loose, pumping him at a tortuously slow pace. His mouth fell open and gave you the opportunity to delve inside with your tongue, tangling it with his when he responded to the advance. His breath between the intricate dances of your mouths had begun to pick up, an excellent moment for you to pull away completely. Your cunt clenched in response to the whine he emitted. “Be a good boy and sit down for me.”

Daryl moved a little more slowly now, almost cautiously, watching you when you crawled up to the top of the bed to grab both of your pillows. Your feet met the floor just as he sat down. You circled around to stand in front of him, lifting your foot and wedging it between his knees. “Open up, pretty boy.” The archer snorted quietly as he complied. The pillows fell between his feet with a quiet sound, and then your knees dropped onto them. You wiggled a bit to get comfortable and looked up to find him watching with his head tilted and a dark brow arched. “What? I’m shorter than you.” 

His mouth formed a silent “oh” and he nodded. The adorable moment almost had you forgetting your role, but you were able to rein in your adoration just before the giggle could bubble up. To bring things back into perspective for him, you raised your hand and whispered the tip of your finger along the vein winding up the underside of his cock. There was a choked off sound, his hands balling into fists on his thighs. You splayed open the fingers of the same hand across his chest and gave a gentle push. 

“Lie back.” 

There was a deep, steadying breath and then he did as you ordered. Your fingers laced through his on both hands and moved them to the mattress, out of your way but still within sight. 

“These stay here.” You commanded without a single centimeter of room for argument. You felt him shifting and just knew he was nodding. “Words, baby boy.” You chose that exact moment to wrap your soft palm around the base of his dick. 

“Yes.” He finally answered in a rush of breath. You weren’t certain if he was responding to your words or your touch but decided to forego clarification. He wasn’t going to last long, so you were ready to play with him through that first release. Then your needy cunt could finally get its fill of him. 

“So good for me.” You purred. You pushed yourself away from sitting on your heels, bringing you just where you wanted to be. You released him quickly, rewarded instantly with him rising onto his elbows to see what was happening. The urge to reprimand was forced down. This was your first time with him and his first time allowing this. If he felt better watching, you’d let him. 

For now. 

Palm open, you dragged your tongue from wrist to fingertip, your lustful gaze never leaving his face. The way he watched you sent a surge of wetness dripping from your core. God, you couldn’t wait to fuck him. First thing was first, though. Your hand met his cock again, warm and wet and stroking from base to tip, a twist, and back down. He couldn’t watch you after all. You nearly laughed when he collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan. 

Movement in your peripheral had you looking to find his hands returning to where you had placed them. He must have realized he had moved them when he sat up. As a reward, you pumped him a bit faster. When you saw his chest heaving but heard nothing more than the harsh breaths, you found yourself pouting before remembering the power you had. 

“You’re so quiet, baby. Don’t you wanna let me know that it feels good?” 

He didn’t respond at first, and you wondered briefly if pushing him would be the right thing when he was such a quiet person to begin with. He had taken a lot of shit from you already and this just might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. So, you just moved on with your delectable torture. 

Your pace slowed significantly. There was no time for him to investigate, though. Your lips were immediately wrapping around his tip, sucking lightly and lapping at the opening to gather the sweet little drops of pre-cum. Oh, were you rewarded for that move. 

His fists white-knuckled the sheets, a guttural moan working its way past his lips. It was the absolute sexiest sound you had ever heard in your life. You closed your own eyes in restraint, almost cumming on the spot. You had to keep moving. Sudden pauses might have him second guessing what he had just done and you most certainly did not want that. He needed to make that noise. Often. 

Swirling your tongue around the tip, you pulled him back into the warm cavern of your mouth. This time, your hand slid down the length of him, followed by your lips. He pressed against the back of your throat and had you cursing your gag reflex when you couldn’t hold him there long. It didn’t matter to him, apparently. The simple move had his back arching and his cock twitching against your tongue as you dragged your way back up. 

You bobbed your head several more times, delighted in the way he began to writhe and twist the sheets in his fists. You gave him no warning and pulled off with a wet ‘pop’. There was that whine again that had your nethers pulsing. 

“Look at me.” You ordered with an authoritative edge to your tone. Daryl lifted his head, still panting through parted lips. “I want to try something. I hope it will make you feel good. But I need you to know that if it doesn’t, you can stop me. Remember what I said. I won’t be upset. Okay?” 

He nodded but followed it with a breathless “okay.”

“Such a good boy.” You kissed the weeping tip of his cock, parting your lips to pull him back into your warm wetness. With your hand and mouth stroking him at a steady pace, you knew he was ready to fall apart within moments. His cock began to twitch every few heartbeats. His breathing was uneven and shallow. He was a complete mess and you couldn’t seem to get enough. 

You used your other hand to cup his balls, not remaining there long. They were a marker so you could find just the right spot. Starting at the base of his scrotum, you applied gentle but firm pressure, dragging the pads of your middle and index finger back and forth to massage his perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside. Every ‘ah, ah, ah’ he fed you in response to the new sensation was a sound straight to your pussy. He definitely liked what you were doing.  

Once again, however, your greedy little cunt couldn’t be ignored, begging to be stretched and filled. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard, your mouth squeezing him all the way up and off. Your tongue slithered out to break the string of saliva that stretched from your lips to the head of his dick. “Mmm, I think that’s enough of that, pretty boy.” 

“Y/N.” He whined, keeping his hands right where you had placed them. 

“You’ve been so good for me, baby. Move to the middle of the bed.” He complied in eager yet jerky movements, lust blown eyes on your every move as you followed him up. You stopped with your hot center hovering over his groin. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of me and you.” You lowered, grinding against and soaking his cock with your slick. “I want you inside of me. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Daryl reached for you but thought better of it and put his hands back on the mattress. 

“Look at you. Wanting your hands on me so badly.” You moaned as the tip of him slid over your clit, providing the friction you so desperately craved. “But waiting for permission. Would you beg for it? To be inside me?” 

His lips pressed into a thin line. Had you found the limit to how far you could push him? You drove your hips down harder, shifting back and forth, and he pressed his head into the pillow with a hiss. 

“Beg me for it. Beg me because I want it just as badly as you do, but you have to be a good boy.” His heart thudded wildly beneath your palm as you caressed the muscular plane of his chest, his muscles twitching and contracting when you scraped your nails over his abdomen. “Beg and I’ll let you touch me.” You dipped toward him, letting your hard nipples touch his heated skin while your lips sucked at the hollow of his throat. “I want to feel you moving inside me, filling me up, Daryl. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Y-yeah.”

You sat up, going completely still. “Then beg.”

You watched as the defiance left his eyes, replaced by pure, unadulterated need. His fingers flexed in the disheveled sheets, his jaw clenching and ticking with how hard he ground his teeth. You smiled as desire beat out pride. 

“Fuck, please, Y/N. Wanna touch ya. Wanna—wanna fuck ya. Need ya bad!” His expression morphed into something akin to desperation. “Please!”

“You can touch me.” 

He didn’t wait, large hands grabbing your hips; spreading his fingers as he dragged calloused palms up your sides to cup your breasts. You couldn’t help the hitch in your breath when he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. 

“Wanna be inside ya.” He breathed, one hand traveling upward from the swell of your chest. For a moment, you thought he might wrap it around your throat. The thought of him choking you was delicious, sending a warm gush of arousal from your cunt to coat his groin. He groaned and pushed his hips up into you. 

“No.” You breathed. “Be good for me and I’ll give you what you want.”

“M’good—let me fuck ya. Please, Y/N.”

You hummed, more than satisfied, bending forward to drag your tongue from his chin to his lips. He opened eagerly, his own dipping into your mouth to taste you with abandon. You reached between your bodies, keeping your mouths connected, and positioned him at your entrance.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Every syllable was spoken against his mouth, your cunt stretching around him inch by inch, drawing him into your fluttering, wet walls while you swallowed his desperate groans and panting breaths. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You made sure to move slowly, inch by agonizing inch, taking several heartbeats before you had taken all of him. 

“God, Y/N.”

“I know, baby.” You were so full, stretched nearly to the point of painful but longing to feel him moving within you. He wouldn’t last long, but you wouldn’t either. You lifted your hips, feeling the drag along your insides in such a way that you needed to bite back a cry. “Oh, god, Daryl.” 

His hands settled in a bruising grip on your waist but he didn’t try to move you. You had promised to take care of him and he was letting you. But you couldn’t take it anymore. You began to ride him in earnest, bouncing above him with your head thrown back. 

“Goddamn!” He keened through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut. 

“So—so good.” You felt the heat twisting low in your belly, pooling toward your clit while he throbbed within you. “Touch me, Daryl. I wanna cum with you.” His hands squeezed your hips before he brought one of them to where he was splitting you open, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingertips brushed his cock slipping inside you. He barely had the coherence to drag through your slick up to your clit, but the moment the rough pad of his finger pressed against you, you saw stars. 

“M’gonna,” he panted, “gonna cum.”

“Me too.” You leaned forward, shifting into a brutal grind against his pelvis. “Fuck, Daryl!” The logical part of your brain screamed for you to move off of him, that you couldn’t risk him cumming inside you but you were both too far gone. 

Your vision whited out just as you heard him shout your name, his finger pressing against your clit harder than you were sure he meant to, but it was just what you needed: that perfect amount of pain to send you toppling over the edge with him. You barely registered the warmth flooding into you with each pulse of his cock. Or the way his hips jerked up while his hand squeezed your hip so tightly that his fingertips turned white. 

When you could see, could breathe again, his arms were around you and holding you against him while he struggled to catch his breath. 

“Oh my god.” You whispered against his collarbone. You were both covered in sweat, trembling. He was still inside you, drained and softening, when his arms fell away to the mattress. You sat up with a great deal of difficulty, your thighs burning from exertion and your cunt deliciously sore. You’d be feeling this for at least a day or two, and the thought was exhilarating. 

You lifted your leg to move away, feeling the mixture of you and him begin to drip out of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Obviously, he didn’t either, his eyes tracking you until you curled into his side. Sated and tired, you smiled and reached up to brush the damp strands of hair off his forehead, watching his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. 

“I’m gonna get something to clean us up, okay? And then we’re gonna drink some water. Then you can go to sleep.” When he didn’t answer, you turned his head to face you with a gentle touch against his jaw. “Are you okay?” Daryl took a deep breath, almost as if he had forgotten to breathe before it. “Use your words, baby.” You kept your tone soft, no longer playing a role. It was just you and Daryl now.  

“Yeah, m’okay.” He gave you the smallest lopsided smile and you knew he was still floating in that space between reality and euphoria, absolutely fucked out. You couldn’t stifle your chuckle. 

“Alright, just stay awake for just a few more minutes.” You patted his chest and then climbed out of bed to fetch a damp cloth. Daryl struggled but he managed to stay awake. He was silent as you worked, wiping away the mess on both your bodies. The sheets would need washed but that was not a problem you’d solve tonight. “Okay, baby, just drink some water for me and we can go to sleep.” If he had any objections to the pet name being used outside of sex, he didn’t voice them.

It took him a moment and a bit of struggling but he managed to rise up onto one arm, letting you tilt the water bottle to his lips for a few long swallows. Then he collapsed back onto the mattress. You drained the bottle and placed it on the bedside table, climbing out of bed one last time to fetch your pillows. The archer was out by the time you returned only a few short seconds later. 

You grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over both your bodies before curling into his side, smiling when he unconsciously pulled you closer and pressed a sleepy kiss against your forehead. He was done for then, breathing deep and even, sound asleep. 

You watched him until your own eyes could no longer stay open, a muttered “goodnight, pretty boy” before you fell asleep to the thoughts of next time, when he’d be in charge. 

[soldrawzz]

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS!!! I scribbled down these sappy lil whumpy doots MONTHS ago (we talkin' before summer, y'all) and I never really did much with them afterwards. I know I had a story laid out for them at some point in the past but time and life got away from me. New fandoms sprung up and my interest in completing this comic waned. LUCKILY, I did manage to remember the briefest bit of the original story and I was able to scrounge it together for ur reading pleasure just below the cut. So if you're here for a little whimsical whumpy hurt/comfort, Moomin Valley style, YA COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE. Enjoy.

* * * * * * * * *

The miniature grandfather clock tick tick ticked away at the far end of the room, but Moomin didn't hear it. The rustling of leaves just outside the guest window motioned to him in an effort to tempt Moomin away from his long vigil, but to no avail. The cloudy greys of the early morning sky painted a dismal picture as the valley held it's collective breath. Something was not right and it felt it, all felt it.

Velvet ears locked in alert, listened closely to every soft, heart wrenching gasp. With a sigh of his own Moomin reached for a small hand peaking out from under the quilt. He held it delicately in his own, the skin cold and frail after a distressing night. Too long had he sat fighting back the tears, the anxiety, the terrifying realization that time may not, in fact, heal all. He remained steadfast in his resolve, despite it all. He would not leave this seat until he was sure Snufkin would recover. But with each passing minute that resolve cracked and chipped, his tired eyes betrayed his waning optimism and as the clock chimed 5 and the muddied light of a hidden sun crept over the valley, the exhaustion finally wrung a small whine, a tear finally fell and Moomin lay his head into his arm. 'Oh, dear, dear Snufkin..... please wake up.' He whispered into the quilt. An silent moment passed and something shuffled the blankets, the bed twitched ever so slightly beneath Moomin's weight and a voice, dry, quizzical, barely above a whisper, silenced the tick tick ticking.... 'M-moomin?' Moomin bolted upward just as Snufkin's eyes opened, surveying his surroundings before slowly turning towards him with a sleepy blink. He sucked in a long, deep breath, the deepest in days, and exhaled a raspy 'hullo...' Moomin squeezed the little hand as warmth returned to Snufkin's finger tips, and the tears flowed down anew. 'Hullo yourself!' He squeaked and laughed as pink and yellow light broke through the window glass and the birds set forth on their morning flights, a collective sigh releasing across the valley all at once, whistling a familiar tune now that the clouds began to part and the sun stirred the world to wakefulness. The stream babbled and chuckled and splashed against the old bridge in response to the mirth that flowed back into the once somber Moominhouse: 'It'll be okay,' it sang, 'it'll be okay...

[techav]

On Multitasking

Sharing a Computer with Friends

The Motorola 68030 was a decently powerful microprocessor for its day. It is a fully 32-bit processor with 16 general-purpose registers, separate instruction & data caches, memory management unit, 18 addressing modes, over 100 instructions, pipelined architecture, and was available rated up to 50MHz. It was used in computers by Apple, Amiga, NeXT, Sun, Atari, and saw further life embedded in devices such as printers, oscilloscopes, and network switches. It was the kind of microprocessor used for desktop publishing, 3D CAD & animation, photo & video editing, etc.

In short, the 68030 is a microprocessor that can do some serious work. That's part of why I like it so much. It's a real workhorse chip but as far as 32-bit microprocessors go, it's dead simple to build with.

But running a single quick & simple BASIC program hardly seems like an adequate exercise for such a capable chip.

There is a prevailing claim that the 68000 architecture was heavily inspired by that of the PDP-11 or VAX minicomputers — powerhouses of the previous generation of computing. These machines ran entire businesses, at times servicing many simultaneous users. Surely the 68030 with similar capabilities but significantly faster instruction throughput than the decade-older machines would be more than capable of handling such a workload.

As I've mentioned before, one of my end goals for my 68030 projects is to run a proper operating system. Something like System V, BSD, or Linux; a true multi-user system befitting of the 68k's architectural heritage. My programming skills are limited, and getting such a complex project running is still outside my reach. But I am learning, and slowly inching myself closer to that goal.

Recently I built an expansion card for my Wrap030 project to add another four serial ports to it. In the context of the old minicomputers, another serial port means another terminal, which means the ability to serve one more user. My new 4-port serial card should give me the ability to add four new user terminals.

If only I had software capable of doing so.

Excluding symmetric multiprocessing and today's multi-core behemoths, supporting multiple user processes on a single computer processor means dividing time between them. The computer will run one user's program for a little while, then stop and run another user's program for a little while. Do this fast enough and neither user might ever notice that the computer is paying attention to someone else — especially since the computer spends much of its time just waiting for user input.

There are a few ways to accomplish this, but the simplest is to just make sure that every user program is written to cooperate with the others and periodically yield to the next user program ("Cooperative Multitasking"). A good time to do this is whenever the program needs to wait for input from the user or wait for a device to be ready to accept output.

Enhanced BASIC (68k EhBASIC), which I have been running on all of my 68k computer builds, was written in such a way that lends itself well to this sort of cooperative multitasking. It runs a tight loop when waiting for input or output, and while running a BASIC program, it stops at the end of each line to see if the user has pressed Ctrl-C to stop the program. This means that EhBASIC never goes too long without needing to check in with slow I/O devices. All that would needed is a simple kernel to set things up and switch to another user's processes whenever each time one of them is waiting for I/O.

So I set about creating such a minimal multi-user kernel. On startup, it initializes hardware, sets up some data tables for keeping track of what each user program is doing, loads BASIC into RAM, then starts running BASIC for that first user. Whenever a user process needs to read data from or write data to its terminal, it asks the kernel to handle that I/O task for it. The kernel will save the state of the user program to the data table it set up in the beginning, then switch to the next user to let it run until it too asks for assistance with an I/O task.

The kernel works through all user processes round-robin until it loops back around to the first user. After restoring the state of the user's process the kernel will service the I/O task that user process had originally requested, and return to let that user process run for a little while again. So all of the other user processes get their chance to run while one is waiting on data, and each process makes sure to allow the others a chance to run for a while when they are in the middle of running their own program.

I was able to throw together a quick proof of concept using the EASy68K simulator. What followed was days of catching all of the tiny mistakes I made, such as saving register A0 to the memory location reserved for register A1, overwriting the value previously saved for A1 and effectively losing both in the process — an error which resulted in BASIC printing only the first three characters of its startup header followed by a long string of null characters.

Debugging was tricky. I was starting from the bottom. No standard library, no existing structure or frameworks to rely on. The kernel process relied on the very same registers the user programs were using. Any changes to register contents by the kernel would affect the user processes. I ended up adding assembly macros to print short statements and register contents to the kernel console to try to get some insight into what was happening. I was able to track when registers came out of the user context save/restore process different than when they went in to find where I had bugs in that process.

This was a challenging project resulting in nearly a thousand lines of very low-level 68k assembly code, all of which I wrote and rewrote multiple times before figuring everything out. I've written small pieces of assembly code over the years, but none which required such deep dives into the CPU documentation to discern fine details of how the chip operates. I got there eventually though and now I have an 8MHz 68030 homebrew computer with 2MB of RAM that can run four BASIC programs simultaneously.

I'm going to need more terminals.