#I tried to make it look like they'd been banged up too

[sketchy-galaxy]

*smash bros announcer voice* FIGHT

Mentor vs Apprentice, Commander vs Traitor, Seeker vs Seeker, who will be the victor! (Spoilers: it's going to be Starscream.)

[idoiatry]

Can I request an sbg x fem reader one-shot who has the powers of winter from aespa's new Supernova mv in the phantom world, but the drawback is that she gets sick and vomits blood + she has lucky girl syndrome (which means she's lucky asf)

SUPERNOVA...

what was it like when you first arrive?

♪ pairing: sbg kids/f!reader (fem pronouns)

♪ wc: 2,430

♪ notes: sorry if this took quite long! tried giving everyone in the gang equal treatment as well ^__^ scroll down for headcanons... not proofread... also cw for vomiting

WHEN YOU FIRST ENTER THE PHANTOM REALM – you'd awoken to taylor's screams. doors slamming open and footsteps resonating deep within the wooden floors of the place you were staying at. you shot up from your bed, groaning in confusion as you reached out to the window beside you. "weird," you noted to yourself, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep. red lights seeped through the gaps of the curtains. it pooled like blood and darkness, you'd begun to think, but then you quickly shook off your morbid imagination. you couldn't get this strange feeling off your mind that something was wrong. something was off. you rubbed the sleep out of your tired eyes, and soon that sleepiness was replaced by concern creeping up your spine. despite feeling lucid and detached from your body, you managed to make it out of your bed and into taylor and ashlyn's room. you hoped they just saw a spider, or something similar.

every step towards the room felt heavy, like you were forcing yourself to do dull machinations. strangely, you'd found a few of your classmates from the sorrel wood house convening by the door. taylor was huddled in tyler's arms, shaking as she struggled to recount what had happened. "so it wasn't a bug," aiden whispers to you when you make it to the room, grinning ear to ear as he gives you a once-over. you leaned on the doorway, the floors creaking as you do. his little attempts at lightening up the atmosphere made you feel slightly uneasier. not noticing the glare her brother sends over his shoulder, taylor starts talking again. her voice shook and her limbs trembled. "well- there's this, i don't know, but ash managed to kick it and knock it out-" the words die in her throat, and falters before they could reach her lips. logan hadn't even put his foot in the room when ashlyn abruptly puts her hands over her ears, which makes you all cast your glance behind her.

sure, you'd be fascinated by the blood night, but the person – no, thing – lunged at your group too fast for you to notice the crimson sky. all of a sudden, ashlyn is screaming for everyone to go, ben is pulling you by the arm, and everyone is scrambling on their feet get away from the creature. taylor is screaming, shouting, and god it is so loud, everyone is panicking and it was some wild teenager-monster cacophony. you don't know how ashlyn's able to hear something like this everyday and resist the temptation of sawing her ears off van gogh-style. your arm feels bruised, and as you're rubbing it to soothe it, ben shoots you an apologetic look. you pat him on the back, smiling as genuinely as you could. "if it weren't for you, i'd probably be mincemeat," you joke, "don't worry about it." the deck is small, cramped from having seven people squeezing around for safety. it was eerie, and cold, but the air seemed to stay still, as if it was frozen in time.

you'd think that being in the outdoor hallway, away from that thing, you'd be safe. a sudden thud on the door resounds through the atmosphere and ben runs over to grab the wiggling handle. aiden whistles, like some character in a horror movie you'd want to choke the life out of because of how sarcastic they'd be. "that could have been bad," he laughs, and it's almost mocking. tyler, being the hot-headed one of your group, unceremoniously chastises him. as he's scolding the blonde, however, another bang on the door makes you topple over the balcony's ledge. you fall.

you yelp, not able to grab on the half-walls (curse those tiny walls) of the balcony. everyone freezes, and your skin goes pale. logan shrieks and frantically tries to reach you in time, but you brace yourself before hitting the ground. you feel like you've been swept off your feet, but you don't know by what. you shut your eyes tight, praying to whatever god comes to mind, but the ground never comes to you. a gust of wind circles your body, twirling around you and wrapping around your body like a snake. it sends you hurtling across the sky, then allows you to catch your breath as you float around the building. aside from your surroundings turning darker, everything felt light. "what the hell," tyler is the first to speak, after seconds of silence. he's pointing at you, your body casually floating around in the air, and his eyes are wide in what looks like fear to taylor and astonishment to logan. "how is she doing that?"

his twin gasps, and she points downward. "guys, look," she whispers, like if she made a sound a little bit too loud, those things would jump on her. peering down they'd see more of those creatures. you covered your eyes, refusing to look at the ground. "help me!" you cry out, "what if those things could fly too?" your panic sends you flying higher, and even though you tucked your knees to your chest, you're frantically swerving all over the air. now you're shrieking, too. "better not push our luck," tyler says your name through gritted teeth as aiden takes over ben's place at the door. "inconvenient how these doors don't lock from the outside," he murmurs, with ashlyn deep in thought. "logan, ben, you two make sure she lands back here." she orders them, quick to direct, and they're quick on their feet.

ben, arguably the strongest out of your group, holds his arms out towards the edge of the balcony, hoping he'd be able to catch you when you fall. "stop panicking!" logan shouts at you, his voice carrying out through the wind whipping against your ears, "it's making it worse!" the gust of wind surrounding you whips his bangs over his forehead, nearly sending his glasses flying along with you. the air remains defiant as it tosses you around, akin to a child throwing toys far away from themselves. "if i could, i would have already, logan!" you bite back, not able to swallow down the sarcasm you'd been keeping under reigns. he's holding unto the railings, knuckles turning white and tense as ben scrambles around to catch you, making sure that you'll land in his arms. "maybe think of something funny? or cute? i don't know!" he screams back, voice cracking. this is the loudest you've heard him talk.

you take a tentative peek at them through your fingers, and ben resembles a firefighter waiting at the foot of a tall building. you felt like a cat on a tree, about to jump on a rescue cushion. the thought almost makes you laugh. almost immediately, it calms you down. just enough to let you clear your thoughts. logan whispers a thankful prayer under his breath when he sees your shoulders relax, shouting directions for you to be guided down to ben's arms. both you and logan let out a sigh of relief when you feel yourself dropping unto him. with grace, ben manages to carry you like a bride. he tilts his head, eyes wide with fear, and you can feel his heart thumping too fast from the adrenaline. or maybe that's your heartbeat, who cares anyway? you have more pressing matters to worry about!

you hop off his embrace as something rises to your throat, a warm, metallic taste filling your mouth. you swallow it back down for the meantime, feeling nauseous. ben wraps an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to him. "they're going to climb the stairs," ashlyn frantically pulls at her sweatpants, and aiden throws out a comment about the boys' rooms being near them. logan, tyler, and taylor all take a head start. it would be difficult not to trip over each other's legs if you all were to run together, of course.

she managed to pull the strings off her's and aiden's bottoms, to which he doesn't retaliate. "need to make a break for it." she ties the strings to the pole and the door handle, looking directly at you. you nearly shy away from her sharp gaze, to hide into ben's chest, but she speaks before you can. "can you walk?" you nod, and she casts a furtive look at your body. your legs were trembling, still trying to get accustomed to the feeling of land again. she sighed, she can't have you forcing your body to go beyond its limits. too big of a risk. "we'll need to run," she hastily ties the knot on the door, "this won't hold." before you could say anything, ben scoops you and carries you again. not like you could wriggle out of his grasp anyways, and you weren't going to risk lagging behind.

as soon as she's able to secure the strings together, ashlyn is taking off and commanding the three of you to run. unfortunately for all of you, you don't get very far when the string snaps. "how is it that strong," you wail, and as if on cue, several more things climb up the stairs. aiden lags behind, ushering the rest of you in front of him. his eyes get caught on the bright yellow cleaning cart in front of him, swerving around it and grabbing a spray bottle filled with bleach. the monster opens its mouth in a silent scream, yet ashlyn covers her ears and winces. she groans and curses under her breath. stupidly, aiden's unarmed hand goes for its neck. it makes you scream at him to move away, and his ears perk up at you wailing his name. he presses his body against the wall while the phantom stands like a deer in the headlights in the middle of the narrow hallway.

you puff out your cheeks, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. holding out a hand, you feel something stir inside your gut and you feel like you need to follow that instinct. your palm faces the dazed creature, and aiden looks on in amusement. "yikes," he tries to make himself less of a target, making sure he's out of your trajectory. ashlyn, curious, turns her head to see a flurry of wind circling your fingers and shooting towards the phantom. you huff, feeling your newfound powers take a toll on your body. the sound cracks like a whip, akin to a bullet ripping through the the wind. it pierces the place where the shadow's ribs would be, causing it to sway to the side. it topples over the ones running up the stairs like bowling pins. you don't have enough time to revel in your victories, however, as they start clambering to their feet.

the seconds it takes to run towards the room feel like hours, a dangerous dance where one misstep can cause you the whole performance. except the price to pay is your life - you don't give the metaphors any more thought as the door slams behind you and ben. you're holding unto him, wide-eyed and as bewildered as the phantom you shot earlier. you squint, feeling bile and the taste of iron threatening to spill from your lips again. you clasp a hand over your mouth, catching the attention of everyone else surrounding you. frantically, you tug on ben's sleeve, urging him to let you down.

in the next few seconds, you're hunched over the toilet. you don't know when taylor gets there, but you're all too aware of her palm rubbing circles on your back. her unoccupied hand tucks strands of hair behind your ears, and then she holds it up as you empty your body's contents into the bowl. above the sounds of you hurling, she's whispering words you can't make out. her tone was a mix of concern and encouragement, as far as you could tell. crimson waters swirl around as you flush the toilet, and you grimace. the faucet runs and taylor soaks a towel under it. "feeling better?" she helps you wash your face, wiping the blood away from your lips. "nauseous," you groan, but thankfully, no more bile climbs up your throat. an apologetic smile plays on face, "that was really cool." sweet taylor, always trying to find a way to ease your nerves.

as soon as you step out of the comfort room, aiden hounds you with questions you don't know the answers to. how did you do that? how high can you go? how long have you been able to do that? ben gestures for him to keep quiet, seeing your pale lips. tyler lets you sit next to him as you come to your senses. those are questions you'd have to figure out another time; for now, you'd get some rest.

── ୭˚. ᵎᵎ HEADCANONS:

⭑.ᐟ aiden thinks it's a really cool power and would sometimes ask you to let him fly on your back. you would control the wind around him and make him go up in the air with his body upside down.

⭑.ᐟ more often than not, it's taylor who helps you when you need to... regurgitate blood. it comes as a sort of instinct, after you use your abilities, she's immediately running towards you. she keeps a hair tie around her wrist at all times for times like those.

⭑.ᐟ ben, on the other hand, is always ready to catch you. his arms are outstretched, chasing after your floating form to catch you like he did the first time. he also carries you when your legs are too weak, and he becomes your favorite form of transport when your legs are adapting to the feeling of the ground again.

⭑.ᐟ logan helps you control the drawbacks, and he is your ground control. he also is intrigued by your ability to control wind. you two practice your aims together, whenever possible.

⭑.ᐟ tyler thinks you can be a bit of a menace. you like to mess with him, sometimes kicking up or messing with his hair. at first, he'd scowl and reprimand you. but then he'd find himself expecting another prank or two from you and aiden (optionally, taylor.)

⭑.ᐟ ashlyn is always looking out for your safety. she thinks of ways you can use your abilities to protect the gang, but she'd never force you to do anything you don't want to, lest you feel too much of a weapon and less of a friend. she appreciates when you use the wind to block out any harsh sounds, like when you're fighting some screeching phantoms.

© idoiatry 2024 – do not plagiarize, copy, modify, repost, or feed my work into ai. all writing belongs to me but characters are owned by their creators! please reblog if you liked it, thank you ^_^

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

London calling

Summary; Price is invited to a military event, you're his plus one. A night of socialising and teasing leads to a hot night back at the hotel.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Explicit

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word; 12.5k

Warnings; alcohol consumption (drink in moderation), SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (m-receving), dirty talk, p-in-v, d/s themes, unprotected sex, captain!kink

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing��

A/N: Where's the nearest wall I can bang my head against? I need this man so bad and that's why you get 12k upon my return💀😭

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

If not for the Christmas lights dangling almost in line with your window, the quickly diminishing daylight soon would've shone with its absence within the room. Dusk was approaching, if not already present, but not with its rosy summer glory, but a gloomy and yellowy-grey sky of early winter. 

Things were still a scale of grey and dark rather than white. Even though some stray white flakes had fallen when you arrived yesterday, they'd melted even before hitting the pavement. And, if it had been cold enough, pedestrians still would've trambled it into mush, and cars would've melted it with their heat.

You put on the small pendant earrings you'd brought as you glanced out the window and down at the people mulling about on the streets. 

Most had shopping bags in their hands, everyone seemingly in a hurry. You didn't need to see their faces whip left and right to find the next store they could steer towards. The ant-like stir of people was enough to know Christmas shopping was in full swing.

A heavy breath escaped you, your eyes flittering back to the mirror. 

You ran your hands down the fabric wrapped around your body. The material felt cool beneath your sweaty palms as you tried to brush out any wrinkles from the dress. Impossible, seeing how you'd gotten it from the tailor this morning and barely touched it inside its casing.

You took another deep breath, one hand raising until your palm rested over the centre of your chest, fingers draped over your bared clavicles. There's a prickling sensation beneath your hand, resembling the crowd's irregular movement outside. If you concentrated enough, you could almost feel how it vibrated, causing your heart to do an uncomfortable double beat that quickly pushed the air from your lungs before you instinctively inhaled.

"Not goin' to faint on me, are you, love?" Your eyes flicker sideways, landing on John as he emerges from the hotel room's bathroom.

"Might just now", you say breathlessly for an entirely different reason than the edginess causing the prickly sensation in your body. 

The man now making his way towards you is the same one you travelled to London with. And yet, there's no jacket ladened with a furry lapel warming him from the chilly temperatures, no beanie atop his head to shield him from the consistent gusts of wind. Now, he's dressed smart. 

Whatever event he's invited to is military in nature. So, while John mentioned that it was a black-tie event for civilians, it was ceremonial for him, meaning you would see him in his formal military uniform. But nothing had prepared you for how regal he now looked in his dark blue suit, polished black leather crossbelt with shoes to match, and the row of medals proudly displayed on his chest. The only missing thing was the matching hat pressed close to his body beneath his arm.

"Flatterin' an old man?" Your gaze locks with his again from having roved over his body, noticing the creases in the corner of his eyes as he stops beside you.

"You deserve every ounce of flattery when looking like that". You turn to John just as he settles one of his hands on the small of your back. In return, you raise your fingers, barely brushing them against the underside of his chin as you lean up and kiss him.

"Mhm, don't look too shabby yourself", he mumbles against you as you pull away from the brief exchange.

"Thank you". You turn towards the mirror again, eyeing yourself. "I didn't know if it was too much". 

"Could never be". 

You'd meant it to be a quick look, but your attention stayed on your reflection, eyes flittering over your form. 

There were a few beats of silence until John stepped up behind you, the hand previously on your back sliding to accommodate the new position. You follow his larger frame in the mirror, simultaneously feeling and seeing how his hands settle on your hip.

"Nervous?" Those blue eyes meet yours in the reflective surface, knowing. You release yet another sigh, head ducking momentarily as you lean into the sturdy bulk of John at your back.

"Yeah", you breathe, the admittance not the first of its kind. 

When the news had been brought up that John needed to attend some military event in London, you hadn't blinked twice. However, when he mentioned the invitation inquired about a plus one upon acceptance, and he'd asked you, you'd looked at him wide-eyed.

"There's no need to worry, love". John dips his head, kissing the juncture of your neck. "You know nothing is expected from you".

Your shoulders slump, hands seeking his as he wraps his arm around your waist. The weight was a pleasant pressure around your mid-drift while his skin was warm beneath your hand.

"I know, but-". You bite your lip, shrugging timidly, eyes meeting John's in the mirror. "It's a military event".

"Nervous 'bout meetin' some colleagues of mine?"

"Not just any type of colleagues", you mumble, making John let out a gentle chuckle.

"You get along great with the lads".

"That's when we're at the pub, not a formal occasion with a lot more of the same kind of people around". You huff in protest. Though Ghost wouldn't attend the event, Johnny and Kyle thankfully would. So, while John won't be the only familiar face in the crowd, that's still only three out of everyone invited.

"I just don't feel like I fit the picture". You shrug once, gaze dropping to watch you play with John's fingers. Your fingertips trail over his knuckles, then up and down his digits. Only when John interwines your hands does your motion stop and attention return to him.

"You'll fit because you'll be there with me". John's gaze was intense as he spoke, voice a steady, deep reassurance. "The lads nor I fancy these occasions, but we need to attend nonetheless. Your presence will undoubtedly make it more pleasant for me, at least".

You smile, craning your neck so you no longer watch him through the mirror but look up at him. John dips his chin in return.

"You're good at motivational speeches".

There's a chuckle before he nudges his nose against yours, moving closer. "Gotten good at 'em through the years". Your chuckle is sealed into your mouth as he slots his lips with yours. 

Your muscles relax as you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours and soothe you just like a warm blanket. Even when you part, you linger within each other's presence.

John was the first to pull away entirely, his eyes falling from yours as he did. You watch him take a step back, keeping one hand on your hip as he lets his gaze rove over your body. 

"God, you're gorgeous", he mutters, taking a full once over before those blues lock with yours again. 

You bite your lip, a smile breaking through nonetheless. "Would hope so. You helped me pick, after all".

"Anythin' to make my missus feel pretty". Your smile widens even more.

John had known you were nervous about the event, reluctant to even agree to be his plus one at first. So, he'd done everything to make you comfortable. 

When you'd had half a breakdown while digging through your closet, only to find nothing appropriate to wear, John sat with you as you looked at dresses online. After seeing nothing that felt right there either, he'd booked a weekend trip to London to visit the tailor he usually entrusted when his formal attire needed a sow-up. 

It had been your first trip together, strolling through the city, having dinners, playing tourist despite not really sightseeing. Though one of the days, between walking and dining, you'd visited the tailor's atelier. 

For once, John only sat down on one of the plush armrests; no need to be attended to. Instead, it was your time in the spotlight, the storage manager ushering you to the racks of dresses, instructing you to pick whatever caught your eye to try on. 

None of the dresses were especially embellished. Still, they weren't simple but elegant. 

You'd switched between examining the dresses, showing John to get his opinion when you found any you liked, to testing them. Although he didn't complain once about you taking your time, chatting to the owner with an old familiarity, even you were tired when you found a dress that was just right. 

However, the sluggishness only brought on by trying on clothes disappeared the second the owner had taken your measurements and you stood by the pay desk. A deposit was needed for the dress, and the rest would be paid on the day you picked it up. But the pre-payment had been enough to nearly make you baulk and glance at John to see if he was okay with spending so much. However, the man at your side hadn't even blinked at the number.

After you'd bid the tailor goodbye and exited the store, you did ask about it. Though not unfamiliar with John's gentlemanly fashion of paying for things, how confidently he answered left you at a loss for an answer, only able to shake your head with a smile when he offered his arm to you. 'I want to, love. It's the least I could do when draggin' you to this spectacle. Now lead me wherever you can find some jewellery matchin' the dress".

"Would you help your girl feel even prettier?" You hold up the necklace bought to fit the dress. God, he'd spoiled you rotten for this event.

"My pleasure". John threw his hat on the bed, overtaking the jewellery from you. With a slight move of his head, he signalled you to turn around. 

Despite facing the mirror again, your eyes were cast down as you tipped your head slightly forward. The glittering metal links suddenly pass your vision as he raises it over your head, the necklace falling over your collarbones as he lowers it. Feeling his fingers brush against your skin, not long after, a barely audible click indicates the piece of jewellery is secured around your neck.

When you raise your head, your eyes immediately fall to the necklace, your fingers trailing over it. A smile slowly shifts your lips upwards as you follow the pretty drop down your sternum. The gentle bow of your lips remains as you turn, craning your neck as you pout your lips, insisting that John meets you in a kiss. And he's never one to turn you down. 

"Thank you", you offer after the sweet peck of gratitude, to which he hums in return. 

You feel how his blue gaze follows you when moving towards the desk that became your makeup table for the night. Even more so when you reach for the lipstick you'd saved to apply until now. 

Crouching slightly so your face aligns with the much smaller mirror on the wooden desktop, you carefully outline your lips before colouring the rest until an even shade coats them.

"What do you think?" You say, straightening up again. As you press your lips together, you put on the lid and place the lipstick in your purse, all in the motion of turning to face the man almost transfixed with you. "Thought the red matched those". You motion with your finger to the ribbons, half-red and half-other colours, attached to his medals.

"It does". You parry the hand reaching for you with a shift to the side, knowing that tone of voice from John would only mess up your makeup. 

He arches a brow at your move, but you only arch both of yours in return as you put your clutch beneath your arm.

"We'll be late", you claim. Even so, you can't deny you enjoy John's attention and the look in his eyes. He makes you feel pretty, desired. It completely overhauls your stomach's previous knots.

Deciding to tease him just the slightest, you pop your index finger much more dramatically than needed into your mouth, pursing your lips around the digit before pulling it out slowly, all whilst keeping eye contact with the man watching you. You smile at John after your finger leaves your mouth, now not afraid of red smearing your teeth thanks to the ring of colour around the middle of your finger.

"Goodness, women", he groans, hand trailing over his lower face. You can only giggle as you pluck a tissue from the box on the desk, rubbing off the lipstick as you slip around John. "Could think you want to be late". 

You throw the paper into the bin beside the dresser as you pass it to the short hall leading to the door, flashing a much more satisfied smile over his reaction than previously graced your lips. 

"Good things come to those who are patient. You just have to wait until after the event for me to paint something else a pretty red".

You catch another deep, grumbly sound coming from him, your previous display more than enough to conjure precisely the picture you insinuated.

As you turn forward, you chuckle again, plucking your heels from the shoe stand built into the dresser. What you hadn't anticipated was for your shoes to be plucked from your grip seconds later and to find John standing close behind you with his retrieved hat under his arm.

You send him a questioning look that he ignores as he kneels. Unable to do anything else, you shift to rest your back against the dresser and follow along when he taps his kneecap. 

You raise your foot so the front pad rests against John's knee before he gingerly grabs the back of your ankle, and the pump is slipped on. He gives you time to find the balance on your now-heeled foot as he drops it before repeating the process. However, before letting you go this time, he raises your foot just slightly as he dips his head, kissing the lowest part of your shin, all the while looking up at you. 

"Gonna hold you to your words, love", he declares, dropping your foot to the ground.

You swallow, going from looking down to up as he rises from the floor. "Don't mind if you do".

"Good", he kisses your cheek, heeding your desire for him not to accidentally, or very consciously, destroy your makeup. "Let us be on the way", he says, grabbing your coats from the racks. 

***

The venue was beautiful: an old building with pillared walls, a second floor acting as a running balcony overlooking the ground floor and high vaulted glass roofs that stare into the dark sky above. You'd only looked down from the stunning decoration and lighting when you ascended the stairs to the main floor, lifting your dress to not catch on the fabric.

You don't know how long ago that had been, but since then, you and John haven't been given much time alone. 

Each and every minute, the man who either offered his arm for you to hold or kept a hand on the small of your back introduced you to someone he knew in one way or another. Although politely greeting them with either a nod or a handshake, there were too many names and too fleeting conversations for you to remember any of them.

Only now did you get the chance to breathe. But rather than feel at ease for the momentary respite, you'd hastily moved from the midst of the crowd to the edge of the room where the table of aperitifs and drinks was, a plate filled with bite-sized food in your hands.

You would've shared them with John if he hadn't been whisked away a few moments prior. Albeit he'd been reluctant to leave your side, even when it was some affiliate from the U.S. who asked for a few minutes of his time, you'd reassured him it was fine. 

You'd told yourself you could survive at least a few minutes without John and that the buffet could keep you company enough. And though you weren't as uncomfortable as you previously thought you would be, the thought of socialising with someone you'd either met already or not at all felt... awkward.

You wouldn't call it shyness. Far from it, you were curious about some of those you'd met who sported black smokings, cocktail dresses or gowns. But, out of those civilians you'd met so far, most of them were not like you. 

Your sole connection to this event, to the military, was John. The other considered civilians had seemingly much closer ties, most acting as private corporate sponsors for military-tied causes through funds or services. While finding it interesting, you didn't know how much of the stuff was confidential, and you would much rather not make a scene just for some small talk. Neither did many have a plus one you could initiate a conversation with. So, the buffet became your company.

Your gaze travels over the mass of people as you plop the last canapé into your mouth. And as if the universe decided to be kind, you spot a familiar face lingering at the other edge of the room. 

With all the new people John had introduced you to and recently also had to part from you to speak with, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, along with the feeling of being lost in a crowd of still most unfamiliar people. Hence, you quickly discard your plate to instead grab two flutes of champagne before moving straight across the floor.

With people moving almost sluggishly, if at all, around the room, it was no wonder a pair of brown eyes combined with a friendly smile welcoming you met your long before you joined the very man whose attention you'd gotten.

"Kyle". The man nods in response to his name as you get close enough to greet him. The silent hello looks incredibly more formal while dressed similarly to John. "How are you?" You slow until stopping before him.

"Good as can be", his voice was light, making your brows raise upon the humour in his tone. He was the first of John's closest circle you'd seen tonight; Johnny had yet to arrive. Even so, by the looks of it, the Brit looked like he rather wouldn't be here at all.

Kyle carried himself straight-backed, faint smile in the corner of his mouth, one hand behind his back while the other rested along his side. And yet, despite the at-eased posture and expression upon his features, something told you it was entirely for show.

You chuckle, handing him the flute you'd brought. "Yeah, not really my setting either", you admit in a low voice. 

Kyle cocks his head, smile widening as he shifts on his feet, accepting the drink you'd stretched forth. "What suggest I don't fancy this?".

"Don't know, but something about the all too delighted expression gave me a hint", you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone, on par with the amount that previously laden his sentence. That's the first time you see Kyle's shoulders drop somewhat as he chuckles, his posture less flawless as he looks more relaxed than previously.

You smile at his reaction, stepping forward to stand beside rather than in front of him. His brown gaze followed you as you did.

"Why ain't this your kind of setting then?". Your eyes fall on Kyle just as he shifts to look over the crowd.

"Too many of the older generation has gotten stuck and too comfortable behind their desks to remember what it's like out on the field. The rest are mostly snobs who think money and chest candy is our motivation". You bite your lip to stop the laughter rising from your throat at his quick remark. "Why isn't this your setting then? You fit in with the dress".

"Calling me a snob?" You raise a playful brow, a smile tugging the corner of your mouth.

"That you're here, talking to me, says enough", Kyle retorts, eyes falling on you. 

You chuckle, but it turns into a sigh when your gaze breaks from his, fleeting over the crowd. "It just makes me nervous, I guess".

"Why?"

"Well, for the same reason as when I first met you guys". You glance at him. "Just feels like I don't fit in with all of you military people, especially now, at this event".

"Didn't do too bad of an impression on us back then. Especially not Price". You duck your head, a bashful smile bowing your lips that's still present when you look at the man at your side again.

"Perhaps not, but as you said, many here are high-ranking military personnel or snobs that are more difficult to get along with than you lot".

"Cheers to that", he chuckles, raising his glass of champagne. You mimicked his movement and raised your flute in a small tip, you both taking a sip from your drinks as they fell from their elevated position.

Your eyes glide over the crowd, and as if it's second nature, you search for John again. While having tried to spot him previously, you hadn't been successful. Although this time around, you find him.

"He's good at that". You observe John as he talks to the same man who'd whisked him away previously, though now they're also joined by a woman.

Your comment pulls Kyle's attention in the same direction as yours.

He releases a huff not soon after, the reaction making your brows arch and your head turn towards him. His brown eyes flicker down to lock with yours, a humorous glint in them. 

"The old man is good at handling the higher-ups and other connections. That's why he does most of the talk for us". His eyes flicker sideways, probably towards the group you talked about, before they return to you. "Doesn't mean he despises it any less than the rest of us in most cases".

You turn to look at John, eyes narrowing as you closely watch him interact with the man and women. While he seems formal when talking to the man and more cordial with the women, he still doesn't seem relaxed. His posture is stiff, one arm bent behind his back as if wanting to pose fittingly to the occasion, his other hand clutching a champagne flute. Untouched.

Pissy excuse of fizzy water, he'd said once you asked if he wanted to share an old bottle you found in your apartment from god knows when, but acceptable enough that it wouldn't taste like the piss John labelled it as.  

"That's why he brought you". Kyle's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "He's going to use you as a scapegoat the moment it's deemed enough for him to be here". You bit your lip to quiet your snicker, shaking your head.

"He isn't", you argue, only partly believing it yourself.

"Oh, he will". Your head turned towards the new but familiar voice, finding Johnny, dressed similarly to both John and Kyle, approaching from the crowd. "Don't put it past him". 

You immediately split into a grin. "Johnny, how are you?" You step forward, engulfing the man in a hug, getting anchored to the Scot's side as his arm remains over your shoulders.

"Think Gaz gave ya a brief 'nough for us", the Scotsman formally greets the young Brit with a raise of his brows and an upward nod of his head as he directs his attention towards him. Kyle only reciprocated the motion, not answering his question. "Ya gonna drink that, lass?" 

You shake your head fondly, Johnny taking the flute of champagne from your hand as you give it to him. 

"Drunkard", you mumble, rolling your eyes as he gulps down your drink, only to provide you with a cheeky wink when he's emptied the glass.

"Where's Price?" You're about to answer that he's socialising. But you don't get the opportunity before a voice cuts in.

"Savin' my missus from a drunk Scotsman, it seems". Your head snaps towards John's voice, a smile unfolding as you see him nearing your group while collective chuckles emerge from the men around you. "Easy on the drinks tonight, Sergeant". John's eyes switch from yours as he directs his attention to Johnny, the quirk of his lips now reaching his eyes.

"All stereotypes ain't true, Captain. Besides-". The Scot lets go of you, his arm falling as he steps to the side, giving John room to step into the semi-circle. As if you never left his side, his arm naturally falls around your waist, anchoring you to his broad frame again. "-can't get drunk on this, know it yaself", Johnny chuckles.

John hums in agreement, swirling the golden liquid in his flute with the hand hanging by his side. You tap his flank, and he looks down at you. As you motion for the glass with a nod, he gives it to you without any protest, probably delighted to get rid of the drink.

You happily sip it, your throat not feeling as tight anymore when John's with you and you're surrounded by familiar faces.

"How's the evening been then, Captain?" John shifts to look at Kyle.

"Not too shabby, lot of talkin' as always", he says. "Where the two of you been then?" His eyes shift from his fellow Brit to Johnny, who's standing with the hand not clutching the empty glass in his pocket.

"You know how London traffic is". Kyle offers with a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not complaining about it this time around though".

"Only means you need to stay longer", John huffs, arm tightening around you. You can't help but shoot the younger Brit a look, an amused smile barely hidden beneath the rim of your glass. He cocks his head slightly, an unspoken 'what did I say' lingering between the two of you. "You two conspirin'?" Your eyes flitter back to John as he bumps his hip into yours.

"No", Kyle says as your eyes lock with the man at your side. John's eyes shine, a brow quirked in intrigue. It schooled the expression of rigidity he had previously, showing how at ease he became around his men despite the setting.

"What he said". You smile sweetly at John, fluttering your lashes, causing a ruckus of laughter around you. 

"Be careful, Captain. That one is a sly thing". Johnny claps him on the shoulder.

"I know".

"Don't paint me in a bad light", you joke, nudging John's side with your elbow. The man in question chuckles when watching the pout you send him.

"The lot rub off on me", he indirectly chides Johnny and Kyle, both of whom make faux hurtful sounds upon the comment. "I better steal you away from them and introduce you to better company".

"Who could possibly be better company than us? The silent grump ain't here anyway". The Scotsman questions, glancing around the space with a humoured look until it returns.

"Laswell is better than the two of you together", John returns with a chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to signal that you soon would be moving to meet whoever this Laswell was.

Upon what's apparently a familiar name, Johnny's brows jump upwards. "She made it here? Didn't think she would". 

John only answers with an affirming hum. "Behave now", he offers in goodbye while you give them a wave before he tugs you with him.

As John directs the two of you through the crowd, you soon realise where he's taking you. The woman he's leading you towards is the same one he'd been talking to previously.

You give him a curious glance when you note she isn't dressed in any military uniform, only a long-sleeved jumpsuit. Even so, when you turn to face her again, the woman has noticed your nearing presence and turned toward you, eyes regarding you in a manner too in-depth to be a civilian.

Her eyes flicker sideways as you stop before her, most probably to the man at your side. It's brief but enough for her face to soften and a hint of a smile to quirk her mouth.

"Kate Lawsell", her American accent is apparent as her eyes fall to meet yours again upon the greeting. You're not late to shake the hand she stretched forth, introducing yourself in return. "So you're John's sweetheart?"

You shrug with a smile as you feel John's thumb start brushing circular patterns through the silky material of your dress. "Guess I am". She hums, the corner of her lip twitching a bit further upwards.

"Almost thought he made you up with the lack of evidence about his special someone".

You chuckle while practically feeling how John rolls his eyes. "S'no need to carry a photo with me everywhere".

"Expected it from a traditional one like you", she shrugs one of her shoulders. Their exchange makes you smile, head cocking slightly.

"So, where do you know each other from?" 

"I work for C.I.A., deal a fair share with the 141 and that British Captain of yours". Your eyes widen, lips parting in a silent oh as your eyes shift to John, then back to Kate.

"That ain't half-bad". Your comment brings out a chuckle from the dark blonde woman.

"Say that when trying to keep any kind of leash on him". Kate nods towards John, a conspiring look in her eyes, one he gruffs at.

"That so?" You face the man at your side with an amused expression, catching the look he sends the woman opposite him. "Am I hearing that you're a nuisance at work?"

John's eyes flicker to you, his features softening as his head dips in a shake and small huff of laughter. "You women always like to team up".

Despite his comment, you talked with Kate for a few more minutes, getting to know more about her, until separate parties dragged her and John off. This time around, however, you got tugged along to the new conversation, with no choice but to remain glued to the brunette's side as he didn't let up on his hold.

Although relieved to stay with him again, your feet start to feel sore, and your body tired. Consequently, you slowly let John take more room in the conversation as you fell silent, still with a smile present to appear interested in the conversation. 

You take a deep breath, careful not to let your exhale sound like a sigh. Even so, John caught it, giving you a brief look to check in on you. You spare him a glance, attempting a soothing smile to fend off any potential concern.

His eyes flitter over your face before he turns forward again, offering a chuckle at something the soldier said. You'd completely missed what it was but mimicked John with a much softer sound huffed through your nose. 

You try to concentrate after that, as it's the only polite thing to do. But god, you find your mind wandering to every little ache suddenly emerging. 

Shifting the weight on your feet subtly, you try to move your hips to ease the twinge in your spine. Unsuccessful, you straighten your back, rolling your shoulders to try a different approach. Through your peripheral, you notice your squirming caught John's attention again, his gaze flickering sideways momentarily. Soon after, his thumb starts rubbing the small of your back with slightly more pressure just to be a subconscious movement.

John had been attentive to you the whole night, but if you could catch his attention this easily, you had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't only your concentration that started to stray or energy to wither.

Even if you probably would do both of you a favour by asking if it was time to leave, you didn't want to interrupt their conversation, so you simply let your head fall sideways onto John's shoulder, content with feeling how his kneading thumb eased the discomfort in your lower back. 

Thankfully, whoever this Miller was, he didn't keep a long-winded conversation with John as Generals had. Instead, the soldier of equal rank soon bid you both goodbye, explaining his departure as not wanting to take up too much of your time. That made your smile more genuine than it had been while listening to the two men for the last few minutes.

As you sigh lightly, a gentle press against your back suddenly steers you forward. You don't protest when John moves you through the crowd, especially not when noticing he's leading you to the outskirts of it.

"How you feelin', love?" John ducks his head to ask the question as your pace slows.

"I'm good, just a bit exhausted after standing for so long", you return with a shrug as you stop at the edge of the crowd, between the columns lining the wall. You tilt your head to look at John as he stands opposite you. Blue eyes meet yours as his hand moves to the dip of your waist before they skate over the crowd.

You watch John as he does, feeling his finger through your dress as they rap against you, almost as if thinking about something. 

Gaze falling, you follow his profile: the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw accentuated by the angle of his head, his beard shining with the oil he'd worked into it after his earlier shower. God, he's too bloody handsome tonight. 

From nowhere, you get the urge to lean up and kiss the skin of his throat right above his collar. Though quelling the desire to plant a red mark matching the outline of your lips on his throat here, amongst all these people, that's all it takes for your mind to spiral.

Gonna hold you to your words, love. 

His sentence from the hotel room echoes in your mind, and suddenly, you can't wait any longer to be the scapegoat Kyle had dubbed you. Sick and tired of this event already.

When you take a step closer to John, his attention is quickly pulled back towards you. With his now undivided attention on you, you lightly grab the tie tucked beneath his jacket, tugging slightly on it to straighten the material to its previous perfection a few hours earlier. 

Satisfied with the minor fix you'd done to his attire, you pat his chest, eyes travelling upwards to lock with his not soon after.

John scrutinises your hands that remain close to where you'd fiddled with his tie rather than drop to your sides. When his blue gaze locks with yours, his head cocks. "What are you up to?"

"M'nothing, just wondering when it's acceptable to leave this event".

John's eyes narrow slightly before his brows rise. "Any special reason to why?"

"Just want to go back to the hotel". You made it evident that trailing your hands down his chest wasn't a coincidence but a conscious decision as you lowered them to pull your purse from beneath your upper arm. "Don't know what you're insinuating". 

"You don't?" You only reply with a coy nuh-uh sound as you open your purse, pulling out the golden encasing housing your lipstick. 

You'd touched up your makeup once throughout the evening, right after John left you to talk with whoever the American man had been, along with Kate, for the first time. As you do it now, blue eyes fall from yours, following your move of painting your lips in a new coat of red. 

"You know very well what you're doin', love". His words are spoken slowly, but their edges are rough, frayed.

"Just playing my part as pretty arm candy". After putting away your lipstick again, you motion to your lips. "Want to help me so I don't get any lipstick on my teeth?" You form your lips into an o, knowing precisely what you're doing.

"Love...", he warns, fingers pressing into your waist.

"John?" You retaliate with a cock of your brow, only to shrug when he makes no move to help you.

Raising a finger, you place only the tip between your lips before pulling it out with a pop. 

A repressed groan escapes John, head tilting backwards, eyes shut tightly. "You're doin' this to me on purpose", he grinds out.

"Of course I am", you giggle in return, using your other hand to rather unceremoniously rub away the red colour with your fingers. "So what's the choice? We staying a bit longer or-". You're not even allowed to finish the sentence before John's head tips forward again, and he does it for you.

"We're goin', now". His arm swiftly wraps around your waist to turn the both of you towards the exit.

"Can't play polite anymore?" You let yourself be carried along.

"Been plenty polite when all I've wanted the whole evenin' is to return to the hotel". John's hand scorches the place it pushes against the small of your back, guiding you straight to the very stairs you'd entered through hours ago. "Then you're pretty arse go about actin' up, provin' how much more I would've gotten done there than here", he grumbles, making you swat the side of his chest with a low, chastising John concerning the setting you're on. The man in question only sends you a look, daring you to argue against him, but after forcing his hand to take you back to the hotel, you can't.

There was a warm, eager air between you and John as you retrieved your coats and exited the venue. You shared glances, fleeting but heated locks of your eyes that had your body igniting. Touches setting you aflame even if his was much the same as throughout the evening but firmer, while yours were brief, teasing over his torso. 

When John managed to hail a cab, he let you enter first, following seconds later and sitting down in the backseat with a low, frustrated sound. 

He tugs his hat from his head, the other hand smoothening his hair. You both know there's a twenty-minute ride ahead of you when even half the time would've been too long and yet you watch him with amusement as his head thuds backwards.

He must feel your eyes on him as his head rolls to face you. You didn't need to say anything; your smile was enough to make him release a low, impatient grunt, eyes closing. 

You chuckle, hand settling on John's thigh as you do. Apparently, he thinks there's an ulterior motive behind your action as his eyes snap open, sending you a warning look that, if anything, made you wish you had done something to deserve it. His large hand grabs yours to emphasise the message to not try anything, dropping it in your lap instead. Even so, he doesn't pull away afterwards, instead letting your fingers intertwine.

When finally rolling up to the hotel, John couldn't stop tapping his thumb against your hand as he paid for the cab, practically dragging you along when he exited the car. 

With his hat in a white-knuckled grip and your hand in a gentler hold, the two of you moved through the lobby. You felt how fiercely John battled with himself to not stalk to the elevators but keep a pace that wouldn't draw attention and you could match.

It's always amusing seeing John like this, exhilarating if nothing. And that's why you can't help but poke the bear while waiting for the elevator. 

You slip your hand from his, blue eyes immediately falling to you as your arm closest to him slides beneath his coat and around his waist, squeezing his mid-drift teasingly.

"Someone seems impatient". The end of your sentence is perfectly followed by the chime of the elevator arriving. Letting your hand drop after pressing your fingers into John's side, you stride into the empty space with a sway to your hips. "I wonder why". You look over your shoulder, a smile gracing your lips as you cock a brow.

John is hot on your heels, pressing the button to close the doors rather than waiting for them to do so. 

Just when you turn to lean against the railing the furthest in, he takes the last step towards you, hands settling beside your own, caging you against the wall just as the door slides close. 

"You should know what torture it's been havin' you this good-lookin' and unable to do anythin' the whole evenin'". John's words are rushed as his head dips close to your face.

"Ditto", you return in a hum, gaze flittering down and then up again. "There was a relatively empty second floor I thought about dragging you to".

"Fuckin' hell, don't say that", he groans, hand coming to cup the back of your neck, angling your face towards his. 

Yet, before John can press his mouth against yours, the elevator suddenly halts on a floor too early to be yours.

He quickly drops his hand and moves so he doesn't corner you against the wall, even though he remains awfully close. Your eyes swiftly snap to the opening doors, schooling your features into a polite smile at the woman who steps into the elevator. She offers you a similar one before her eyes flicker to John. When they do, her eyebrows rise before they jump back to you. 

For a few mortifying seconds, you fear she knows precisely what she interrupted until her smile becomes softer.

"If the two of you don't make a stunning pair", she remarks kindly, making John turn his head to look at her, his body still firmly angled towards you. 

"Well, thank you", you answer for you both.

"My husband was also in the military", she directs the comment to you even if her eyes flitter to John when she continues. "But he never took me to those fancy events. The old man despised them like the plague".

"Seems like all of them do". You chuckle in return, patting John's side fondly. 

The man in question remains remarkably silent, only muttering something under his breath. Your eyes switch to him, sending him a questioning look. Blue eyes return your stare as his head tilts to the right, just a notch, but your brows only pinch together, still not understanding what he's trying to silently get at. That is until his face sets and John angles his hips just slightly more into the upper part of your thigh, and you feel it. 

You almost gasped at the considerable bulge in his pants that definitely would be in danger of showing. Yet, you manage not to, only letting your brows shoot up when you finally understand John's silence and the position he was adamant about keeping.

The woman, however, must have interpreted it like some coupley squabble as she chuckles at your interaction, pulling your attention to her.

"Young love, always so charming."

"Young?" John scoffs into your ear, his voice barely enough to be considered a whisper. "Got me feelin' like a bloody teen", he grouses over his predicament.

You duck your head, forehead falling against his shoulder as you muffle the chuckle bubbling in your throat. 

While the man you hide your face against notices your shoulders jumping and sends you a glare, the woman again misinterprets your reaction.

"No need to be embarrassed. We've all been young once".

"Did you meet your husband young?" You shift the conversation when finally facing her, sure no trace of your previous amusement could be detected.

"Oh goodness, yes, even younger than the two of you", she motions to you and John with a wave. "Much more immature, too". You almost laugh out loud at that. And like previously, John notices, husking a low, pointed 'Don't laugh' into your ear.

"This one's a real gentleman." You turn to face John, smiling up at him despite being met by a stern expression. What the women don't see is the way your hand trails down, down over his stomach until the flat of your palm presses into the spot just above his groin. 

John's jaw flexes, unable to snatch your hand and pull it away if not genuinely desiring to draw attention to what you're doing. But that doesn't stop his blue eyes from meeting yours as he lowly hisses, "And don't do that".

Then, the elevator suddenly lets out a ding as it stops.

"It was lovely to meet you youths, but this is my stop", the woman waves after the doors slide open, John craning his neck to watch her leave with a faint, for your eyes awfully forced, smile. "Have a great evening".

"You too!" You reciprocate her wave as she exits, receiving a friendly smile before the doors close.

Seconds, it takes seconds before your vision is once more filled by John.

"You... love-", he chuckles, nose scrunching as his head cocks to the side. "-oh, you are trouble".

"Don't be moody. You were called a youth", you chuckle. John only manages to open his mouth before the elevator chimes again, this time on your floor. 

You know it was your saving grace from how those blue eyes had narrowed at you. Instead, he only exhales sharply as you grasp his hand, forcing him to follow you to the exit.

Although reaching the doors, you stall with one hand holding them open, peeking outside, head swivelling right and left down the corridor. Noticing the coast was clear, you tug John with you.

Even if no one was around, he walked close enough behind you that the slight problem in his pants would be hidden enough if you stumbled into someone.

Thankfully, you didn't meet anyone on the way to your room, sparing you from the embarrassing interaction that could've occurred. However, it enabled John to whip out the key card and more than a bit unceremoniously push you into your room once the light flashed green, the door barely slipping close before he chucked his hat to the side to pull you against him. 

John's thick arm winds around your waist, pulling your body against his as his nose gently knocks against yours. Hot lips descending upon yours soon after, moulding your mouths together.

A groan vibrates against your lips, John's fingers digging into your ribcage and the side of your stomach. His near-desperate need to feel you against him makes your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The response is instantaneous, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. It's your time to release a pleased sound, something melting away from your body as hunger takes its place.

"Fuckin' hell", John nearly rips himself away from you as he grunts the words against your parted lips, hands enveloping your face as he lets his forehead rest against you. Heavy exhales puff against your face in an attempt to steady his heaving chest, to rein in himself. He doesn't remain like that for long, shifting backwards as his eyes flutter open. 

John's gaze locks with yours, eyes considerably darker than usual. Sodalite rather than aventurine. A warm shiver runs down your spine, unable to continue meeting those blues due to the flush spreading through your body. And yet, despite the tangible tension, a chuckle travels up your throat when your flickering eyes halt at one spot on his face.

Your amusement and thumb swiping over John's lips to wipe away the lipstick now coating them in a faint red pop the feverish bubble, turning it somewhat softer, less desperate.

When the added colour fades, you finally lock eyes with John again, finding they've creased in the corners.

"Maybe we should get you out of this, so I don't go about tainting that, as well", you hum, fingers falling to toy with his white dress shirt, mindful to keep the thumb you'd wiped his lips with at bay. Only a deep hum escapes John, yet it's enough for you to make do with your suggestion. 

Your fingers find the first golden button on his army jacket, unbuttoning that, then the next and all the ones until it falls open. Hands moving inside, you feel the warmth of his skin shielded beneath his dress shirt. 

Your hands move up his chest, over his shoulders, until you move the dark blue jacket down his arms. John shrugs out of it, and while letting his wool coat drop to the floor, you're mindful of the jacket, grabbing it in one hand as you move him backwards by pressing your body against his, lips teasingly close but not kissing, only brushing as your breaths mingle.

When you're close enough, you drape his jacket over the chair by the desk before attempting to move on to the next piece of clothing. But apparently, you move too slow for John as he steps back, yanking his tie loose to tug over his head, throwing it to the side. The buttons on his shirt make a frustrated grunt leave him before it's tossed aside as well. While your eyes never leave him, you slip out of your coat, letting it fall to the floor with no greater care than he'd done his clothes seconds later. 

Not only does your gaze drop to John's now-bared chest. Your hands move on their own, feeling him up, sliding over his pecs and the slight patch of brown hair covering them before they slide lower, over his stomach, reaching the happy trail beneath his navel. But too soon, your exploration of his burly upper body ends, John moving out of your reach as he steps backwards. 

Not until his shins hit the edge of the bed and he sits down does he stop putting space between you.  

You watch as his shoes are toed off, all while keeping eye contact with you. Not until John raises a finger, motioning for you to come closer, do you follow him.

You're about to straddle his lap when he stops you, making a twirly motion with his hand. Your head tilts even if you listen, turning your back to him. Gripping your hips, John steers you to sit on his thigh. You wobble slightly as you do, hands shooting to stabilise yourself by grabbing his hand and his other thigh as you press your feet to the floor to keep stable upon the muscular seat.

Once he notices you've found your balance, his big paws slide up your body until his fingers brush the back of your neck. There's barely an ounce of fiddling before you feel the clasp of the dress unhook, and the zipper descends. 

Kisses are pressed against the nape of your neck, the top of your spine and a last one on your shoulder blade before John squeezes your hips, urging you to stand with a delicate push upwards and forward. As you do, the heavy fabric of the dress falls to the floor, collecting in a lustrous circle around your feet. 

When turning to face the man whose attention never averted from you, only your necklace, panties, and heels are the remnants of your previous outfit.

"Always so fuckin' pretty beneath those things", John mumbles, hands rising from his sides. But, before his hands can reach for you, you settle one of your own on his equally naked chest, giving a gentle shove. But the brunette doesn't heed your want, not letting himself be budged an inch.

"Scoot up, John". You nod upward the bed, positioning one knee between his legs on the tiny sliver of the mattress available. He cocks his head in intrigue, hand grasping the back of your thigh, running up and down with gentle gropes.

"What you plannin', love?"

You press your lips together, John's eyes flickering downwards before returning in a slow trail upwards to meet your gaze. "Wanna be good after how I've teased you, Captain". Your voice drops, nearly entering a purr as you trail your fingers to his jaw.

You see him shudder, goosebumps flittering down his forearms as his big hand squeezes the back of your thigh.

"Fine then", John moves up the bed, and you crawl after him, effectively shrugging off your heels that thud to the floor as you do.

As he makes himself comfortable, you busy yourself with opening his belt and rucking down his pants and boxers in one. John's flushed and erect cock bobs upwards towards his stomach as he lifts his hips for you. Just as you rid him of his pants, you remember something. 

When you scoot off the bed again, you haphazardly throw his pants over the same stool as his jacket, moving towards your purse. John props himself on one elbow, brows pulling together as he follows you.

"Thought you say you wouldn't tease, eh?" His voice is husky, verging on impatient as you look over your shoulder, watching as he wraps a hand around the base of himself, most likely not the touch he'd liked as a frustrated rather than pleasurable grunt leaves him.

"I'm not, just fulfilling my promise", you say, wiggling the lipstick you'd fished out before returning to him. 

Moving up the bed, you settle on your knees between John's muscular legs. Opening the case, your gaze locks with his as you coat your lips in a more noticeable red. The sight makes his cock twitch in his hand, his head notching backwards slightly, resting on his shoulder, without ever letting those blues leave you. 

You shoo away his hand when you're done and throw your lipstick aside, your fingers wrapping around him instead. A pleased hum vibrates from John's chest as he relaxes backwards, head settling against the pillows. 

Although promising not to tease, you press a few firm kisses to the lowest parts of his stomach, along his adonis belt and the area just above the cock you're pumping lazily with twisting motions, colouring his skin with red lip-marks. 

When satisfied with your work, you finally slot your lips around him, the sudden heat of your mouth making John's cock jerk, one of his hands instinctually shooting to the back of your head with a drawn-out groan filling the air.

Despite usually building up to a swift pace gradually, pulling out the process to build his pleasure, you don't hesitate to overwhelm John with how you drop an inch or two down his cock immediately, tightly sealing your lips around his shaft, doing everything to leave those marks you'd promised around his cock.

"Fuck". John's hips jerk upwards, not expecting the suddenness of your actions, though he manages to stop the full thrust by slamming his head backwards, hand tightening considerably at the back of your head. 

A smugness fills your chest as you pull back slightly, suckling the tip leaking precum, tongue swiping back and forth over his frenulum while your hand creates slow, circular rotations at his base. 

Through the lowest corner of your eyes, you notice the red rings around his cock, yet you steadily look upwards, following how John's head rises again, eyes half-lidded as your gazes lock. But those blues don't meet yours for long before they fall, the twitch of him inside your mouth and the near growl telling you he also spots the stains left behind by your lipstick.

"Those pretty lips makin' such lovely marks 'round my cock". The sound of his voice is so rough and delicious that your cunt clenches around nothing. "Such a good girl, ain'tcha, love?" You release him with a pop, but rather than answer, you collect your spit on your tongue, stretching it out as your hand moves upwards. Letting the glob of spit hit his cockhead, you coat his saft in the slickness with a pumping motion.

"Fuckin' hell", John rasps, sounding almost pained as his eyelids flutter close, head falling backwards. Your smile is brief before you slot your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down half of his length, the rest squeezed and jerked by your hand.

"Suckin' me off s'good. Come on, deeper you go". He's not even looking at you as he speaks, his throaty words subdued into the air, almost as if he chokes on them halfway through. If anything, it makes you moan around him as you let the hand on the back of your head press you all the way down until he hits the back of your throat. "Jus' like that", he groans between clenched teeth. 

As your tongue plays with the underside of his length and head bobs up and down, you feel him twitch violently inside your mouth, beefy thighs pressing against the side of yours, timbre-low sounds stemming from deep in his chest.

As John finally opens his eyes and looks down at you once more, always so transfixed with the way you desire to please him, he catches the faint glimmer of your jewellery behind the hand and mouth busy with his cock. The stones in the pendant glitter despite the room's dimness, the light from outside finding its way to make them gleam. What's remarkable is that your eyes harbour the shame glint.

Although heady with lust, your eyes are bright, excited, as your gaze meets his. The fact that you love this just as much as he does is enough to make him groan and tip his head backwards, wallowing in the pleasure creeping up his spine. 

Only when a slurping noise fills the air as you suck purposefully and tongue plays the underside of his cockhead, does John's release hurtle dangerously close, and he pulls you off with a firm grip on your hair.

"I wasn't done". 

"You're gonna be the death of me". That comment melts your stare into a smile.

"Don't die on me, handsome". 

"C'mere". John's hand falls from your hair to grip your jaw, pulling you upwards. Your arms shoot to catch you, stabilising on either side of his body as he bends forward, crashing his lips against yours halfway. 

It's dirty, your tongue slipping against John's as he pushes into your mouth, no doubt tasting himself on you. But it doesn't bother him, never has, not when it's on your lips that he tastes himself.

"You wet, love?" He groans against your lips before slanting his mouth against yours anew, your whined 'yes' going straight into his mouth. You unconsciously press your legs together, wiggling your hips, the motion along your forward-bent position exposing your drenched panties to the considerably cooler air. It urges another sound into the mesh of lips, a whine of discomfort this time. 

"Bet you fuckin' are, love suckin' my cock".

A shudder runs down your whole back. "John-"

"Love bein' fucked even more, eh? Get on your back". The demand barely leaves his lips before you shift over his form, laying down just to the left of his previous position in the king-sized bed. 

John moves between your legs, resting on his haunches as he pulls both your legs upwards, squeezing them together as he lets them rest against his chest. With a yank, he pulls your panties off your hips, the wetness on the crotch area dragging against the inside of your thighs as he tugs off the piece of fabric.

You don't know where they end up, wide eyes following John as he lets your legs down, pinning your thighs to the side, wasting no time before his hand slips over your cunt.

"Fuckin' soppin'", he drawls, confirming the answer you'd given him. "Can't wait to feel me stretch you out, can you?" His thumb runs down to your fluttering entrance, teasingly pushing against it. Before he goes any deeper, though, he collects some of your slick and trails his thumb to your clit.

He plays with your bundle of nerves just the way he knows you like. The pressure, speed, and everything he'd learnt about your body is now utilised to get you even more desperate, even wetter. And it works like a bloody charm too, your gasps soon turning to low moans and whines.

"C'mon, love, gotta be quiet", John shushes you, settling a hand over your throat, your necklace digging into his palm. He doesn't squeeze, simply rests it there to accentuate his point, and yet, he doesn't let up on playing with your clit, not even as your squirm, his thumb only chasing you through the movement. "Can't let everyone hear you, now can we?"

Even if you realise John deliberately must have kept his voice down as you blew him -because, of course, you're not at home- even if you try your damnedest, you can't contain your sounds of pleasure.

"Can't", you whine. John makes a deep sound, something between soothing and a snarl that makes your heart jump. Your eyes widen when his gaze darkens and he leans closer, all while his fingers apply more pressure on your clit, the pace quickening. As his face hovers over yours, your mouth falls open, letting out just one of those breathy moans he told you to hold.

"Can't, eh?" John releases your throat and leans back, but not enough to sit straight. Instead, he bends your legs forward and hooks his arm around your waist, manually flipping you over with a swift jerk. "That should do the trick".

It's a strength you know he possesses, but it makes you gasp in surprise anyway, the sound now muffled as your head is slotted in the crease between pillows. 

Two big paws suddenly grab your asscheeks, groping the fat as you feel the man behind you lean over you just after widening your legs with his knees. 

"Stunnin' fuckin' view from back here. This pretty arse-", John spanks your ass with one hand, making you keen, instinctually arching your back towards John. "- and your lovely cunt, just weepin' for me", the same hand that soothed the sting of his slap slide to your wetness.

You beg, a please moaned from your lips as he stretched you, barely any trouble going from one to two fingers with a few pumps. When he doesn't respond, you try again, louder, but only get a chuckle in return.

"Can't hear you, love". Amusement fills John's voice, making you frustratedly whine into the mattress before pushing a pillow to the side, raising your head only to crane it over your shoulder. Sitting behind you is an awfully smug-looking Brit.

"Please", you breathe the whisper, now mindful of your tone, which only widens his smile as he leans over your sprawled-out form.

The sudden prodding against your entrance comes without any warning, and you whip your head around to press into the mattress, muffling your moan so violently that John chuckles. But the sound swiftly deepens, evolving into a tight-lipped groan as he slowly pushes deeper.

Your back arches when his pelvis hits your backside, your motion prompting the slow grind of his hips against you. He doesn't even pull out, only rolls his hips shallowly against your rear.

All John can do is work his hips back and forth, listening to your faint moans slipping from the mattress your face rests against and the slick sounds of your pretty pussy being fucked. 

When he leans his weight forward, hands gripping your hips, John shoves himself even further inside you, driving your face further into the bed. You practically sob, clit pulsing and throbbing and god—

"Fuck, you feel s'good 'round me". The lewd way he said it, a groan breaking the sentence into two with the unhurried sound of skin slapping occasionally, had you choking on an affirming moan. "Makin' such a mess. Pretty cunt's so wet, stretched".

John stuffs his fat cock into you with slow, even thrusts from behind, watching how you grip him tight when he pulls out and sucks him in once he pushes forwards. 

It's slow until it's not. 

When John loses patience, or the pleasure simply gets too much for him not to chase more, he changes the pace, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each shove of his cock into your cunt. You push your face into the bedding as far as not choking yourself goes, moaning throatily as you clench around him. 

He fills you so deliciously like this. Each firm press of his hips against your ass crams his entire girthy length into you as his balls push against your clit. The rocking motion fills the air with wet slaps that make your head spin and fingers curl into the covers. 

You moan unabashedly as he fucks you. Deep and fast enough that he needs to angle your hips, but when you just keep sliding back prone against the bed from the force of his shoves, John simply leans over you with a growl, fucking you down into the bed. 

Whining, you thrash your head at the way he pounds into your sweet spot buried so deep. With your mouth falling open, it's no surprise if saliva soaks the fabric beneath your face.

Your orgasm doesn't even build slowly. It's a tumbling mess that, once it starts, just picks up momentum until you hurl face-forwards into it. It's so violent it catches John off-guard. The sudden way you shudder with a broken moan, the muscle of your back tensing, walls clamping down on him, everything without him even having to play with your clit, tells him you were just as worked up and exhausted as him, not able to do anything but let the pressure release.

"Fuck", he curses, thick and dark, feeling you get even slicker and tremble beneath his fingers. 

Even through your drunken haze, you catch the drawn-out vowel of the word, which tells you John's close. 

What surprises you, however, is that rather than rut irregularly into you until he buries himself deep and comes, his hand shoots to rest beside your head to catch his weight when he falls forward, slipping out of you in the process. Leaving your fluttering aftershocks to clench around nothing.

You feel as John jerks himself, his knuckles brushing over your skin rapidly. His breath cascades over the back of your head, head probably hanging low between his shoulders as he gazes down your body. Albeit not knowing what he has in mind -his fixation on spilling deep inside you as he pushes himself as close as possible to you no secret- you arch your spine, wiggling your ass upwards.

It prompts a deep, growling moan from him before his breath does a little hitch, then he groans, pleased and drawn out as you feel his release shoot over your ass and then straight over your pussy.

The bed quivers beside your head, all strength momentarily escaping John's burly frame that slackens against your back. Although he slumps to his forearm to keep most of his weight off, his other hand resting on the bed near the dip of your waist, he still presses you considerably deeper into the mattress.

John's heaving exhales disturb your hair, but your eyes remain closed, your whole body feeling light and satisfied as you relax, fingers uncurling from the covers. 

When the man behind you finally moves, you don't have the energy to rise and look at what he does when he grabs your cheeks in his big hands, massaging the plush flesh with parting motions. But, you can only imagine he stares at the white ropes of cum coating your rear, gaze dropping to follow the way it dribbles down over your cunt.

Even if John doesn't do it for long, a pleased hum fills the air before he stops. 

His hands are suddenly replaced with something that swipes over your asscheek and down between your legs. Despite twitching at the contact as it moves along your sensitive core, you release an appreciative sound as he wipes you clean of your releases. John replies by bending forward, kissing your shoulder-blade before shifting off you with a last squeeze to your hip.

Despite feeling the mattress dip beside you, his form slumping to the side with a low grunt, you already miss his warmth.

You breathe heavily, your exhale bordering on a whine warming the covers your face is burrowed in. When your sound gets nothing in return, your breath out softly again, hand searching for John. Just as your hand lands upon his chest, you catch a chuckle before fingers wrap around your wrist. You're tugged sideways, pulled partly onto the chest you'd fumbled your way to feeling. 

Although now looking down at John, you don't see much of him, your hair is mussed enough that most of your vision is covered. A giggle escapes you while a huff of amusement passes through John's nose as he brushes your face clear of its momentary shield.

"There she is", John hums when your gazes lock with nothing in between. There's a tug in the corner of his lip, eyes lidded as he watches you. 

The tilt of his head and craning of his neck is slow. The kiss he initiates is equally deliberate and sweet. Although the exchange is brief, as he parts, John lingers close to your face with his forehead resting against yours, hand brushing over your cheek feathery light.

He murmurs something low enough you can't catch but hum in return nonetheless. A few seconds later, he rises from the bed. As he does, you move to your back, wiggling beneath the sheets to not experience the cold, knowing the sheet must be warmed thanks to your bodies. A content sigh leaves you when you realise you've been right.

As your gaze settles upon John's bare form, rifling around his bag for whatever he's searching for, you can't help how your eyes trail over him. That's how your eyes locate the faint red marks littering his body, some more smudged than others.

Your giggle catches John's attention as he shifts towards you, a pair of boxer briefs now in his hands. But rather than meet his gaze, your eyes flitter over his form, numerous outlines of red lips littered along his lower stomach and groin. Your laughter intensifies, and John follows your line of attention, only to tilt his head upwards again with a smile when he finds what caught your attention.

"You look real pretty with my lipstick all over you", you comment once your laugh fades, head tilting against the pillow behind your head, eyes locking with John's.

"Quiet the artist", he chuckles as he pulls on his underwear.

"It isn't waterproof, so you'll be able to wash it off with water".

"Think about makin' one of 'em into a tattoo". John points to one of the still near-perfect copies of your lips just inside his hipbone and above his waistband. "Make 'em permanent". His wink makes your mouth fall open.

"Please don't!" Your revolt makes him chuckle.

"What do I get if I don't?"

"Me only asking for a pair of pants and not a shirt along with them. And cuddles?" You stretch out your arms towards John with your offer. He huffs a laugh, moving to your bag to dig through it for your underwear.

"Never sayin' no to half-naked cuddles with you, love", you shake your head fondly just before the clothing article you requested is thrown your way.

As John rounds the bed, you lean forward to snatch your panties from the covers. You barely have enough time to slip them on before John, with practised ease, settles into the bed on his side and pulls you close, naked chests pressed against each other.

You sigh in contentment as John's warmth seeps into your body, arms winding around his neck to get closer and being able to graze your nails through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him pull you even closer in return.

The moment drags on as you card fingers through his hair. Every now and then, you feel the gel he'd cursed over as he styled it before the event, still intact at certain places despite the overall moussed state of his locks. 

Somewhere along the way, a hefty, pleased sigh leaves the man holding you as his head burrows into your neck, nuzzling against the necklace still around your throat. Your eyes flutter close upon the rhythmic breaths puffing against your skin, melting more into John's burly body.

"You're awfully cuddly tonight", you hum but make no move to disturb the peaceful air by moving.

"Could say the same about you".

You chuckle at the response breathed against your skin. "Can never get too much of you". A set of warm lips press a kiss to your throat, making you hum contentedly before continuing to speak. "Especially not after tonight when everyone's been fighting for your attention".

There's a few seconds of silence and then a sigh.

"More people goin' to fight for it soon". Your brows pull together at the sudden shift of air when John emerges from your neck, blue eyes locking with yours. "Before introducin' you to Laswell, I got informed we're set out on a mission."

You sighed, nodding at his explanation. It was only about time. "When?

"A week, but it won't be a long one". You perk up at that, John noticing, a small smile tugging in the corner of his lips. "Estimated to be back home before Christmas".

"Yeah?" He hummed an affirmative. Your smile twitched just slightly wider, unable not to press a kiss to his lips. You felt his chuckle just before you parted from him.

"Someone's happy about that". John's brows arched, head tilting to the side.

"Just... didn't have much planned for Christmas this year, so I thought about maybe asking-", you got interrupted by his lips pressing against yours this time. The passion with which John kissed you made your chest flutter.

"Wanted you with me this weekend just in case you had somethin' in the calendar or I wasn't home", he breathed against your lip when putting some distance between the two of you again.

You bite your lower lip, brows raising. "John, are you saying you wanted to ask me about spending Christmas together too?"

"Didn't know if it was an awfully traditional period for you", he said, giving you a half-hearted shrug.

"How sweet of you". You cooed, pecking John's lips, earning yourself a content huff from the man cocooning you with his arms and body. "But I would've wanted to spend some time with you no matter what". As you said this, that handsome smile of John's unfolds as he pulls you on top of him. He released a deep chuckle at your slight squeal, only for both of your sounds to fade as he stared up at you and you down at him.

God, you couldn't wait until Christmas.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi! I have a request, i hope it's not too specific or silly! How about an ace character that finds a fellow ace? Could be a villain that keeps flirting and when the hero tells them they don't want anything spicy villain is like 'Oh yeah no I'm ace too, just like teasing you :3'

Regardless of whether you answer or not, i hope you have a wonderful day!!

For better or for worse, the date they were on was rather pleasant.

It had been a trap the villain had prepared which was in retrospect a little bit too obvious. Their nemesis had lured the hero out of their messy apartment with a single note - a warning that quite a few hostages were waiting for them at one of the most expensive restaurants in town.

Without hesitation, the hero had rushed to the address but once the hero had opened the door, it was rather clear that no one was in danger. Instead, the hero got some judging looks from fancy folks when they had thrown open the door, panting.

The villain had looked rather amused when their gazes had met. It was the kind of embarrassment that burnt itself into the hero's brain. A memory that would pop up whenever they tried to fall asleep. It was so bad, in fact, that they considered turning on their heel and leave all together but the villain was too quick.

They raised a glass, their smile crooked.

And the hero felt obligated to walk up to them, now that curious looks were jumping from the hero to the villain.

"You could have told me to wear something nice," the hero hissed as they sat down.

"You look great in everything," the villain purred. Their eyes wandered up and down the hero. "Even in sweatpants."

"You flatter me."

"I'm stating a fact."

The hero took in a deep breath. Their heart was still banging against their rib cage violently. They lowered their voice.

"Why am I here?"

"Because you're gullible?" The villain swayed their wineglass in one hand.

"That's not what I mean."

"Because you're the city's sweet saviour who will always help the poor and innocent?" The hero didn't really know why the villain was toying with them like this. Clearly, there was an ulterior motive behind this. There always was.

Mostly, it was scheme after scheme with them. It was true that the hero was rather fond of them but they'd rather cut their arm off than admit that.

"You know I don't have much time on my hands," the hero said. "So whatever you want from me, make it quick."

For a moment, the villain didn't say anything and exactly that gave the hero enough time to truly look at them. Apparently, they had taken their sweet time to get ready for this date. The hero didn't know how to interpret that. Maybe it was the overall atmosphere of the restaurant or maybe the villain really cared about other's perception of them. The hero couldn't tell.

"I guess there is your answer. I thought it would be nice to spoil you a little," the villain said. "My little workaholic."

Oh, shit.

To say the hero started panicking internally was an understatement. They liked the villain, really liked them. Maybe even more than that.

And the villain seemed to have similar feelings for them.

The hero swallowed.

It had taken them quite a lot of bargaining, denial and a great deal of sadness to realise that they weren't interested in anything sexual. It had taken them a lot of time to come to terms with it. Back then, they had felt guilty for feeling the way they did. Often, they had wondered if there was something wrong with them. If it was just them who felt like this.

It was an almost obsessive fear of exclusion that had infiltrated their mind. It was exhauting to explain their own feelings over and over again and sometimes, they had even forced themselves to go beyond their boundaries.

On some nights, they had lain in bed awake, asking themselves if it was fair to be this way. To never be able to fully give back and love a partner that way. They had lost enough people they had been interested in romantically because of this. It was always the same stupid cycle. Always the same brainless questions that didn't help nor comfort them.

The hero was a different person now. They were much more confident but losing the villain that way wasn't only awkward, it was also a little heartbreak all over again.

"Listen..." the hero said. "I appreciate all of this. You're very sweet."

They dug their nails into their palms. Most people didn't understand. Most people said they were totally fine with it and still, they distanced themselves in the end. It used to make the hero angry but above all, it used to make them very sad.

"But, you know, I'm ace, so. Well, yeah, I...you probably know what that means but if you don't, uhm..."

Suddenly, something lit up behind the villain's eyes.

"Yeah?" The villain smiled. It wasn't a grin. It wasn't a smirk. It was a sweet, lovely smile.

"Huh?"

"You're ace?" they asked. Again, the hero swallowed. They looked down at the still empty dinner plate. It seemed like they had been in here for hours now, even though it had been mere minutes.

"...yeah."

"Me too," the villain said softly and the hero couldn't tell if this was some cruel joke or if this was a genuine gift from the universe. This meant no explaining, no stupid questions. No lost relationship, no arguments over this...For the first time in their life, they felt excited after coming out.

"What? Really? But the flirting and the-"

"I love messing with you, you know that," the villain said, winking. They took a sip of their wine. "And I meant what I said. You need to relax. You need someone to take care of you, even if that someone has to use some questionable methods to get you out of your apartment."

The hero stared at them, almost drunk on happiness.

"Thank you," the hero whispered.

"What a silly thing to say, darling," the villain responded.

Both would return to the restaurant several times after.

Hungry for more.

[vampire-matcha]

Part 4 of cheating!Soap. Simon's POV. Angst. Potentially ooc Simon.

---

Simon Riley is a bad man. He wasn't given much of a choice really. He was dealt a bad hand that kept getting worse and worse. He tried to live a good life, despite his childhood, but it was all taken away from him in fire and blood. So he threw himself into it headfirst. He dove into it and found comfort in the fire and blood. He knew fire and blood. He's good at fire and blood.

Simon Riley is a lonely man. All his life, he's never had anyone. He keeps everyone he meets at arms-length at a minimum. He doesn't do love. He doesn't believe in it. The last time he tasted it was from his mother, and that taste has long since been replaced by the tinny taste of blood. He's comfortable being alone. He fills his time with work, and on the rare occasion he's sent back home to his barren flat in Manchester, the most he does is find a quick fuck at a pub.

He doesn't care about their names, he doesn't particularly care if they're a man or woman or something in between. He doesn't care what they look like, he hardly looks at them at all. They're just a means to an end for him. Just a warm hole to stuff himself into to feel good for a bit, to make his head quiet for a bit. He leaves once he's done. He never stays the night, never even stays much longer than to tie off his condom and pull his trousers back up.

It all changed when he met that damned spitfire of a man John MacTavish. Goes by the name 'Soap'. A ridiculous nickname in Simon's opinion, but then again, he goes by Ghost, so he doesn't have much room to talk.

Soap is loud and brash, but he can be careful and focused, too. He's intensely loyal and has a deep sense of justice. He fights for what's right, Ghost has seen it. He makes the icy shell around Ghost's heart melt, ever so slightly.

It's a slow progression, the way Soap draws Ghost into his orbit. Ghost doesn't even fully realize its happened until Las Almas. There was a moment when he thought he lost Johnny- when did Soap become Johnny? They had gotten separated and Ghost waited for him. Ghost never waited. But he couldn't, in that moment, hiding out in a church with a whole militia after him, even fathom leaving Johnny behind.

By the time Simon realized he loved Johnny it was too late. Johnny was married. Simon hadn't noticed that when he read Soap's dossier years ago. It must have happened in the time they had known each other. Simon had never pinned Johnny as someone to keep his cards so close to his chest like that, but he was proved wrong.

Johnny didn't wear his ring in the field. It was a liability, not just to have jewelry on in life-or-death situations, but also for anyone to see he was married, be it friend or foe. He didn't find out until after Chicago. It seemed that Soap's near-death experience at the top of a skyscraper had shaken him more than he'd let on. He'd snuck off at the bar to use the payphone and Ghost had followed.

"Hey, its me... Just needed to hear your voice, bonnie... No, no, I'm alright, just a wee bit banged up... Yeah, I miss you too, lovie... No I promise I'm alright. Just got a bit worried the whole 'til death do us part' thing was comin' sooner than expected... Sorry, bonnie... No, no, you're right, it's not funny. I'm sorry... I'll be home in a few days... Yeah... I'll see you then. I love you."

Simon hated you. He hated you and he didn't even know you. He didn't even know you existed and he hated you. Who were you? Some civilian? Some random woman who decided to shack up with Johnny? Probably just chasing valor or benefits or something. What could you possibly have to offer someone like Johnny? You could never understand him the way Simon does. Their bond is forged in fire and blood. You could never hope to understand it. They'd been through hell together. And yet you've wormed your way in between them. You, a woman he doesn't even know, have ruined everything. But Simon, ever the stoic sentinel, keeps it all under wraps with practiced patience. He didn't survive this long by letting his emotions control him. He'll figure out a way to fix this.

Then several months later, Simon meets you. It's after another mission, and you're picking up Soap from base, who had gotten a mild concussion and couldn't drive himself. You're there, waiting for him with a lovesick smile on your face. Simon watches as you embrace Johnny, wrapping him in your arms and holding him for a long time. Too long, in Simon's opinion. And then you pull back and hold Soap's head in your hands, turning his face side to side to get a better look at him. You laugh at something he says. Simon sneers. Oh, aren't you just perfect? A sweet little doting wife?

And then Johnny brings you over to introduce you two. You shake Simon's hand with both of yours, gratitude broadcast to the world as you thank him for getting your Johnny home safe. Your Johnny. Simon hates it. He hates how sincere you are. He wishes you were something worse, something worth hating. But Ghost reads people. He's great at it. But he can't read anything but genuine in you. And it makes him hate you more.

It isn't fair, Simon thinks. You don't deserve someone like Johnny. You haven't earned him. You haven't fought for him like Simon has. You haven't fought alongside him like Simon has. Simon has suffered. His whole life has been nothing but blood and fire. Doesn't he deserve something good for once? Hasn't he earned it? Even the devil himself got to taste heaven before he fell to earth.

That's what he tells himself on that night. The night they were stuck in that frozen safe house in the middle of Bumfuck, Russia. They'd narrowly escaped the enemy, and they didn't dare poke their heads out for risk of being spotted. Soap's radio had broken in the escape. Ghost was the only one with a means to communicate with Watcher. She tells him exfil will be there in the morning. He unplugs his radio. He tells Soap he can't get through. He tells himself that he's justified. He's a devil seeking a taste of heaven.

And what is Johnny if not heaven? Simon needs him. He needs to taste him. Johnny is worried. Simon can feel it rolling off him in waves. Simon can make it all better for him. Just for tonight.

"Who knows when exfil's gonna get here?" He asks. "What do we have to lose? It's just for tonight. Just let me take care of you, Johnny."

Simon can feel the hesitation in Johnny's body when he kisses him. But Johnny let's Simon lay him down. Simon whispers words into Johnny's ear. Not quite words of reassurance. But Simon Riley is a bad man, and a lonely man, and those two things make a nasty combination.

Simon tastes every part of Johnny's body he can get his mouth on. Neither man has bathed in days, and a lesser man would be disgusted, but Simon has experienced far worse. Besides, nothing about Johnny could ever disgust him.

And when Johnny let's him inside, Simon, that devil, finally tastes his slice of heaven. A whole life of suffering was worth is just to feel Johnny beneath him. It's perfect, he thinks. Even if only for the night. Simon looks Johnny in the eye. Simon stays with him afterward. Simon sleeps beside him.

Then morning comes. Exfil comes. Regret comes for Johnny, but not for Simon. Maybe he shouldn't had lied about his radio, but it was worth it, wasn't it? But now Johnny won't look at him. He won't speak to him. He practically runs from him when they land.

No, no, no. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to fix things! It was supposed to fix what you had ruined! You, Soap's perfect wife with your perfect life, perfectly ruining Simon's. Johnny was supposed to see that he needed Simon more. Johnny was supposed to see that he needed Simon as much as Simon needed him. What happened? What went wrong? Simon blames you. He always blames you.

Simon calls Johnny late that night, after he's sure you must be in bed. He pleads with Johnny to come to his senses. It wasn't a mistake! How could he say that? How could he say that it was wrong when Simon had never felt so right in his whole life? It's your fault. You've got Johnny trapped under some kind of spell. You can't love him like Simon could, like Simon does. Simon changes tactics.

"You have to tell her," Simon tells him. Maybe if you know, you'll leave. Then Simon can have Johnny all to himself, without you getting in the way again. "The guilt will eat you up, it's better if you just tell her. Its the right thing to do." Johnny reluctantly agrees.

Simon waits for Johnny to call him the next night, to tell him you've kicked him out. He waits for the call so he can swoop in and be Johnny's rescuer. Maybe then Johnny will see how much he loves him. But Johnny never calls. Simon would be tearing his hair out with anxiety if it wasn't so close-cropped to his head. What's happened to him? He hasn't lost control of his emotions like this in years. What have you done to him?

Simon drives to Johnny's house. He watches from the curb through your window. Johnny's alone. Good. He has half a mind to walk up to the door when he sees you come around the corner. He watches you two talk. He watches you cry. Crocodile tears, they must be! Poor you, having your perfect life be derailed. Simon was justified. It's only fair that you suffer even a fraction that he has so he can take some of your perfect life for his own.

But then Johnny is holding you. Johnny is kissing you. No, no this isn't right! You should be screaming at him to leave! You should be beating Soap to a pulp so Simon can put him back together! Why won't you let him have this?

He watches Johnny carry you away. He forces himself to drive away before he does something he'll regret. He speeds the whole way home. He turns his apartment upside-down. In the back of his mind he's thankful he lives in a shit part of town where no one calls the cops unless someone is actually dead. No noise complaints as he shatters every mirror.

It's your fault he's losing control. You you would just let him have Johnny, it would all be fine. But you, you selfish bitch, want to keep Johnny all to yourself. Why? Because you've got a ring? Because you made a vow? Well, Simon makes a vow to himself. No matter how long it takes, he will make Johnny his.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

I was thinkin about lifeguard Steve and the way the pool was on Jason's list of places Eddie might be and then this happened. Not sure when it takes place. Eddie's hair is around his shoulders so maybe s2-ish? Pop it into canon wherever you'd like my dears!

Steve's been a lifeguard at the pool for a few years now. Maybe trained for it when he was a freshman. And he.... idley knows that Eddie Munson deals in the small patch of woods behind the pool. Everyone knows that. Or at least, anyone who buys drugs.

Steve had gotten pot from him once. But not behind the pool. Didn't wanna risk getting caught and losing his job. Because yeah, the kids can get a bit roudy, but he genuinely likes being there to help people if, and when, they need it.

The thing is. He sees Eddie pop in sometimes. He wanders in. Looking skiddish when it's overly crowed. Steve watches him, every time he comes in. Not because he's suspicious, or thinks Eddie's gonna do anything. But because sometime he feels the way Eddie looks in crowds. And it makes him feel better to watch him. To look out for him. Even if Eddie doesn't know he's doing it.

And he sees Eddie look at him sometimes. Squinting through the sun and his bangs, his feet dangling in the water as he tries to cool off without getting all the way in the water. His hair is just above his shoulders. Getting longer every year.

Steve tries not to think about how much he wants to tuck it behind Eddie's ears for him, wonders if Eddie would follow him into the janitors closet at school if he asked. If he left a note in his locker. Wonders if he'd just think Steve wants weed from him. Like last time. And not that Steve wants him.

Because Steve can't want that. That's what everyone says. But he watches Eddie smile at a little girl in a bright pink floaty. Her mother smiling too when the little girl leans forward, makes bubbles with her mouth at Eddie. And Eddie wiggles his fingers back at her, nudges her floaty with his toe genlty, sends her spinning and giggling. And Eddie throws his head back and laughs and Steve wants.

Steve can see he's a good guy. But he sees how people look at him. How the other jocks talk about him. Call him names. Things they'd call Steve too if they knew what he was. So Steve keeps his mouth shut. And his eyes on Eddie Munson.

And then one day, the pool is crowded. Packed. All the kids and teens and parents shoved in like sardines and Steve watches Eddie hesitate at the gate. His eyes roaming over the crowd, teeth worrying into his lip, his hand falls away twice.

But he wipes at the sweat on his face and sets his shoulders. Shuffles into to the pool area and heads for his normal spot. The corner of the pool at the shallow end. He just likes to dip his feet in. That's all. Steve has never seen him actually in the water. Crowd or not.

There's a yell, Eddie's head snaps in that direction. Some asshole from the basketball team, Steve knows him, but not well. He yells at Eddie and Steve's hackles rise, he sits forward on his chair more. Watching as the boy and a few of his friends start moving towards Eddie. He sees Eddie bump into someone as he tries to move away from them.

A scream from the other end of the pool draws Steve's attention. For just a moment. It was just some kids. Splashing each other.

Steve moves his eyes back to where Eddie was. He's gone. Replaced with the group of laughing boys.

But Steve's observant. His eyes land on the mom and little girl Eddie had played with last time he was here. She's holding her daughter on her hip, her eyes worried, staring at the shallow end. Her eyes move up, like they're in slow motion, they meet Steve's, and she points, wordlessly, into the water. Her little girl is crying now. Maybe sensing the dread her mother is clearly feeling.

Steve moves fast after that. Blows his whistle and jumps down. Shouts for everyone to get out of the pool and dives in, slipping easily past the bodies climbing out.

Eddie's laying at the bottom of the pool. There's a small cloud of blood blooming through his hair, a red halo floating around his head. Steve groans, bubbles flowing from his nose, his stomach sinking as his fingers curl into Eddie's vest. He pulls the boy to his chest and hauls him up. Hefts him over his shoulder and lays him on his back on the concrete as gently as he can.

"Move back. Everyone get back." He says, automatically. The crowd does as they're told as Steve leans down, presses his head against Eddie's chest, he's not breathing.

"Shit." He whispers it, starts chest compressions and breaths air into Eddie's lungs.

It takes 6 breathes. 4 curses. And one,

"C'mon Eddie. Come back to me."

And Eddie coughs. Water spewing out of his mouth as his back arches off the ground.  Steve holds his head, doesn't want him to fall back and hit it again.

"There we go. Hey you're okay. It's okay." Steve soothes, Eddie gabbing at his arms, still struggling, sucking in air harshly. Steve pulls him to his chest protectively. Eddie clings to him, his wet hair matted to his face as Steve's hand rests over it, he can feel blood on his fingers. Not a lot. But enough.

He looks up, into the crowd, finds the group of guys, they're smirking, don't even have the decency to look upset that they nearly killed someone.

"What the hell happened?" Steve asks, voice calm, and to those who know him best, that's not a good sign. Steve's eyes find the mom, the one who had laughed with Eddie instead of giving him a sideways wary look and pulling her kid away like the others.

"They threw him in." She said, her face pale, her daughter tucked up under her chin now. Steve feels Eddie shaking in his arms, his clothes still dripping water onto the hot concrete, and looks back to the boys.

"You're banned."

"Oh what? Seriously Harrington?"

"For life. Get out." They try to protest, stupid excuses dripping from their lips.

"Now! Go! Before I call the fucking cops!" Steve shouts, points over their heads at the gate.

"In fact. Everyone out! Pools closed!" No one else argues. Only the mother and her daughter linger as Steve moves his attention back to Eddie. He lets Eddie uncurl from his chest, finds big brown eyes looking at him.

"Thanks man." He breaths, his hand moving to his throat as he coughs again.

"Sure. Lemme get a look at your head too." Steve moves to his side, presses Eddie forward a bit, moves his fingers through his hair. Sucks in air through his teeth when he sees the small gash on his head.

"That bad?" Eddie asks, his hands trembling as they rest on his thighs.

"You might need a couple stitches." Steve says, moving a bit more of Eddie's hair, to see better, he tells himself, not so he can keep touching him.

"I can do it." The voice startles Steve. He looks up, the mother is looking down at them. A soft smile.

"If you have a first aid kit that is. Two stiches should do you fine. If you can hold her while I work?" She bounces the little girl on her hip a few times. She reaches out for Eddie and he laughs. Steve laughs too, but goes to grab the first aid kit.

He holds the little girl, Daisy, as her mom, Lilly, cleans the cut in Eddie's hair and gets the needle threaded.

"How do you know how to do that?" Steve asks, making a face at Daisy, sending her giggling again before looking back to her mom. Eddie has his fingers wrapped around Steve's ankle, his fingers tapping nervously.

"Oh my mama taught me. I helped patch up my brother and my daddy lots of times." She smiles at the memories, moves her hand to Eddie's shoulder.

"You ready hon? It's not gonna feel very nice." Eddie sniffles. Steve lowers himself and Daisy to the ground, presses his thigh into Eddie's and grabs his hand with his free one. Eddie looks at him, eyes wide. Steve nods. Eddie nods back.

"Ready."

She works fast. Gives him three instead of two just to be safe. Eddie had squeezed Steve's hand so hard he thought he might break it. But he hadn't made a sound. And when he let go, Steve missed his hand, clinging to him.

Lilly offers to give Eddie a ride home. Apparently they're neighbors. She lives a few trailers down from him and his uncle. He accepts, gratefully. "Thank you's" dripping freely from his mouth as he follows her out to her car. Steve a few paces behind them. Eddie stops before he gets in, looks at Steve, his face doing something funny.

And then he's jogging the few paces back to Steve and pulling him in for a hug.

"Seriously man. Thank you. Thought I was a gonner there for a minute." He breaths the words into Steve's shoulder, squeezes him tight. Lingers too long. Eddie pulls back and he's pink to the tips of his ears. He glances at Steve as he pulls away, grimaces, and mutters,

"Sorry." And ducks hurriedly into the car. They're gone before Steve can correct him. That he doesn't need to be sorry. That Steve understands. He's like that too.

~°~

They don't mention it again. Not at school. Not at the boathouse. Not in the upside down. Neither one of them says a thing about it.

Until Eddie wakes up in the hospital. He's covered in bandages and Steve Harrington is sitting in the chair next to his uncle looking concerned. The same look he'd had at the pool that day after he'd breathed life back into Eddie. His scars look healed. Ish. Lot of time must have passed.

After Wayne stops hugging him and Steve is settled close, his hand in Eddie's, squeezing tight. Eddie sighs around a smile and says,

"Saved me again didn't you?"

And Steve laughs, can't help it. But he cries too, and nods, and bites his lip as he leans closer to Eddie, like he needs to be closer, to be next to Eddie. And that's... something. Eddie tilts his head against his pillow, looks at Steve.

"Let's not make it a habit okay? I kind of hate doing it." Steve says, his head falling to rest against Eddie's hand.

"Sorry. Had to keep those bats away from Dusty. And hey,"

He wiggles his wrist so Steve's head jostles and lifts, his eyes on Eddie's face now, cheeks wet.

"I figured you'd come save me. Worked the last time." Eddie shrugs, grimaces at the pain in his body. Steve shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Yeah well, I didn't have Lilly this time, so the stiches look like shit." He sniffles, and Eddie laughs, deep in his chest, immediately regrets it and grimaces. And that's apparently all Steve can take, he takes a watery breath and climbs up into the bed next to Eddie. It's a tight squeeze but neither of them care. Wayne laughs, pats Eddie's ankle and tells him he's gonna go get some food.

Steve nuzzles into his neck best he can without hitting any bandages, wraps his arms genlty across Eddie's stomach and holds him.

"Seriously man. Don't make me do it again. Please." Steve begs, rubs his wet cheek against Eddie's shoulder.

"But Steven," Eddie sighs, not able to keep from joking, the seriousness of it all about to choke him. Steve tilts his head, listening.

"How else am I supposed to get you to kiss me?" He whispers it, knows it's okay now, to say it to Steve, to feel that for Steve. Steve laughs into his shoulder, shakes his head.

"Just fucking ask me man." He sniffles, presses his forehead to Eddie's shoulder, hard, his fingers moving to tangle with Eddies.

"Hey Steve?" Eddie asks, his voice still a whisper.

"Yeah Eddie?" Steve whispers back. Eddie smiles, waits for Steve to get impatient. It doesn't take long. He pushes himself up onto his hand to look down at Eddie.

"What?" He asks, brow furrowed.

"Kiss me?" Eddie's own brow furrows even as Steve smiles down at him, closes the distance quickly, brushes his nose against Eddie's.

"Anytime you want." Steve breathes into his mouth. Eddie hums, moves his lips gently against Steve's and feels him sigh into it when he feels Eddie kissing him back.

They fall alseep next to each other. Wayne only waking them when the doctor is on his way in. Steve rolls out of the bed and sits in his chair. Keeping his eyes on Eddie.

And when Eddie glances at Steve, gives him a silly little smile, Steve thinks back to the pool, and the way Eddie would glance at him then, trying not to get caught while everyone else would leer openly at him. His heart flutters in his chest when Eddie crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue, so grateful to his past self for becoming a lifeguard.

He'd saved a few people over the years. But he's pretty sure he was sent there to save Eddie Munson. To keep him alive. Because as he sat there, watching Eddie joke with the nurses about how metal his scars would be, Steve was pretty sure Eddie Munson may have saved him too.

Or might save him later.

Or was saving him now.

Either way, the way Eddie's fingers find his on the hospital bed, twitching into his and making them both smile. Steve knows it was worth it, all of it, just to see that smile.

[atoltia]

What his eyes can see. I

inspired by this post, March being perceptive, by @just-a-bea

Written in March's pov

tw: mild swearing

word count: 884 words

~0~

His brother said it was a gift.

The gift to see things most people wouldn't, couldn't. To see things most people would deem unimportant but actually were.

To him, at least.

He'd see the minute way Errol's leg would twitch on particularly stormy days. Olric said he banged up his knee pretty badly many years before and it just didn't heal that well.

He'd see Ryis sitting by the river close to the eastern ruins and know he was upset about something, even though his friend would have laughed it off and say he was fine whenever March decided to ask him about it.

Olric would insist that he was fine even though March could tell that the man was close to collapsing from exhaustion. If he dared to ask anyone to back him up, they would just look at him and say his brother looked alright.

He noticed when Celine had an extra bounce to her step and then he'd find out from Nora, for whatever reason the woman wanted to talk to him, that they'd receive a special package of rare seeds from the far northern border of Aldaria.

He saw many good things, his brother reminded him, but that didn't stop him from being annoyed.

Because it really did annoy him.

It annoyed him that even though he could see a lot of things wrong, he didn't know how to fix it. Didn't know if he should. A lot of the times he asked people what was wrong they'd just look at him like he grew a second head. A lot of the times he tried to fix things, he felt that he just made them worse.

So he stopped.

He stopped because there was nothing he could do and it pissed him the fuck off. It wasn't like hammering against iron and steel to make a blade, to carefully grind an imperfection with absolute precision and polish it until it was nonexistent.

There was no method to it, none that he could see. It wasn't something he could just set down and analyze until he figured out the answer to the puzzle. It wasn't something that he could observe for hours at a time. It wasn't something that he could just fucking fix.

So he ignored it.

And yet he couldn't ignore her no matter how much he tried.

Sandra, newly minted citizen of Mistria, would pop out at the most random of times. Always running around town carrying supplies, delivering orders. She'd been here less than a month and she's already gathered enough supplies to fix the entirety of the main bridge.

She was polite to him, too. No matter how much he tried to push her away, no matter how many times he was snarky or rude to her, she was kind.

It baffled him.

And yet there was an unreadableness to her that he couldn't quite place. She'd be smiling at people whenever they'd stop for a chat, laughing with Holt whenever he made a pun, grinning whenever the kids were conspiring something. She even chuckled at him and patted his arm when he called her useless the other day.

But it didn't reach her eyes, not always.

He'd watch her at the Saturday markets whenever she decided to stick around instead of running to the mines to do whatever the fuck. She'd just be standing there, tall and proud, but silent and stable, like a mountain amidst a storm.

She was the same today, dressed in a comfortable long sleeved shirt and worn pants while seated on the lip of the fountain with the trio of kids animatedly retelling her stories of their adventures.

Sandra had a presence that managed to calm the children down so they weren't too rowdy, and the children definitely reciprocated as she laughed with them while Dell told her of one of her pranks that he was sure the kid already told the woman two nights ago at the inn.

But there was a tightness in her eyes, a tension in her arm. He didn't miss the way her left leg trembled at the slightest movement, the way her fingers lightly curled around her forearm.

He knew full well she was in the mines all day yesterday.

But she was laughing, smiling in her quiet way. Not even their hawk eyed doctor, Valen, paid her any mind.

He didn't get it.

She excused herself early. He didn't hear what she told Balor and Eiland. Probably some reason or other about taking care of her cows. But his eyes never left her.

She was walking normally, a steady, graceful gait emphasized by long, long legs, so no one else paid attention as they'd much rather chatter on with someone else or exclaim their ooh's and ahh's at the set pieces Merri brought. Others much too focused on the sweets Darcy was selling. No one bothered to look her way when she left. Didn't have a reason to watch.

But he did.

He could still see her, even when she went past the inn, past everybody else's eyesight.

And then saw she was limping.

It pissed him off.

"If you watch her that much you're gonna burn a hole through her head."

March snarled, his head slowly turning to Olric innocently sipping a hot chocolate, the paper cup failing to hide the grin from the man's face.

"Shut up," he grumbled, and brooded even more when it was met with boyish laughter from his older brother.

By the time he turned back to watch her, she was already gone.

~0~

if y'all missed it, this is the introductory part hehe

also i don't proofread these so it is what it is

there will be multiple parts of this particular title and will be sprinkled in between other parts :>

Previous story: New Farmer in Town

Next story: Thanks for worrying, but I'm fine

[grave-z-boy]

are you comfortable with writing about a transman? if so id like to see arthur morgan comforting ftm!reader, maybe calling him a "good boy" to make him happy x

Arthur Morgan x Trans!male!reader

Summary: Reader runs into an old family member and is desperately in need of comfort afterwards. (Once again making excuses to be sad and transgender)

Words: 1264

Warning: hurt/comfort, pre-transition reader is referred to as “dead” and “little girl” by reader, reader threatens his cousin, shitty family members.

A/n: shorter fic cuz I've been banging my head against the wall trying to get the rest of my writing back.

Masterlist

“You need to eat.”

You glanced up at Arthur, the fire between the two of you illuminating him in a orange glow. Your food had gone cold, and you didn’t mean to be wasteful, but today was…a lot. You shifted uncomfortably on the large rock you'd perched yourself on.

“‘M not hungry.”

You heard him sigh as you stared down at your plate.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or are you just gonna sit there and sulk.”

“It's nothing-”

It was something, it was definitely something. You went into town on your own, bright and early so you could be in and out of the shops and get back to camp while the sun was still up. That was the plan, pick up some spices, and oddly enough a picture frame, Arthur had asked for it but he said it wasn't for him, probably gonna be a gift of some kind, you didn't think too much about it.

While you were making sure you're satchel was still secure, you heard a familiar voice.

“D/n?” he called from across the street.

You froze, but just for a moment, you tried climbing onto your horse as fast as you could by you were stopped by a firm grip on your shoulder. Turning, you saw him, right in front of you, your cousin, your asshole of a cousin, Damian.

“Well I'll be damned, it is you!”

Taking a breath you said, “Do I know you?”

“‘Do you’- d/n stop playing around!”

His voice was loud, loud enough to garner unwanted attention from those around you.

“I don't know no d/n sir, you've got the wrong man, now you best take your hand off me before you lose it.”

He backed off, a small apologetic yet nervous smile on his face, “sorry, you just uh, look an awful lot like my little cousin.”

Finally mounting your horse, you looked down at the man. You didn't say anything, just holding his gaze in yours for a long moment before giving him a quick nod and riding off.

You rode out of town faster than you should have, gaining various shouts and complaints from the townspeople who'd nearly stepped in your way.

As you broke out into the open road, your mind swelled with thoughts.

D/n was dead, she’d been dead a long, long time and you really didn't need reminders of her life, especially not the parts she hated.

You didn't want to hate your cousin, you just did. He was an ass and so was the rest of his family, you guess that technically included you too, but you never really felt like they were your family- even when you were little. You were different, so they treated you different. You never knew what tipped them off so early. Maybe you played with the boys too much, or you were too rough with the girls. Whatever it was, they knew before you did, they considered their daughter dead before she was, and they treated you like you killed her.

You liked being dead now, you thought you wouldn't have to worry about your family anymore, they had a whole funeral for you and everything, you figured that they'd move on, that if you did run into them, they'd take you as a ghost and nothing more. Your cousin was always an asshole though, and could never quiet get with the program, that made y'all alike in some ways, but mostly it just drew a bigger rift between you and your family. Everybody loved him, but they hated you, wasn't that funny?

You skid to a stop right outside of camp, zoning back into your surroundings just in time. Hoping off your horse, petting her for a short moment before tying her to a post.

It didn't take long for Arthur to find you, having only been in camp a couple of minutes before he spotted you. Before he even reached you, he could see the grim look on your face as you sat on your cot, glaring at the ground.

Arthur sat next to you, rubbing your back with his hand for a short moment. Arthur wasn't really a touchy person, not in front of people at least, a soothing touch on the back was as close to a kiss as you'd get with this many people around.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for a short moment before starting back down at the ground below.

It didn't take much for him to convince you to take a ride with him, especially when he offered to let you ride his horse with him, you appreciated it, knowing that yours would have bucked you off the moment you saddled her after you nearly ran her through camp. You almost felt bad- when you climbed on the horse behind Arthur, watching him avert his gaze from anyone who looked in your direction.

He wasn't ashamed, you knew that, he was just private, didn't like it when people paid too much attention to your relationship, or you at all for that matter.

You rode together for a long while, once you figured the road was clear enough, you wrapped your arms around Arthur and rested against his back, you felt him tense, then ask if you were okay, you nodded, he relaxed after a moment, quietly continuing down the road, he knew you weren't alright, not fully, but he figured talking could wait a couple of hours.

Now you're here, you sat on a rock while Arthur set up camp, when you mumbled an offer to help, he shot it down, reassuring you it was fine.

By the time food was cooked, the sun had set completely, the fire being the only source of light.

“- I swear I just…ran into somebody today.”

You could here the faint clink of silverware against the bowl as Arthur set it to the side.

“‘Somebody’ like who?”

You sighed.

“Like my cousin, Damien, ran into him in town today.”

You weren't fully sure you told Arthur about Damien, but when you looked up at him over the fire you could see a look of annoyance on his face, so you had to at least have mentioned him and his aggravating exploits.

“It's stupid, I just… I don't know. I thought that I would never run into them again, or maybe that they wouldn't recognize me if they did. But he called that little girl's name and it just felt like my heart had stopped.”

Starting down at the dirt, you heard Arthur push himself up off the ground, the dirt crunching beneath his boots. Then he was sitting right next to you, the stone just big enough to hold two queers at once. Meeting his eyes again, you opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a long, tired sigh.

“I know, “ he said, his voice so calm and soft, a tone reserved for those that deserved it, “come here, boy..”

And you did, leaning your head on his shoulder, buried in the nook of his neck, your arms just barely around him in an effort. He wrapped his arms around you far tighter, pulling you into him, feeling your shallow breaths as the day's events replayed in your mind.

“That's it, good boy,” he muttered.

A small smile formed on your face. You hummed in contentment, squeezing him a bit tighter, forcing a small chuckle out of him.

“You liked that?” you nodded, he laughed again.

“It's helping..”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 5 ~

Memories in the Pictures:

Here we are at Addair's chapter. This one was so hardest to write because I tried to make sure everyone had a role to play, and I'm now focusing on the world around them for lore purposes, which is making the chapters longer. Don't be shy to give feedback.

Tw: Car accident and hospital.

Part 6:

O'Connor held his breath, his body stiff as a board as he hid under one of the walkways.

Addair was here. Or what used to be Addair.

He locked eyes with a member of Engineering, who had their mouth covered and were clearly too scared to move. The man has been in the same hiding spot for over an hour. They'd watched Addair's body be cocooned by The Shape after it latched onto his arm before sinking into a simple papercut. It twisted his flesh, cracked his bones, and melted his lips. All that was left of him you could recognise were the features from his face. Addair was nothing more than a blobfish-like flesh creature with misplaced lumps of what looked like his organs or muscles trying to escape. He didn't have legs, completely relaying on the twenty or more tendrils he had for movement.

O'Connor thought he could return to the Protective Relay with ease. He'd spotted the engineer as he made his way back from fixing the Mud Handling fuse and tried to get him to leave. Being in the same position for so long had his calf muscles contort and prevented him from moving. Then the noises of metal ringing and a mix of howls, snorts, and gurgles made the pontoon leader realise just how much shit he was in. Finlay had warned him, but he took his chances and willingly went alone. O'Connor was never scared of Addair until now.

As the minutes ticked, O'Connor became restless. He wasn't going to die hiding. If he was, then it'll be of old age in a shitty retirement home with Mary by his side, or trying to keep the rig safe. He locked eyes with the engineer and motion him to stay. The man nodded. Don't need to tell him twice. O'Connor went to move, but a sudden bang from above made him freeze. His eyes followed upwards where Addair rested a hand on the platform mere inches from his face. Blood dripped and the sound of the fleshy mass could be heard as Addair searched for his victims. After a few seconds, the tendrils shot out and he moved away.

'Don't fuck with my engine.'

'Well, that's too fucking bad.' Even in a life or death situation, O'Connor had to backchat him, even as a whisper.

O'Connor crawled from his hiding spot, taking extra care to avoid the blood. The lights had little visibility, but that wasn't an issue. He knew this place like the back of his hand, and Addair was so loud that you could see him in the dark. The steps up to the Protective Relay weren't far. He moved across and into the same hiding spot as the engineer whilst Addair began another lap. There was plenty of room for both to fit, but it was also big enough for Addair. It was as if the infection dissolved all his bones because they watched him slide between the overhanging pipes that could only just fit a child.

'Pipes always rattling. Fucking place.'

O'Connor gave the man a thumbs up and left. He grabbed a red flask and tossed it towards the door. Addair took the bait. A chirping noise escaped him and he quickly moved. Now or never.

O'Connor hurried to the steps, noticing how the cabinet had fallen, leaving only a small opening to crawl through. Not much further. He had to do this. Bruce and Fergus were waiting in the battery cabin and Finlay waited alone across the room, having sent the rest of Engineering to find Roper and his team in Marine Control. Still, this was no time to get comfy. The Shape was still alive, and who knew what was happening on Deck.

'Nothing.'

O'Connor tried to be quiet. He was so close, but it felt so far. Only ten steps away but Addair could reach him in five. When he reached the door, he let out a small sigh of relief. He crouched down and began to crawl.

'No. No. Please. Stay away from me. Addair!'

Addair cornered the engineer, who had tried to escape. He didn't get far. In fact, Addair pushed him further into the room. Whether it was because he made a noise or was just too slow was anyone's guess. A gurgling chuckle escaped the him whilst his jaw began to unlock and drool dripped between his teeth. The poor man huddled as much as he could, a blood curdling scream escaping him.

O'Connor didn't think. He got to his feet, removed his hard-hat, and threw it at Addair, hitting him on what should have been the crown of his head.

'...What?' Addair moved back. His many eyes glanced at the hat, then towards the Protective Relay. Spotting O'Connor in the dim light made him growl and move away from the engineer, who dashed for the exit.

'Oi, you National Front fuck!'

'O'...Con...nor...'

'You look better like that!'

Addair charged. O'Connor dove into the room and dashed for the control panel.

'Just stay calm, O'Connor. Don't think about him.' Too bad Addair wasn't on the same page. The moment, O'Connor put his hand on the lever, he slammed against the windows. It rattled the room and knocked O'Connor flat on his back. Several books on the shelf above fell. One being a photo album.

Another slam. Then another. The glass began to crack.

O'Connor gritted his teeth and stumbled to his feet.

Slam.

He jumped forward and clung onto the panel where he saw Addair going at it again with a distorted roar. Fed up, with the fear becoming genuine annoyance towards him, he roared back in a mocking tone. His hand clung to the lever, and he pushed it upwards just as Addair used all of his strength and charged the window.

The glass shattered. The lights flickered on. O'Connor went flying back and hit the wall, slumping down as all the air from his lungs vanished.

'Good job, O'Connor. Now get back up here!'

A tendril just missed his head. Addair began to crawl inside. O'Connor smiled and began to say a prayer. He knew he was done for. He was trapped. 'Ah well,' he thought. 'It was a good run.' He closed his eyes and waited. Mary ran through his mind, and he imagined her beside him, stroking his face and kissing his forehead. He was at peace.

But nothing happened.

O'Connor frowned and opened his eyes. Mary vanished. He saw Addair staring down at the photo album. For once, he was quiet. Calm. His body relaxed, and there was a softness in his eyes. To him, O'Connor didn't exist. A tendril turned the page. Pictures of certain children throughout the years greeted Addair with smiles. Four boys in school uniforms. Four boys playing football. Riding bikes. Eating birthday cake. But one stood out. The eldest boy, alone in a picture, was trying to make a fried egg on a rusting stove. A low whimper escaped Addair.

'..T...Tommy.'

The fog had been lifted. Memories of his wife and his children came back to him. Good and bad. But the worst was when a week ago, he received a letter. Tommy had been riding his bike home from the shop when a drunk driver ran the zebra crossing. Now, his life hung in the balance, deep in a medically induced coma with doctors and nurses surrounding his bed hospital every day. The feeling of helplessness washed over Addair, who did something no one believed he was capable of doing. He cried. He wanted to go home. He couldn't do two more weeks. He wanted his wife. He wanted his sons.

O'Connor took this as a chance to leave. He slowly got to his feet and moved for the exit, where Bruce, Fergus, and Finlay waited by the generator. They were relieved to see him. The engineer he found had clearly told them what happened as he sat on the floor, trying to process nearly being eaten alive. Bruce patted his shoulder in an attempt to calm his nerves.

'Alright, O'Connor?' Finlay asked in her usual firm but fair way. 'Hope Addair didn't give you any trouble?'

'Eh, some, but what's new?'

'Let's just get out here before water or that thing reaches us,' Fergus hissed.

But before anyone could take another step, a shape formed behind and above O'Connor. Addair appeared from the shadows. The engineer held his head and began to shiver. Bruce and Fergus looked in a mix of confusion and disgust. The engineer told them what he had been turned into, but seeing him in person still brought up a raw reaction. They all noticed the photo album he had wrapped in the tendrils and how close he held it to what should have been his chest. Addair didn't look at any of them. Just looked ahead with a scowl. The tears had gone and replaced with a silent rage.

'Where's Rennick?'

There was a silence as the group awkwardly moved towards the under rig. Addair led the 'charge', and whilst he'd never say it, he was to make sure no one else touched The Shape. Not because he cared, but because the last thing The Beria needed was more infected wandering around. That and he wanted to reach Rennick first. He wasn't subtle about it. Any broken silence was either Addair mumbling to himself or him pushing debris away in a rough manner. It made the others wonder if he was making the structure worse. The latter was confirmed when they reached the doors and watched Addair literally flatten one and ram the other so hard it came off its hinges and flew into the North Sea below.

'Okay, Addair,' Finlay said. 'I think you've made your p-'

The rig began to shake. The sound of bending metal rang through their ears. Everyone held onto what they could and waited for it to stop. Like Muir, Caz, Trots, and Gibbo, Addair felt a sensation leave the back of his mind. His many eyes looked towards a section of The Shape above them. He didn't know if it was because they were in a different place with natural light, but it looked discoloured. There wasn't a glow to it. It looked sick.

When it stopped, he pondered for a moment and looked at the others.

'You lot just feel that?'

'What the rig nearly throwing us to Atlantis?' O'Connor felt like he's been patient enough. An entire seven minutes was a new record. Of course, he asked sarcastically with that grin Addair wanted to rip off his face.

'No, you fucking muppet. Something in your head? If anything was there to begin with.'

'No,' Bruce quickly answered before O'Connor could make himself a bigger target than the doors. He continued. 'Look. Let's just find anyone else and go from there.'

'Aye. Accommodation will be our best bet,' Finlay replied, now taking the lead as she began walking up the stairs to the deck. She noticed the helicopter still sitting in place and figures through the slowly lifting fog that turned to snow. Good. This means Archie and the rest of the chopper crew didn't do a runner, but flying in this weather was going to be a setback. She turned back to O'Connor and Addair. 'You two pricks can kill each other when this is done, alright?'

'Okay, but look at it.' As much as they all hated Addair and vice versa, they had to agree. Something was off about The Shape. Not only was it discoloured, but its pulse was starting to slow. They all watched in silence. How could something like this just exist in the sea? Why and how did they find it? Pure luck to The Shape, but what was it? The Beria hasn't drifted away in the years it's been here, so how did they not awaken it sooner?

'Maybe it doesn't like the cold?' Fergus shrugged.

'It was doing alright before,' the engineer retorted.

Finlay glanced to Addair. She was willing to hear him out so she could understand something of this entity. 'Addair, what did you mean when ya said something in ye' head?'

'Exactly what I said. I just felt something slip away, and I could focus more.'

'That makes a difference,' O'Connor muttered under his breath.

'I can see clearly, too. Whenever I got near this shit, my vision began to distort and go fuckin' weird.'

Finlay nodded. 'Right, well, let's get inside and regroup with any other lucky bastards.'

As they climbed the stairs, whilst Addair climbed the general structure, the group noticed Caz and Brodie enter Administration. They didn't see them, however. Still, it was a relief to know they weren't the only ones left. Then they reached the deck and instantly saw what was now Muir in the distance. Of course, they all knew deep down that Addair wasn't the only infected. Heck, Finlay knew Gibbo had been, but it still left them stunned.

'HEEEEY!' Innes' voice called out. He waved. 'Everyone's in Administration. Go there.'

[luvkyu]

May I req a top!bangchan x bot!mreader where the male reader had past memory with bang chan when they had a big fight in the kitchen but bang chan make it out for the mreader by dancing him the kitchen *its inspired to taylor's 'all too well' cuz I want to cry af so make it more angst and a little bit fluff* In the present they met again in an art museum and its up to you whether they'd be back together or not (if not make it more angsty)

PS: I LOVE UR WORKS ❤️💯😘

all too well ( bang chan )

top!chan x btm!male!reader

chan meets an ex lover after a long time apart.

content : 0.9k words, angst/kinda fluffish at the end

( a/n ) i changed this just a little bit but i hope you like it <33

y/n blinked away the tears that were welling up in his eyes. he took a deep breath and looked at his boyfriend, who was standing across from him in his kitchen. the room was dark with the exception of the light that came from y/n's refrigerator, which neither of them had bothered to close yet.

chan was silent. his gaze continued to rest on y/n, face softly illuminated by the refrigerator light. the pair had been arguing for a bit, and they were both exhausted.

"chan, i'm sorry. i don't know what you expect me to do. quit my job?"

"no..! i know you love your job, but.. i don't know, i barely feel like i have a boyfriend anymore. you're just always working."

y/n sighed and rubbed his face.

"okay so, do you wanna plan more dates or something?"

"we've tried that already. you always end up busy and there's just not much time to be together," chan muttered in response. a scoff left y/n's lips in turn.

"well, babe, i'm really trying to work with you here..!" y/n's slightly raised voice made himself wince. he sighed again and clenched his fists out of frustration. "i've worked so hard to get to the position i'm at with this job, chan. i can't just put my responsibilities aside whenever i want. i literally take out my calendar to try and sort out my schedule to make time for us. is that just not enough anymore?"

chan was quiet again. the next words that left his mouth made y/n's heart sink.

"no, maybe it's not.."

three years later

"oh, i love this one," minho said quietly. chan nodded in agreement after following his friend's gaze to the next painting on the wall.

chan's head soon turned in different directions, realization hitting him. "uh.. i think we lost seungmin."

minho's brows raised at this, also looking around for their third friend.

"i'll find him, you keep going around the museum," chan assured.

as he started walking around more in search of his missing friend, his eyes soon found a familiar face. it definitely wasn't seungmin though.

y/n stood alone, looking up at a sculpture that was a ways away. his hair had grown out a little and he was wearing a rather nice outfit. chan felt his heart skip a beat, unable to tear his gaze away from his ex-boyfriend. and soon, y/n's own gaze met chan's after looking around while he moved to the next artwork in the exhibit. they now stood in silence, eyes locked from across the room.

when y/n finally looked away, a small smile lifted at the corner of chan's lips. y/n was always the shy one between them and chan couldn't deny that he loved it. the way his eyes would flicker away and the rosy pink color would blossom on his cheeks made chan want to gush at how cute he was.

after some debate in his head, chan finally decided to go stand beside him. he gazed up at the same painting that y/n had moved over to.

"you always liked this artist," chan said happily.

y/n looked over at him, a little lost for words. he simply nodded before looking back at the painting.

"so, how you been?" chan asked, clearly determined.

y/n looked at him again. "what are you doing?"

"making conversation. is that wrong?"

y/n frowned.

"you know i don't like small talk, so yes, that's wrong."

"oh right," chan quickly responded. "okay, i'll think of a better question.. mm.. would you like to get some coffee with me?"

y/n turned to chan in surprise.

"coffee..?"

"or tea if that's better," chan suggested. he could see the gears turning in y/n's head before his attention went right back to the painting in front of them.

"i'm looking at art right now," y/n answered with a blatant tone.

chan nodded, still smiling. he could tell the other was just being stubborn.

"alright, take your time. i can wait."

y/n stayed quiet. they both continued to admire the museum's works for a few minutes. y/n would travel between art pieces, chan following patiently as if he were looking on his own.

"tell you what," chan finally spoke quietly, "there's a coffee place right across the street from here. i think i'll go sit there for, maybe.. the next half hour? maybe i'll see you there."

y/n looked back at chan one more time, now watching him give a sweet smile before he turned to to leave. he walked back over to minho, seungmin still missing somewhere else in the museum.

"was that..?"

chan nodded at the question from minho. "y/n," he finished for him.

"shit.." minho mumbled.

"we're gonna go get coffee i think."

minho looked over at y/n, who seemed to be staying put.

"you are?.. he doesn't seem to be going anywhere."

chan smiled and nodded.

"well, i invited him to come for coffee, at least. i think he's just being stubborn right now. he'll meet me there, don't worry."

"..how do you know?"

"i just know, i guess," chan answered in confidence. "i know him all too well."

[cerebralinvasion]

yandere february event day 21

“those bruises… did i do that…?”

chuuya confused you. you think he probably confuses himself too at this point. the way his actions fought with his words was no doubt similar to the way his overwhelming infatuation fought with his morals. a violent conflict deep inside himself that resulted in disorientation for you both.

he wanted to protect you, he wanted to keep you. he wanted you to be happy, but it hurt to see you happy with anyone that wasn’t him. he didn’t want to hurt you or keep you locked away, but the way you looked at him– the way your presence warmed his heart– you made it so, so hard.

you understood, it was impossible not to understand his love when he reiterated it over and over to you like a mantra. but that doesn’t mean you had to accept. that doesn’t mean you had to endure. and you decided you wouldn’t. so, an hour ago, you ran. you managed to sneak out the luxury penthouse and out into the streets of yokohama. you don’t know how you did it. you weren’t exactly expecting whatever plan you had come up with to really work, but somehow, it did. you were out. souls of your shoes banging against the pavement as you tried to create as much distance between you and the apartment as you possibly could.

thirty minutes ago, all hope was torn to shreds. because you ran right into him, literally. if you weren’t so terrified you might have been a little embarrassed. because rounding the corner and colliding with your kidnapper was literally comical. the absolute glare he stared you down with had you frozen on the spot.

“let’s go home.” he grabbed your arm as he grumbled out the words. you were still frozen on the spot. you didn’t want to, you didn’t want to go back to being trapped. but if you were to cause a scene– if you tried asking for help right here you’d only get everyone around you involved. with how strong chuuya was, if the civilians around you tried to step in, they'd only get hurt. so you followed without a complaint.

even when his grip on your arm hurt. you didn’t fight back. the walk back was silent. a thick tension settling over you both. when you arrived at your home you were almost thrown into the room while he slammed the door behind himself. it was clear he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know where to start. he only glared at you from where he stood breathing heavily.

you raised your right arm to your chest, rubbing at the painful bruises that blossomed on your skin. he was about to speak before he saw them too. the darkened blotches that formed right where he had gripped you.

“those bruises… did i do that…?”

you didn’t say anything, only offering a tentative nod in response, at which he crouched down to your level, a guilty expression over taking his face.

“baby… i'm so sorry, i didn’t mean to. you know i didn’t mean to, right? i just wanted to make sure you're safe. and when i saw you out walking the streets i– you made me so worried, baby. i never meant to hurt you, I just– i was really scared.”

his words felt so genuine, but in comparison to his actions it felt like bullshit. terror, misery, guilt. all the separate emotions swirled within you once again. and as usual you found yourself torn between feelings and thoughts only because chuuya was. trying to make sense of the conflicts was painful. it’d probably be easier to just accept his words as the truth and stop fighting. it’s not like you were getting anywhere anyways.

[beansmack2021]

She's Yours Now (Pt. 2)

Platonic!Teen!Reader x Hazbin Crew

TW: Mentions of abuse, death, murder, Reader is lowkey kind of op lol, mentions of drugs

Charlie wasn't really sure who she'd expected to see when her father sent her straight into the heart of Pride. She just knew that Lucifer himself didn't believe that this new soul deserved to be damned to Hell for eternity. Or until the next extermination, if she was one of the unlucky casualties.

She tried not to think too hard about the fates of many of her people. She'd start seething soon enough, and then she'd be practically useless on their trip to find their newest arrival. Still, she couldn't help the sensation of her blood boiling when she pictured the masked angel exorcists.

"Char, breathe. You're crushing my hand."

She snapped out of it pretty quickly. "Sorry, Vaggie. I'm just... I'm thinking about the extermination. We don't have much time, and I mean, we have plenty of people who don't even deserve to be here, but they're going to die again. This new arrival is apparently the perfect example. My dad doesn't even think she should be here."

Charlie personally didn't believe any sinner deserved the punishment that Heaven had dealt them. The whole point of her hotel was to make the people of Hell see the light and bring them to their utopia. It hurt to know that even if every other soul in Hell left, she'd never be able to, but she also knew that her life's mission was to help others.

She took a deep breath, the sulfuric smell and red haze of Hell reminding her that she couldn't just wallow, and she definitely couldn't rage. She, Angel Dust, and Vaggie had been walking for what felt like hours. They'd passed plenty of bloodied up sinners, a few shaking each other down for some baggies of white powder, but still didn't notice anyone out of the ordinary.

That was until they heard a crashing sound in the alley to their right. Vaggie readied her spear, leading the way quietly down the alley. They heard another rustling sound and Vaggie quickly pointed her spear at the source of the sound.

Charlie put her hand out in front of Vaggie to lower her spear, taking in the girl before them. She was small, definitely younger, and terrified. She had doe-like features, like fluffy ears, a snout, white freckles, and big eyes. Her hair was dark and curly, and she had curtain like bangs. She definitely didn't look like she belonged there. They found their new arrival. She sniffed once, eyes wide as she stared at them.

"Please. Don't hurt me." The young doe was practically whispering.

"Oh! We're not going to hurt you! We're here to help." Charlie crouched down, offering the girl a warm smile. "I'm Charlie Morningstar. I run the Happy Hotel here. Our mission is to redeem as many sinners as possible so that they may make it to Heaven someday."

The girl looked at the ground in front of her, thinking to herself for a moment. "So... this really is Hell, huh?"

Charlie nodded once, trying to maintain her composure. She really just wanted to hug the young doe, but she knew that that was probably the one thing the girl wanted the least.

"I know why I'm here. I know I did a bad thing. I just didn't realize the one bad thing could outway so much good. Especially since I did a bad thing for a good reason. I was trying to make sure nothing happened to anyone else, the way it happened to me." She put her head in her hands, laughing once, but it wasn't a happy laugh. She was in shock.

Charlie reached out a hand, trying to comfort the girl, but it was almost like she sensed the movement in the air. She flinched, grabbing onto the wall behind her and the trashcan beside her. She pulled herself up and took off down the road.

"No! Come back! We're just here to help!"

Vaggie met Charlie at the end of the alley, putting a hand on her shoulder. The same gesture that had the doe-ish girl running for the hills. A gesture that was supposed to be comforting and instead scared her more.

"Uhhhh... toots, you're gonna wanna see this."

Angel Dust stood staring at something on the ground where the girl had once been. Charlie gasped as she took in the sight before her.

"Did she do this?" Vaggie mumbled.

"This" was... definitely a sight.

The trash can was no longer in its original state. There was a gaping hole, with ashy edges. The wall wasn't looking much better. The small girl, who seemed so terrified and helpless, had disintegrated the bricks and metal that had surrounded her.

Charlie looked at Vaggie. "We need to find her. Before someone gets hurt."

[trulybetty]

Drip | Joel Miller x Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,243 Warnings: References, but doesn't reference, events in TLOU2, so if you want to avoid conversation around that and comments - might be best to pass on this. Summary: I've got nothing - just me and my feels. AO3: Linked

A/N: This piece or whatever you want to call it leaves it up to interpretation if Joel came back from golfing or not. Not sure I'll go anywhere with this - but I wanted to get it out of my head. Don't think it'll get much traction, but one of those fics that I wanted to write for myself.

Drip.

You can hear Maria arguing with Tommy. You can’t make out what’s being said, but you can hear them going back and forth.

The water is getting cold, but you can’t bring yourself to get out of the bathtub. 

It’s been a long time since it was just you. A long time since you’ve been on your own here. You’re not sure how it works, being alone, anymore. Maria had told you you weren’t truly alone, you’d looked at her confused. She told you that you had herself and Tommy. But the sentiment hadn’t been as comforting as she had intended it to be.

The tap is dripping, he was supposed to fix it. 

There’s a slam of a door somewhere in the house. Your head is too full of static to figure out where it’s coming from. There are steps on the stairs, hurried and angry. You know who they belong to, but you don’t care because they are not the slow, comforting thumps that bring you peace at the end of the night.

The room is getting cold, the winter wind is seeping through the window you left open. The flimsy curtains that had once served a decorative purpose for the previous owners, fluttered with the breeze. 

The bang of an open hand on the door is resounding in the still of the bathroom, where the only noise is the constant drip, drip, drip of the leaking tap. Maria and Tommy’s voices are clearer now. They’re still arguing, but their raised voices are now directed towards the person banging at the door.

The tepid bathwater covers your face as you lower yourself into the tub, inching closer and closer to overflowing. As close to spilling over the edge as you are to the point of breakdown. 

Your name is being shouted now. But it’s distorted under the water almost like it belongs to someone else.

You wish this was all for someone else. 

You squeeze your eyes closed tight before you resurface.

All three voices are arguing now. 

None of them are from people you want to hear from, but at least the banging of the door has stopped. 

The pile of clothes next to the laundry basket is still there, just as it had been that morning. You want to go back to a time when the only problem within the four walls of that house was getting those clothes into the laundry basket instead of next to it, without argument.

The tap is still dripping. 

Your bruised and bloodied knuckles still throbbed. You’d put up a good fight when they’d tried to take you away, you hadn’t wanted to leave. They'd said it was for the best, you needed to rest. You’d screamed until your voice was hoarse, insisting he shouldn’t be alone, you'd begged and pleaded. Maria had promised you that he wouldn’t be, but here she was with Tommy; how did she know that he wasn't alone?

You haven’t cried. 

The tap. Is still. Dripping. 

He was supposed to fix it. 

When you submerge your head underwater again it’s not the slow slide it was before into the peace the water brought you. No this was in anger, water spilled over the edges of the bathtub, you gripped the ceramic forcing yourself down and under you screamed.

It's a cry of desperation that echoes only in the void beneath the surface. Your thoughts are a torrent of confusion, anger, and loss. 

Finally, you resurface, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The water splashes around you, droplets clinging to your skin. The house is silent now, the voices gone. You don't know if they've moved elsewhere or if they've just stopped talking.

They were arguing about you, about him, about what to do next. It's all a jumble, and you can't make sense of any of it. 

Slowly, you step out of the bath, the chill of the air on your wet skin. You look at yourself in the mirror, it's a stranger staring back at you. Hollow bloodshot eyes and shoulders hunched over as if you're carrying some unseen weight. You wrap a towel around yourself before you rest both hands firmly against both sides of the sink as if it's all that keeps you standing.

The water runs off of you dripping into the sink in chorus with the drip from the bathtub. 

The silence is so fucking loud and you don’t know what to do. 

It’s fight or flight but you’re rooted to the floor in anxiety over what to do next.

The house, your house, which once held the promise of safety, now feels like a fragile shell and you feel open and exposed and the cold from the window is seeping into your bones. Your chest is tight, and a stab of pain at the side of your head reminds you that the headache you had earlier is returning. The damn tap keeps dripping and you cannot decide if you want to run head first to what’s on the other side of the door or submerge yourself back into the water.

The crescendo of intrusive thoughts peaks and your ears pop, your mind is suddenly quiet and it scares you. Your heart hammers in your chest, the abrupt silence amplifying the chill of dread that crawls up your spine that has nothing to do with the open window.

Slowly you step away from the sink, your body trembling, your hand pauses on the doorknob before you tentatively open the door.

The moment you step out of the bathroom you regret it instantly. 

The room is empty. However the bed is still unmade, the sheets are still dishevelled from the morning. 

It's like a freeze-frame of another life, a cruel reminder of the morning's normalcy. You can almost hear the whispered conversation you’d had despite being the only ones in the house, feel the warmth of his skin despite the wintry chill the room clung on to, the soft press of a kiss. It feels like it's from another lifetime, yet it was only hours ago.

You stumble towards the dresser, your hands grappling with the fabric of his shirt, still strewn across the chair from the morning. It smells like him. You pull it over your head, the fabric a comfort against your skin. It's a small solace.

The house creaks, and for a moment, you're not alone. You can hear the echoes of guitar strings, see the flash of smiles, feel the press of hands.

You sink onto the bed, your hands clutching at the sheets. The tears that you still have yet to cry threaten to spill. There’s a dam holding back a river of sorrow, grief, and so much anger, with nowhere or no one to direct it at. You feel broken and lost, adrift in a world that changed in an instant.

The walls of the house feel like they’re closing in on you, and the life you once knew is unravelling at the seams too quickly for you to hold on.

Your body shakes with sobs that won't come, tears that refuse to fall. 

The room is darkening as night creeps further in, the world outside moving on as yours has stopped.

The bathroom door is open.

You can still hear it.

He was supposed to fix it. He was supposed to be there.

But he's not, and the tap is still dripping.

[sleepyg00n]

A moment just for us

(Short Sonamy fanfiction)

"Come on, Ames" Sonic said, holding out his hand to the pink  hedgehog that tried her best to keep her quills from getting soaked by the pouring rain that had been going on for quite awhile now. "Dance with me." He said with a inviting grin.

Amy couldn't help herself but blush at that face. Chaos, was that face handsome.. That irresistible face that never failed to make her swoon. It was hard to say no. "My quills will get wet.." she huffed, pouting as she gently stroked her fingers through her bangs.

"When has that ever stopped you?" Sonic chuckled.

Amy gave a giggle. He was right. It never stopped her before.

And right now, it was really just the two of them. No danger, no one passing by, not even little critters waddling around. So without a second thought, she took hold of his hand and could barely find a minute to blink as Sonic pulled both them into the drizzling rain.

Before they knew it, both of them were standing face to face and hand In hand only having the beat of the raindrops to dance to.

As they danced, the world seemed to fall away around them.

Their movements moved in rhythm with one another and each step came and went with a breeze.

They didn't need to give any signals on what to do. Their feet, bodies and hearts moved as one as they stepped into puddle after puddle. Before they both knew it, they stood chest to chest as they danced together with the raindrops all around them. If anyone had seen them, they'd say they looked like royalty at a ball dance.

Amy hugged onto Sonic, never wanting this moment to end. She could tell Sonic didn't want it to end either. He didn't need to say anything. He was hugging her just as tight as she was. In this moment, neither of them cared of they were soaking wet. Both of them stood there nuzzling, neck and Quills.

"Amy?" Sonic spoke up quietly, his chin resting softly on her shoulder.

"Yes, Sonic?" Amy responded, mirroring the blue hedgehog by hiding her face in his shoulders, trying her best to hide the blush that spread across her muzzle.

"is this how you feel?" He asked, trying his best to hide the nerves in his voice.

Amy smiled and nodded. "All the time."

"And.. how long have you felt this way?" Sonic added, his voice still low as he tried to calm his own thoughts that fluttered in this moment.

Amy laughed, wrapping her arms tightly around the blue hedgehog as she rested against him, taking in the warmth of his body despite the cold of the rain.  "Every day. Since the moment I saw you for the first time. "I already told you. I love you with all my heart. Now, until the end of time."

Sonic his face flushed entirely and with his words failing him again in that moment, he fell silent once more after mumbling something under his breath. His only response was his embrace getting tighter as he continued to dance with her in the rain.

Amy danced with Sonic, her heart fluttering too much to hear that the words Sonic had mumbled were the words she had been waiting her whole life to hear.

"I love you, Too, Amy."

(Something I wrote out of boredom while listening to music. Had to get it out of my head.)

[billy-cockblock]

I wrote a little thing inspired by @saintalondre's swtd afterlife au, before they'd posted more info about it, so this doesn't really fit in their au at all, but I had fun.

Gibbo hated the water tanks. 

But Addair was busy in engineering today, and he was the easiest to push the task of fixing a leak onto. It shouldn’t be a difficult job, just tedious to find the source that was causing all the flooding. 

He thinks that’s why they assigned Douglas to come down with him and help. Got him somewhere in the belly of the rig and away from the sea below. Poor guy needed something to take his mind off yesterday’s… incident. Gibbo’s heart dropped every time he thought about what happened, and he wasn’t even the one to pull Caz out. Douglas had hardly said a word since Rennick had taken the situation over and shipped the body back to the mainland. They’d been told to “avoid spreading rumors around the crew” and he’d completely shut down. Still, despite their boss’s attempts to cover up the incident, word of their missing crewmates had spread. The mood over the whole rig had doured after that morning. Dobbie and Trots had to make yesterday’s lunch, and when Roy had returned, dinner and breakfast tasted flavorless. 

Bringing himself back to the present, Gibbo stepped into the flooded water tank room. It was up to his knees, but shouldn’t get any higher that he couldn’t wade through it. 

“Right, this shouldn’t be hard,” he said, turning to face Douglas wading in behind him. “All we have to do is follow the water pipes. If you find the leak, call me over so I can patch it, aye?” Douglas nodded absentmindedly, eyes still distant like his mind was somewhere else. “Hey,” Gibbo put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, snapping him out of his trance with a start. “Let’s just focus on patching the leak, okay lad? Water’s cold, and we’ll lose our toes if we take too long.”

“A-aye,” Douglas looked away again. “Water’s real cold.”

“How about you start looking that way, and I’ll go this way, eh?” Gibbo pointed towards opposite sides of the room. “We’ll get done here and get to warm up twice as fast. Just keep an ear out for flowing water and look for the source.”

Without a word, Douglas just nodded and turned to go the way he was told. Gibbo watched him for a moment before sighing, trudging his own way. 

He’d only been searching for a few minutes when things started to get strange. He heard a metallic bang from the walkway and jumped. Finding a gap through the tanks and pipes, he saw the door of the locker hanging open. The water at the bottom of the stairs was rippling like someone had just passed through it and walked out of sight.

“Douglas?” he shouted, checking on his coworker.

“Aye?” Douglas responded, coming from the opposite side of the room as the sound.

“You hear that?” While he wasn’t moving, Gibbo could hear the quiet sounds of something sloshing through the water past the pipes around him.

“No? Hear what?”

“Hello?” Gibbo called out. “Anyone else is in here?” He listened closely to track the sounds, but every quiet noise echoed in the enclosed space. He started walking slowly to try and pinpoint their location. “If you’re trying to joke, it’s not very funny.”

The sloshing, drips, and creaks blended together, seemingly coming from several directions at once. As he wandered, Gibbo also picked up on the sound of breathing. It was shaky and muffled, like someone was trying to be quiet but too nervous to slow their breaths.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Aren’t you cold? You sound like you’re shivering.”

He’d been passing by a row of tanks when he heard a splash right on the other side.

“I’m not looking, I promise,” a small voice whispered, small and terrified. They sounded familiar somehow, but Gibbo couldn’t place it.

They started walking away where Gibbo’s path ended, and he’d have to go the long way around if he were to get to the main tanks where they were headed. He crouched down to see if he could see them under the tanks, soaking himself up to his waist, but only caught a hint of a blue uniform through the shadows before it disappeared around a corner.

“Douglas, meet me by the main tanks,” he called across the room.

“Uh, okay.”

He hurried through the pipes until he reached the raised walkway by the tanks. The stranger wasn’t there, but there was a trail of water and he could hear the metal rattling of a ladder. He hurried around the corner and only caught a blur of boots as they climbed over the top.

“Oi! Get down from there!” he yelled, climbing up after them. The top of the main tanks was fenced off and the only way to go was into the tanks themselves. They may have been mostly drained to prevent more flooding, but they could still be extremely dangerous. 

He only saw the top of their hardhat as they descended through the hatch, causing him to scramble the last way up.

“Wait!” He rushed to the edge to stop them, but they were already too far down the ladder. They looked up at him, blinding him with their torch as their grip loosened in surprise. With no warning, the hatch moved on its own and slammed shut, nearly taking Gibbo’s hand with it and locking itself. 

“Shit!” he cursed, gripping the wheel to open it, but it refused to budge. No matter how much force he put behind it, it wouldn’t twist. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas asked from behind him, startling him so bad he screamed. 

“Don’t do that, Douglas! How’d you get up here so quietly?!”

“What are you-“

“No… No!” The voice cried out, echoing out of the second tank. They looked over and saw the second hatch open, allowing sound to escape. 

“Douglas…?” The voice sounded farther away than it should be. It had an odd quality to it, like the whistling of the gales in the outer rooms of the derrick, or the sound of waves from the middle of the deck. Like holding a phone away from your ear but having it still close enough to hear a caller’s voice. “Douglas!” They continued muttering to themself, too quiet to be understood through the echoing and strange effects. 

Gibbo turned to ask Douglas a question, but his words were lost when he saw his face. It was ashen with dread and he looked like he would vomit. 

Douglas pushed past him to get to the hatch, twisting the wheel open with ease. 

“Hey! What are you-!“ The hatch was already open and Douglas practically sliding down the ladder. He at least felt relieved seeing the water so low, but he still hated the idea of anyone going in there. 

Douglas disappeared from view, heading towards the connecting space between tanks. Gibbo almost reached for the ladder himself, but hesitated. 

“Douglas, get back here!” he whisper-shouted into the dark, keeping an eye on the other hatch and the stilling water below. There was no reply other than fading sloshing sounds.

After what felt like far too long, a familiar knit hat emerged from the opposite hatch, looking around wildly.

“Where’d he go?!” Douglas asked, voice frantic. “Did you see him?”

“Calm down, lad,�� Gibbo tried to reassure. “No one’s come out of there other than you. You sure the guy isn’t still in there?”

“I-I don’t think so, but it’s so dark…” he was starting to break down; Gibbo figured it was the stress of yesterday catching up to him. “I heard him, I know it was him…”

“I have a torch,” Gibbo said, reaching into his pocket where it was located. Douglas didn’t seem to hear him, forcing Gibbo to make up his mind. “Alright, lad, stay there. I’ll check the tank and meet you up there. Don’t move, alright?” He waited for Douglas to nod before shakily grabbing the ladder.

He hated the water tanks. He was vehemently reminded of that fact as he landed in water up to his knees. It was as cold as the water filling the outside room, but the solid, enclosed walls made it so much darker and easier to flood if someone were to forget he was in there. 

He shined the torch around the first main tank, going as far as to look up the walls. No sign of the mystery man in here, but he couldn’t shake the childish fear of something lurking in the dark. 

That meant he had to do his least favorite part…

Coming up to the connection between the tanks, he had to turn sideways, squeezing into the narrow gap. He wasn’t the smallest man, so the fit was very tight. He hated having to do maintenance inside the tanks, he hated the dark, he hated the tight fit, he hated the water-

He just hated the water tanks.

He was eventually released, coming out on the other side with a relieved sigh. He pointed his torch at the dark corners and-

His light shut off, plunging him into darkness. 

His whole body tensed and his breathing picked up. He quickly flicked it on and off again, trying to get it to come back with no luck. He shook and smacked it, only succeeding to get it to flicker rapidly. 

He spun around, pointing the blinking light behind him, in the corners, and all around, searching for beasts lurking in the dark, making his anxiety worse. 

He pushed through the water towards the ladder, wanting to get out as quick as possible, when he froze solid, his heart dropping to his stomach.

At the base of the ladder, his light caught an orange uniform floating just under the surface. The light flickered and he noticed the body’s dark skin. It flashed and he caught his grey knit cap-

The torch died again, and in the low light filtering in from the hatch, the body was gone. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas called down from above. “Is he down there?”

“N-no!” Gibbo finally managed to stutter out, trying to shake the panic off. It had just been his mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. “He-he must’ve snuck past me somehow. I’m coming up!”

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten up a ladder faster in his whole career working on rigs. Douglas seemed to have calmed down a bit, still occasionally wiping his eyes. 

“He didn’t come this way either,” Douglas said. “How’d he get past?”

“I don’t know,” Gibbo replied. “He must’ve slipped out while I wasn’t looking.” He looked over the tank room, looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. “Who was he, anyway?”

“What?” 

“You said you knew who he was and it got you in a right state, so who was it?”

“Ah,” Douglas hesitated. “I must’ve just imagined it, it couldn’t have been-“

A slam echoed through the room, making both men jump. It sounded like the hatch door up the stairs to Accommodation. 

“Well, sounds like he got through okay,” Gibbo joked, trying to shake off the tension. “But who’d you think-“

“Is that the leak?” Douglas interrupted him, pointing to something in the half of the tank room they hadn’t searched. Sure enough, Gibbo spotted the junction between pipes where a steady stream of water was leaking out. 

Gibbo sighed. “Aye, that’s it. Good job, lad.”

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

21

inspo by @whumpitlikeyoumeanit

[tw self-harm, self-deprecation, past trauma, implied past captivity, lashing out, anger as a trauma response, rocky recovery, argument between friends]

"This is so stupid," Whumpee muttered. "So fucking stupid. What the fuck is going on with this?"

"Whumpee, it's normal." Caretaker tried to take them by the hands to stop them from picking at their scars, but Whumpee flinched away before they could have. "Hey, it's okay. It's alright."

"It's not! It's so fucking itchy! Like– twice a year it'll get fucking itchy like it's brand new, for, for no reason! It's so annoying!" Whumpee kept scratching it until it hurt, feeling ridiculous that this small thing was making them lash out like that. "It's healed, it's fully healed! And not only is it ugly, it's itchy."

"You're going to make yourself bleed–"

"And? What's it to you? It's my body, isn't it? That's what you always say. Whumper never said that shit. They were upfront, they said 'your body is mine to perfect and mine to ruin.'" They made Whumper sound as stupid as possible just so they wouldn't have to deal with the tears. "But you're different, right? You're telling me my body is actually mine. I can perfect it and ruin it myself, right?"

"Whumpee..."

"No, no! Don't give me that! I can do whatever the fuck I want! I can most definitely scratch a stupid itch!"

Caretaker sighed and sat back, watching with a frown as Whumpee continued to rub their skin raw. It was a matter of principle at this point, and Whumpee was prepared to push it to the limits.

"I can do whatever I want," they repeated, quieter. "My ankle was flaring up earlier too. If I had enough one day and decided to chop it off–"

"Don't say that," Caretaker cut in, increasingly more nervous.

"Oh, now I can't even say shit. I can't do anything, I can't say anything. So much for autonomy. So much for–"

"Whumpee, don't... you're being ridiculous."

"Sure," they spat. "I'm being ridiculous."

"I don't mean that in a– look, I just... I want you to take a deep breath, okay? And just calm down a little. Clearly, you're not having a good day–"

"Yeah, I'm completely unfit to make decisions for myself. Because it's a bad day, and I'm fucking stupid."

Caretaker slammed their hand down on the table in frustration, and Whumpee finally stopped messing with their scars. Their eyes snapped up to their friend, fearful and shocked. They shouldn't have been shocked. They'd wanted to instigate, and now here was the fruit of their labour.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Caretaker said as calmly as possible. "Yeah?" Whumpee nodded a little, still stiff as a board. "I'm sorry for banging on the table."

A small part of Whumpee wanted to go further. They wanted to make another comparison between their friend and Whumper, they wanted to push it, they wanted to see just how angry Caretaker would get. A much bigger part of them wanted to slip onto their knees and grovel.

They ended up doing neither of those. They stayed seated, unable to do anything but make a nervous attempt at wiping away their tears and shaking their head to signal it wasn't a big deal.

"Fuck, Whumpee..." Caretaker stood up and circled around the table, and Whumpee tried to push them away on instinct. "Whumpee... Hey. I'm sorry." They knelt down and finally took Whumpee by the hands, wincing when their eyes landed on the patch of raw skin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset with you. You're safe, I promise. I would never hurt you."

"I don't actually want to chop my leg off," they choked out. They had no idea why that was the first thing they wanted to address out of everything, but it felt like the most urgent matter at hand. Caretaker nodded.

"That's good news."

"I'm not fucking dumb."

"I know you're not. I know."

"You keep treating me like I– I can't even joke about it, or get angry, or– I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't... it's... I shouldn't get angry with you. I shouldn't be saying these things."

Caretaker squeezed their hands a little. "I can't really... deny that sometimes it gets scary when you joke about it. Especially when it doesn't sound like a joke, or when you're... already upset and in a bad headspace."

"But I wouldn't do it!" they snapped, then immediately shrank back and murmured an apology.

"I can't read your mind. I just can't. And I know you're more than capable of hurting yourself." They sighed. "Listen... Bodily autonomy, and, and your right to– to hurt yourself if you want to... I... I don't know how to explain..."

"I'll never actually have autonomy."

"Please don't do this. Please don't ask this of me. To– to prove that I mean it by letting you hurt yourself. That's fucked up. Surely, you realise that's fucked up."

Whumpee didn't say a word. Of course they knew. But they felt like a dumb kid, trying to find out where the limits of their freedom were by constantly pushing back against their parents' rules.

"I want you to be safe. Ultimately, I can't stop you from... from doing anything, really. I can't stop you from hurting yourself, not if you really want to. But– but it's not about stripping you of your bodily autonomy. It's about... me, as your friend, wanting you to be safe and healthy. That's all. And it sucks so fucking much that you treat it like I'm– like I'm forcing horrible stuff on you, when I've never done that."

"I know," Whumpee whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not about apologies, okay? I know you're in a very tough spot. I know it's difficult. I just want to... I'm trying to explain my reasoning. I want you to understand where I'm coming from, since..."

"Since I'm so fucked in the head."

"Please, stop putting words in my mouth. Whumpee, I'd never think any of these things about you. Please, stop."

Whumpee wanted to curl up and die. They couldn't shut up about it. They couldn't stop putting words in everyone's mouths. All their brain did day after day was supply them with endless amounts of negativity their friends must've been thinking, even if logically, they knew it probably wasn't true. "I'm sorry," they repeated.

Caretaker let go of their hands and placed their own on Whumpee's knees instead. "I want nothing but for you to be happy and healthy. That's all I ever want. And this might sound rude as hell, but when you ask me to let you chop your leg off, it feels like you're a kid asking to eat two tonnes of candy and stay up for three nights in a row. I can't in good conscience agree to that. I know it's a bad idea."

Was that how people perceived them? Like a child, throwing a temper tantrum? They could feel themself checking out entirely, their mind refusing to grapple with all the things that had been said. I told you I didn't actually want to chop my leg off. "Okay."

"Okay?" Caretaker gave them a look of cautious and reluctant hope. "You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yeah."

"Are you just agreeing because you're overwhelmed?" Whumpee hesitated, and it was enough to make Caretaker's hope shatter. "Well..."

"No! No, that's not... You didn't even let me answer!"

"I guess I didn't. Sorry. I just... I know when you're about to lie about stuff like this." They sighed and stood up. "Whumpee, I love you more than anyone in this world, okay? I hate to make you feel overwhelmed. Or like you have to agree with me. Why don't I get some cotton pads to clean that wound, and then we'll take a break from this conversation?"

The argumentative brat in them wanted to say no just for the sake of it. But they felt so exhausted all of a sudden, they just couldn't. They ended up nodding their agreement wordlessly, and then they sat in silence the whole time Caretaker was tending to them, letting their mind drift.

This was all so stupid. As they looked down at their many scars, they wondered whether they could even chop off a limb on their own. Had they been joking when they said it? Or were they actually considering it?

It didn't matter. As angry as Whumpee had been about restrictions just a couple minutes ago, they were quickly realising they at least made these thoughts kind of meaningless. It didn't matter whether they had it in them, because Caretaker said they weren't allowed do to it anyway.

"All done," Caretaker said all too soon. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? Or do you want me to sit with you?"

"Sit with me," Whumpee said without thinking. The request sparked that sliver of hope in their friend's eyes again as they nodded and walked back to their own chair.

"No talking?" Whumpee shook their head. "Alright. No talking."