#LOTSA ANGST

[jesncin]

Constantine Birthdays fancomic sneak peak! Almost finished drawing it all, it's short but lookin' great. I think I'll whip up a cover for this too.

[123pixieaod]

Tried to write a fun little fic about why Daniel unfollowed on Instagram Zak, Michael, Fernando, and Nicki, the most random quartet possible, only to end up with this lol

Daniel finally answers a call at just gone 4.30am, Max's time. It's 5.30am, Daniel's time, which admittedly is only marginally better, but maybe the hospital he's in has some crazy Get-Up-And-Seize-The-Day sort of ethos. Although from what Christian has told him, Daniel might not be seizing anything, metaphorically or otherwise, for some time.

"Daniel," Max says as soon as he hears the line clicking through. "How are you? How do you feel? Is your wrist alright? Do the doctors and nurses take care of you, do they speak English, or did Red Bull send a Spanish translator and I hope I have not woken you up and-"

He cuts himself off. There's a sort of stunned silence on the other side of the line. Sometimes, Max thinks his need for Daniel is a bottomless pit, something that has hollowed him out and leaves an ache echoing through him.

"Max?" Daniel says, incredulous. High, drugged up, gone on pain medication. "How did you get into my phone?!"

Max squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth is twisted, making some shape. A smile, a frown? He doesn't know, nobody can see him in his old childhood bedroom.

He wants to be with Daniel. He wants to brush a hand through his curls and run his fingertips along the lines of his faded tattoos like how a child would first begin to trace letters and numbers.

I miss you, he wants to say

I want you

I need you

"I'm not in your phone," he says instead, tone light and soft. "I called you. I am in the Netherlands."

"Oh," Daniel says, as if the fact Max had not been magically transformed into his phone is mildly disappointing. "What are you doing there?"

"We had a race, remember?" Max says. He's stretched out on his old bed. His feet dangle just slightly off the edge, and each year, he's promised a new one, bigger and larger and finally a grown-up bed. But it never materialises and Max has stopped bringing it up now.

The room is unchanged. Around him, the faces of former racing legends watch him, tapped to his wall. Above, stars look down, stuck to his ceiling in haphazard patterns. The day his father got to play God and created universes and cosmos splayed above his head.

"Of course," Daniel huffs good naturedly. "You won, Maxy."

"I know," Max replies softly.

"It was your ninth consecutive win," Daniel continues, his tone strong and proud, as if it's Daniel who has achieved it. Maybe he's so high on meds he thinks it is, that him and Max are some sort of Jeckyl and Hyde being, two sides of the same life. Max doesn't know. A headache is building behind his eyes. He hasn't really slept since Friday, three days previous.

"You're now equalling Sebastian Vettle. If you win the next race, you'll beat the record." Daniel continues before pausing, as if realisation is only just dawning. "I don't think I'll be there."

"No," Max murmurs. "I don't think you will be either."

"My wrist is really fucked," Daniel goes back to his jubilant tone, like a child with the best show and tell in school. "I have a metal plate in it, isn't that neat?"

He laughs. Max closes his eyes, just listening to the sound. "Imagine if it goes off at every airport security, Maxy? How annoying with that be?" He laughs again, the prospect sounding delightful to him in that very moment.

Max hums softly, and then shifts on the bed, turning away from the stars his father hung up for him. Instead, he moves to his side, facing a giant poster of Micheal Schumacher celebrating one of his championships. At the bottom, Max, to great things! MS. He was six. It was one of the best Christmas presents his dad had ever gotten him.

"How do you feel?" He asks. Daniel is humming a tune under his breath, the theme song to some gameshome Max barely recognises. He stops at Max's question.

"Good," he says happily. "I have gained deep clarity."

That shocks a laugh out of Max, as only Daniel, even doped, drugged Daniel, can do. The longing feels physical, the hole never ending in his chest. He closes his eyes, blocking out the stars and racing legends whose shine has faded and whose records he's now beating.

In another life, he thinks, he would be there. He'd be the first face Daniel would see, the first hand he'd get to hold, the first for nearly everything, just like Daniel had been for Max.

But instead they're a time zone apart and Daniel is alone in a country where he can't even speak the language and Max is in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his family who are fast sleep and utterly oblivious to the fact he's gay, let alone in a relationship with Daniel Ricciardo.

"Clarity," Max forces his mind back on track. "How so?"

"Oh you know," Daniel says with ease. "Cleared my mental space."

Max huffs another laugh. His chest aches, empty. He wonders does Daniel know how hollowed out he is without him.

"Go on."

"Well, I deleted a shit ton of apps. That wellness app you made me download last year? Sorry Maxy, but that went," Daniel makes a popping noise. "And the fertility tracking app Scotty downloaded at his bachelor's party."

"Presumably he just got his and your phones mixed up, right?"

"No Maxy, it was a prank because I -" Daniel breaks away, finally understanding, laughing as if Max has made the funniest joke possible.

"Okay so you cleared up some space on your phone," Max prompts him.

"Oh yes, and then deleted twitter and went to WhatsApp and left about a billion groups and then I went to Instagram, and went through who I followed, and unfollowed tons of people."

"Oh? Did I make the cut?"

Daniel tutts as if Max is being purposefully dense.

"Naturally Maxy. In fact, I sort of debated unfollowing everyone except you, but then figured you might've been pissed at me."

Max can't tell if Daniel is joking or not. He doesn't know which he wants it to be.

"So firstly I unfollowed a bunch of people I had met years ago at business deals and stuff, and then Craig and Rebecca from school because I never really liked them anyway and they definitely never liked me and then Zak because the vibes were Not It and then my high-school teacher who I definitely only ended up following on a dare and -"

"Zak," Max says, picking out the familiar name in the sea of chatter. "As in Zak Brown?"

Daniel hums. "Yeah, the vibes were Not It. And then I also unfollowed Fernando -"

"Alonso?" Max splutters out another laugh of disbelief. "What on earth did he do to you?"

"I don't like how he acts around you."

"Me?!" Max voice goes up an octave. "What? But he's always nice to me Daniel. I like him."

"I know Max, that's the point," Daniel says, and before Max can even begin to comprehend what he means, he's continuing. "And then also Richard, from McLaren because I swear he used to tell Zak everything I did and then Michael, and then Sam, this old hookup, and -"

"Michael," Max cuts in, sure he's mistaken, "as in ..."

"Yeah," Daniel says after a beat. "That Michael."

Max swallows. Michael has been a constant strain on their relationship, the fly in the otherwise smooth ointment. Max had told Daniel he wasn't good for him, he wasn't looking after him. That friendship and business rarely mixed, and that in this case, it had congealed into something of neither, a strange, interdependent relationship which drained them both.

Daniel had said Max hadn't understood it, hadn't gotten how much Michael helped him, how good it was to have a physico who was also his mate. Max replied by saying that as far as he was concerned, Michael was proving himself to be neither.

Jealousy. That was what Daniel had pinned to him, had washed all rationality away with. Max was jealous.

He remembers feeling like he had been slapped. Jealousy. Fucking jealousy.

He never mentioned Michael again.

"But," Max begins slowly, mind whirling. "You had lunch with him last week." Even though you never mentioned it, even though I had to find out through fans' blurry photos.

"Yeah," Daniel draws the syllable out. "But... the vibes were not immaculate."

"Right," Max says, hating how terse the single word sounds. And the vibes were fine when he encouraged you to do that fucked up intermittent fasting? When he recommended yoga and gym sessions instead of therapy?

"And then I unfollowed Nicky Latifi, because unfortunately, he's going to do a masters in London, and following him online will simply remind me of all the missed possibilities I had in the academic world," he goes on.

"Daniel," Max says, trying to force his mind to move on, Daniel has unfollowed Michael Daniel has unfollowed Michael. "You dropped out of school when you were seventeen. In the most loving of ways, I would hardly call you an up and coming scholar."

"Details, Maxy," he says, but then goes quiet, and so does Max. He opens his eyes. His room is painted in shadows, sunrise still distant. The trophies he won as a child are carefully displayed in neat rows, their plaques opaque with dust, now thick and heavy. He remembers winning them, young and already starving for more, remembers the weight of plastic, the way sugary pop soda dried sticky on his skin.

"I think you were right," Daniel says softly. Max nods, face pressed against his pillow.

"I mean about him. Michael."

"I know who you meant," Max murmurs.

"Okay good, because you're definitely not write about my academic prowess, I was one hundred percent on track to be this world's Stephen Hawkens."

Max laughs softly. "It's Hawking not Hawken."

"Once again Maxy, details."

There's another exhale of quiet between them, and outside Max hears the world beginning to rise. Birds waking, their whistles winding their way through the crack in his window.

"I miss you," he says softly, as if the words are barely permitted to be spoken aloud.

"I love you too Maxy," Daniel replies with ease. Then - "you should come. I think it would be nice. If you were here too."

"I think so too," Max says. The longing grows. The trophies are dusty on his shelf, forgotten. His feet hang off his childhood bed. Birds begin to sing.

"So will you?" Daniel persists. Max squeezes his eyes shut.

"I don't know. I do not think you would be saying this if you weren't off your head on pain meds," he tries to joke. His chest aches. Hollowed out, always wanting more than he's allowed.

"Of course I would," Daniel says confidently, even though he ends it with a yawn. "I anyways want you around."

Max keeps his eyes still tightly shut. He tucks his knees up, bringing them to his chest. When he was very young and his parents were still together, he'd do this. Curl up on the bed with his eyes squeezed closed. The door shut, their shouts muffled; as distant as the bird song is to him now.

"Maxy?"

His sister said the same. Maxy? Climbing on his bed, tugging at his arms. What are they talking about? Nothing, nothing, it doesn't matter.

"How's your wrist?" Max asks. He opens his eyes - the room has grown lighter, dawn finally creeping in.

"Good," Daniel says, already forgotten what he said. Like a butterfly, moving onto the next topic, nothing permanent. "Sore. I'm on some strong shit though." He laughs. It sounds so near.

Max imagines it. He could do it. Book the ticket to Spain. It wouldn't even be that bad. People know him and Daniel are mates, and mates visit each other in hospital. And that's if it even comes out, which it might not. Nobody has to know.

"I love you," he blurts out, cheeks warm. Daniel laughs again, soft and delighted.

"Good, because my right hand is currently out of action, so I might need help over the next few weeks with a few particular things."

Max laughs, cheeks warm. He's not being quiet any more. His family can probably hear him through the walls, just like he could hear his parents all those years ago.

He can imagine his sister asking him, echoing their childhood as she questions him on words she's grasped through walls. This time, though, he thinks he will tell her the truth.

"I've heard Spain is very beautiful at the end of August," he says.

Daniel hums, "I've heard something similar, Maxy."

Outside, birds sing. The dawn continues on, filling the emptiness of night.

[poorlyplannedmemorial]

This Sesame Street skit was sketchy in terms of the whole “you shouldn’t be sad for no reason, it’s silly!” thing but the last scene was something i needed 2 draw fer shure.

[peppermintys]

i wanna make a scott pilgrim apocalypse au so bad. i’m resisting the urge. grrrrggggggggrraaaaaaaaaaAAAAARRRRRG

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Confession, rejection, acceptance, repeat | {KokuZan}

Theme: Angst, angst, and more angst 🤩✨

"Yes? What would you like?" Muzan asked, turning to his highest ranked demon.

"Uh.. Master, I would like to, uh, ask you...out?" Kokushibo said nervously. For over thirty years his crush on his king had only grown. And only just a couple months before, the other uppermoons had found out. They'd pushed him to confess ever since he told them and he'd finally decided he would today. Which was what he was currently doing.

Muzan cocked his head to the side, confused. Ask him out? To leave the room or...? 

But reading his uppermoon's mind proved he'd gotten it completely wrong.

Forcing away the heat that was rising up to his face, Muzan quickly got ahold of himself. "Kokushibo," he said.

The said demon looked up and met the red-pink eyes of his crush with the six of his own. "Hm?"

"No."

The word bounced around the room several times before it sank into Kokushibo's mind and he realized what his master meant. "...No?" he whispered, more to himself than to the other.

Muzan nodded and turned to leave. He paused at the doorway, though, and said, "Oh, and, tell the other uppermoons that if they so much as think about any of these stupid relationship things, they can forget they ever existed. That goes to you, too, Kokushibo. I'm surprised you even considered it. And for thirty years?" He shook his head, disappointed, and left, leaving Kokushibo to process what had just happened.

___________________ "I knew it. I told you he wouldn't accept it.." Kokushibo repeated for the 10th time, looking off into the distance.

Daki sighed and continued rubbing Kokushibo's back. Usually it was the elder of the two acting as the comforter, but this time Daki had to play the part to her father figure. "I'm sure he's just in shock."

"No.. no, he was clear about it. If he thought we might be together at any point he wouldn't have put such restrictions.. He's right, though. I can't let myself think such things, I mustn't ponder this any longer." Kokushibo's mind was set. Kind of. Well, not really. A little. ...Not at all, if he was honest, but he had to obey his Master's orders. He got up and gave Daki the fakest smile ever. "I'll be fine, no need to worry. I apologize for this inconvenience. I'll see you later." (BRO HOW DO YOU SPELL THAT- Edit: Nvm i fixed it 😁)

He left without another word.

Daki sighed again and looked down. If she hadn't pushed him to confess this wouldn't have happened. How had she messed everything up.. 

Douma walked in and sat next to Daki. "Don't worry, they both just need time to think about it!" He clapped cheerfully. "I'm sure in no time they'll be together."

From behind the two uppermoons, Akaza groaned in annoyance. "Master literally said we can't even as much as think about those kinds of things, stop acting like it's going to happen. Because as much as we want it, the Master's word is his word and we can't disobey."

The blond nodded, still acting as optimistic as ever. Akaza sighed. Daki rolled her eyes at the two and got up. "I've got to go now, you two stop fighting." And at that, she left.

___________________

For another week, Kokushibo grew restless. He couldn't believe he had actually gone out there and asked Muzan that. Or that he had been rejected. The humiliation and disappointment weighed down on him. The other Uppermoons tried desperatly to cheer him up, but as much as he appreciated their attempts, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He was just to sadened about this to be happy.

Meanwhile, Muzan couldn't get his mind off of this. He was surprised, shocked, flustered (although he would never admit it), and apprehensive. He didn't know how to feel about this but he did know (or at least he thought he did) that he shouldn't accept this confession. It would get in the way of everything. Of course, he felt that that might be wrong but... who would listen to their heart anyways. That was weak and for humans. Which was how they were always so vulnerable and fearful. Getting attatched caused problems.

Then again.

If he didnt accept, who knows how long he'll be thinking about this on and on. He couldn't stop, and if he didn't at least consider accepting then who knows how long he might think about it. But of course that was the whole point. Distracting him from important matters.

He sighed, annoyed. Why were emotions so annoying and complicated?!

Muzan rolled his eyes at himself. Whatever, this wasn't worth his time.

But then an hour later he caught himself thinking about it, yet again. What was wrong with him? Had these emotions gotten ahold of his head...?

___________________

Kokushibo sat in his study, reading. 

Kiyoko took his hands and smiled up at him. "What I would give to live with you forever." She smiled softly and faded away, leaving Hiroshi crying deeply as his lover disappeared in his arms.

The Uppermoon paused, wondering why he was reading this. He'd gotten so into the book that he hadn't even realized he was reading a romance novel. Was this because he wanted to replicate this with Muzan? ....Wait.

Why couldn't he just stop thinking about this? Every day it was Muzan this, Muzan that. Wishing he was in his arms now, knowing that he'd never be then. What was with him? He had to stop this. Push down all these disrupting feelings. No. More. Emotions. 

Sometimes he wished he could be like Douma. Never feeling real emotions, only faking. It would make things all the more easier. He got up and tucked the book back into the bookshelf. That was enough thinking. He had to accept his fate. Enough of this wanting, he was done with wisihgn he had something he would never get. Leaving the room, he vowed he wouldn't have anything to do with love again. Never ever.

_________________

Muzan was having completely different thoughts. He felt as if he shouldn't have been so harsh on his uppermoon. Besides, he had always favored his top ranked Uppermoon best. Which was one of the reason Kokushibo was Upper 1. And besides, there was something there. He hated to admit it, but he had definitely flushed JUST A LITTLE (totally-) when the confession had risen. So maybe he should accept this? Maybe.. 

He looked around. Where was Kokushibo? He would accept the confession now. Two weeks of thinking was enough, who cares about the restrictions he'd set. They didn't matter anymore. He was going to get Kokushibo and accept the stupid (or not) confession. He couldn't take it anymore, too much thinking and theorizing and restless nights of worry. He was going to give his own confession to his favorite Uppermoon.

_________________

Kokushibo had been called to see Muzan for a reason he did not know. He knocked on the door and waited for a response.

 Muzan looked up. When he realized it was Kokushibo, he took a deep breath to get himself ready before he said, "Come in." He motioned for the other to sit across from him as the demon strode in. "I know you're wondering why I have summoned you here, and, well, the matter is quite simple. It's a matter adressing what happened a couple weeks ago. Your... 'confession.'" 

The room grew painfully quiet as the demon king waited for an answer. Then, "Yes?" Kokushibo wondered if it was to reprimand (me writing that but only vaguely knowing what it means) him for thinking about it. But whatever it was, at least he had decided to let it go and stop paying so much attention to it, right?"

Muzan took a deep breath, deciding to let Kokushibo have his privacy and not read his mind. If they were going to do this, he needed everything to work out as he wanted. "Well. I'm going to.. accept it. Or rather, I'll confess something as well. I.. I'm asking you out."

Kokushibo was beyond shocked. "Wait what?"

"I'm asking you out," Muzan repeated, getting impaitent.

"No.. I heard what you said but.. I'm just.. surprised."

"Yes, I suppose you would be. But anyways, now you can accept this an-" the shorter of the two was cut off by Kokushibo.

"No. I am going to reject this. I apologize, Master, but I have no interest in this sort of love nonsense." And with that, he got up and left, leaving the demon king, the one who got everything he wanted and everything had to be his way, alone.

"....." Muzan was shocked. How could he have just been rejected? Him? The demon lord? Been rejected by his own subject? ....this couldn't be happening. How. Why?! He got up to storm after Kokushibo but then paused. This.. humiliation, this embarrassment and disappointment.. It was how Kokushibo must've felt when he'd rejected him, right?

He sat back down and slumped in his chair. He supposed he deserved this, then. But.. how would he go about this? Kokushibo had gone with acceptance.. Suppose he did the same? It wouldn't be easy but.. that's just life for you. Was this how it was for the humans as well? Perhaps emotions had more to them than fragility....

Word count: 1523

{Look I didn't know where to end it ok- But anyways this was too short 😞

Anyways, ignore the amount of spelling mistakes in this, I was too lazy to look up the proper spelling.}

Edit: AGAIN I WROTE THIS A WHILE AGO AND ON WATTPAD SO IT'S KINDA GOOFY BUT WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT 😭

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

NO NO NO BRAIN NO WE CANNOT DO 80'S AU ROZIN NO WE CANNOT GOOODDDDDSSSSSSS

[soysaucevictim]

Putting all of Begotten!Janus's Brood together here.

I'm still working on the rough draft, but Logan, Virgil, and Patton will be making their debut in Book 2.

(Book 1 focused more on the twins, their parents, and Janus. Gonna draw up the Espinozas next here in a hot minute... Book 2 is still going to be from the Espinozas' POV.)

Individual posts:

Janus

Logan

Virgil

Patton

[inkykeiji]

Honestly i'd love to see you write chuuya x reader x dazai. I think there is so much to explore and it is such an interesting dynamic with a lot of angst potential, specially because of the complicated relationship dazai and chuuya seem to have and dazai's tendency to push everyone's limits

SOOOOO hehehe good news!!! i have an old, unfinished fic (it is currently at 11k words) that was originally alhaitham x reader x ajax but since i don’t think i’ll be writing for genshin for the foreseeable future and since the concept + narrative of the piece itself works so well for them i am now reworking it into chuuya x reader x dazai!!! so that’s almost finished. just the smut needs to be done, really!

i love this piece too much and worked way too flippin hard on it for it to just sit in my abandoned in my documents forever but ANYWAY yes anon i agree with you 100%!!!! a very verrrry interesting, complex, fun dynamic to dig into!!!! can’t wait to do more with them!! <3

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: CC-1010 | Fox Additional Tags: Poetry, Ficlets, Short Stories, Open to Interpretation, Inspired by Fanart, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Self-Reflection, Drinking Caf Series: Part 8 of Poetry Shorts Collection (Various Fandoms) Summary:

A poem about Fox, his somewhat angsty internal reflection while drinking caf.

Part of Poetry Shorts Collection of various fandoms

[kazimakuwabara]

Chains and TMNT Rise, for the brain rot.

I got a strange idea, so this is gonna have a bit more turtles than just the Rise. Just a bit. Also, nice try Nonnie, I haven't written for this fandom in ages.

Spoilers for The Rise Movie! And all tmnt verses.

***

Ripping a hole in the fabric of time wasn't easy. He had tried before. When Raph died, the first of their family lost to the Krang. Then when Cassandra fell. Then Pops. He gave up after Donatello. But not because he failed.

He'd gotten close with Donatello... really close.

His hands had reached through the veil, and grasped the fabric of the world, soft and springy in his hands. But when he pulled, the weave became chains, and the most he could do was rattle them. The ricochet of his hands tugging the chains had set off a reaction.

Like ripples of water, pathways spread out before him, not in a smooth line, but in a wobbling arc.

He reached for Donatello, and the arching waves showed him... many.

Donatello, stouter with a sharper beak. Walking in daylight, laughing without a care, a shined initial on his belt. He reached, but his voice wasn't strong enough. He wasn't corporeal enough. They didn't even glance at him.

Donatello alone in the rubble of a broken world. He leaned heavily against a staff, and wept over another version of... of himself. Another Michelangelo missing an arm, taller, older, and harder... dead at a young Donatello's feet.

Michelangelo cried out, and this Donatello turned, eyes peering at him from beneath white and purple fabric. He mouthed his name.

The chains rattled, and Michelangelo was somewhere else.

Dark, and underground. A subway station, maybe? It was old, but restored. Not for public use, but for living. Donatello, a different shade of green, with a sturdy hard shell, was standing next to a seated rat. This rat was older, very old; feeble, yet strong.

"No, my son, go back," This Splinter said, his voice a whisper, "Go back!"

"Is that... Mikey?" The Donatello asked. He reached out, and his Splinter stopped him with a boney hand.

Michelangelo turned away, rattling the chains again. He understood now. He was searching, not just tearing.

He rattled the chains again, and a crackle of white energy surged up through Michelanglo's fingers, cracking through the very being that made him up. A piece of himself fell away like a fleck of paper, and Michelangelo disregarded it.

Donatello... Donatello... Donatello!

He had to find his brother.

He shook the chains, and followed the curve.

A taller Donatello, with a gap in his teeth. He was working in a lab, and looked up at Michelanglo's appearance. The turtle blinked, his mouth falling open. He looked at him, and Michelangelo was about to turn away.

"Wait! Wait! Mikey! Mikey, is that you! Your hands? Look at your hands! Mikey! What are you doing to yourself?" The words were cutting through a fog. Far away, instead of nearby.

Michelangelo looked back at this Donatello, the turtle starting to walk towards him.

He reached... just... Just a little. He wondered if... what would happen if he touched this other version of his brother?

"Don?" a young voice said from an open door, and Michelangelo turned and saw himself. Round, short, and with spots on his cheeks like freckles.

Something about the youthful face unleashed something inside him, and he was angry.

Angry.

How lucky to be innocent. How lucky to have your brothers. How lucky that other Michelangelo must have been... and did he even know it? Did he appreciate it?

He didn't mean to get angry, but he came to his senses with a hand around the new Michelanglo's throat.

He could touch. He could touch. Which meant... It meant he could pull. He could find a Donatello and bring him home. He could find his family-

"Get your hands off my brother!" Someone was screaming, his shout muffled. Like he was speaking with fabric covering his mouth.

They dove for him, and Michelangelo saw a furious face, and cracked breastplate. They passed right through him, as if he was a ghost.

A tear fell from his face and he thought, 'I am a ghost... a ghost.'

"Are you okay?" the turtle that was him, but not him, not he, whispered, and Michelangelo looked back at him. Back into himself.

The round freckled face looked worried, and amazingly calm considering Michelangelo had him pinned to a wall and was strangling him. What was he doing?! Why was he hurting himself?

"Foul beast, you will unhand my son!" A voice roared, low and threatening.

A tall, very tall black shape lunged at him, an energy around nimble sure fingers. This Splinter was sleek and vicious, and he did not hesitate to attack Michelangelo, driving him away.

"You will keep away from my son! I will not go easy on you, no matter what shape you take!" the rat roared in Michelangelo's face.

He closed his eyes and shook the chains, tearing and pulling. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to hurt another version of himself. He didn't want to hurt another family, he just wanted his family! His family!

"ANGELO!" A voice he knew bellowed.

Michelangelo shook the chains, and spun into the arch. Another piece of himself flecked away from his hands.

He was in a white place.

With his back to him, standing alone in the empty white, was Donatello. His.

His!

"D... D... DON!" He shouted, and he could hear his voice.

The turtle shifted, looking at him over his shoulder. The room filled up with screens. Doorways, to paths that Michelangelo had a feeling he could take if he just... tried.

"DONNIE!" He shouted again.

"Don't come here Michael, don't come here. No, not you. Not yet," Donatello whispered, eyes wet and haunted. "Don't you dare."

Like a stab in his heart, his brother's rebuttal hurt him. He tried to step toward him, but translucent chains kept him at bay. He looked down, and realized these were the chains that were keeping him back.

He could break them.

He could break them, and change the weave. Knowing filled him. If he did... he'd shatter completely. But what did it matter if shattered? He curled his hands around the chains, sucking in a sharp breath. He could have his family back! Starting with Donatello!

He looked up, and a screen sailed by his face, mocking him with its imagery. It was all of them together, scaling the Brooklyn bridge. Pizza boxes piled high on Raphael's head. He was being cheered on as he tried to scale the bridge.

Everyone was there, and Michelangelo wanted to be there.

To be in that happy moment again.

He gripped the chains, prepaired the shatter.

"Michelangelo, you listen to me, and you get away from those, right this instant!" Donatello said, his voice echoing out at the turtle like a slap. He couldn't see his brother anymore, but he could hear him, and not just him.

All of the Donatellos.

All were talking to him.

"Don't you dare, Mikey!"

In the mocking image of happiness, he saw something else... something that hadn't been there before.

Casey. Casey Jones, as he knew him, was cheering Raphael on. He looked strange next to the younger versions of his family. Strange in the sense he was dressed like always, in the scraps, they could find in their efforts of the rebellion. But he was smiling, in a mixture of dazed wonder, confusion, and unbridled joy.

This was new...

"Leon! You better grab our baby brother right this instant, or I'll never let you live it down!" His Donatello's voice shouted, snapping Michelangelo from his daze.

"ON IT!" The roar of Leonardo's voice was enough to shake Michelangelo's grip from the chains. He let go, staring with disbelief at what he'd done, and then looked back up.

The room was all white again, but Donatello was there, his eyes wet with unshed angry tears. He pointed a finger in Michelangelo's face, "Miguel, if you try this shit again, I'm going to have to do something reckless, and violent with my hands, WITHOUT tech, and you know how I feel about that!"

Arms wrapped around Michelangelo's chest and he exhaled, unaware that he hadn't been breathing.

Donatello smiled, straightening his spine. Several figures materialized behind him like ghosts. Donatello grinned, "Attaboy Leon. You straighten Miguel out!"

Michelangelo was pulled.

He came into himself, watching a small hole in the fabric of reality closed up. It was the size of a golf ball... but it had felt so big in his hands. There had been so much.

He gasped, taking in a breath, and then was spun, and violently shaken, Leonardo bearing down on him, his eyes glowing with a blue energy that Michelangelo hadn't seen in years. Leonardo took in a sharp breath, his breath catching as he choked on the inhale, "What were you doing? What were you doing!?"

Leonardo pulled Michelangelo into a hug, the smaller turtle's arms hanging uselessly at his sides. They were burning as if he'd dipped them in hot boiling water, pulsing as if electrified. He couldn't move them, not because he couldn't feel them, no... no he was feeling too much.

"What did you do?!" Leonardo rasped, cradling Michelangelo's head, "Your hair it's gray... your face! Mikey!"

"Did you see him? Don... Donnie was there," Michelangelo whispered.

"All I saw was you standing in front of a glowing hall, literally flaking into pieces!" Leonard snarled, crushing his brother to his chest, "What the hell were you doing?"

Donatello had been there.

But so had... had another path. Another option. Something to do with Casey.

"Leo... I gotta tell you something."

There had been chains.

Chains that were keeping him out. He'd break those chains, rip the threads, and change the weave of the world. They were going to be a family again.

He just had to shatter all of himself first.

[yuniemaki]

*punts through door* GOOD LUCK ON THE NEW MULTICHAP and #9, 14, 17 for the wip ask? :D

MY-MY DOOR........

9. What is your favorite dialogue you’ve written so far?

the latest plot V4.0 does not have dialogue yet 😭, so pulling this from V2.0 because it'll likely make it into the final draft:

“No, I can’t put you lot in danger again. Ningguang is not the Crux Fleet’s responsibility… she’s mine.”

14. What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic?

the !@#$%^ plot holes and missing character arc moments... it's just not making a coherent whole right now and it's like, there-but-not-there so i can't even start writing fr.

it's the little moments that aren't adding up, the moments that shape character thoughts... probably the hardest to rectify really. i'm on the 4th edition of this plot and it's still not working out. hopefully it'll be finalised and i can start writing for real before V7.0?!?!

17. Share the previous 5 sentences. 

again, pulling from V2.0:

“Beidou, please, I need help—” Beidou's heart pounds furiously in her chest. “Where are you, Ning? I’ll come to you. Hold on.” Confusion in her eyes, tinged with fear. “I–I don’t know.” Beidou's heart sinks.

le questions

[snarky-synesthete]

Hullo @flying-desk-set may I interest you in my “season 3” fic? There are teenagers, fallout from The Ineffable Breakup, action and adventure, dream sequences, literal deus ex machina, and a very happy South Downs ending! I’m very proud of it.

Hello! I finally have a question. I'm a tooth-rotting fluff reader and I read most of the ones you provided, save for the AUs which aren't my thing. Read nearly all of the South-Downs cottage ones as well.

That being said, do you guys have any more of those? Also, do you happen to have more "literal sleeping together" fics, since that's possibly one of my favorite tropes, thank youuu. I'm ace so preferably no smut.

Have an absolutely tickety-boo day!

Hi! Glad you've enjoyed our #fluff, #south downs cottage, and #literally sleeping together tags. Here are some non-au fics with a combination of those for you...

A Kiss in the Dark by Mizmak (G)

Crowley and Aziraphale had never shared a bed before, but that would change when Crowley stayed overnight at the bookshop to keep his friend company during a thunderstorm.

Hey Love (That’s the Name We’ve Long Held Back) by IneffableDoll (G)

Crowley wakes up with a white wing covering him and struggles to remember where he is. (He is in his home with his angel, safe and loved and cherished, and everything is okay.)

pausing the world to stay right where we are by snek_of_eden (T)

Aziraphale’s hands grasped at him gently, not in a commanding way, more like making sure he hadn’t stepped away. His pooling blue eyes gazed up at Crowley, and Crowley got the feeling he was just now realising how carefully they were doing this all, just how fondly he was being handled. Maybe he even guessed at the thoughts running through Crowley’s idiotically sappy mind right about now. In any case, he pulled at him slightly needily, almost vulnerable. He always looked this way, when he was at Crowley’s mercy, but there was no fear in his expression at all. “Are you…?” “‘M here, angel,” he said softly, stepping forward and taking Azirphale’s hand in his own. "It's okay." *** Crowley takes care of Aziraphale after Armageddon, exhausted, confused, but most of all, safe.

Acts Of Service by LondonSpirit (T)

The Second Coming is averted, Heaven and Hell is leaving them alone. Now Crowley and Aziraphale have to adjust to life on Earth without them meddling into their affairs! How's their life going to be when it's just them?

The Proposal by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

While struggling with anxiety, Crowley goes to Aziraphale with a proposal. Aziraphale thinks it’s a proposal of an entirely different kind. Can they work out the nature of their relationship, and will Crowley’s idea help with his anxiety?

A Night In by Mackem (T)

Crowley meets his gaze over the top of his glasses again. His grin is as sardonic as ever, but his eyes are creased fondly at the corners. “It starts tonight, angel. I could sort it all out for you, if you want?” “Would you?” Aziraphale smiles broadly. Warmth spreads from his stomach into his chest, bright and sparkling, as Crowley nods without hesitation. “That would be wonderful of you, my dear. You know what I’m like with new-fangled technology.” “New-fangled?” Crowley sighs, seemingly long-suffering, but amusement lurks behind it. “The telly is approaching being a century old at this point, you know. Look, leave it all to me, all right? I’ll pop round tonight.” “Oh, thank you, Crowley!” “No problem. Why don’t I bring some wine with me? We can have a night in.”

- Mod D

[123pixieaod]

"I care, I care, I care"

The weirdest brainrot pairing I've ever gotten lol. Set in the aftermath of the sprint today. Please enjoy this Oscar/Logan fic

You ’ll get it soon.

Unspoken words, hovering above his head. Like a lightbulb in a cartoon, just waiting for the idea to strike. Talent finally awakening. Light flicking on.

James, telling him that he’ll get it soon. The car is different, it’s new, and it’s a beast which Logan still needs to tame. But soon. Soon he’ll get it, whatever it is. The ability to finish, to get out, to smile. To be something other than an embarrassment, a pay-in, a stupid American.

“You’ll get it soon baby,” Lacy runs her fingers through his hair. He hums, scrolling through Instagram. Blue light, burning his eyes. Mindless. Anything not to look up, to not see her pity. She’s two years younger than him. A part-time student, full-time model. Oscar had raised his eyebrows at Logan when he first saw her. Blond hair as straight as rain, skin perfect, tight white tea with a neat skirt. Ticking all the boxes. An influencer and he’s a driver, and they look so good together, everyone says it.

“You sure caught yourself a good one with her, didn’t you?” He joked later. Elbow knocked into Logan’s side, and he forced himself to look up, offer a small smile. Wait for the joke, the barb tangled into his flesh.

“Lucky”, Oscar had simply said. A quick wink, as if it wasn’t just the two of them.

Who? Logan had imagined saying. Cut his tongue out. No need for words in a car anyway.

“You’ll get it soon,” his mother tells him. Voice soft, even over the line. About two continents and three oceans between them. Lacy still beside him. Updating her own Instagram, and Logan watches her edit the photos. Manicured nails in the pattern of a chequered flag tap on the screen, zooming in and out. I’m surprised you even know what a chequered flag looks like.

“Thanks,” he says. She zooms in on her skirt, dragging her finger over the material, instantly smoothing out the wrinkles. Saturation turned up slightly. In other life, I think I’d like to be an artist, he had once said. Laughter. Turning to look at him, eyes bright even in the darkness. Why wait for another lifetime? Why not this one Loge?

Maybe when I’m older, he had conceded. But for now, I’m too busy winning races to bother with sketching.

Don’t you mean too busy losing to me? Oscar giggled. An arm out, hand playfully pushing him in the darkness. Night heavy. Thirteen, heart too big in his chest.

“It’s just unlucky,” his mother continues. It’s dawn back home. He wonders has she slept at all. “Quali set you back, and the car isn’t good overtaking in circuits like these. You couldn’t do anything else, Logan. The car isn’t good with grip, you’re just getting the hang of it. It’s unlucky, could’ve happened to anyone.” He nods, even though she can’t see him. Lacy is now zoomed in on her face, softening her skin texture and smoothing the imperfections away. Filter only her lips, brightening them.

“Are you tired?”

He nods again, and then feels stupid when the silence stretches. “Yes. A race is always tiring, you know?”

Of course, she knows. She’s the one who stood with his dad at the side of every race, every go-karting competition. American wind and American rain and American sun. Home saturated on the track, accents matching his own.

“Yes, sweetheart. Are you going to the after-party?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Logan pretends not to notice how Lacy stills.

“Really?” His mother tries to keep any inflexion from her tone. “Not even with Oscar?”

Logan huffs a laugh. “Oscar will be way too busy mom. He won the sprint.”

“I know, that’s what I meant. Not even to celebrate his first podium?”

He swallows, looking down at his trousers. Thumb fingernail trailing up and down the seam, made to perfection. India, China? Mass-produced, workers whose names he’ll never know. He wears and uses and discards their work, move on to the next thing to taint with his touch. Always new shirts, new trousers.

Oscar wrinkling his nose. Eleven. Carting academy in Brexton/ Brixton. Both are the only non-Europeans there. Locked as roommates, these foreigners who speak English differently. Logan’s first time sharing a room. Oscar’s first time meeting someone like Logan.

“That’s a waste,” he told him, watching as Logan sorted through his wardrobe. His parents had left him to unpack. His father telling him he was growing up, he was taking the first step in his career. His mother’s tight hug, promising to call every night, promising that he can come home whenever he wants. “You don’t need all those clothes.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Incessant. Australian accent foreign and harsh against his ears. Bouncing through tones. Up and down. Higher-pitched than Logan’s.

“I don’t have half as many clothes as you have, and I’m fine,” he continued. Logan just shrugged. “I keep my clothes until they fall apart.” Proud, and Logan couldn’t help but turn, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“What?”

Oscar nodded, happy to finally have his attention. Cross-legged on the bed, skin still warm from Australian weather. Freckles. Front tooth missing, young for his age. “My mum even stitches them, if the tear isn’t bad. It’s a waste. It’s bad for the environment. Why buy new things when the old things are working fine? Plus, it’s an easy way to save money.”

Saving money. As if money was a finite source, something to be counted and hoarded and saved. Saving time, saving face, saving money.

Logan had never thought about that before.

“Tell him we’re happy for him, will you?” His mom is continuing. “I remember when he was just so small I just wanted to put him in my pocket.” She laughs, and Logan wrinkles his nose.

“Whatever mom.”

“I’ll text his mother too. She was always nice to us. Don’t tell Daddy, you know what he’s like.”

Another laugh. Like it’s nothing, just a joke. Logan continues to run his thumb along the seam of his pants.  His mother always the one to ring him after the races. DNF, fighting with HAAS for the bottom three places. An investment. That’s what his dad used to call it. Carting is a creature surviving on a steady diet of money, and his dad is always there to provide for it. Up to F1, and success brushes against his fingertips before racing away.

“You made it to the family fridge,” Oscar once told him. Grinning, tone pitched lower, finally broken. Spots and acne. Seventeen and on the edge of something great.

“Oh yeah?” Logan replied, smirking. “Nicole couldn’t get enough of me, could she?”

Oscar laughed, pressing his side against Logan’s. A wall of warmth, his gentle sandalwood aftershave lingering in their shared space. Then pulling back, telling him he’s an idiot, the smile shaping his words.

“You’ll get it soon,” his mom says, the quiet stretching. She always had a knack for knowing what he was feeling, even though he’s lived away for longer than lived with her.

“Yeah,” he says, still picking at his jeans. “I better.”

Part 2

[juniperdugong]

Photobooth - Wonwoo

WC: 2.8k || Genre: Fluff, Angst (?) || Ooo they crushing on each other

A/N: We'll call this a late bday present for him lol lotsa fluff, is this also angst? Idk. This is the song I had on repeat writing this, Imagine it during the climax

You and Wonwoo had hung around the same people for a while, your friend groups slowly merging before you could comprehend it. So it wasn't exactly a surprise that you'd see him here tonight but you're trying your best not to look in his direction all the same.

You guys haven't talked much... or really at all without someone else in the group being there. It's a given seeing as you're both on the introverted side anyway.

Over time you've grown to welcome seeing his face at a party or in a crowd and you've developed a little bit of a crush, one that you definitely did not mean to create. But really who could blame you?

It was Wonwoo. And the way his messy hair hung so perfectly over his face. How his glasses would fog up on occasion. And god... the way he'd lift his shirt up just a tad to wipe them. You might be insane for the thought but there's no way someone that attractive isn't getting gawked at 24/7, like clockwork.

And that's exactly what you're trying to hide as he sits across the table from you. You're drinking more than you had before he got here and you can feel the heat in your face as the buzz sets in. You've been avoiding his eyes as best you can, but you can't help noticing that he's been looking at you very intently since he sat down.

Wonwoo's been nursing a beer for the past 30 minutes, his face still slightly red from the pregame he and the boys did at the previous bar. Now he's sat in front of you. Purposefully he had pushed Dokeyom out of the way to get this seat but now that he was here he had zero idea of how to approach you. He's been trying to catch your eye the entire time but you haven't looked his way once. He goes to speak but is interrupted.

"Guys! I have a great idea!" Your friend stands up to address the table, the fact that most of you are completely out of it only makes it so that several people are cheering her on the moment she rises. "Let's go to a photo booth shop!"

In minutes someone's already handled the bill; No one cares to ask questions this far into the night. And your posse is perusing the streets looking like a bunch of fucked up college students; Not exactly wrong but not right either.

You're hanging back in the pack like you usually do. The cold air hitting your warm face feels so good that you have to close your eyes to take in the feeling. "Hey." You're startled from your daze as you see Wonwoo pull back and wait for you to catch up to him, "The night air?"

"Yeah, feels nice." The silence grows between you two as you continue walking side by side. Neither of you can tell if the heat you're feeling is from the drinks or from the intense blush you feel coming on but both of you are glad that tonight is breezy, the air serving to calm down some nerves. The last time you were alone was that night.

Not too dissimilar from tonight actually. A bunch of your friends were hanging out at a camping-themed cafe where you could sit around a fireplace. Due to how many of you there were several campfires were taken up.

You and Wonwoo sat a few chairs away from each other, by coincidence you had ended up in this smaller group as a close friend also sat here. It didn't take long for either of you to notice the other. Small glances back and forth and flickering smiles when you caught each other's eye.

Somewhere along the way, almost everyone got up to go and order more food, and as people trickled over to the counter you and Wonwoo were eventually left alone.

The tension was thick with unspoken attraction and you were both waiting for the other to make any moves. Finally, with a lump caught in his throat, Wonwoo got up and sat in the chair next to you. "Y/n, right?" You gave a little nod and chuckled, "Yeah and you're Wonwoo?". "Yep, exactly right."

You guys kept talking and talking the entire night, the conversation never dipping into silence or awkwardness, it felt like you could be here forever and never get bored. It all seemed to come naturally with Wonwoo.

Even once your friends came back the chatting didn't stop. Some of them eye the way you guys had gotten close within a matter of minutes, smirks as they could see the connection forming before their eyes. The way that with each new topic, you guys somehow managed to get physically closer. Scooting your chair to hear him better. Wonwoo leaning in subconsciously as you ramble. Both of you are practically knee to knee by the end of it.

More and more of your group dispersed as it got later in the night but you both were too enthralled in conversation to notice anyone had left until it had gotten dark.

"It was nice talking, y/n." The way the moonlight and campfire gleaned on him made your heart race.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun Wonwoo." His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and his chest burned whenever anything so much as a smirk was on your lips.

"I'll see you around?" You hoped he was talking sooner rather than later.

"Of course!" He held onto those words like a promise.

It wasn't until you both had gotten into your cars that you realized that you didn't get each other's numbers. Shit!

It's been months since then. You've seen each other at other hangouts but neither of you had the guts to talk to the other again. Something ate at the confidence you had that night and you haven't been able to look him in the eye since. You'd never thought that you'd have a crush this intense at your age but something about Wonwoo made you feel like a highschooler again.

And he's been the same way, although a bit more direct than you. Every time he's seen you since then he'd try to get closer to you, at least be near you to quench his thirsty lovesick heart with your voice... Even if it's not directed towards him. Just staring at you made him flutter, honestly. He's been festering on these feelings for a while, even since before that night if he was being honest, but every time after that his tongue hasn't been able to form coherent sentences around you. It's like a curse.

A curse that it seems some alcohol can quell, at least for a little bit.

"We haven't talked much, have we?" He starts, the shop is just around the corner yet right now he prayed that it was miles away so he could take his time.

"Nah, we haven't. Not since..."

"Not since the campfire?"

"Yeah."

"Hey! You two! Get inside!" A quaint smile forms on your lips as someone yells for you to hurry up. Wonwoo gives a small chuckle but bites his lip to suppress the touch of anger rising now that your conversation has been cut short.

As you get in you can already see that everyone takes charge in claiming different accessories and filing into photo booths in small groups. You didn't really feel up to taking photos, far too heated from Wonwoo's company from before. Looking around, you spot some fun sunglasses shaped like daisies. They were good enough for photos and who knows? Maybe sober you will like the outcome.

After grabbing the sunglasses you dip into an empty booth and begin going through all the different styles. You're slightly hiccuping and now you can definitely feel the alcohol kicking in.

"You mind?" You'd just settled on the only appealing style out of your choices, one obviously meant for couples, one surrounded by red and pink hearts. Of course, Wonwoo had to interrupt. You have half the mind to tell him you do mind jokingly but you're too swayed by him to joke right now, "Not at all."

Now you're sat squished up in the booth with him. The flush on your face could be explained by the drinks but it's more than likely getting redder due to Wonwoo's presence.

"Sorry, all the others were taken and I didn't want to be left out." An excuse, he'd seen you come in here and he was eager to talk to you again. Alcohol really did wonders for confidence.

"It's fine, really." You smiled a bit in his direction and suddenly his heart is thumping like a rabbit's foot. "I don't even like taking photos..."

"Why not?"

"I never like how they come out."

Impossible, you're like the most beautiful person in the world, y/n. He can't even begin to comprehend your way of thinking. You were the most stunning thing in his field of view whenever you were around, how could pictures with you in them ever turn out bad?

"What?" Fuck Did he say that out loud?

"What?"

"Did you just *hiccup* call me beautiful? Wonwoo."

"I don't know." His eyes are wide and suddenly he feels as sober as a dog. He feigns innocence with a confused stare in your direction and thankfully your drunkenness takes him for his word.

"Wonwoo..." A numbness came over you that allowed for words to spill.

"Yeah, y/n?"

"I think I really like you." Great. Now he's sure he's completely sober. He turns to you, the sunglasses hiding your drowsy eyes as you lean against the side of the booth. And he's not even sure if you'll remember saying this. Great!

"You mean that?" Please say yes.

"Mean what?" You're completely out of it and he can see it, as quickly as he resigns to you forgetting what you said you speak again, "That I like you? I do mean that."

His jaw drops and he isn't sure what to do. Does he run away and grab one of the accessories that will cover the intense heat on his face? No, he doesn't want to leave you. Does he tell you he likes you back? No, that's in vain you're already not all here. Well, you are in a photo booth... He presses the START button.

"Will you be mad if I kiss you right now, y/n?"

You look at him with glazed-over doe eyes, letting the sunglasses slip off your face and fall to the floor. You didn't know if this was some sort of sick joke, a hallucination fueled by the copious amounts of alcohol in your system, or worse a drunken mistake on his part. But it was too sudden a question for you to process the options in this state.

3...2...1...Say Cheese!

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked-" He opens the curtain to the photo booth and is ready to get up. This was a bad idea. Nothing you said should mean anything to him but it doesn't keep from the pang of disappointment he feels. Suddenly your hand is gripping his wrist telling him to stay seated, and he does.

3...2...1...Give the Camera a wink!

Both of your hearts are racing. The tension of the moment suffocates you guys but you're too caught up to notice the heaving of your breaths. You grab his face with both your hands, trying your hardest to focus on just him. Your stupor makes it extremely hard but you persist with the small amount of soberness in your body.

It takes far too long for either of you to realize as your lips press together. The shock of plush lips lights you ablaze, it's as if someone held a flame to all the booze coursing through you. You're too far gone to know that you're the one that had leaned into him and not the other way around.

3...2...1...Blast off!

If Wonwoo's eyes could pop out of his skull they would. He's nearly out of the frame of the camera as you push up against him. Your brows furrow as you close your eyes getting more into the kiss and now he's feeling awkward with his eyes wide open. He thinks your focus might just be the cutest thing he's ever seen. God, you are all he wanted, huh? A smile creeps up on his lips before he lifts his glasses and deepens the kiss, placing a hand on the small of your back and using the other to gently wrap around the back of your neck.

3...2...1...Silly Faces!

Maybe it's all the drinks but both of you swear that the other's taste is addictive. Your hands travel from his face and down his neck, pulling him in impossibly closer. You're both hungry for each other, if any of the others saw it'd probably look like borderline cannabilism with how animalistic you were going at it. Mouths trying to trace the memory of each other onto the walls of your cheeks.

It was sensual yet innocent, any trace of lust replaced with an intense passion and love. You can vividly imagine the many kisses that you could share with Wonwoo in your lifetime. Pecks on the cheek, goodbye kisses as you leave the house, intense makeout sessions, all of it. All the little quiet moments of intimacy to the burning giant gestures of love, everything with Wonwoo. It's the only sober thought you think you've had all night.

3...2...1...Big Smile!

You release him from your grip, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. Wonwoo's arms hold you in place but loosen ever so slightly. Foreheads resting on each other you just take a minute to take it in. You let your eyes open and meet his, you feel his glasses fall on between you two.

"Sorry." You say as you back away, allowing his glasses to drop back down fully.

The silence is deafening. Outside you can hear as the rest of the group giggles and chatters on, oblivious to what's just happened. You wipe your mouth as you feel a slickness on your lips, your combined spit coating you both.

You're a lot more aware now. The kiss sobering you enough to maybe be able to remember this in the morning but you weren't confident in that thought.

While you're getting that realization Wonwoo's taken the liberty of doing the finishing steps on the photos. Printing 2 copies for each of you and inserting his own email when it asks him if he wants a video of the photo-taking process. Thankfully you weren't looking when he did that, hopefully, he can show you the video at a better time and you can reminisce on your first kiss.

You startle him as you stand up. A solemn look on your face at the thought of all of this being gone by tomorrow. You really wish you didn't drink tonight. That Wonwoo hadn't sat in front of you. That he hadn't stared at you with those eyes, the ones that made you so nervous that you had to chug drink after drink to just get a modicum of confidence. You wish that what happened in the booth had happened not because you were drunk but because you were ready.

He sees the look and wants to say something... anything if it'll make you feel better. He knows all too well that that look meant that you were regretting things.

You reach out to him, cupping his face in one of your hands and swiping at his cheek with your thumb before he can say anything. Biting your lip you look at him, the feelings are all too overwhelming right now.

"Hey Wonwoo, if you remember this in the morning... remind me of it so we can do it when we're sober sometime, yeah?"

With a slight nod, he leaned into your hand and gave a lingering kiss to your palm before watching you open the curtain and walk away. His eyes stayed glued on you through the window of the shop until the moment your taxi came. A hollow feeling overcoming him as the drunkenness sets in again, although he couldn't quite decipher if this down came from the drinks or from the pure ecstasy you gave and so quickly took away, maybe both.

He walked out of the shop, a group of high-schoolers giggling in merriment as they picked out their accessories and got into their booths. The thought of wherever his friends were was purely background noise at this point.

Getting out and into the cold air he stood with his back against the glass, clutching the photo strips in one hand and his phone in the other, he set an alarm.

"Remind y/n".

A/N: I really really fucking like this one guys, smiling throughout the whole writing process. Also lovelies, for those of you reading Perfection pls know that the upcoming chapter has been delayed till next Saturday! Please reblog and comment your thoughts and as always my asks are open to any and all thoughts!

SVT Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓘 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾:

𝒪𝒻𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈

Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Its been five months since you started sleeping together, and you're having second thoughts about your "relationship" with Javier. But what does it matter to him? he hasn't even kissed you yet. 🍒 Continuation of “Off to the Races” and “Your Face is Shameless” but can be read alone.

Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, thicc age gap [Javi is in his 40s reader is in her early 20s], mentions of anxiety, major angst, situationship, guilt, unrequited love, self loathing, kissing [they did it!], Javier is emotionally unavailable, petnames, major dom/sub dynamic [dd/lg ish vibes], mean!Javi then soft!dom!Javi, degradation, dumbification, minor objectification, major size kink [Javi is bigger than and can lift reader], praise kink [finally some good girl action], daddy kink, choking, pussy pronouns, finger sucking, oral [f receiving], unprotected P in V [ do better!!]. Let me know if i missed anything 🫶

Word count: 5.4K

A/N: Hello!! I'm back!! thought it would be fitting to revisit these two post hiatus. Sorry in advance for the emotional torture that is about to ensue, but I couldn't help myself. Big thank you to @pixelsandothernonsense for being a big supporter of these two and fuelling their return on the blog time and time again. Lotsa plot, lotsa porn– as always. Hope you enjoy, nasties. Mwah

🍒Off to the races 🍒Your face is shameless 🍒Masterlist

You wanted it to be easy but it’s difficult. You wanted it to be over, but it was not. 

While Colombia seemed to be all fun and games at first sight, the longer you remained stuck in the American embassy’s city centre building the more you longed for home. 

Your research was hitting a roadblock, and things were hard. Funding was running out, and your professors were running away. Better jobs, better prospects. But your degree was the least cause for your troubles. 

You were smart. You were controlled. You didn’t know what you were thinking when you got yourself involved with Javier Peña. It seemed fun at the moment- fooling around, messing with a man double your age and four times more qualified. Trying to wrangle his true intentions out from under his furrowed brow and frown. 

Looking back you felt stupid. Embarrassed. A little ashamed of what you had become. How you let him treat you. 

He used you like a walking sex doll. Didn’t give you one look afterwards. Maybe a pat on the back but somehow that was more insulting. He had never kissed you. And there you were, fixing your makeup in the office bathroom after an evening under his desk had ruined it. 

It had been five months since the first time he'd bent you over his desk but you were only half way through your trip. Five more months seemed too long to bear. It made you sick. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. You looked tired, and sleepy and your clothes weren’t crisp as usual. You felt a little bit like the tissue you’d just dabbed against your cheek. A little flimsy and a little dirty. A little used, perhaps. 

It felt a little worse knowing it was all your doing. You weren’t expecting a man like Javier to change. Objectively, it wasn’t possible. But you still asked for more. For him to use and then forget about you. You wanted to leave. You wished he’d never seen this side of you. Frankly you wished you hadn’t either. 

Because you were smart and funny and interesting and could talk about all sorts of things. You liked music and books and movies and trying new food. But he’d never seen you that way. He never would. 

You hadn’t spoken to him once. Not about anything that wasn’t strictly utilitarian. Especially not after he started fucking you. It was far too awkward and far too intimate. 

For him. 

Your feelings flip flopped every day, from the casualty of the affair seeming rather appealing, to it making your chest ache. And yet you couldn’t seem to help yourself, unable to understand not only what this thing you had going on with Agent Peña was, but why you couldn't seem to stop. 

Five months camping out in the office and you hadn’t missed a single day. No matter how bad the hurt in your chest you rolled out of bed and reminded yourself of why you were where you were. It worked. It hurt, but it worked. 

But after five months it seemed like getting out of bed was suddenly impossible one morning and you thought it best to stay home. You got a few calls. One from Fiestl and Van Ness. Connie Murphy sent Steve over with soup when she heard you weren’t feeling well. 

No news from Javi Peña. 

You slept most of the day. With your computer shut and materials put away. You didn’t want to think about it. You fixed yourself dinner- instant noodles, and headed to bed once again. 

You thought it was temporary but the excruciating pain only lingered and carried you on to another day confined to the four walls of your bedroom. 

It was a bad idea- ignoring your work for as long as you did. You should have known that you wouldn’t be able to put it on the back burner- considering the neurosis surrounding your work, the fact you took a two day break was impressive. It wasn’t long before your anxiety was eating away at you, an impending deadline hanging over your head and reminding you the world didn't care about your little pity party. 

Stupid as it was, you found yourself crossing the street at the witching hour of 23:00- clad in the soft cotton dress you forced yourself into earlier that evening. The friday night had persuaded everyone out of the office, and you weren’t surprised when you found the top floor of the embassy building cold and empty. 

You were glad, and perhaps it was the only way you could stomach being there– alone. 

Your desk was exactly how you’d left it a couple of days ago- your books piled in one corner, papers thrown all over the place. It was disorganised and untidy– very unlike you. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you began to sort things out, a feeling of complete exhaustion and defeat threatening to force you into your office chair. You glanced over at Javier’s office, signs he was out for the week prompting the slight relaxation of your shoulders. 

When you finally sat down to get to work, your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut every few moments, the screen of your computer zoning in and out of your vision every now and then. The words seemed to escape you, four lines on your document all you could manage before you were pressing your forehead against the wood of your desk. 

After spending the past two days sleeping somehow all you wanted to do was climb right back into bed. 

Music, surely that would help! Or at least you thought, to no avail, a whole album played once, yet you could only manage another paragraph. Turns out burnout was real.. and it had decided now was the best time to get you. But you weren’t ready to pack up and banish yourself to your studio apartment just yet. So you upped the volume, and sat up just a little bit straighter in your chair, and got back to work. 

Something about the loneliness of working in that drab, white, characterless office was especially miserable. So miserable in fact it was almost comforting, it was so miserable it was funny. It wasn't long before you were sitting completely straight in that sad, uncomfortable office chair, laughing at yourself with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. You were stupid, and acted silly, and had all these big feelings, but what did it matter? It was diabolical; the capacity Javier had for ruining your life, but soon enough you’d be out of here and one day you’d probably be laughing at the whole ordeal. 

It was exhausting, but what could you do? The words came just a little bit easier from that point, and you felt yourself accept defeat and immersed yourself in your paper. At the end of the day you couldn’t control how he felt about you- you just had to take it or leave it. Not everything is that deep, you rolled your eyes at yourself, but you knew truthfully the lack of his care and affection was more than a little sting. You decided you were better off defining the “relationship” for yourself, and maybe showing a little bit more restraint. Who said everything had to be that serious, maybe you should've taken a page out of Javier’s book! 

Yes that was it, not everything was that serious, was it?

You really wished you’d had the foresight to gauge the stupidity of trying to drown out your surroundings in a public space in the middle of the night. Sure, no external threat could get you inside the excessively secure embassy building, but what did that mean when the real threat to your sanity was the DEA attache. 

Truth be told, you'd have jumped in fear if anyone had tapped their fingers on your computer screen, but when Javier rounded your desk with a raised brow and waved his hand in front of your computer, you were particularly startled. 

“The hell are you doing here?” 

Any other time you’d probably met him with a snappy reply, something to get him going, maybe rile him up enough till he was pressing your face against your papers and fucking you from the back. You wished you could have given him that response that day, but you were so completely out of yourself, you settled for a shrug and a normal “trying to finish this section”. 

“That why you disappeared these past two days?”

“I wish.. probably would have been done by now.” His brows kit, somewhat confused and just noticing your tired, puffy eyes now that he was closer. 

“When’s it due.” he leaned to sit on your table , and traced your features with his fingers. You felt your eyes flutter shut as the tip of his index ran along the bridge of your nose, and feared your new policy was at risk of being thrown right out of the window at his attention. Sighing, you leaned into his touch. Unhappy, but unable to resist it. “Next week.”

He pitched your damp cheeks between his fingers, gently shaking your head from side to side. “You've got time.” 

You hummed and took a moment to look up at him- yellow table lamp doing his golden features all sorts of favours, ones that he didn't even need to begin with if you were being honest.The weight of his hand, the roughness of his skin against yours had a soft sigh escaping your lips. 

Javier's hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, to the back of your neck, and he gently guided you to stand. Your legs felt weak, but you helped yourself up long enough to watch him rise beside you, stepping closer. He stepped around you, positioning himself between yourself and the chair, his breath warm against your ear. 

"Sit," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hand moved to the back of your neck again, this time pulling you down onto his lap. The gesture was possessive, not tender. 

You obeyed, lowering yourself onto him,  your legs on either side of his waist, dangling off the seat. Javier's hands rested on your waist momentarily, heavy and harsh, before drifting lower to your hips, pulling you further into his lap till you could feel his bulge swell against you. You felt yourself get wet, he lifted your hips and then pulled you back down against him, allowing you the slight relief of the friction as you felt yourself embarrassingly throb against him. 

The proximity was suffocating, his scent—cigarettes, and aftershave. He leaned closer, and for a moment, in your delusion, you thought he might kiss you. Instead his fingers squeezed around your throat, breath fanning your lips. “You want to be daddy’s good girl, dontch’ya?” his voice was low, and biting, and you knew you were in for it, for avoiding him, when he tightened his grip at your lack of answer. 

Slick pooled in your panties, and he let you press your hot core against him, undoubtedly able to feel how easily he could unravel you. You shifted your gaze up at the ceiling to avoid his own. 

You squeaked out a feeble “yes”, already delirious. “Then why the fuck, did you think you could disappear without telling me?” He reached for the string that held together the top of your dress, rather aggressively tugging it undone, watching as it unravelled and revealed the soft cotton of your lingerie. “Busy” you whined when traced your skin with his pointer finger, palm coming to squeeze at your breast and then pull your bra aside. 

“Not looking too busy now, are ya?” your nipple pebbled under his palm, his hot breath fanning against your skin as he trailed open mouth kisses along your neck. You whimpered, reaching to tangle your fingers in Javier’s hair. Surprisingly, he let you tug on his locks, allowing you to ground yourself as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your bud. He came up to nip at your jaw and you whimpered  a soft “M’ sorry”. 

“What was that?” Javier rolled his eyes and growled in your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth, and pinching the flesh of your thighs, prompting you to speak up. And speak up you did, heat seeping into your panties at his tone and words. He didn’t respond to you, just hummed his assent and pulled you harder against him. 

His hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around him and his big arms crossed under you to support your weight. Continuing to kiss along your neck he plopped you on the table, but you couldn’t lie, you much preferred being carried so gently in his hold. Thank god the desk had been cleared– giving him enough room to push you back against it. You didn't really want to unwrap your legs from around him, but he grunted disapprovingly before prying your legs from his waist. Your heart jumped as he took a seat on your dingy rolly chair, his large palms lifting your legs by your calves till your feet were planted on his thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows. 

Javier's eyes caught sight of your untied shoelace, a small hazard in the midst of your hurried night. As usual, without a word, he leaned down, fingers deftly working to tie the lace in a swift, fluid motion, securing the bow with a final, firm tug, patting the top of your shoe before returning to the task at hand. 

His eyes were hungry like they always were, deep brown, alluring, the only readable emotion in them- lust. Those large palms parted your knees, making space for you between them. A tingle ran up your spine when he brushed the tips of his fingers against the inside of your thigh, dragging them along your skin till he was toying with the hem of your panties. He shifted forward in the chair, meeting your eyes as he planted a kiss on your calf, and then hoisted your legs up on his shoulders. 

Javier took a moment to admire you, letting his rough hands roam under your skirt. You always wondered what those hands were doing; how they wrapped around his gun when he ran out of the office with it, how small they made the cigarette he was smoking look. You watched him grab, and hold, and type from across your desk when he hadn’t fucked you in a day or two, imagined those hands grabbing at your flesh and wrapping around your throat. You imagined him pumping his fingers in and out your pussy with your own hands between your legs in the middle of the night- unable to go mere days without him fucking you, salivating at the thought of those hands wrapped around his thick cock, wondering if he too couldn’t go without your touch. 

Lost in your thoughts you shuddered when you felt him drag his tongue up the cut of your slit, the already moist fabric of your panties sticking to your skin as he nudged your clit with his nose. Your head fell back involuntarily, and you felt your arms ache as you continued to struggle to hold yourself up on your elbows. Seemingly, he had decided that day he wasn’t going to make you work for it- you looked like you were working far too much already. 

“Look at me.” Javier sharply instructed from between your legs. Nipping the inside of your right thigh till you yelped in his hold. You weren't going to last very long at the sight of him, eyes glancing up at you as his mouth ghosted over your soaked pussy. You watched intently as his fingers pulled your panties aside, softly grazing your swollen flesh in a way that had you pulling your lip between your teeth to contain the pornographic moan that threatened to spill from your mouth and alert the security guard across the hall. 

Your leg twitched on his shoulder as he licked a long, firm stripe up your aching pussy. Both your eyes fluttered shut as his tongue softly explored your folds. The sight of Javier between your legs was enough to send you over the edge, one that would live in your head for a very long time. 

You struggled to hold his eyes with your own when he licked at your entrance, increasing his pace ever so slightly before he was softly sucking your clit into his mouth. Letting yourself lean back against the table you reached to continue to tangle your fingers in his hair, hoping he'd let you have his fluffy locks in your hold. Turns out you were lucky the first time, because as was more common, Javier reminded you of his “no grabbing at daddy” attitude by grasping your hand in his. 

“No grabbin at daddy, babygirl” he murmured against your wetness and you shivered. His fingers engulfed yours, stroking your skin and moving your hands to your chest. His large palm covered yours and squeezed your fingers around your breasts. You moaned, and arched your back against the table up into both your palms as his tongue achingly slipped inside you. 

The feel of his mouth against you was more than perfect, the way he expertly ate you out till you were wiggling your hips against his face, his nose nudging your clit as he fucked you with his tongue. Slow and soft then faster and rough, just how he knew you liked it. 

He seemed to be enjoying the feeling of you just as much,  groaning against your wet cunt everytime you twitched and shuddered against him, the taste of you prompting him only to bury himself deeper between your thighs, pull and grab at your hips, hold you close against him as your chest rose and fell. 

Javier lashed his tongue at your entrance, then plunged it into your slick cunt. You felt your core tighten, and you knew you couldn’t hold on much longer. “Please…” barely able to complete your sentence you squealed when he circled your clit with his tongue. You could feel him grin against the inside of your thigh, and you reached for his hands on your hips to tug at his fingers feebly. 

Making out the sound of his chuckle over your heavy breathing you whined, and then proceeded to melt in his hold when he responded with a rather gentle, yet delayed and somewhat playfully annoyed “You can come for daddy, babygirl.” 

The grip of your fingers on his tightened, and you sighed, finally letting go as Javier worked between your legs. Your cunt clamped down on his tongue as he finished you off, licking you through your orgasm and holding your hips down as you shook and squirmed above him. 

He kissed along your seam gently as you caught your breath, your breath hitching when he pushed two fingers in your still sensitive cunt to gently stroke your walls. He stifled a groan. You looked down between your legs as he withdrew those fingers and began to stand up. “She so fuckin wet for me, hmm?” He rubbed slow, soft circles on your clit, not caring to watch you intently for any giveaway that would instruct him on the perfect rhythm. He already knew what you liked- he didn’t need to bother. “Slutty little pussy achin’ to be fucked… after all these days, aint she?” 

He took a second to get a good look at you as he moved closer between your legs, and you propped yourself back up on your elbows and wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him in. 

“My good little slut” 

Bringing his fingers to your lips he urged them open, pushing in and watching you suck gently on his digits. You shivered at the taste of your own arousal. As always you felt a little fuzzy when he did something like that– letting your eyes droop until he nudged you to release them with a pop. He ran those fingers across your lips, watching you struggle to keep your eyes on him as his hand drifted downwards to wrap swiftly around your neck.  “That's better isn't it?” he pressed his clothed cock against your bare, swollen pussy, your panties surely on the verge of ripping the way they’d been pulled aside. Javier seemed to be thinking along the same lines as you, because in a moment he reached for them and urgently dragged them down your hips, unwrapping himself from your hold and holding your ankles in one hand as the other slid your panties all the way off of you. 

When you whined at the loss of his body against yours he tutted, raising his eyebrows at you in warning. 

He then grabbed your thigh with his hand once again, squeezing it and holding it in place against his waist. You heard the jingle of his belt as he undid it. A rough edge on said belt scraped against your skin, but it was difficult to pay attention to it when you felt him reach between your bodies to tease your dripping slit with his length. 

It was sad to admit, but nothing took the weight of your shoulders much like the feeling of his hard cock sliding against your wet pussy, head bumping your clit till you were shivering and then notching at your entrance. You heard him mutter a strained curse under his breath at the feeling of your cunt sucking him in. Javier didn't waste much time, as much as he seemed to enjoy the sight of you deliriously wiggling your hips under him. 

He leaned down and traced the curve of your jaw with the bridge of his nose, breathing in your scent as he pushed in– slowly and gently. Much slower and gentler than he had ever been before. Your legs tightened around him, hips lifting pathetically as you felt him stretch you open. It had been far too long since you’d had him inside you. 

“Such a good little girl..” His hips snapped towards yours. 

“Aren’t ya?” It was an out of body experience, so overwhelming and dizzying you could almost see yourself in the act. Your brain couldn’t comprehend that tone and that gentleness as is, forget when Javier’s cock dragged deliciously against your aching walls. 

Your elbows caved from under you, letting you fall completely back against your little desk. Your head went to fall back soon after, but Javier had managed to snake his hand behind your neck– cradling your head and shielding it from the hard wooden table. Instinctively, you buried your nose in the collar of his dress shirt. He let you seek respite, palm holding you against his warm body, and pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. 

Your skin felt like pins and needles, little sparks bounced off your exposed waist and prompted you to wiggle your hips away from him at the intensity of the sensations. “Nah uh” yanking you back in his direction Javier squeezed your hips in his hands, refusing to let you escape the death grip he had on your body, pulling you towards him with every deep, slow, thrust. 

“Silly little thing” He laughed against your lips, so close they brushed against you. You couldn’t help it when your mouth fell slack against his. He took your bottom lip between his teeth. He released it as your walls clenched around him, brows knitting at the feel of your warm, soft cunt around his cock. 

“Mine aren’t ya? Daddy’s good little slut?” Unable to catch hold of anything on the table, your hands flew to his shirt, your fingers twisting the fabric as you gripped it as tightly as you could. He let you pull him towards you, one hand sneaking between your bodies to grab and squeeze at your breast. 

“Then you’re gonna take it like I give it to ya?” You tried to nod, head lulling side to side and mouth hanging open, desperate noises leaving your lips. When your back arched against the table he  pulled you into his chest, letting you wrap your legs around his waist so tightly you felt the leather of his belt cut into your soft skin. 

Eventually he picked up his pace, and you could make out the sound of your pens clattering to the ground as your back moved relentlessly against the desk. The dim grey flood light above you came in and out of your focus, the heat that swelled up inside you hindering your ability to concentrate on absolutely anything.  “Getting all cock drunk on me..” Anything but him. Yet another orgasm stirred in your tummy, your entire body hot and tingling with overwhelm. “There’s my good girl”. 

He pulled you into him with every thrust, his hard length throbbing inside of you. “Just how I like ya’– no thoughts in that head’ve yours.” Your bare chest pressed against his soft shirt, but you longed to feel the heat of his body against your skin. 

“Can't think ‘bout anything but daddy can you?” he managed to laugh, his thick cock dragging against your wet walls in a way that had your mouth falling open in a gasp. “Just daddy, ain't that right?” As usual he grabbed at every part of you he could, hands seeking purchase on any exposed skin. 

He grazed your earlobe with his teeth as he spoke. “Poor baby, going dumb on daddy.” All you could do was whine. “Can’t hear ya..��� you whimpered again, strained and hasty “yes”s leaving your mouth at record speed as the tension in your core threatened to burst. 

“S’ how it should be” your dress made it easy for you to slide along the surface of the table as he fucked into your tight, wet heat, railing you as you twitched around him. You struggled to form a broken “daddy” between your lips. 

“Stupid little girl can’t do anything but be daddy’s little sexdoll hmm?” you shook your head, but he grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. “‘S okay babylove, s’ how daddy likes ya best” he shook your face gently, “when ya ain't runnin that smart mouth of yours.” 

He grunted and sighs above you, seemingly lost in his own pleasure, not bothering for the first time to make you beg. It was as if the two days you spent apart had him prioritising other things. “Better this way isn’t it, nothin you gotta worry that pretty head about…” you felt your cunt squeeze him. “Not when daddy’s fuckin’ ya’” 

You could tell he was close by the way his thick cock throbbed against your slick walls, the way his Texan accent came through just a little more than it usually did. Your thighs quivered against his waist as the heat continued to pool in your belly. 

You knew he was close when he straightened up again, hands wrapping firmly around your throat as he angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you over and over. “C’mon baby, be a good girl and come for daddy” he tightened his grip, thumb reaching up to swipe gently at your slack lips. 

You felt your pussy clench around his cock, finally letting go as you writhed under him. You heard him groan over the ringing in your ears, your own eyes rolling back as your orgasm rolled over you in waves. You gushed around him, your own release prompting his. 

Watching his brows knit as his thrusts got sloppy might have well sent you on a second release, aftershocks making your hips wiggle against his palms as he squeezed them, his cock throbbing inside you before he erupted with a shudder. A string of strained curses escaped his mouth, chest rising and falling rapidly as he rode out his high. 

You laid there, the heat from your exertion slowly dissipating. You felt Javier pull out, his spend trickling down your thighs, and slide your panties back up over your legs. A heaviness tugged at your limbs and made your eyelids droop. Every muscle felt loose, languid, as if all the tension and energy had been drawn out, leaving behind only a deep, satisfying fatigue. 

Javier put his hands on your waist and lifted you off the table, you returned to your habitual silence, this time albeit far more satiated than before. You were dizzy, feeling like a small ghost floating in front of him, engulfed by his towering form. The world around you began to fade, sounds muffling and blurring into an indistinct background hum.

Every blink became slower, your vision narrowing to slits before closing entirely. You let yourself drift into that warm state between sleep and wakefulness, the exhaustion of the week catching up to you in more ways than one, uncaring of the sense that Javier’s eyes had been lingering. You felt him trace the bridge of your nose, reducing any prospects of you actually getting off that desk. 

He fixed your lingerie and tied the bow of your dress back up, one hand returning to stroke your cheek. His other arm came to support your back as it wrapped around you, pulling you towards him. You looked up to find him watching you, with an expression you couldn’t bother to decipher at the moment. 

You couldn’t help but fall into his chest as he stood above you, his arms reaching behind you as he packed your things in your work bag. You felt your eyes flutter shut again, complete exhaustion taking over your weak form. He placed a kiss to your temple, lifting you off the table once and into his hold once again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking securely at the ankles. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, fingers digging into your flesh.

You felt cold again suddenly, and Javier readjusted his arms to hold you with his right while his left rubbed along your shoulders to warm up your skin, prickled with goosebumps. 

Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a comforting, rhythmic lull. You nuzzled deeper into the curve of his neck, tilting your head till your nose was brushing the cut of his jaw. 

Javier shifted slightly, and you could feel the subtle change in his posture as he leaned towards you, and his face came level with yours– you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the cool air around you. His hand cradled your cheek. 

With your eyes still closed you felt his lips press gently against yours, so pillowy and soft you barely registered them. He tasted how you’d imagined so many times before– cigarettes, and whiskey. Melting into his touch your hands moved to ball the fabric of his shirt gently in your fist. His lips moved against your’s with a carefulness you couldn’t really understand, but the fact that they were at all was enough. Exhaustion aside, you had a feeling the triviality of the whole ordeal, its comfort and normality seemed expected. And just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Perhaps it had always meant a lot more to you, than it did to him. 

The hand that was cupping your cheek pinched it and then snaked around your waist to help you find your footing on the ground, the same hand coming down to slap your ass as he pushed you towards the door. 

In usual Javier fashion he checked his phone, uninterestedly murmuring a soft “you can start again tomorrow” as you stood in the elevator. He let you lean against him, his palm coming down to pat your head momentarily before it was back to sorting the files in his hands.  You looked up at him, his mind now completely diverted to whatever he had come to collect in the office in the first place, so unbothered by what seemed to transpire between the two of you. 

Perhaps nothing really did. 

You wished his words gave you some motivation, but it was turning out to be really difficult to want to be anything more than his dumb, silly, little girl. 

Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you!

They would rue the day I was alone, without you

You're lyin' with your gold chain on

Cigar hangin' from your lips, I said, "Hon'"

"You never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man"

sakjdlakd I'm sorry I just can't let them be happy lmao. Hope you enjoyed this, and let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who reblogs and comments on my content, you keep me writing. Dividers and banners by @/sardika 🐝✨💗

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Regretevator hcs with party noob, mozelle, infected and lampert with reader slouched over and have bags under their eyes but insists that they are fine but after talking for a bit reader admits that they havent slept well in a while bc folly keeps giving them bad nightmares?

Could maybe end in them comforting reader and in the end they actually have a good nap in the elevator with them ((angst to fluff my beloved)))

You mentioned wanting Bive added so I'll make sure she's on there!

.......

Party Noob

They're always in the mood to party, of course, but you often seem annoyed by their kazoo constantly going off.

If anything, your attitude towards them is almost comparable to Pest--except you don't say rude things. You're just..quiet and seem tired 24/7.

You always politely turn down Poob's invitations--which makes them sad, although they would never force you to attend any celebration--insisting you were okay.

The bags under your eyes, however, showed otherwise, as they were products of the sleepless nights you've had ever since Folly decided to invade your dreams.

Poob doesn't know this, though, and when you're both alone in the elevator, they finally ask why you never go to their parties, wanting to know what they could do to change your mind.

Then you reveal something surprising:

"It's not you or your parties, Poob. It's....her."

"Her?"

You finally elaborate on Folly and her torment. In the physical world, she knew your fears...and in these past few nightmares she dialed them all up to 11.

Your latest one involved Poob killing you with their horn for daring to show up at their party "uninvited", which horrified the party goer after you finished explaining.

"Wut?! That's not true! You r ALWAYS welcomed to mah parties, friend!! That lady is such a party poober." They frown. "Is that why ur afraid to go to one?"

"Yeah, I'm sorr....wait, you've seen her, too?"

"Yeh! Lotsa times! She always says I'm "special", but...that doesn't sound like a gud thing."

"...haha. No, it's not." You shake your head, finding relief that they could relate to you.

Folly claimed that Poob was repressing a lot of trauma, and their party obsession was just a distraction from something bigger. But obviously you weren't going to believe her.

After that conversation, they're willing to invite you to a chill party at their apartment. There's no crazy loud music. Just TV, video games, sweets, and the company of a friend.

Mozelle

"You don't look so well, dear."

Despite her demonic origins, Mozelle is very concerned for the well-being of her fellow elevator passengers (or at least those who respect her), so she could tell you were far from okay.

You keep insisting that you're tired from exploring so many floors, and for a while she seemed to believe you...

Until one day, she invites you to her castle for tea, and chastises you for lying to a princess.

"It's that abhorrent "dream parasite" that's been giving you nightmares, is it?" She huffs, realizing she was right as your expression changes.

Knowing that she's not gonna hear any more of your excuses, you finally admit that Folly is the reason for your exhaustion.

You try to avoid sleeping for fear of her appearing...and she's well aware of this, as in the physical world she vowed to never let you sleep again.

That terrified you, and Mozelle wanted to throw hands with her SO badly after that.

But instead, she tries working her magic to ensure you got a good night's rest in one of her guest quarter.....with the distant screams of the damned somehow not deterring you from drifting off.

When you awaken, she teleports you to her pet sanctuary, allowing you to help her take care of the odd and cute creatures, and even take another nap with them. 100% nightmare free.

For a "princess of hell", she was certainly acting like a guardian angel.

Unfortunately, she can't protect you 24/7. But if you're both in the elevator, she'll manifest some comfy pillows and blankets just for you (and her, bc she needs her beauty sleep, too!)

Infected

Similarly to you, sleep doesn't come easy for Infected..and it certainly doesn't stick with him for long.

As a gamer, of course, he just doesn't feel like he needs it.

So anytime he saw you come into the elevator, slouched and with dark bags under your eyes, he just assumes you're an "epic gamer" like him who lives by the "sleep is for the weak" mantra.

It's only when you started taking naps in a random corner of the elevator did he express concerns.

"Wh4t h4ppened, bro? G4me t00 hard last night?" He asks. "Trying t0 st4y 0n th4t grind???"

".....no, I was too scared to even leave my bed and go on the computer.."

"0h man, th4t sucks. Why were y0u sc4red? Did the b00geyman visit?"

"......."

"N0 way, did he?? I w4s 0nly kidding-"

"She." You correct, before telling Infected a little about the nightmares Folly has given you these past few days.

But you're sure he's gonna call you crazy or say you're having too much sugar..

However, he can actually relate to some of your bizarre dreams, not realizing you saw the same figure he did.

His virus made him often refuse sleep, but she had some influence in his decision to pull all-nighters, too.

He tried hugging you and while you're adamant about catching his sickness, you accept it for a few moments.

Next time you stop by his floor, he'll let you crash at his apartment to take a nap (but no promises that he's gonna keep quiet while gaming).

Lampert

"Are you getting enough sleep? You don't look too good. And you shouldn't be laying on the elevator floor. It's dirty."

Dude doesn't beat around the bush. He gets right to the point.

You get a little annoyed with his rants about germs so you kinda brush off his concerns and try getting whatever sleep you can (often drifting off while he's rambling)...

Until the one time you jolted awake after Folly made you endure a rather frightening nightmare--and Lampert's the only one in the elevator.

But at this point, he manages to piece things together.

"Oh..is it that annoying dream thing? I haven't seen her ugly face in a while..and I hope I never do again." He huffs. "Sorry you gotta put up with her, [y/n]."

"I've...been managing." You rub your eyes. "I'll admit, you've got guts back-sassing her when she could haunt your dreams at any time."

"Well she's really just pathetic. All that power and she's only interested in dreams? She can't even do anything in the real world. How dumb is that?"

"..it does sound pretty dumb."

"Yeah, she'll move on eventually. She left my bulb when my dreams got too boring for her."

Although that's all the "comfort" Lampert is willing to provide, it's enough for you to realize how ridiculous Folly's fixations on your dreams are.

Next time you're at the ROKEA floor, he'll let you take a nap on one of the couches, but if and only if you promise not to leave any crumbs (or drool) and clean it up before leaving.

Bive

"You see them too, don't you????!!!"

"Wha...?"

"The crimson eyes! What else could I be talking about?" Bive stares at you, the exhaustion on your face being apparent to her.

She's noticed it for a while, in fact, but every time you'd just ignore her wild rants and "conspiracy theories".

Taking naps in the elevator wasn't really an option when she was there, as her staring was uncomfortable and her constant needs to chatter/mumble to herself often kept you awake.

She's offered you coffee in the past, assuming you wanted to stay awake, only to stop after you told her that's the opposite of what you wanted.

After she mentioned "crimson eyes", that's when you realized she was aware of them, too. And aware of her.

When you decide to finally confide in her about your nightmares, Bive shudders and talks about having similar ones, but lately they've stopped...which she hopes is a good thing.

You learn she's terrified of going back to some placed called "The Lab"--likely where she was born--as Folly taunted her about that in the past.

Now you understand her attitude and mannerisms a bit more.

After talking, you feel slightly better, and you try to rest on the elevator floor-

Only for Bive to warn you about the "microscopic dust bunnies who don't like their space being impeded upon".

Will she stop you if you ignore her and fall asleep anyways? No. But she'll make sure nobody disturbs you.

Not that she'll ever tell you she's been keeping guard.