#THANK YOU FOR INDULGING IN ME THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES FILLED WITH SALT

[standcom]

tumblr silenced me but panda’s floored me i was dying for a good 10 minutes ik we talked about it alr but still. MEGUMI AS THE SCARECROW I UNDERSTAND NOW I GET IT NOW I UNDERSTAND IM PART OF THE MEGUMOVEMENT YES YES YES COUNT ME IN!! yuji needs to marry me rn im not kidding ill get down on one knee rn. he can be the papa’s freezeria to my club penguin please,,, ++ YEAHHHH YN AND TOGE ARE THE BADDEST BITCHES IN THE CLUB <3 or.. the maze… 😁 anywho ! maki and yuta im gonna throw up they’re so. BEE AND COOKIE tell me panda is the cookie… w that 360 angle build yeah id hope so

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE: TRICK OR TREAT!

masterlist

—

happy halloween! this is not an actual chapter unfortunately, so those who got their hopes up at an early release i’m SORRY 😓 however i consider it more fun! this is what each chapter from the sjap universe would wear on halloween🙂‍↕️ consider it 14.5! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did making it. also shoutout to my babygirl ree for helping me with these. I LOVE YOU BAD! <3

megumi fushiguro as BILLY LOOMIS

“ghostface? nah too basic” the raven states broadly.

sure scream was his favourite horror slasher but dressing up ghostface was too overrated, too tacky. he needed to go as someone more niche, someone he knows nobody would dress up as, someone hotter. introducing billy loomis! still the same franchise just a tad bit more creative! (not entirely but we’ll give him pity points) but man did that he look hot. the fake blood dripping down was the cherry on top. seeing his hair not entirely gelled up for the first time the guys realised he looked like his dad. like a lot

“no shit, we’re related” he said in front of the bathroom mirror as he wets his hair for the 3rd time, trying to perfect his look.

toge rolled his eyes, chewing on his toothpick

“ya know megumi you should’ve just went as ghostface, atleast no one would look at that makeshift shitty hair of yours” toge sneered

megumi turns around, hair soaked as he goes into punch the platinum blonde but misses as the water drips down his face into eyes as he stumbles back into the counter.

“woah slow down, the only person you’re gonna kill is yourself at this rate” yuta quips as he walks in to see what the commotion was going on in the bathroom.

megumi looks at yuta, then back at toge, then back at yuta. his head going side to side frivolously before bursting out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” yuta questioned

“didn’t pin you for the type of guy to dress up as a gay cowboy” he sneers, wiping both tears and the dripping water from his eyes.

toge inumaki & yuta okkotsu as ENNIS & JACK

“what do you mean gay cowboys?” yuta says, slowly turning to toge with an eyebrow raised.

“you mean you seriously never watched brokeback mountain?” megumi asks after recovering from his laugher fit

“am i supposed to?”

he looks at toge who was smirking with that stupid toothpick in his mouth, twirling it around.

“and i thought i was evil” he shakes his head chuckling.

yes, yuta did in fact not know that toge made him dress up as ennis and jack from brokeback mountain (yuta being ennis and toge being jack). in his defence toge did ask if he wanted to go as cowboys for halloween and yuta being yuta obviously said yes. though he did find it suspicious that toge wouldn’t let him pick out just any cowboy costume. he said he had a vision in his head and to just go with it. yuta just thought he was going for a niche version of a cowboy not the version where they’re two bestfriends fucking on top of a mountain. it’s far too late to change their costumes now, so yuta left their condo in what seemed to be “bro-love” going too far. on the other hand toge was EATING it up, strutting the down the streets in the “best costume” (his term) of the night. toge definitely forced yuta to make tiktoks to brokeback mountain audios throughout the night and def went viral LMFAO. poor yuta is embarrassed.

“oh my god, i am mortified” yuta says into his hands after hearing megumi explain the plot of brokeback mountain - he toned it down of course so it wouldn’t kill yuta.

“eh you’ll be fine, it’s not the worst costume in the world”

toge almost caught whiplash by how fast he turned his head. not the worst? what the fuck is that supposed to mean. he knows megumi can’t be talking looking like that.

“you know megumi, with all that blood you could pass as somebody’s diva cup” toge spits at him, obviously hurt.

“did somebody say diva?!”

yuji itadori as ROCKY BALBOA

yes yuji we are talking about you!

this may be fan service for ree… but guys TELL ME YOU DON’T SEE IT ASWELL? i could not find a rocky costume that i thought was fitting but imagine the second picture but with his shirt off🙂‍↕️ yeah…. just thinking thoughts…

yuji would be getting stared at ALL NIGHT and gets asked for tons of pictures in his costume because he looks so damn good. he definitely makes tiktok thirst trap edits because at the end of the day he’s still just a loser trapped in a hot body </3 the guys end up going through a haunted house and yuji actually gets scared and knocks one of the workers out… he blames it on method acting so he doesn’t get the cops called on him and somehow it works? also trust he is flexing his muscles the entire night and challenges literally everybody (mostly girls) to arm wrestle him. his go-to pick up line throughout the night is “if i win i get your number, if you win you get mine” and he winks at them before the countdown. CORNY but it works (i would fold as well sorry)

“yuji stop flexing yours abs for one second it’s gross, you look like a male prostitute” toge groans in disgust as he kicks rocks on the sidewalk”

“the correct term is actually jiggalo, and i think you’re just jealous that i’m hot and cool and you’re just a shitty gay cowboy” yuji replies back through a smile as he waves to everybody who’s pointing at him

“IT’S BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN”

“ooooo is that the name of the new club that opened?”

if you guys want more boxer yuji go read BATTERED N’ BLUE by the lovely @aozui <3

yn as MAXINE MINX

life being the baddest isn’t easy and it especially isn’t easy when it comes to choosing a halloween costume. between wanting to be hot, but also niche, but not too niche! but enough that it surpasses basic, but also fun... did i mention hot? so who better to dress up than someone who fits all the requirements than none other than maxine minx!

yn had this planned months ago. she wanted everything to be perfect down to a T, and she was not the type to pull something last minute out of her ass. she was not going to put on an amazon corset and call it a day. hell, it wasn't even just her, the whole apartment had planned their costumes in june. if serving cunt was a dysfunctional group of roommates it was them. think bodies bodies bodies x scream 6... yeah i would not want to be their enemies if a psycho killer was going around murdering people. and best believe their group pictures are turning out so hot (partly due to the personal photographer they booked before LMFAO) but everyone knows the other part is their well-thought-out costumes.

"oh my god did you really bleach your eyebrows for this" a familiar voice commented at her as she walked into the kitchen.

"the dedication is crazy, but i guess you still look hot."

a smile broke out of her, still focusing on preparing drinks for the party of the century.

"it's just concealer babe", she replies as she looks up from the drink station to where she was met with nobara, who was sitting on the sage love chair in an all too familiar pose.

"no fucking way... are you-?"

nobara kugisaki as CATHERINE TRAMELLE

what’s better than one cover girl? two cover girls!!! or in this case replace cover girl with evil femcel maneater final boss!

the party girls have a tradition of watching a horror/slasher movie each sunday during october, so when nobara said she hasn't watched basic instinct last year, trust it was the first movie they watched on that first sunday.

"ugh, i just know she would of made a bomb fucking costume for halloween", nobara groans.

"too bad you're already going as marie antoinette" panda sighs.

"there's always next year" yn states, clearing up the popcorn on the coffee table.

and next year indeed.

meticulously choosing each article of clothing and hand picking accessories so she could be the emodiment of catherine tramelle. even though she was one glass of red wine away from being mistaken as a housewife of beverly hills, it didn't matter. dressing up as someone so smart, so sinister, so sexy was the principle itself. she didn't care if nobody understood who she was or being asked if she knew it was a halloween party, not a dinner at nobu - she knew she was that fucking girl. but of course, most people knew who she was, even the cute girl standing by the drinks station who was ogling her the entire night and who so badly wanted nobara's number. spoilers: she got it.

"i can't believe you actually stuck with", yn says after managing to close her jaw.

"god you look hot"

nobara smirks at her reaction.

"i wasn't going to let the opportunity slip pass that easily" nobara smirks to herself.

before yn could respond, a loud bang followed by the sound of a door being slammed interrupted her train of thought.

"FUCK!"

both the girls' heads whipped around the find a panicking maki pacing out her room.

"has anyone seen my anastasia lip liner?" she huffs, crossing her arms.

maki zenin as BETTY BOOP

the look, the lips, the hips, the taste… everybody please welcome miss zenin!!!

"no but have you seen an extra pair of panties? i need to change."

i mean this costume was in the works since her hair cut. i mean come on… IT’S PERFECT? maki as betty boop? nah betty boop as maki zenin! uh huh nodding my head right now. an iconic if not the iconic costume in the apartment. maki is not one to typically wear dresses - mostly sticking to jeans, shorts & skirts and the occasional jorts but DRESSES? you’d have to be either jesus or yuta to convince her to put one on let alone a mini dress. and good lord she looked good. yuta almost had a heart attack when she sent him a picture of her costume. yeah it was gonna be a long night for him.

she rolled her eyes at the remark but can’t help the smile that betrays her facade. she looks over to the silhouette standing in the hallway, almost… waiting?

“panda we aren’t playing a theme song just for you to come out just show us your costume already”, maki sighs

he stomps into the living room with a sulk in his step.

“you guys are boring bitches”, he huffs.

panda as a SONNY ANGEL

the girls all had their mouths shaped in an ‘o’ as he entered, hands on hips - giving the most sass imaginable.

“panda what happened”, nobara stifled a giggle behind her hand.

so this was not panda's original costume but his backup one... unfortunately for him, his original costume was to go as a slutty version of batman but he was then met with his long awaited karma..

RIIIIIIP

“oh my fucking god” he said to himself as he hesitantly checks the back of his costume. he finds a hole right where his left ass cheek is.

a big one.

luckily for him, he’s immune to costume malfunctions and bought a back up for times like this. sure it wasn’t as creative or risqué as slutty batman but it was the next best thing.

“i don’t want to talk about”, he mumbles, earning an eruption of laughs from the girls.

he stood there in silence as they speculate what on earth could have happened to his original costume. eventually he told them which then lead to another fit of giggles. atleast that was over. they had a party to plan. and besides, sonny angels are supposed to bring you good luck right?

wrong.

the night was a mess. panda got atleast 7 different drinks spilt on him that night and almost got into a fight with todo because he won the ‘best costume’ contest. (he was a passenger seat and mai was chappel roan).

—

BONUS COSTUMES!

as we know there are two weekends where halloween is celebrated, and this year is no different. debate after debate, "should we celebrate halloween the week before or 2 days after the actual event?" well, why not both! both the party girls and tridant came together to complete the "maze of death" (it was just a corn maze, famous for the actors jump scaring you every now and then - similar to the haunted house the boys went to, but much more intense) these set of costumes are what both groups wore on halloweekend 2 + how each character would react during a haunted maze!

megumi as THE SCARECROW

megumi got confused and thought yn’s costume last week was hers this week and decided to match with her without telling her. (he thought it would of scored him brownie points) though when he found out yn was dressed up as someone else he was immediately embarrassed. yn thought it was adorable how he tried to match with her so called costume and gave him a kiss on the cheek as a recognition for his efforts. (definitely got those brownie points)

he walks WAY ahead. he wants it OVER with >"if i walk faster, they can't get me" type mf. he's miserable but can't take yn laughing behind him at all. he’s going through many stages of grief.

he unfortunately has to lead the group through it even though he's pretty scared himself, but he calms himself by saying "toge def was worse" or some shit. (spoilers he was in fact worse)

yuji as XANDRA

i hate gay halloween, what do you mean you’re xandra from papa’s freezeria?

oh he scares the workers BACK. my king.

had full intentions of scaring yuta during it but got caught off guard and accidentally punched the workers that personally jump-scared him because he's automatically triggered into fight or flight mode like no tomorrow.

yn & toge as SHARPAY AND RYAN EVANS

they came up with this idea when toge was at their apartment doing the usual antics (eating all their food) and saw yn watching high school musical. told her it would make a pretty good halloween costume as a duo and he saw the bulb light up in her head.

first they have a competition who won't be scared but i fear they are desperately clinging onto each other 10 seconds in then act like NOTHING happened once they exit toge is scared so much he can't talk, yn is pale as fuck, and they agree to never talk about it.

(yn says she won the competition 2 hours later)

maki & yuta as a COP AND PRISONER

everyone awwed at them when they saw their costumes. i mean how could you not? #coupleoftheyear

oh yeah so…. yuta wanted to ditch at the entrance but maki hauled his ass with her. he doesn't do well at all, he pukes at the end and maki just patted him on the back.

maki has a poker face throughout the whole thing. does not gaf. she is not scared at all and corrects how they can be scarier to their FACE mid scare. the workers almost walk out.

nobara & panda as the BEE & COOKIE

committing to the ynmegumi bit so bad im ctfu.

panda’s more depressed about how he missed the volunteer dates in order to work at it. but like yuta, he screams so much it haunts nobara’s ears. he screams like a little girl. he almost pisses his pants and hides behind nobara but it makes him a BIGGER target because ofc they're gonna see a 6 ft giant trying to hide??? the haunted house workers def bully panda in the groupchat after their shift ends. he tries to act all tough afterwards saying he "handled it like a champ".

nobara has an average reaction ywkim, she does scream and does get scared but she's literally fine. she NEVER lets panda live it down though, she has a video of panda screaming too.

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @boopbepzlerp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can’t tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Another Wednesday, and another October prompt! I am finally back home from the conference and hopefully will be able to get back into the swing of things with some of the chaptered fics if anyone is out there still reading them 🩵 thank you so much to anyone and everyone who has given these prompts or any of my writing a chance I really, really appreciate it.

WARNINGS: Discussions of really, really rough sex and the aftermath

¹⁶⁾ the imprint of a boot between shoulder blades

Guilt burned in George’s chest as Matty hissed, carefully lowering himself down into the warm water of the bath George had drawn him. The water shimmered, bright blue and fragrant with lemon and sea salt from the bath bomb that George had added. Matty carefully settled himself into the water, leaning back hesitantly against the wall of the tub like he was worried it was going to hurt, but then wasn’t sure what to do if it did. The imprint of a boot between shoulder blades, the mark bright red as the bruising already bubbled to the surface of Matty’s skin making George’s heart ache. 

Matty liked it rough and George had indulged him. But now, confronted with the aftermath, the bruises that George had left on Matty’s skin, the pain he was clearly in, George was spiraling. He had thought that it would be something he enjoyed as well, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Matty rasped, his voice rough from the way George had choked him, his fingers wrapped around Matty’s throat as he squeezed. It had been consensual and George was pretty sure Matty had never come that hard ever but oh my god George was so much bigger than him he could have really hurt him he could have killed him– 

“George stop,” Matty said, sitting up taller in the bathwater as if that would show George he meant business even though the way his nose wrinkled in pain at the change in position just made George feel even worse. 

“I’m sorry,” George said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough, I’m sorry—” 

“George stop,” Matty repeated, “Don’t make me get out of this tub, after everything I just went through to get it, but I will,” 

“But—” George started and George shook his head. 

“No,” Matty said, his voice firm, “No, you are not allowed to spiral.” 

“But I could have hurt you—”

“But you didn’t and I know you would never, everything you did to me today was because I wanted it, badly, and I enjoyed every second of it, but if I had known it was going to upset you like this, I never would have asked.” Matty said. 

George swallowed hard. “I didn’t know it was going to bother me this much,” George admitted, sitting down on the floor next to the bathtub so that he could hold the hand that Matty held out in offering. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying sorry,” Matty chastised him. “You haven’t done anything wrong, and it’s alright that you didn’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” 

“But you liked it,” George started and Matty just shook his head, his sweaty, come coated curls bouncing. 

“No, it’s only fun if we both enjoy it, and if you don’t like it, we can just try something else.” Matty soothed. 

“I love you,” said George, surprised by how wet his voice was, surprised by the tears that filled his eyes. 

“Aw, love,” said Matty, squeezing George’s hand tighter. “I love you, so fucking much.” 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @little-gremlin-in-the-walls @tinyegg @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @rat-poisin @alm334 @cdizzlevalntyne @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity

[echo-of-sounds]

lazy start, intense finish (pt.2 in the 'your first creampie' series)

-Aizawa x f!reader-

smut drabble of aizawa giving you your first creampie

I’m posting this using my phone’s hotspot because I just really wanted to get this out today. Nothing’s really loading. I picked a gif at random. If the format is a little wonky, I apologize. I’ll fix it later.

Warnings: nothing serious, just a little deepthroating/gagging

At the commercial break, you lowered the volume for Shouta sleeping on your stomach. He sighed and nuzzled into you. His hands were burrowed inside your sweatshirt for warmth, resting on your sides. Not that he needed the extra warmth. His body was nothing but a radiator, keeping yours pleasantly cozy in the cool room.

He remained motionless for another thirty minutes until his chest rumbled a swear.

“You alright?”

He groaned, turning his head. Through the thick, black mess, you saw his eyes straining at the Tv. At least they seemed less red than an hour and a half ago. Hair stuck to his mouth. You gently brushed the strands out of his face, carefully combing through them.

A low hum sounded at your grooming. Your fingers graced behind his ear, down his jaw, skimming the defined bone and bristles. It’s grown a little longer than usual, shading in the sparse five o’clock with attractive, full stubble.

He grumbled in a thick voice, “I need to shave it soon.”

“I like it like this.”

“It’s annoying like this.” He shifted on top of you, removing his hands from your sweatshirt. You moved too, bending your left leg, wedged amid him and the couch’s back, to relieve your stiff knee. He faced your thigh and pressed his lips to it. The peck formed into a long kiss, dragging the thin skin into his mouth.

The heated weight between your legs allowed you to lazily hump, working up wetness, not from his mouth. His lower chest rocked with you. Fingertips depressed into your thigh. Hair mingled around your playing fingers, keeping you coupled as he sucked, stressing the skin with teeth and lips.

You sighed for him. He didn’t budge. You wiggled, cooing, “Shouta, come here.”

Your voice corralled him; he lifted, crawled up to your mouth. Heft settled on top, happily trapping you for a kiss. Swelling swayed against you, encouraging your hips to return the favor. His tongue crudely sunk into your mouth. It drew moans and heavy breaths from both of you, hastening your grinding.

The kisses trailed to your jaw, then neck once you opened it, where his teeth decided to taste. You fondled him through his sweatpants. The material didn’t stifle his girth and heat. And your groping spurred his swaying into thrusting, obviously wanting something to thrust into.

You were about to speak when he bit your neck, shaping your words into a gasp. His jaw didn’t release, very clearly set on leaving you swollen. You squeezed his cock. That only made his hips jerk. You squeezed his sleeve next, panting, “Let’s go- Fuck. Let’s go to bed.”

Shouta heaved himself and you up. The cuddly start to your night-in quickly disappeared as he muscled you to the bedroom. His tongue left your mouth once when he slipped his shirt off. Your palms flushed over his abdomen, feeling up the grooves and hair, smoothing along his pecs, kindling from his radiator of a chest.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then suck me off,” he gruffed, gripping your hair to keep your mouth against his for an airless ten seconds before shoving you to the bed. He dropped his pants and boxers, then joined. But he laid beside you, waiting for you to enact what he said.

And you did. Ready and willing, you hopped between his legs, kissing his erection. Veins in his foreskin slicked with your tongue, from his raphe to his frenulum. The little ridge of skin roused him, physically and audibly. A blush tainted his cheeks. Gorgeous sighs charmed your ears. You lapped slowly, softly, and sweetly at the reactive zone, soaking up his sounds, also soaking your panties.

“You look so handsome right now,” you praised. “Not that you don’t look handsome other times.”

Holding him steady, you pressed a lewd kiss to his head, and you couldn’t help but nip his corona. Then you took him in your mouth, quickly sinking, gradually rising, lightly dragging your teeth along him.

His head dropped to the pillows. Black hair frayed out, exposing pale collarbones and marred skin. His abs expanded in lengthy, indulged breaths. As your fingers trailed up the muscles, he snagged your hair, forcing you lower. Another hand joined. Hips snapped up. Each loud, deep prod choked you. Tears fell when he held you down, flattening your nose into his hair, stationing his dick thick and solid in your throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

Saliva dribbled. Heat pooled in your neck. A crude gag came with his grinding, making him yank you off. Dark eyes watched spit seep past your lips, drooling to him. They kept yours in focus, his head tapping your lips. “Clean it.”

You nursed on him again, sucking up all his precum and your spit. After a gentle thumb wiped the tears away, his palm rested on your cheek, calmly guiding your head. You hummed.

The switch from dominant to mellow wasn’t new, but it always sparked an affectionate glow in your stomach. The glare, from arousal, not anger, was always pleasing. And the intensity, you’ve seen many a time. Yet something about the tilt of his eyebrows and the pink of his ears goaded an unfamiliar experience, a new need.

Wetly, lust-filled, you spoke around his glans, tasting the salt you wanted to feel inside, “Cum in me.”

“What?”

“Cum in me.” You climbed up, parked on his waist, and removed your sweatshirt. You cupped his cheeks, kissing him with all the potency this need inflamed. “I’m on birth control. It’ll be okay. I want to feel what it’s like.”

“No one’s ever cum in you?”

You stroked his jaw. “No. It’s never come up. I want it to be with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” you whined before kissing him, smiling at the tongue muscling in.

Rough fingers coasted down your back and into your underwear. They kneaded your ass, spreading and pressing you while you moved with his hands, lightly riding his naked chest. The foreplay was becoming a bit too much, evident in the wet material pressing between you.

The fingers skimmed to your front and easily slipped in. “You’re this wet just from thinking about-”

“Yes,” you gasped, appreciating how his palm graded your clit. You stilled his wrist to grind down. “Sho, I’m gonna- Fuck.”

“How am I supposed to cum in you if you get worn out before I’m even inside you?” His stupid, rugged, lovely smirk taunted you.

Before you could respond, you were whipped to the mattress and your panties were tugged off. Shouta nestled between your thighs, immersing himself balls deep without any pushback or preparation. Knowing how this was going to end livened your noises and heightened your skin. Coarse hair, fevered skin, sultry breaths, digging fingers, lips, teeth, nails; all fueled the fire.

With a bite to your already bitten-up neck, the thrusts started solid. His head brushed straight into your front wall over and over and over again. Your nails made a home in his back, scratching, thanking him for his beautiful dick.

Shouta pushed up to his hands, increasing the strength behind the thrusts. You grasped at his biceps and rose, needing his mouth. You got what you wanted; sloppy, saliva, tongue-filled kisses and deep thrusts to curl your toes. Your eyes fluttered closed and head lolled back. Refusing to break, the kiss followed with his added grunts, amorous sounds he barely shared.

You tried speaking, voicing how amazing he always made you feel, your love, close you were, how so fucking high you felt. But nothing escaped your connected mouths except saliva. Instead, you stroked your clit. The width inside was leading you straight to orgasm.

Yet, rather fiercely, your hand was stopped.

“Sho, I-”

“Tonight, you cum from me,” he growled in your ear. He hooked both your knees, leaned forward, and continued his unabashed rutting, flattening you to the bed, completely caging you under him and the weight bearing down and into you.

He withdrew till only his head remained then bucked, slapping his balls against you, using the bed’s bounce to repeat repeatedly, jarring your hips and legs. His thrusts reached your depths. Pleasure drowned any twinge of pain out. You weakly clawed at his shoulder blades, losing energy.

“Cum.”

You whined his name.

“Now.” Teeth, once again, found your sore neck. Hair flared over your face, lending more building heat. “Cum, now.”

Arousal dripped from the disgustingly vulgar sounds between you. Your muscles couldn’t straighten under his control. You fussed and pawed.

“Fucking cum,” Sho gnarled. The guttural demand rolled your head back, driving home what he wanted, clenching muscles and limbs around him. Water formed from squeezing your eyes too hard. Skin gave under your nails.

All the joyous bliss almost turned painful with his nonstop thrusting. Because of the position, your legs couldn’t wrap his waist. But they still tried, needing him to stay inside. You felt down his sides and grappled at the sweat-coated skin. “Shouta, please- Fuck! Please.”

“I’m fucking-” His own huffing cut him off, struggling to even out. Thick groans melted in your ear. His thighs, while railroading through, trembled, humping, seeking.

“Cum in me. I want it.”

The thrust slowed, but the weight behind them didn’t lessen. He pressed into your neck.

“God, Sho, just cum in me.”

Each ball slap lingered longer and longer.

“Please,” you all but pleaded.

Swearing and growling your name, he sunk one last time, grinding against you, trying to push just a little deeper as you finally felt cum inside. It was new, different, and so, so warm. Hearty groans rumbled his chest. He dropped your legs, giving you the chance to wrap around him, embracing tight, and refusing to let him pull out.

Shouta’s labored breathing gradually calmed. Though it didn’t ease the heat of your bodies. And neither of you spoke, choosing to just lay and experience the feeling together.

[mauvecherie-writes]

Home This Christmas.

PAIRING: Dani [oc] x Michael B Jordan.

SUMMARY: Dani is weary that her fiancé won’t be home in time for Christmas but he makes sure that he’s there.

WARNING: 18+ fluff, sexual content, hormonal pregnant woman.

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

NOTE: micheal is not famous. this is not a request but a personal christmas present for my best friend @beautifullmelodyxx i love you so much!

“No, no, no. baby you promised me that you’d be on your way back and that you’d be in town by now!” Dani exclaimed as she slammed her fist against the steering wheel. Frustration quickly began to take over her body as she pondered on the words of her fiancé.

“I know babe and I’m really sorry but work has gone into overtime and I can’t stop it.”

“Michael Bakari Jordan, you are the CEO and owner of your company. You can delegate your power to your other admin and be on the first plane home.”

“Damn, not the full name.” He mumbled.

“I’m irritated Michael! You promised me that’d you’d be here tonight and I wouldn’t spend christmas eve alone and you’re about to break it.”

“It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose. The client is being a pain to sign the contract and it’s causing everyone especially me. But you know I’m doing my best to speed up the process and come home to you.”

Dani screamed through her closed mouth. Yes, she was throwing a tantrum but it was all within good reason. Michael had not been home for a week and she was missing him terribly. Her pregnancy also made it extremely hard for her to control her hormones thus making her more needy than usual. She wanted Michael by her side and he wasn’t here which effectively added to the bad mood she was already experiencing from having to deal with entitled customers all day.

“You know what, I don’t want to call me unless you’re telling me you’ve landed and you’re coming home. Bye.” Dani did not give him time to respond before she ended the call and tightened grip around the leather of the wheel as tears pinched behind her eyes. She groaned before taking a deep breath and trying to calm her nerves as she pulled into the road that led to her home.

The black iron gates opened to her command after she pressed the fob on her keys. She parked her car and then got out, grabbing her office bags with her. As she stood up straight, the small rounded bottom of her belly was more prominent. At sixteen weeks, it was getting harder to hide her pregnancy as her emotions and cravings would often threaten to tell her secret. Dani and Michael had planned on revealing the news to their family during the swapping of gifts at Christmas tomorrow. However with the news that Michael dropped on her, it was looking like that plan was going to be pushed to the back burner.

Dani opened the front door with a heavy sigh as her shoulders slumped and leaned against the closed door before taking off her shoes and placed them onto the shoe rack by the door. She stalked further into their spacious home and placed her bags onto the couch before continuing her journey into the kitchen. Dani opened cupboards, grabbing her favourite snacks before jogging up the stairs.

She was stuffing her face with chips when she entered the master bedroom with an absent mind.

“Surprise!” A voice broke through the silent air which startled Dani so much, she screamed and dropped everything that was in her arms. With a hand on her chest, she focused on Michael’s figure that was standing in the middle of the bedroom dressed in jeans and a Christmas sweater.

“Fucking hell Michael!” She yelled at him and she rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes as she tried to control the anger that was already festering within her. His muffled laughter rang in her ears as he approached closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. He held her tightly against his chest as he rocked from side to side. He placed kisses on her cheeks and the side of her forehead.

“Hi baby.” He greeted Dani, his voice soft and mellow but she was not having it.

“You’re not funny.” She pushed him away and headed towards the bathroom but she could hear his footsteps behind her. “Don’t follow me, I’m mad at you right now.”

She entered the bathroom and began to run the water in the tub. After she dropped some bath salts and bubble bath soap, Dani stripped out of her clothes and put her locs into her bun on top of her head. She lathered her face in a mask and then finally sunk into the hot water. A soft hum came out of her as the warmth engulfed her.

Her eyes were still closed as she caught onto the scent of her fiancé before hearing the dragging of a stool towards the tub. Dani turned her head to the side and opened her eyes and welcomed the softness of Michael’s eyes.

“When did you get here?” She softly asked.

“A little after lunch. I initially thought about coming to your office and surprising you there but this seemed like a better idea. But now I’m starting to regret it.”

“You should. I was about to cry in the car. I really missed you.” Dani pouted which caused him to smile, showing his dimple.

“I missed you too.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. She softly moaned as she held onto his cheek as she deepened the kiss but for a moment before pulling away. “Tantrums and all.” She tried to hide her smile as she rolled her eyes and moved back into her relaxed position.

“Whatever. I’m a pregnant hormonal woman and you’re not doing a very good job of making sure that I’m not stressed.”

His hand was in the water as he caressed her leg.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” The look in his eyes was full of temptation. He was trying to seduce his way out of trouble and Dani felt every fibre of her being wanting to give in but she wanted to make him sweat a little.

“You can start by cooking me something nice and quick.”

“Anything else?”

“I want the fireplace lit with a little set up in front of it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you do all of that, I might forgive you.”

Michael chuckled before capturing her lips once again.

“I‘ll do what I can.” Dani bit onto her lip as he watched him walk away. Her eyes narrowed on his ass and she moaned getting flashbacks of the day before he left for his trip. She remembered digging her manicured nails into the firm, muscled flesh of his ass. Now, her arousal began to rise which caused her to groan softly and close her eyes as the thoughts filled her mind.

She did not stay in the tub for more time than needed and took a quick shower before leaving the bathroom. Dani moisturised her skin and then got dressed in an old large shirt of Michael’s and a pair of red thongs and some warm, fluffy christmas socks. She neatly wrapped her hair and applied her night creams.

When she got downstairs, the scent of the food became stronger. Michael was standing by the counter as he dished the food. He made a quick meal of creamy ham and mushroom linguine with a side of wild green salad.

Dani’s mouth watered at the sight.

“This looks so good baby.” She commented as she sat at a stool by the counter. Michael pushed a plate towards her and poured her a cup of strawberry lemonade.

“Thank you.” He replied with another shared kiss before the couple indulged in their food. They shared stories of their work days — Dani’s being far more interesting as her career as an event planner led her to cross paths with peculiar people.

As it was Christmas, her and her team were organising annual Christmas parties for companies. Dani and her assistant were planning a party for a successful local law firm and they were having a problem with the firm’s representative and it took all of Dani’s customer service training to not blow off her top and refuse to work with her. However Dani’s company had an incredibly clean record with an impeccable reputation. Nothing, especially snotty, little entitled fund babies.

Michael laughed at all of her retelling and watched her with an awestruck look in his eyes. Together for four years and nothing about the way that he felt about her had changed, only intensified. Eating dinner with her before moving to the fireplace as the Grinch played lowly in the background made him appreciate the little things. These were moments that he never wanted to miss and he promised to himself that he never will.

He was leaning against the couch with Dani in between his legs. His hands were around her torso, hands on her belly as he listened to her ramblings about past christmases. As much as he was trying to listen to what she was saying, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her womb. His seed was growing in there. Their baby was within her and she was bringing life into their world and extending their family.

How could he not be in love with her? Dani trusted him so much that she was willing to give birth and be with him in matrimony. Michael had never experienced a love like this and he was never going to give it up.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dani asked as she shifted her head slightly to look at him.

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “I was thinking about how in love I am with you.”

“Awe baby.” She cooed as she turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you so much.” Multiple kisses were placed on his jawline, tickling his skin causing him to laugh before turning his head and capturing her lips into a passionate kiss. Her hands went to tug onto his small afro as the kiss intensified. He laid her down onto the blanket that was beneath them and made sure that he wasn’t applying too much pressure onto her lower abdomen.

His hands were on either side of her head as her legs shifted to being around his waist. He brought his weight down and pressed himself against her flimsily covered core. Dani whimpered into his mouth as her hands moved down his torso and pulled on his sweater. He stood on his knees and pulled it off his body before hovering above her and attaching his lips to her once more.

Her hips bucked upwards so as to build on the friction but Michael held her down by her arms before trailing his lips down her neck, the soft prickles of his beard rubbing against her skin caused her buried arousal to begin to arise once more. As he worked his way down her body, he pushed the shirt further up her body and took one of her nippled into his mouth.

“Fuck.” Dani gasped as she felt his tongue flick her sensitive nipple before sucking on it. Her pregnancy made everything much more sensitive which intensified every little thing. As she took off her shirt and dropped it onto the floor as Michael pushed her thighs apart and chuckled at the festive colour of her damp thongs.

“Did you put these on for me?” He mumbled against her thigh and bit into it as he pulled them down her legs before settling close to her pussy once again.

“I thought that they matched the festive spirit.” Dani replied, giggling as she felt his breath brush against her drenched core. She bit onto her lip as she leaned up onto her elbows and looked down at her fiance. The yellow lights of the Christmas tree illuminated onto his face before he used his tongue to lick clean her weeping nectar.

That’s when he lost himself in between her thighs. Using his skilful tongue, he would lick around her clit, flick it repeatedly before trailing down to her entrance and pushing his tongue in. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he paid more attention to her clit and began fucking her with his fingers which caused her moan to turn into screams.

She pulled on the blanket s beneath her as her orgasm began to rise.

“Oh baby, I’m going to cum.” Dani gasped as her thighs began to quake. Her orgasm gripped her body as she arched off the floor. He thrusted his fingers faster and faster into her, prolonging her climax for as long as her could before she finally pushed him away.

“Can’t take it baby?” He licked his lips as he took his trousers off and laid down on the floor and pulled her on top of him. Dani positioned herself properly and went in between her leg and wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him softly. She watched as his chest raised up and down as he throbbed in her hand.

“You get too overzealous, my pussy is too tender for that.” She replied as she raised up and

began to sink down onto his thickness. Dani let out a sweet moan as he stretched her walls. She leaned forward and placed her hands onto his chest as she took deep breaths as Michael pushed deeper into her. He watched as she bit on her lip and her eyes fluttered close as she took all of him.

He groaned as he gripped onto her thighs as she snuggly fit around him. “But you’re not complaining when I’m deep inside of you.”

“Daddy.” Dani gasped as he lifted her hips and brought her back down onto him. The best thing was watching the faces she made as she used him for her pleasure. With every roll of her hips and each breathy moan that left her parted lips, Michael could feel the tug at the bottom of his stomach. When she was so consumed within the throes, Dani never called him by his given name, just Daddy. He loved hearing her call him.

His hand travelled to her breast and pulled on her nipple as he moved his hips to her pace.

“Fuck!” She groaned as she rolled her hips faster and faster, tightening her core around his cock causing him to growl beneath her. Dani opened her eyes and leaned down and took his bottom lip into her mouth as she began to bounce on him.

“You feeling good baby?” He mumbled against her lips as she looked into his eyes as his arms wrapped around her and he planted his feet onto the floor and thrusted harder into her causing her moans to turn into the screams. Her head was slightly above his as she pulled on the blankets. Their bodies moved in sync with each other as they chased their climax. Michael sat up and held onto the back of her neck as he branded her lips with his.

Embracing each other tightly, Dani continued moving her hips as their tongues passionately entangled as their moans blended together.

“Fuck baby, I’m going to cum.” He whispered against her lips.

“Cum in me Daddy, fill me up. Please, please, please.” Dani moaned as her walls clenched around him, eliciting a deep moan as Michael squeezed onto her ass as he held onto her body as he buried his seed deep inside of her. Dani whimpered as she let go of her inhibitions and trembled in his arms.

They held each other as they focused on calming themselves down. Michael laid back down with her still on top of him. Her eyes were closed as she listened to his beating heart. When her eyes opened, she caught sight of the erected Christmas tree.

“Oh god.” Dani groaned with a scoff. “We fucked in front of the Christmas tree like some cliche hallmark movie.”

“It’d be r rated just from your moans alone.” Michael replied as he ran his fingers up and down her back. Dani laughed as she playfully slapped his chest.

“Shut up.” She mumbled before cuddling into his body and closing her eyes as she felt her body relax. Christmas was looking up already...

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

[f0rever15elf]

Twin Souls

Summary: Soulmates. Twin souls. They’re the stuff of legends, right? They aren’t real...Or are they? And if they are...can they really span universes? 

Pairing: Pero/Whiskey/Oberyn/Din/Max/Maxwell/Dave/Catfish/Marcus/Ezra x fem!Reader  (yes, ALL of those Pedro boys are in this fic at some point. I’m overly indulgent)  Rating: M  Warning: Harsh language, sexual innuendo, death mentions, violence, injured reader, a little bit of angst (for the spice), way too many pedro characters in one fic, no beta reading. Soulmates!AU Word count: 9,649 (lord help me) 

a/n: This was inspired by a post that literally just mentioned our favorite soulmate trope that through any universe, two souls will find one another and I just think that’s really beautiful and NEEDED TO GET IT OUT OF MY BRAIN. So I hope you enjoy this! 

Masterlist |  Ao3

Twin Souls. Mirror souls. Soulmates. Twin flames. Almost every culture has their own rendition of this idea that each of us has another half that we are created with and separated from before we come into this life. Someone we are destined to find as surely as the river finds the sea. Some legends claim it was that we all originate with four arms, four legs, two heads, and one soul that shone brighter than the brightest of stars in the sky, and this drew jealousy from the gods who then wrent us in two. For others, it is destiny calling two individuals together, the universe declaring that two must become one. And even simpler still, some believe that it is no more than a chemical attraction. Something purely physical, biological, and nothing more. A perfect mate.

But what if? 

What if it was more than that. So much more. What if two souls were always destined to find one another? Across time and space and universes? What if...

Lightning cracks the sky, momentarily illuminating the face of the man on horseback. His scowl, as always, is firmly in place, his brow creased in a mix of irritation and exasperation. The rain has his dark, curled hair slicked down against his skull and his tunic under his armor is soaked through, drawing the warmth rapidly from his skin. He had told William they should make camp, that the smell of rain on the wind meant for foul weather, and soon, but William had ignored the grumpy Spaniard, electing to press on. Not twenty minutes later, the heavens opened, drenching the small caravan as they continued on. William rode silently in front of Pero, and he could feel the glare from his companion boring holes into the back of his head. If looks could kill, he would be dead several times over. 

"I see lights ahead!" Calls the lookout from up ahead, and a satisfied chatter rolls through the group of sellswords. Pero lifts his chin only slightly to look ahead, jaw clenched, eyes alert. He had seen enough in his days selling his sword to know what to look for, and a small village in the middle of nowhere was always a gamble. 

As the small group rides up to the edge of the village, a few of the village's men wait to greet them, lanterns out to welcome them to the town. The group of sellswords dismount as William goes to speak with the man Pero can only assume is the village leader. After a few words, William turns with a smile, moving through the group to tell them they would be making camp here tonight, bunking with members of the small community. The welcoming committee leads each man off to a different house, and had it not been for the rain still steadily downpouring, a dull chatter would have filled the air as the guests were welcomed with more hospitality than many of them were used to. 

"And you, my friend, will be staying with us!" The village leader approaches Pero with a smile. "Come, my daughter will help to get you dry. This cold will seep to your bones and you will fall ill. Come. Come." The friendly elder makes his way to a small, comfortable hut, a warm fire blazing in the center. The crackling of the logs is a welcome sound to Pero's ears, and the smell of something savory fills his nostrils. The men had been living on rations for days, and Pero Tovar was sick of the hardtack and salt pork he carried with him. The elder introduces him to his family; a wife, a young son, and you, his only daughter. As soon as his eyes land on you, Pero feels a warm sensation spread through his stomach, one he had never felt before, and he finds it difficult to tear his eyes from yours as the man of the house begins speaking again, telling him that their house is his for the night. He manages to utter out a word of gratitude before you approach him, taking his hand to lead him to get cleaned up. 

"It is not often our village has visitors," you murmur softly as you help him to doff his armor. "Most pass us by without so much as a second glance." Your smile causes that heat in his stomach to spread upwards through his chest, and up his neck. Such a foreign feeling... "Perhaps it is fate that brought you here, to us. I must thank fate, if that is the case, for bringing such a handsome man to my home." You laugh softly and it is a sweeter sound than any music the Spaniard has ever heard, light and gentle as the bluebird's song on the spring breeze. Pero's heart throbs in his chest at the sound. 

"Sí, señorita. A thanks to fate for bringing me here." His eyes never leave your face and the tips of your ears turn red from the attention. His gaze was steady, with a hard edge of a man who had seen too much. After finishing doffing his armor, you help to ease him out of his wet tunic, and your heart stutters in your chest. Your gaze drifts from his torso back to his face, and your hand moves as if with a mind of its own, lifting to rest on his face. The soft pads of your fingers gently trace the scar over his eye. There was...something so familiar about him, but you had no idea what it was.  Like you had seen this man before, someone who was him...yet not him. The thought confused you and you shook it from your head. That was impossible. 

---

Your eyes snap open from the strange dream and you sit up in bed, rubbing your face. A man who looked so much like your Jack had been haunting your dreams for days now, and you had absolutely no idea what it could mean. Jack stirs beside you, letting out a soft groan as he stretches. 

"Darlin'? You alright? It's awful early for you to be up." He glances over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30 am, early was an understatement. His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles against the skin there. You hum and nod your head. 

"Just...weird dreams Jack. That's all." You turn your head and smile down at him and he makes a concerned sound at the back of his throat. 

"Wanna talk about it, sweetheart?" Your heart melted at the concern, and you ease yourself back down, laying in his arms. 

"It doesn't make much sense, really. You'll probably think I'm crazy." His arm holds you a little closer to him and he chuckles. 

"Try me." A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you take a deep breath. 

"Well...if you say so. I've been dreaming of a person. It's...this guy. He looks so much like you, and he has a scar right here." You delicately trace the line of the scar from the mystery man in your dreams. "And his face is weathered and serious. He's always scowling. I have no idea but it's like it's you but it isn't you. But it's more like... a faded memory than a dream. It's crazy, I know." Jack is quiet as he listens to you, his fingers still tracing delicate patterns on your skin. 

"I...don't think you're crazy, sweetheart." You blink, honestly shocked as you look up at him. He's staring up at the ceiling, a contemplative look on his face. "I've had dreams like that too. Ones of you. Or, well, a girl who looks almost exactly like you." Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look down at him, that handsome, lopsided smile on his face.

"You're not pulling my leg to appease me, are you?" 

"Now darlin', when have I ever done that to you?" He had a point. His silver tongue worked magic in many ways, but spinning lies to appease you was not one of those ways. Your brow creases as you lose yourself in your thoughts of what this could mean until a whip-calloused finger smooths the lines between your brows. "You ever heard 'a soulmates, sweetness?" The question strikes you as rather odd, something out of a fairy tale, but you nod. "I'm thinkin' that may be our answer." His arm wraps around you and he pulls you back against him. "Lovers truly meant to be." Gentle lips press light kisses to your forehead, his moustache tickling the skin and drawing a giggle from you. 

"Do you really think that, Jack? That we've met before?" 

"Well it would explain how we fell in with one another quicker than a jackrabbit with a fox on its tail. Now, I know my charm is absolutely irresistible, but I don't think I can take all the credit here." He grins and you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, smacking his chest lightly. You had to admit...it made sense. In some weird, metaphysical sense that you weren't quite sure you completely believed. But Jack believed it, and that was enough for you. It also meant you could stop feeling guilty about these dreams of this mysterious Spaniard. 

"So this dream girl. What's she like?" You ask, snuggling into Jack's embrace. He shakes his head and laughs. 

"What, you jealous of yourself, gorgeous? C'mon now, you get to ride this cowboy any time you like, ain't no need to be jealous of a dream of you." You gasp and smack his chest, cheeks flushing red as you hide against his chest. He chuckles and lavishes a few gentle kisses to the top of your head, snuggling down in bed with you. 

"Jack?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I love you." 

"I love you too, doll. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep." 

And you did just that, slowly drifting off to dreamland. 

--- 

"Hellloooooo!" Cara snapped her fingers in front of your face and you jumped, coming back to reality. "You know, you really freak me out when you do that." She leans back in her chair, a cup of spotchka in one hand, her lopsided smirk on her face. You cough, and scratch at the back of your neck. 

"Yeah...sorry about that." She just shakes her head.

"Where do you go when you zone out like that? Takes me forever to bring you back around."  You just shrug, staring down at your bowl of soup. 

"Day dreams, I guess. I can't really describe them. I see faces though. Well, a couple of faces anyways. Two men who look shockingly similar and-" Cara cuts you off with a wave of her hand. 

"Sweets, I don't need to hear about your depraved day dreams." Her coy grin in your direction causes your face to flush a bright red at the insinuation and you make a move to reply when she goes rigid in her chair, setting her cup down with a little more force than necessary. Your brow creases in confusion, even more so when she stands and grabs your hand, quickly and quietly leading you out back. "Stay here," she hisses, moving slowly around front, leaving you confused and alone. And hungry. You had been so busy day dreaming you didn't even get the chance to finish your soup. A frown pulls at the corners of your lips as you hop up on a box out back, kicking your legs as you wait for your friend. 

The sounds of fighting reach your ears a few minutes later and you jump up, running towards the sound, skidding to a halt when you round the corner to see Cara fighting with a person decked out in some of the shiniest armor you had ever seen. You open your mouth to say something when a small green creature walks out of the cantina, a bowl of soup in his tiny hands. He looks up at you and tilts his head before turning to walk a little closer to your skirmishing friend. You follow as both the armored figure and Cara end up on the ground, a blaster pointed at Cara's head. You're about to run forward to try and yank the blaster away when the sound of slurping distracts you. Looking down, you see the little green thing slurping up his soup, watching with a borderline uninterested look. The helmeted figure and Cara turn to look at you both before looking back at each other. 

"...Want some soup?" The helmeted man says through what was clearly a modulator. 

That was your first encounter with Din Dajrin, and you had no clue that that one day would lead to you aboard the Razor Crest, babysitting the little green creature he had taken in, and fixing things around the ship as they broke. You had never seen his face, nor much of his skin save for when you were patching him up from a particularly rough hunt, but that was okay. Life on the Crest was comfortable, and even in the silence that Din preferred to keep, you felt at home. His presence was enough to calm you on your more anxious days. The two of you grew close quickly. Quicker than you or he had expected, and it wasn't long before he was gracing you with idle affections. Light caresses as he passes you, his hand lingering on yours for longer than necessary, gently tucking stray hairs back behind your ear as you talk to him. Each little thing never failed to bring heat to your cheeks. 

It was at the anniversary of your first cycle together that Din asked you to marry him. He had taken the three of you to a peaceful, lush planet to ask you. Some place safe and reclusive, a place where neither of you had to worry about anything. He wanted you as a part of his little clan, and your heart nearly burst with affection as you rapidly shook your head, wiping away the tears. The tradition was simple, a marriage a sacred vow between the Mandolorian and their spouse. It was a promise to bind the two as one. A few simple words was all it took, and he was yours. He brought your hands to his helmet to let you lift it off, the moment unable to be any more perfect than this. 

And that's when the blaster sounded. You freeze as your eyes go wide, slowly looking down to your chest where bright crimson starts to bleed through the material of your tunic. You look back up at him with glassy eyes and stumble forward into his grasp, only vaguely aware of more blaster fire, then total silence. Din lays you down on the soft grass, yanking his helmet off, and oh how you wish you could see his face clearly. You make out dark curls atop tan skin, dark eyes looking at you with such concern and fear, desperation...a look you couldn’t bring your eyes to focus enough to make out. Everything is fading so quickly. You can't hear his voice, only ringing. You were so sure he had a beautiful voice, it's a shame you wouldn't get to hear it free of modulation. Lifting your hand, you place it weakly against his cheek, sputtering out "I love you...find me in the next..." With that, the last of your strength leaves you, your hand dropping from his face as your head lolls to the side, eyes staring blankly off into the distance. 

Din lets out a cry of anguish as he pulls your lifeless form against him, sobbing into your hair. How could fate be so cruel? 

--

Ezra shoots up ramrod straight in bed, gasping for air like a man drowning. A cold sweat clings to his skin, an afterthought of the nightmare that disturbed his sleep once more. He rubs his face, taking a deep breath before looking over at his time keeper. Two standard hours before his alarm... The sigh that leaves his lips is deep and heavy as he swings his legs over the side of his cot. Might as well get an early start on the day. There was no going back after that awful dream, and he could use the couple extra hours anyways. Mining with only one hand, everything took twice as long and was done half as well, so the extra time would give him a little leg-up on the day. Heavens above, he could use another set of hands around here. With Cee off at school, he was all on his own, and it was getting damn lonely. Working his way into his suit with a little bit of difficulty, he made the resolution to put out an ad for help the next time he went to the Depot to drop off a shipment. 

And so he spent the day, mining and singing and talking to himself. Anyone else who saw him would surely think this one-armed man was crazy, but little did they know that talking to himself is exactly what kept him sane. He could move up the Depot visit. Yeah, that's what he would do. He'd need to go in the next week anyways, so why not just do it now? He resolved to head on the next day to the Depot, and he'd put out that add for some help. 

The next day's trek was blessedly uneventful. The cash-in post scoffed at what little aurelac he had accrued so far, and the tips of his ears turned pink in embarrassment. He mutters a thank you for the credits exchange, and makes his way to the bulletin board to put in his ad. A single figure is standing in front of the board, a pack slung over their shoulder, miner's tools hanging off their belt. 

"Pardon me," he says softly, scooting by them without looking at their face to pin up his ad. He turns to head back to his buggy to return to work, hopeful he would hear something over his coms soon. 

"Sir?" A gentle voice calls from behind him and he freezes in place, his heartbeat suddenly incredibly loud in his ears. He knew that voice. That was the voice that had been in his nightmares over and over again. Find me in the next... He slowly turns to look at who had called him to see you standing there, looking exactly as you did in his dreams. But alive...so much more alive.  You smile up at him, gentle and warm, with a light of concern in your eyes, and he has to resist the urge to run to you and pull you into his arms. "I say...you look like you've seen a ghost! Are you alright?" Ezra's mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish before he's able to find his words again. 

"Y..Yes, I'm alright. Not to worry, gem, it's just been a rather arduous day is all, and I'm beginning to feel the effects taking hold. Pardon my rudeness." A gentlemanly smile graces his lips as he extends his hand to you. "The name is Ezra. How might you be doing this fine day?" You chuckle and take his hand, shaking it firmly. What an odd fellow this was. 

"It's a pleasure, Ezra. And the answer to this next question will set my mood for the day, I'm sure. You're in need of a helper at your dig site?" He nods enthusiastically. 

"I most certainly am! What a matter of fortune that I happen to stumble upon someone ready and willing to assist me the very day I come to place my ad!" 

"Ready and willing is right! I just arrived on the surface. Took a gamble someone would be needing my help, and it appears I've come out on top!" Your smile is infectious, and Ezra returns it, just as brilliantly. It lights up his eyes, you notice. Warm, chocolate brown eyes that glimmer with a playfulness that excites you. 

"Perhaps you can impart some of that luck on to me as we begin this partnership." He leads you back to his buggy to take you back to camp, loading up on some extra supplies as well with his meager earnings that would be needed with an extra mouth to feed. "Might you be the lucky star that this poor man has been waiting for!" You can't help but chuckle at the eccentric miner. His manner of speaking was so strikingly different from anyone you had met before. Words rolled off his lips sweet as nectar, and the sound of his voice bordered on intoxicating. 

"Make a wish, and we'll see." You laugh, flashing him a wink. The two of you spend the rest of the ride talking, swapping stories of your previous adventures. Ezra's charm has you instantly at ease. It felt comfortable and familiar to be near him, and you couldn't quite explain it. 

As you return to his camp and make your way inside, helping to unload, you do your best to help ease some of Ezra's burden. It was clear he was trying to show that his lack of an arm was no deterrent for him, but you worried he would hurt himself in the process. 

"Here, I've got it," You say softly, taking an oxygen tank from him as he stumbled a bit, nearly dropping the canister. He looks up at you with those soulful brown eyes and your heart stutters in your chest. He nods and lets you take it inside as he grabs the last few small things from the buggy, following you in. His helmet hisses as he takes it off, slowly peeling himself out of his suit, and you do the same, folding yours up in the corner before standing awkwardly in the center of the hab until he's done. Dropping the offending article in the middle of the tent, he sighs and plops down on his cot, patting next to him for you to join. Happily, you do so, crossing your legs under you. 

"Forgive me, lucky star, for my lacking capabilities. I am not the man I once was..." He gestures to the stump of his right arm, a pained look in his eyes. You place your hand on his thigh and flash a reassuring smile. 

"Ezra, there is nothing to forgive. I'm here to help in whatever way you may need me to. We're partners, and partners help each other." He glances at you sideways, a smile gracing his lips at the pain fades in his eyes. 

"Lucky star, I feel you may be imparting some of your luck on to me already. What plans the universe may have for us is an adventure I'm eager to embark on." You laugh and nod, squeezing his thigh once before getting up to start making your side of the hab. 

And so the days go on. Long days spent mining as much aurelac as possible while the light provided, before getting cleaned up for the night. Evenings were usually spent listening to one of Ezra's fantastic tales, or listening to him read a book from his small collection. More and more you found yourself leaning against him, your eyelids heavy with sleep as his honey rich voice drawled on. It reverberated in his chest in a way that soothed you more than anything else had in the galaxy. But the good days were over too soon as mining season came to a close on the Green, and you found yourself facing Ezra in the Depot, the two of you ready to depart for your next jobs. The ache in your heart was unlike anything you had ever felt, having grown so fond of the loquacious miner. 

You opened your mouth to say goodbye, to just rip the band-aid off, when he spoke over you. 

"Come with me." The sentence was near a plea as he reached out to take your hand. Your eyes opened wide at his words, your mouth falling slightly open.

"W..what?" 

"Come with my, my lucky little star... I can't imagine a life without you at this point, the comfort you bring me is beyond anything even the most luxurious of lifestyles could bring me." He squeezes your hand again. "Come with me...please..." You knew you couldn't, you knew you needed to head to your next journey, but the thought of doing so felt so wrong, as though your heart might explode if you tried...so you nod, and Ezra's eyes light up with a joy the likes of which you had never seen. He tugs your hand and pulls you to him, embracing you as best he can with his one arm, and nuzzles into your hair. You wrap your own arms around him to return the hug, sinking into the embrace that could only be described as feeling...right. You almost missed it as he whispered against your hair, "I found you..." You lean back, confusion in your eyes as you look up at him. 

"...Found me?" You whisper and he smiles, dropping the embrace to take your hand and lead you toward his shuttle. 

"If you would indulge me in some time to tell you a story, I can explain everything, lucky little star." 

---

Your bare feet hit the pavement with loud slaps, legs propelling you forwards as fast as you could. Your lungs burned in your chest as you panted for air, not daring to look back over your shoulder for who you knew was following you. How had you managed to be so stupid, so careless? How could you have managed to get yourself involved in this? 

"Get back here!" He yelled, his deep voice causing another shot of adrenaline to course through your bloodstream. He was going to kill you. Oh God, he was going to kill you! Tears stream down your face as you run, ducking into every alleyway you could, trying to elude him, but he had been doing this too long. He was good at covering his tracks, and you were a loose end he couldn't afford. You being alive jeopardized his life with his family. 

You turn down another alley and your heart plummets when you are met with a stone wall, skidding to a halt in front of it. You hear his heavy footfalls behind you and you turn, falling to your knees. Maybe...maybe if you beg, he'll spare you? 

Dave rounds the corner, and you hear the soft click of the safety of his silenced handgun. He stalks forward like a lion stalks an antelope and you have never in your life felt so small. 

"You're a fast little she-devil, I'll give you that. It was a good chase." He stands in front of you as you begin to beg, pleading for your life. You'd move away, you'd forget everything. You'd change your name and cut contact with everyone, please just don't pull the trigger. "No can do, sweetheart. Can't risk it." He brings the gun up level with your forehead as you look up into his eyes, begging still, trembling with terror. For a moment, you see a light of recognition in his eyes, a light that looks so familiar it makes your heart ache. Visions of a space suit, an angry scar, a metal suit, and a cowboy hat all flash through your mind in rapid succession as the light registered somewhere deep in your subconscious. 

Then, with the sound of a gunshot, everything vanishes. 

--- 

"NO PLEASE STOP!" You shriek in your sleep, thrashing around in your shared bed, waking the man beside you. He startles, sitting up and pulling you upright, shaking you gently to try and wake you from your night terror. You had been having them more  and more recently, and he was starting to get really concerned. Terrified eyes snap open, tears starting to streak down your face as you caught his eyes and immediately begin trying to get away from him, your body still full of adrenaline. "Let me go!" You screamed, fighting to get away from those eyes. Those damn eyes were exactly the same. 

"Shhh shhh, cariña, calm down it was just a night terror, you're safe." That voice...that voice wasn't the same. That voice was so much kinder and softer than the one in your dream and you grow still in his arms, nervously looking back at the one holding you. Your terrified stare was met with the warmest chocolate eyes you had ever seen, full of nothing but love and concern for you as he held you. 

"F-Frankie...?" you ask, barely above a whisper, and he nods. You tremble in his hold as you choke out a sob, falling into his embrace. "I-I'm s-s-sorry Frank-kie! I-It was s-so b-bad this t-time," you managed to choke out between sobs. Frankie’s gentle fingers run through your hair in an attempt to soothe you as he coos gently to you, swaying back and forth with you. His sleep shirt was clutched in your fists as you sobbed against him. 

"It's alright cariña, I'm here, I've got you and you're safe. Nothing is going to get you, I promise." His voice is deep and rich, sleep still painting the edges of it as he holds you and whispers soothing words to you. How lucky could you be to have a man like Francisco Morales to call your own? He was so patient with you, even when these night terrors plagued you seemingly non-stop. 

As your sobs turn to sniffles, he carefully looks down at you. "Was it the same dream, amor?" he asks softly, nervous to startle you, and you nod weakly. 

"Being chased and cornered by a man with a gun...who looked like a sleazy businessman version of you... But his eyes were hard and angry and his voice was so cold." You look up at him with still watery eyes and he delicately wipes your cheek of any errant tears. "I hate this." 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm sorry, I would do anything to help those dreams stop." His hold tightens around you. He was angry. Angry he couldn't protect you from this. Angry that for some reason your mind was using his face to torture you. Angry that you could get no respite from these horrible visions in your mind. With closed eyes, he nuzzles into your hair, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes slip closed as you slowly relax into Frankie's hold, your heart rate slowing to a more normal rate as the flood of adrenaline clears your bloodstream, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Frankie coaxes you to bed again, holding you as close to him as he can, hoping his presence will somehow help to deter the nightmares. 

In the morning, you wake to the smell of bacon and the feeling of an empty bed. You sit up and stretch before rubbing your eyes and yawning. Damn, your head and eyes hurt from the crying last night. Stupid nightmare... With a shake of your head, you move to get up to go get some medicine when you notice two Tylenol and a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, knowing Frankie had left them out for you, and you take them, deciding to stay in bed a few more minutes and wait for Frankie. Your decision pays off when the door opens and Frankie walks in, a bed tray with pancakes, bacon, and a tall glass of chocolate milk in his hands. 

"Morning amor. How are you feeling? I made your favorite blueberry pancakes." The smile that graces your lips he returns as he sets the tray across your lap before tucking a loose strand of hair back in place behind your ear, joining you on the bed. 

"I'm alright as I can be. Tired of these stupid night terrors...I feel like I haven't slept in days." Leaning over, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before picking up a fork, digging in. The moan that leaves your lips borders on sinful as you taste the pancakes. Frankie's cooking always did amaze you. He chuckles as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. 

"I'm glad you like the food." You nod with a smile and continue eating, content with the silence for now. That is, until a burning question bubbles to the forefront of your thoughts. "Frankie...have...have you ever had a dream...about a girl who looked like me?" The question comes softly from your lips, as if you are nervous to even ask it. It seemed so silly hearing it out loud. 

"No, I can't say I have...but the day I met you, I could have sworn I had met you before. But there was no possible way that could have been." His voice is contemplative, and when you turn to look at him He's looking off to nowhere, lost in thought. 

"What do you mean you could have sworn you've met me before?" He blinks a few times and looks back at you, shrugging. 

"Everything about you was familiar. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile. Hell, even the way you stood, one hip cocked and your hand resting on it...It was all just so familiar, like I had met you a long time ago. Weird, I know." 

"I'm the one having dreams about a guy who looks like a douche bag version of you trying to kill me, and you think familiarity is weird?" A pink tint creeps up his cheeks as he sputters out a reply. 

"W-well when you put it that way..." You chuckle and shake your head, chasing a blueberry around your plate with your fork. 

"Maybe...we have met before...just not...here." If he didn't think you were crazy before, he certainly would now. 

"What, like a soulmate? A past life?" You nod, not looking up. You didn't want to see him looking at you like you were crazy. "Now that's an idea...it would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" Another nod, and his hand reaches around to lift your chin, turning your face to him. A gentle smile graces his beautiful face and you can't help but return it. "If that's the case, then I'm glad I found you again, soulmate." The giggle that escapes your lips only helps to widen his smile before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. 

==

You had heard great things of the Prince of Dorne. The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell. He was as fearsome as he was gentle. Ruthless as he was loving. His skills with poisons and fighting spears were unmatched, as was his sexual appetite. Or so you had heard. King's Landing was always full of whispers and rumors, so much so that it was hard to know just what was fact, and what was fiction. Not that it mattered, the rumors never affected you. You kept your head down, and did as you were told, assisting the Lanisters whenever need be. It was the best way to stay out of trouble, and to ensure your head stayed rightfully upon your shoulders. 

But why all of the hubbub about Prince Oberyn all of a sudden? Have you missed an announcement? Cersei would have your head on a pike before the candles melted through if you embarrassed her by forgetting to outfit a chamber. A cold sweat breaks out over your skin and your heart races in your chest at the thought, your feet carrying you swiftly down the halls in search of Tyrion. He would know what was going on. 

You find the man talking with his guard, and clear your throat softly as you approach, hands folded respectfully in front of you. Their conversation drops as Tyrion looks to you with a smile. 

"Forgive my interruption, but I have heard many more whispers today than usual of The Red Viper of Dorne... Have...Have I missed a notice to prepare an extra chamber...?" Tyrion shakes his head and comes over to place a hand over your folded ones. 

"Fear not, you've missed nothing. The chambers were already prepared for his visit." The tension melts from your shoulders and you nod, bowing your head before standing upright again. 

"Thank you for informing me. I shall return to my duties then. Good day." You turn quickly as Tyrion bids you farewell, resuming your duties as needed.

The fight was the only thing anyone in the halls discussed. Oberyn was to champion for Tyrion in trial by combat with The Mountain. The whole of King's Landing was to attend to spectate, including the workers through the castle. It had been a long time since the walls buzzed with such energy, and you followed along quietly to the viewing stand reserved for the chambermaids. Perhaps you would now see if the words of the great Red Viper of Dorne were true. You watch with baited breath as he strides into the arena, his armor light, a fighting spear in his grip that he twirls with such grace it takes your breath away. His smile is confident, bordering on cocky, and you feel a twinge of fear for him. He was so small...The Mountain would crush him.

The fight was certainly something to behold, and for a moment, it seemed as though Oberyn's dexterity would win him the match. Till the tables turned... It was a gruesome sight, The Mountain was known well for his utter brutality. The cries of pain from the prince under his grip tore at your heart, and when his skull finally gave, painting the arena red, something inside you broke. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your hand covering your gaping mouth as your heart ached in your chest. 

You had never met this man, and yet at the witnessing of his death, it felt as if you had lost a part of yourself.

--

"An intern? A FUCKING intern? What the fuck do I need with an intern?!" Maxwell stood from his desk, pacing behind it, a hand in his pocket while the other rubbed at his face. "I’m so close, SO CLOSE, to having the world in the palm of my hand, and you want me to take on AN INTERN?!" He snapped at the poor secretary who stood in the center of the room, trembling in her high heels. 

"M-Mr. Lord...A-appearances are everything, sir, and I believe taking on an intern would brighten your appearance in the public eye even more so. She would be none the wiser, and you could use her to take care of your less important operations, sir." The secretary quivered under Maxwell's gaze as he stopped to stare at her, eyes hard as flint. Slowly, so slowly, a predatory smile works its way across his face, and he stalks forward, lifting the secretary's chin. 

"You are an absolute genius, where would I be without you?" He shoves her head away and she stumbles back a step before catching herself. "Bring her on. Get her set up on payroll, benefits, whatever she needs, then send her here to talk with me." The secretary nods, scribbling down notes on a piece of paper before looking back up to her boss who has taken to looking out the window of his high rise office. "Well don't just stand there, chop chop!" She shoos her from the room and she leaves in a rush, heels clicking down the hall as she goes to find you.

The lobby of the Lord building was absolutely massive, and appropriately ornate for what you knew of Maxwell's image. Nervous fingers played across your pencil skirt, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in the material as you waited for the secretary you had met to return with her answer. The sound of heels clicking down the hallway draws your attention and a cordial smile graces your lips as the secretary returns. 

"Good news!" she claims in an overly excited tone. "Welcome to the company! Mr. Lord has agreed to take you on as his intern. I'll take your information and get you set up with payroll while you come to meet the man behind it all." You nod, fishing a manila envelope of all of your information out of your shoulder bag, handing it over. "Excellent. Now, follow me. A few pointers," she says matter of factly. "Speak only when spoken to and NEVER interrupt. Mr. Lord hates being interrupted. You'll refer to him as Mr. Lord or Sir unless instructed otherwise. Keep your answer short and to the point. Are we clear?" You swallow thickly, suddenly astronomically more nervous than you were just a moment ago. 

"Crystal." 

"Excellent." She takes you to a large set of double wooden doors, knocking with three quick raps before opening the door. "Mr. Lord, here she is." The secretary ushers you in, placing you in the center where she stood trembling only minutes before, stepping off to the side as Maxwell strides up to you, circling around you as he sizes you up. 

"Not bad," he muses. "Not bad at all." His gaze was searing, causing your blood to race in your veins. You were pretty, he had to admit, and that would definitely be a bonus if you were going to be around him every damn day. Something familiar tugged at the back of his mind. Your eyes or your jawline, maybe, but he quickly chased that thought away. "So, you're going to be my new intern!" He claps his hands together. "Your work starts now. Follow me." He places a hand on your shoulder, leading you to what you assumed was where you were going to be sitting for the rest of this internship.

--

You blink and stumble for a moment, a firm yet chilling grip catching you to right you. 

"Careful there doll. Can't have you ruining that pretty face of yours cause you tried to kiss the carpet." Max laughed that ultra-fake, condescending laugh he had, letting you go as you righted yourself. Adjusting your pencil skirt, you nod and take a deep breath. This was all way too familiar. The outfit, the internship, the guide through the office to a desk by your boss'. It was hands down the worst case of deja vu you have EVER had. 

"Mr. Phillips-"

"Call me Max, doll. You're my new intern, and I'd like to think of you and I more as friends than as boss and employee." He grins at you and you shiver at the sight of his fangs. 

"...Max. Uhm...does...does any of this seem a little too familiar to you? Like you've been here before?" His look back at you with a look that makes you wish you could just melt into the carpet and disappear. 

"I'm here every day, what are you talking about?" 

"N-no I mean like, do you ever get deja vu? Because I'm having it bad right now." That trademark grin spreads across Max's face again as he seats you at your desk, perching himself up on the front of it so he's looking down at you. 

"My whole unlife is deja vu, dollface. It's round two for me." That damn smile never leaves his lips as he watches you put your papers in the drawers of your desk. "Any other silly little questions, or should I just let you get started on your first day?" The tips of your ears were on fire and you shook your head. 

"Nothing else, Max. Thank you, I'll get to work." He claps and nods, hopping off your desk. 

"Alright, doll. You'll have a set of reports for editing in your inbox. Have them formatted, printed, and on my desk before you head out today." You nod, starting up your desktop as he makes his way from your now shared office. This...was going to be a long internship. 

Max makes his way down the hall, that fake, used car salesman smile falling from his lips as soon as he is out of eye-shot. He stalks down the hall to his own personal bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. 

"Fuck!" The acoustics of the tiled room cause his voice to reverberate, sharp in his ears. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He white knuckles the edge of the sink, the porcelain cracking under his hands. It was her. It was FUCKING her! Of all the people who could come to intern at this company, it had to be his soulmate. Because of course it did! Why would the universe decide anything else?! The frustrated vampire closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. She didn't know, everything was going to be fine. Can't have a soulmate when you don't have a soul. Checkmate, universe. Yeah, that was what he would do, he’d ignore it. Problems always went away when you ignored them, right? 

Wrong.

--

"I need to stop watching vamp movies before bed," Javier Peña groans, sitting up from his bed. "Fucking dreaming about them now.." He continues to grumble to himself as he gets ready for the day. It was going to be a long one. The DEA had caught a lead on Escobar, and were running a raid this afternoon. He needed to be on his game today, this could be the chance they needed to finally get that bastard. He slips his gun into the waistband of his jeans, grabs his leather jacket, and heads to work. 

Hostages. Of course they had fucking hostages. 

"This complicates things," Steve whispers from behind him. 

"No shit," the exasperated DEA agent snaps back, eyes scanning the entrance to the building. They had no idea how many Escobar's men had in there, and they needed to get them all out. Javier was tired of seeing innocents die, caught up in something because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I'm going around back," Javi hisses, ducking around Steve to find the back entrance. "You stay here with the team. First gunshot, you move. Be smart, clear every room, move fast." Steve nods, taking Javi’s place as Javi slinks along the back perimeter. 

He was right, there was a back entrance. He presses his ear to the door, trying to make out any sound and was met with only silence. Gun ready in one hand, he slowly opens the door, thanking whatever god existed that most of Escobar's men were idiots. They had forgotten to arm the back door. He moves along the wall to the hallway, noting two doors on the left, one on the right on the way to the main lobby. His heart pounds in his ears as he moves as quickly and quietly as possible, choosing the one door on the right first, seeing it open. He ducks in, gun sweeping over the room, but all he sees is you there, bound and gagged with duct tape. Your face was a mess, one eye blackened and dried blood from your nose crusted on the tape. Weary, broken eyes meet Javi's and his heart stutters. He had to get you out of here, and he was going to. 

As you look at him, your eyes widened at the shadow moving down the hall. Noticing, Javi presses himself just to the side of the doorway, waiting for the man to make his way into the room before firing off two quick shots to his head. The man slumped to the ground, lifeless as the house descended into chaos. Javi grabs you, dragging you gracelessly to the corner where he can better protect you. The action draws a soft whimper from you, fresh tears running down your cheeks.

Gunfire, screaming in both Spanish and English, crashing and banging...it was all too much for you and you began sobbing, quaking in absolute terror. Javier held you to him gently, his large hand holding your head against his chest. 

"Calma, calma. Estás segura. Soy aquí," he whispers softly against your hair, eyes trained on the door still. 

"Peña! It's clear! We got them all, where are you?" Steve. Thank god. 

"First room on your left. Bring me the first aid kit!" You look up at agent Peña with glassy eyes, bloodshot from crying and he starts to peel the duct tape away from your mouth as gently as he can. "It's alright, you're safe now." His voice is gruff, but he speaks so gently to you.  You can't stop the trembling in your limbs, the adrenaline running its course. 

"I got the ki- holy shit what did they do to her?!" Steve joins Javi by your side, helping to undo the tape binding your arms and legs.

"Beat the shit out of her it looks like," Javi pulls an alcohol swab from the kit, tearing it open to wipe off a nasty looking cut along your brow and you hiss, pulling back at the sting. "Easy, chica. I know it hurts, I'm sorry." The whimper that leaves your lips has Javi nearly seeing red. Those bastards...

"Let's get her out of here. We need to get her to a hospital." Steve is already standing up, pulling out his phone. 

"No! No, please no hospitals!" The words come out as a rasp, your throat feeling like sandpaper. 

"Lady, you're beat to hell, we need to get you some medical attention." He argues, but the look in your eyes is desperate as you turn your gaze back to the DEA agent who saved you. 

"Please, please no hospitals...I can't do it." 

"Peña..." Javier cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

"I'll take her back to my place and take care of her. She can stay there for now. Her place probably isn't safe right now anyways if they managed to get her." No hospitals...they weren't going to take you to the hospital. Relief washes over you and your limbs suddenly felt so heavy. 

"Thank you..." You barely make out before your body gives out and you slump against Javi. His arms wrap around you after checking for a pulse, and he stands, scooping you up bridal style in his arm. He carries you out to his car, sitting you in the front seat and strapping you in, Steve arguing the whole way. 

"Look, she said no hospitals, so we aren't going to the hospital. If things get worse, I'll take her, but for now, I'm taking her back to mine. You stay here and get the paperwork done. I'll call if anything changes." Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Javi was already in the truck, taking you to his little apartment on the quiet side of town. 

It was surely a strange sight, the DEA agent carrying in your battered body to his apartment, and it raises the eyebrow of Old Woman Angela who gracefully still decides to mind her own business. Safe within the confines of his home, Javi carries you to his bed, laying you down gently before ridding you of your shoes in an attempt to grant you at least a little comfort. 

"Let's get you cleaned up, querida." His words are soft and gentle, more so than he's used with anyone in a long time. Delicately, he wipes your face with a clean, damp cloth to rid you of the grime and blood that had built up, using caution around your deeply blackened eye. The sight of you so battered made his heart ache. He was used to violence, he was used to death. It followed him everywhere in this line of work. So why, then, was this hitting him so much harder than any of the others. Why did he feel this overwhelming need to protect you, to keep you safe from all the world's atrocities? He shakes his head and mutters to himself in Spanish as he moves to sanitizing and dressing your wounds. Once you were as cared for as he could make you, he sits, watching your sleeping form. The subtle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep gives him at least a little comfort. His hand moves as if of its own will, taking yours gently. They're so soft, and they fit so perfectly in his, almost like your hands were made to be held in his. It felt so right, so natural. And that was something Javier Peña had never felt before, not like this. In your sleep, so gently he almost thinks he imagined it, you squeeze his hand tighter.

Javier Peña didn't even know your name, but in his heart he knew one thing. 

You were home.

--

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" you call from your place on the couch, head dangling off, your feet where your head should be. 

"Absolutely," came the gentle voice from the kitchen. 

"And what about soulmates?" 

"Those too. Why do you ask?" Marcus peeks his head out and chuckles when he sees you once again refusing to use furniture correctly. 

"I dunno, just a thought I've been having recently. Like, how do people know when they've found their soulmate? It's not like we have a countdown timer that tells us." 

"Well," your boyfriend comes to join you on the couch and you immediately right yourself to lay with your head in his lap, his fingers moving to play with your hair. "It's one of those things you just know. Like, they walk into the room and all you can see is them. Their voice and laugh makes you feel like you're floating, and every time you see them a warmth spreads through you from the tip of your head all the way to your toes. And the feel of their skin is the most right thing in the world, like anywhere you go, so long as you're with them, you're home." His gentle smile down at you does just that, filling you with that warmth it always does. "Some people even say they have dreams of past lives where they've met their soulmates before." 

"Have you?" 

"I have." His voice is so assured, it takes you by surprise, and you must have worn that look on your face because Marcus laughs before tapping your nose. 

"...Tell me about her. Or him, I guess." Curiosity was eating you alive. Who was Marcus' soulmate? Were you keeping him from them? Your heart sank at the thought that maybe...maybe he belonged to someone else through some greater proclaimed destiny.

"She's been so many things and been on so many adventures, love. She's flown through the expanses of space so many times, fought monsters and mined for rare jewels. She's aided weary warriors who were passing through her tiny village. She's survived terrifying experiences with drug lords and she's worked as a top agent in intelligence organizations. She's wept for a lover she never knew, and she's been mourned by more than she will ever know." You watch his face with a child-like wonder, and when he finishes he looks at you, that glimmer you love so much still present in his eyes. "Have you ever had similar dreams?" 

The question catches you by surprise and you find yourself contemplating. You had never really remembered dreams, but a few did stick out to you. "I remember...space. And the man I was with was cold and metal, but his voice was gentle. And I remember...I remember working in offices with men in suits I could never afford, but who bought me nice things to say the words they could never get to come out. And...a scar. I remember a scar." Wandering fingers reach up to trace over Marcus' eye. "I remember my first thought when I saw you was 'Didn't he have a scar?' But the thought was so out of place, I had no idea what to do with it. I had never met you before! So I...forgot it." All through your talking, Marcus' smile has just grown wider, as if he's waiting for you to catch one of his jokes. 

When it all clicks into place, you sit up, your mouth slightly open as memories flood your mind's eyes. A wet and weary warrior, a charming cowboy, a fearsome hunter covered in metal, a talkative gentleman whose every sentence was poetry, a ruthless killer, a soft pilot with a heat of gold, a grand prince gone too soon, a pompous billionaire, a sarcastic frat boy, and a gentle DEA agent all flashing through your mind in rapid succession. Your eyes tear up with the memories that are yours but at the same time aren't, and you reach up to cup his face. Words die on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to force them out. 

Marcus takes the burden from you, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It's heavy, full of so many memories, so many moments, so many lifetimes. It's so magnificent it sucks the air from your lungs and you break away to gasp for breath as Marcus presses his forehead to yours. 

"Y...You're my...soulmate..." The words are barely a breath, but he hears them all the same and nods, pecking your lips once more as he gathers you into his arms. You melt into the grasp, more comfortable here than anywhere else on earth. 

"Yes, my love. And no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, no matter the struggle...The forces that be will always bring me to you. Always wait for me." 

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

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[otonymous]

Prisoner Of Love (Ikesen Kenshin - NSFW)

Description: Can two victims of circumstance find their way to love? Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for the first half of Kenshin’s MS.  Potential trigger warnings: angst, imprisonment, mild mentions of injuries, self-harm and death, self-loathing, anxiety, possessiveness (it IS Kenshin after all 🤣), slight dub-con elements, profanity, vaginal intercourse, squirting Word Count: ~3100 words (~17 minutes of angst and smut) Author’s Notes: Sending out a super giant thank you to the incredibly kind and gracious @azuchi-princess​ for commissioning this Kenshin piece from me.  I cannot tell you how honoured I am to have been entrusted with writing for your husbando! 🥰💕 It was an absolutely wonderful process working with you, and I’m so glad to have been able to indulge in my need for angst and smut at the same time!

(SPOILER ALERT!) This story takes place shortly after Kenshin has MC (read: YOU!) placed behind bars as his “spoils of war,” but I have taken creative license in altering the events that occur afterwards.  Moreover, the perspective shifts between that of the reader’s and Kenshin’s in the hopes of delivering that optimal punch of angst 👊🏼🤣

Please note the warnings listed above — especially the potential triggers — and avoid this read if anything makes you uncomfortable.  Otherwise, dear readers, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece! 💕

Chapter I (Kenshin’s POV)

Betrayal.

Cutting deeper than the sharpest blade.

Unforgiving like Himetsuru-Ichimonji, severing the red string of fate as quickly as it is drawn from its scabbard.

So why was it that Kenshin still couldn’t bring himself to hate her?

Footsteps echoing along stone walls in the bowels of Kasugayama Castle — the very place where he had her cast behind bars — Kenshin wanders, trapped in a hell from which there was no escape.

For the confines of the mind were impervious to even the God of War’s sharpened steel.

And in between each beat of his thunderous heart, he hears her: gentle tears rolling down that delicate face to fall on packed earth, the ground’s inhospitable chill reaching up through limbs to rob even the final vestiges of warmth from bone.  Her every shuddering breath is a weight upon his chest, suffocating until Kenshin clings to the reins of reason holding him back from storming her cell like a madman, animated solely by the fire commanding him to see, to touch…

…to love her.

Hands clenching into tight fists, Kenshin’s knuckles blanch whiter than his already pale skin when he slows to a stop.  Round the corner and there she’ll be.

Woman of the Oda.  The Devil King’s own.

She, who had lied in the same breath that commiserated with him as they waited for Sasuke’s return.  She, whose tears left him dazzled, catching the light of the fire like precious stones even as their salt stung, seeping into his open wounds.  She, who had held his hand within her own, caring not about sullying her perfect skin with his tainted blood.

Because tainted is what he is.  It is what he deserves.

And yet, he can’t help but see the moonlight in her gaze, shimmering like a spectre every time he closes his eyes.  Can’t stop himself from desiring the tender warmth of her smile.  Still wonders at her fearless bravado in the face of a man who brought nothing but death and destruction upon friend and foe alike.

Isehime.

No.

No, he will not see her, Kenshin thinks, gaze frosting over as he wills the ice in his veins to freeze a heart he no longer wanted to feel.  He walks away, forcing himself to believe that the sound of her sorrow growing faint was nothing more than mice in the walls.

Chapter II (Reader’s POV)

Ethereal moons beckon from scrolls depicting each of the four seasons — resplendent colours discordant against the drab stone walls on which they hang.

Cherry blossoms flutter against gold-foil skies; delicate petals frozen in time as they float across a folding screen.

Even the futon in the corner of your cell seemed fit for a princess at court, much more luxurious than the one in which you had slept at Azuchi.

The Dragon of Echigo had took it upon himself to see that his spoils of war would want for nothing, and yet he would deny you the one thing you truly desired:

The man himself.

Sasuke, Shingen and Yukimura would visit — sometimes together, sometimes in turn — graciously sharing their company for which you were so starved.  Your ninja friend swore with as much emotion as he could muster to do anything and everything possible to persuade his lord to release you, or at the very least, agree to see you.  Yukimura couldn’t stop shaking his head, the expression on his face indignant to see you treated thus, ‘boar woman’ though you were.  As for Lord Shingen, he likened you to a bird in a gilded cage, trying to tempt you with offers of freedom and a ready smile on his face that surely would’ve moved any woman to see it…

…any woman but you, that is.

For in your eyes, there was only ever Kenshin — the man who came to your rescue time and time again without knowing your true identity.  Intoxicating like the finest sake, each and every moment spent by his side became a precious embrace of a memory, emblazoned in your mind until it was impossible to forget:

The black cape that flowed from broad shoulders like a powerful wave, trailing behind him that night he saved you from those thugs in Azuchi.  The way your feet dragged behind his footsteps, moving slow just to watch him cut swift through tall grass with all the seasoned grace of a dancer.  His porcelain skin glowing from within as if lit by the light of his own moon.

And in his eyes…sorrow as unfathomable as the sea was deep, rising like smoke from sapphire and emerald in those rare moments the Dragon of Echigo let down his guard.  But alas, no more.

You had broken his trust.

How many nights have you lain awake, seeking out pinprick stars through the sliver of window high above your prison and thinking about how things might have been different?  What if you had disclosed your relationship with the Oda at the very start?  Would the press of the cold steel of his blade be more of a consolation against your neck than the heartbreak spreading from chest to limb every time you lay down to sleep?

Sleep?

No, that was not forthcoming these days — rest a luxury you couldn’t afford until the moment you could face Kenshin for yourself and tell him that you never meant to hurt him, never meant to lie.  That though Nobunaga found you first, you had no ulterior motive in approaching Kenshin other than the fact that you…you…

…simply couldn’t stay away.

No matter what anyone tried to say about him.

For even on the battlefield, every nerve singed as the stench of freshly spilt blood filled your nostrils, you still couldn’t tear your gaze from the one they revered as the God of War.  Like an immortal stepping from an unfurling scroll, Kenshin moved with the fluid grace of a master painter wielding his brush, completely at one with his sword as he dispatched his enemies with a precision that terrified and awed all at once.

And when he held you in his arms that night — the same hand which had claimed countless lives bleeding into your own as you clasped it in prayer for Sasuke’s safe return — you had felt no fear; only the wish that time would stretch into eternity so that you might forever have him near.

“Kenshin.”

You say his name once…twice…the syllables rolling off your tongue to echo down the hallway like a ghost, lonely and forgotten in the dungeons of Kasugayama Castle.  What was freedom to you when you couldn’t bear to break the shackles chaining you to a god who would never look your way again?

Chapter III (Kenshin’s POV)

“Kenshin.”

Her voice halts him in his tracks, one hand shooting out to rest upon the cool stone wall as Kenshin bolsters himself against the sudden weakness in his knees.  When was the last time he heard her speak his name?  Had it always sounded so melodic, caressing up the spine to curl gently upon the lobe of his ear?

That she is calling for him at a time when she should’ve been fast asleep is a source of elation and anxiety all at once, She is thinking of me tempered by the dread in knowing that she wasn’t getting the rest her body needed.  And slowly, slowly…the scales start to tip: if she didn’t sleep, she’d become too exhausted to eat.  And without eating, she would…

…die.

The nightmare would begin anew.  Except this time, it would be her blood on Kenshin’s hands, spilling crimson over the scars left behind by Isehime’s lifeless body.

She’ll slip away from you like the other, the voice in his head chastises, full of malice as darkness begins unfurling from the corners of his mind, tightening the vice in his chest.  They come hard and fast, thoughts tangling one over the other like a labyrinth of vines from which there was no escape:

Poison runs through your veins.  Loving her would only doom the girl to misfortune and regret.

If she is not yours, could you possibly surrender her to anyone else?

You cannot outrun your curse.  All those you hold dear will end up like Isehime: sleeping in the cold earth.

No one must lay eyes on her beauty, witness her elegance, know of the rare flower blooming in the depths of this dungeon.

No one but you.

Fist pulling back, Kenshin releases the full force of his strength in a punch to the wall.  Bruised bone and shredded skin send blistering pain to interrupt the cacophony in his head, silence reigning supreme once more until

“Kenshin?”

…she calls for him again, voice coloured with anticipation this time.  He hears a shuffle, sees her in his mind’s eye — throwing off the covers of her bedding to press against the bars, straining to peek around the wooden slats that kept her from freedom.  Kept her from him.

“Please, Kenshin…is that you?”

He knows not why he does it, body moving before his mind is even aware.  Kenshin had managed to make his way to her cell undetected every night since he put her there, standing silent in shadowy corners just to watch her sleep, allowing the rise and fall of her breath to soothe him with the knowledge that she was still very much alive.  But now, in a single moment of thoughtlessness, he had thrown it all away.

She gasps to finally see him and even the sound of that is beautiful, resonating clear like the note of an expertly plucked koto.  His gaze falls on her tightened grip around the bars, follows the solitary tear gathering starlight as it rolls down her cheek.  And when her eyes widen in horror to look upon the state of his injured hand, Kenshin feels it:

A shift deep within, barely perceptible but wholly significant, like ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen stream.

And the rush of waters that follows drowns the lovers in a flood from which neither was capable of nor willing to escape.

Chapter IV (Reader’s POV)

Perhaps he really was a god, answering every prayer that ever slipped past noiseless lips to materialize before you in that prison.  His white kimono is pristine beneath that black cloak, as if emphasizing the sanctity of his being, the unalterable distance between Uesugi Kenshin and a mere mortal such as yourself.  But then the rivulets of red run down that swollen hand to tell you otherwise; the revelation bittersweet because maybe now, there was a way for you to be together, complicated though circumstances were.  

So you reach for him through the bars and he complies, watching as you lay kisses upon bruised fingers, feeling the familiar sting of your tears as they seep into wounded flesh and broken hearts — full of sorrow, full of joy…and impossible to stop.

“Push me away.”

His voice is soft for the hard edges of his words.  Head lifting, you meet those striking eyes, focused and still.  Yet, you felt the storm brewing in those blue and green depths, turmoil barely concealed beneath the ice of his gaze.  And there, standing before the man whose very blood stained your lips, you refuse.

Lightning flashes in those eyes and suddenly, his fingers are curling tight about the sleeve of your kimono, Kenshin pulling you close through the bars in one swift motion until the stilted rhythm of his breath is dancing hot over your skin.  

“Say it.  Say you hate me, that you want absolutely nothing to do with me.  Do it now or else—”

“No.  Never.  How could I ever bring myself to hate the one I love—”

The grimace on his handsome face cuts you off, the great Dragon of Echigo trembling at the very word, love, like it was dirty, taboo.  And as the final threads of control slip from his grasp, Kenshin is moving once more without thought — his body a slave to the dictates of the heart.  Yanking on the ring of keys hanging from his tapered waist, Kenshin throws open the door to your cell and in an instant, he is by your side.

“Fine.  Then I’ll make you hate me.”

His whisper is a promise.

The keys clatter as they’re thrown to the ground, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, deafening with every pounding beat of your heart to feel his lips on yours for the very first time.  The insistent tongue pushing into your mouth carries a hint of sake, the fervour of his kiss leaving you intoxicated and desperate for more.

Long fingers thread through the silk of your hair, Kenshin’s grip gentle yet firm as he angles your head to deepen the kiss, bringing you closer and closer until the end of his exhalation marked the beginning of your next breath.  And hadn’t it always been this way, you forever chasing after the mystery that was this beautifully broken man?  The intensity of his want is a spell that bewitches, inexorably pulling you into the crucible of his desire, passion matching yours flame for burning flame until all else was extinguished.

Good and bad, right or wrong.

Words insignificant like ash in the face of this all-consuming love.

“Hate me,” Kenshin begs, teeth sinking into your lower lip until the taste of your blood mixed with his.  “Please…or else I’ll never give you up.”

Open-mouthed kisses now trailing wet along the column of your neck, your fingers find purchase in his golden hair, pulling hard as you yield to the sensation of his breath moving lower and lower still.  Kenshin groans, the sound resonating from deep within his chest to send a rush of heat that dampens the sacred space between your legs.

Body ready and heart set, your mind had been made up long ago.  So you grasp onto those shoulders — broad and strong — to pull Kenshin up before you.  And in the silent space between the beating of twin hearts, you say with a conviction so strong there could be no doubt,

“I am yours.”

The sound that catches in his throat is guttural, almost feral as those eyes of emerald and sapphire train on you with the intensity of a thousand suns.  A sea of emotions flit across that handsome face, subtly shifting until one finally wins out:

Need.

You barely feel it though it must’ve taken considerable force to tear your obi off, the sumptuous kimono he gifted you with slipping from your shoulders as the God of War sets you upon the futon fit for a princess.  Elegant even in haste, Kenshin disrobes with the grace of snow falling on frost-covered pine, revealing porcelain skin stretched over perfectly sculpted muscle that beckons to your every nerve.

And before the dungeon’s chill could rattle your bones, he gathers you into the heat of his embrace.  Skin to skin, the arms wrapped around you tremble when he whispers, “I’ve wanted you so desperately, I-I don’t think I can hold back.”  

Head falling back onto your pillow, you will Kenshin to see the sincerity, the surrender in the darkened gaze that reflects his very image.

“Then give me everything.  I want…all that you are.”

It tears a breathless gasp from your lips, mouth drawn open in a silent scream when Kenshin fills you to the hilt with a single thrust — the thick, hard heat of his cock testing the limits of your body with its size.  Equally skilled in bed as he was on the battlefield, the God of War is a force to be reckoned with, the swing of his hips graceful even as they connect with yours, ruthless in speed and intensity.

He moves within your body like he belongs, pulling out only to dive even deeper into slick depths until pleasure bloomed pink along your skin, the hardened tips of your breasts so enticing Kenshin couldn’t help but take them into his mouth in greedy turn as he continued thrusting, harder and faster until your legs began to shake.

“Oh god, Kenshin!  You feel…so…good...ahh!—”

Pants and screams echo down darkened corridors, the sound of your pleasure in being taken this way resonating in the corners of every prison cell until you think to bite onto the sleeve of your kimono.  But Kenshin just shakes his head, the sweat of exertion glistening on his body as his fingers move towards your mouth.

“No, I want…hmm…to hear you.  Every sound you make is…precious to me.  Let it out.”  

With that, he removes the embroidered fabric, lips pressing to yours to swallow every licentious moan for himself as he props your legs up against his shoulders.  All of a sudden, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, the motion awakens sensations you never before knew existed.

Unable to scream with your lover’s tongue in your mouth, your body responds in the only other way it knew how: convulsing beneath Kenshin until he is forced to pull out, allowing a flood of your arousal to cascade past swollen lips, spilling down the insides of your thighs in a lewd display that wets the bedding beneath your entwined bodies.  And yet,

“More.  Please, Kenshin…I want more…”

…you were insatiable.

The sight, sound and smell of you so undone ignites a fire inside the warlord, his mind scrambled by lust.  And when he slides into you once more, he fucks with absolute abandon, yearning for complete union even as he leaves you breathless to finally spill into your depths.

* * *

You awake to moonlight glowing soft beyond shoji screens and the rhythm of a heartbeat, measured and slow beneath your ear.  The robe you wore was fresh and soft; vague recollections of Kenshin gently caressing your fatigued body with a washcloth filtering in and out of your thoughts.  At some point, he must’ve carried you to his chambers, sleeping now as you were upon his chest.

Lifting your head, you gaze at your lover in repose.  It fills you with affection to see him — heart tightening to bind you to this man.  And as his muscular arm winds about your waist, you knew you would forever be a willing prisoner to his love.

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[my-happy-little-bean]

Do The Cooking By The Book

pairings: LAMP/CALM words: 6013 warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied panic attacks, small burn mention, general angst summary: patton bakes when he’s sad and nowadays, no amount of chewy chocolate chip cookies would be able to cover that up.

or: the five times patton bakes something for the others and the one time he can’t.

a/n- hello! welcome to part 2 of that series i mentioned before called  ‘let’s indulge bean in their slightly low quality, very personal fics’ (maybe i should actually make this an actual series on ao3 lol) :’)

i have been having a bit of writer’s block between this patton/janus one shot and golden slumbers (there's just o n e more scene i need to figure out, trust me it's haunting my every move), so i decided to write a bit of a fresh warm up instead! and by warm up, i mean i started writing it in the beginning of july and it somehow spiralled into a big thing, like they always do :’)

inspired by my declining mental health and my unhealthy obsession with baking focaccia at 2 am :)

p.s – later there's a [1] that's supposed to be a footnote but the formatting just said no so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

read on ao3 ~

enjoy!

----------------------------- 

~ patton’s chewy chocolate chip cookies ~

ingredients: 

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

0 teaspoon club soda

2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened (or melted, like my heart around my honeybees <3)

1 3/4 cups packed dark brown sugar (must be working out ;) )

1/4 cup granulated sugar sugar, honey honey (except no honey :P)

2 large eggs, room temp.

2 teaspoons vanilla extract (and not any extra-ct ;) )

2 cups Virgil-esque chocolate chips*

 *semi-sweet! ^v^

 –– 

“Holy shit, Pat.”

Patton smiled, all toothy and wide. He was still standing beside the couch Roman was lounging on, holding up the tray with his pastel blue oven mitts.

“You like it?” he beamed. Roman nodded, scrambling over the armrest to grab another.

“Umfh,  yeah,”  Roman replied, crumbs spilling out of his mouth. “Ovfiously.”

“...What?”

Roman quickly swallowed and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Patton laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No worries! I think it’s a- dough -able.”

“...If you weren’t holding cookies right now, I'd say that you suck. But you're holding cookies, so..."

There was a pause that Patton quickly filled with laughter, even if it suddenly felt like he was struggling to carry the sound out of his chest and into the air.

Luckily, Logan walked into the room before Patton could say anything that was affected by the spontaneous pang in his chest. His eyes lit up upon seeing him. 

“Logan!” He cheerily dashed over to the other side of the room, holding up the tray to Logan’s face. “A treat for my smart cookie?”

Logan reeled back slightly to avoid getting hit by the edge of the tray. He pushed up his glasses.

“Ah, thank you, dear. But I do believe it is too early for copious amount of sugar consumption–”

“Just try one, cookie-tita,” Roman cut him off, “you and I know that you want one.”

Logan frowned at him over Patton’s shoulder, then looked back at Patton. He gave Logan the widest smile he could muster, which made him sigh. 

“While Roman’s reference was a bit of a stretch–” He eyed the cookies one more time, then looked back at Patton– ”I suppose I will agree to half a cookie.”

“Goody!” Patton said brightly. “Or should I say, gooey?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Logan picked one cookie up and took a small bite. His eyes softened, which made Patton’s heart melt. 

“...Oh sweet Einstein,” he muttered, grabbing one more cookie off the tray before making a beeline to the coffee machine in the kitchen. Patton just smiled to himself, admittedly a bit proud. 

Before he turned around to go see if Logan needed help, he heard shuffling coming up beside him. He looked over and smiled. 

“Virge! You’re awake!” Virgil pulled one side of his headphones up as Patton presented him the tray. “Cookie?”

“Uh, sure.” He took one and nodded when he had a few bites, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, Pat.”

“No problemo!” he chirped, wandering back to the living room. Virgil trailed behind him, now slipping his headphones around his neck. 

“Did you bake these this morning?” Virgil asked as Patton set the tray on the coffee table in front of Roman, who readily lunged at it. Patton turned and smiled brightly at him. 

“Yeah! I mean...it was technically morning, heh.” 

Virgil blinked in that knowing way Patton was all too familiar with. Patton mentally cursed.  

“What do you mean by technically–”

Before he could say anything else, Patton clapped his hands together. 

“Well, I’m glad you all liked the cookies.” He tried not to think about how loud his own voice suddenly was. “Feel free to finish them!”

Roman frowned, mid-bite of his third cookie.

“Don’t you want any, sweetheart?"

“No no! I chip-ed in so much effort in baking them that I tired myself out, heh!” He faked a yawn. “I’ll just go to my room!”

Roman just laughed, stuffing another cookie in his mouth with a shrug. Logan wandered back from the kitchen, conjuring a book as he walked and nodding at Patton. He grabbed another cookie and sat on the couch beside Roman, leaning against his shoulder.

Virgil just looked at him as he left, eyes narrowed and steely. 

They’re so perfect, Patton thought as he sunk out to go to his room, leaving the three of his boyfriends alone with a wave. Perfect just the way they are.

 Without me.  

----------------------------- 

~ ‘i got ya’ focaccia ~ 

ingredients:

for the garlic-infused mixture

1/2 cup extra-virgin, PG-rated olive oil

2-3 minced garlic cloves

0 garlic gloves (haha i’m hilarious)

1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary or 1 teaspoon dried

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

for the bread

1 cup warm water

2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)

1/4 teaspoon honey honey, you are my candy girl–

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt (maybe it’s wearing some nice clothes!) (sea what i did there? i’m funny, aren’t i?) 

–– 

Virgil heard a soft ‘ shit ’ coming from the kitchen. 

Don’t panic, it’s probably all fine,  he thought, slowly walking towards the entrance to the kitchen.  It’s totally not some burglar, ready to steal all our spices and blow them into my eye, making me blind. It can’t be, we’re not even real so how could there be a burglar–

As he neared the dimmed light coming from the kitchen, however, a quiet sob broke through his thoughts.

A chill ran through him. The sob was muffled, squeaky, and admittedly a bit pathetic in terms of how there was an attempt to cover it up. Almost like the sound a puppy would make when someone accidentally stepped on their paw.

All too familiar.

“Patton?” he murmured, turning on another light in the kitchen. 

Patton was hunched over the counter space beside the oven, next to a saucepan on a burner; which was emitting a strong garlic and herb smell. 

That wasn’t what Virgil was focusing on, though; but rather the way Patton held his hand close to his chest.

Patton spun around on his heel when his name left Virgil’s tongue, his eyes wide and glazed over, like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Sh– Virgil! Hi!” He laughed nervously. “What are you doing here? It’s like, 2 am!”

Virgil dug his hands in his sweater pockets. “I’m always up at 2 am. What are you doing here?”

He watched as Patton’s smile forcefully tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m baking focaccia! Wanna join?”

There was a slight crack in his cheeriness. Virgil took a step closer. 

“What happened to your hand?”

Patton looked down at it, then held up his index finger, which was slightly red. 

“Just accidentally brushed up against the pan!” he chuckled. “It was still hot. ”

“How could you brush up against the pan,” Virgil deadpanned, hopping onto the kitchen island. “Roman’s asleep.” 

Patton blushed as he ran his finger under cold water.

“Grab the flour and pour a cup of it in that bowl,” he said, shaking his hand dry and going back to the stove. “I think that the yeast and honey had enough time in the water. I’m just about done with the garlic stuff.”

“Okay, honey,” Virgil hummed, already scooping the flour in the measuring cup.

Patton turned to face him over his shoulder with a smile.  

“Gosh, you get funnier at 2 am, kiddo.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s easy to cater to your humour, babe. Though no one does it as good as you do.” 

Patton’s blush intensified, and it made Virgil feel a little more at ease that he could still make him flustered like that. 

“So really, Pat,” Virgil asked, stirring in the flour as Patton went over with a smaller cup of the garlic-infused mixture. “Why are you up so late baking focaccia of all things?”

A pause. Patton finished pouring in his cup before turning his back away, his head low. 

“No reason!” he said brightly, though Virgil suddenly felt edges of darkness to each word. “I thought it’d be nice. Plus Roman loves my focaccia. Thought I could surprise him!”

A pause. Virgil wanted to press him more, but there was something about Patton’s cracked smile that advised him against it. He knew a warning when he saw one. 

“He likes anything you bake him, babe,” he said instead, adding salt and the rest of the flour before beginning to knead the dough in the bowl. “You could bake him a frog and he’d be grateful.”

“Now Virge, I think you’re mixing the twins up again,” Patton giggled. Virgil smirked, even if he felt like he shouldn’t. There was such heavy air in the kitchen; a positive emotion wouldn’t last a second. 

“You sure you’re okay, Patton?” 

When Patton finally faced him, it felt like the air was sucked out of him. Now that he was standing under the light, he felt like he saw all of him more clearly. There were dried tear tracks running down his cheeks. Did he always have those? And under his eyes were bags of purple, dark and stormy; clear evidence that maybe Patton had been late-night baking before. 

However, that broken smile was what haunted Virgil the most.

“I’m just peachy, Virge!” he chirped, conjuring up a towel and covering the bowl of dough Virgil probably over-kneaded. Patton’s eyes seemed to drill right into his own. “ Positive.”

Virgil numbly nodded as Patton clapped his hands. 

“Well! Now we wait!” He smiled again at Virgil. “Want some coffee?”

 ----------------------------- 

~ mushy gushy marshmallows ~

ingredients:

marshmallow base

2 cups of sugar 

1/4 cup corn syrup

1 cup water (1/2 for for dissolving gelatin)

7 tsp / 3 packets of gelatin

1/4 tsp salt

1 1/2 tsp of vanilla extract

 dusting powder

1 cup confectioner’s sugar

1/2 cup cornstarch

*note to future patton: don’t make these, actually. they suck.

–– 

“Fuck!” 

Logan heard the curse from the kitchen, lifting his head from his book and immediately smelling for any smoke. 

“Patton?” 

There was no smoke. Instead, just another string of curses. Logan sighed; it was not like the moral side to swear. But reprimanding him didn’t sound like a wise idea. 

Instead, he set his book down on the coffee table in front of him and wandered to the kitchen. 

“Is everything oka–”

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at the sight in front of him. 

Surrounding him was a sugary mess, with many bowls of gelatin and water littering the entire counter. Logan could only assume they were failed attempts at whatever was being made today.

In the middle of this mess was Patton, holding the hand mixer up in the air with tears streaming down his face. 

“...Let’s put the hand mixer down, shall we?”

Logan moved forward before Patton could even respond, slowly lowering his hand that held the mixer. Patton just sobbed, dropping it on the floor in defeat. Logan tried not to panic at the suddenly broken hand mixer. Logically, they could summon a new one. It was extra energy, sure, but it was fixable.

However, he wasn’t quite sure he could fix the sight in front of him.

“Is there something wrong, starlight?” he murmured, ushering Patton toward the kitchen table. Patton just sighed. 

“It’s the stupid marshmallows.” Patton threw his apron onto the floor as he sat down. “I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong. I tried everything.  And they– they just suck.” 

Logan blinked, almost dumbfounded. In all the years he spent together with Patton, he had never seen him so distraught. Not even his arguably-worse decisions elicited a response similar to the frustration he was currently witnessing. Patton always wore a smile and carried on. Any mistake was just a mistake; nothing more to it. 

So what was different here?

“I even tried summoning a candy thermometer,” Patton continued. Logan tried his best to be present, even if his worry was slowly overtaking all of his senses. “Those things are stupid! I thought–”

“Hey,” Logan finally said, cutting Patton off by holding his hands into his. “Let’s slow down for a minute, okay?” 

When Patton looked up at him, his heart broke. 

Patton’s eyes were glassy with tears, some kind of foreign look not too far behind his irises. The absence of his smile was even more unsettling. 

He looked completely different; as if someone took one of the loves of his life and replaced him without even leaving a trace. 

Suddenly, he was filled with what he only assumed was longing. 

“Patton,” he said slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “please don’t worry about the marshmallows. They’re just marshmallows. Clearly there is something else that is–”

He cut himself off as he heard Patton’s breath hitch. When he looked up, there was a faraway look in his eyes.

And that was when it clicked. That foreign look…

It was fear. Fear and guilt, all wrapped up in one. 

The face of someone who just got caught.

Patton quickly pulled his hands away from Logan’s, stumbling onto his feet and muttering something about cleaning up later under his breath as he sunk out. 

Logan blinked, taken completely aback. He quickly re-evaluated every word he said that could have led to him leaving. 

“They’re just marshmallows.” 

Logan winced. Shit. Perhaps Patton was still in his ‘in his feelings phase; not his ‘in need of rational solution’ phase. He should have known better and now, Patton was further away from him than he was before. 

Logan then thought about the guilt that struck Patton’s face before he could confront him; the fear in his eyes when Logan dared to dig a little deeper. 

Patton wasn’t far away, actually.

Patton was just gone;   and Logan didn’t know where to look to find him.

----------------------------- 

~drunken    bitter    butter rumcakes~

 ingrdents:

for the cupcakes:

1 cup of choped picans

1/2 cup coconut flake

yellow cake mix, lots of it probs

some vanilla puddin apparently? i dont know why

eggs i dont care how much fuck it

1/2 milk

vegetable oil (optional cuz it sounds gros)

rum

for the bitter rum glaze:

some butter and sugar

more rum

rum 

 for the frosting

confictione confecion confectioniser’s powdered sugar

soft buttter

vanilla extract

rest of the bottl eof rum probably

 ––

It only took a crash from the kitchen for Roman to realize that Logan and Virgil were right: something was wrong with Patton. 

Virgil had been the first one to express his concern, and it was right on the day Patton baked them all cookies. Patton had since baked many more cookies; which for some reason, only intensified his worry. Roman didn’t think much of it at first. Virgil, bless his soul, always held a bit of his paranoia close to his chest. Plus, Patton’s cookies were the best! There wasn’t much to complain about. A few days later, Virgil mentioned something weird about Patton’s focaccia; but even that admittedly didn’t raise any concern from Roman. 

It was when Logan mentioned the marshmallow incident that Roman knew something might be off. 

The two had warned him that going to the kitchen late at night could possibly bring some less than ideal sights, but that only drew Roman closer; like a beautiful moth attracted to light. If Patton was truly upset, Roman had to be there! He knew that the others didn’t know much about navigating the small crises Patton would have every now and then, but Roman did! It was Patton, after all! Roman had experience — and he just had to play it by the book. 

But when he finally walked into the kitchen upon hearing the source of the crash, he was greeted with something he never quite saw before. 

Patton was on the ground, holding a long, glass bottle by its neck and a bowl—with all its contents—was splattered on the floor beside him. 

Roman stood there, almost dumbfounded. Patton didn’t even realize he was there before he looked up and blinked a few times. 

Then, Patton started to cry. 

“Oh, sunshine,” Roman murmured, sitting next to him on the floor. The strong stench of alcohol filled the air beside Patton, and Roman saw a glimpse of a rum label on the bottle. It was half empty. 

“M’sorry,” Patton mumbled under his breath, immediately resting his head on Roman. “Didn’t–” He hiccuped– ”Didn’t mean to make noise.”

“Shh, mi amor, it’s okay.” Roman stroked his hair slowly, going through the familiar motions of comforting his boyfriend. “I understand. Let me help you, okay?”

Another sob wracked through Patton’s body. 

“I– I don’t deserve your help.” The words came out in a slur. Roman had a slight feeling that Patton didn’t use all the rum in his bottle for baking.

“Nonsense! Of course you deserve help,” Roman whispered, twirling a strand of his hair. “I’m here to help you. I always am.”

Patton leaned into the touch, though the weight of his head seemed heavier than usual; like he was unintentionally pressing himself onto Roman, limp against his shoulders.

“S’fine,” he said after a few more teary hiccups, trying to push himself onto his feet. “Gotta– gotta finish cupcakes. Tryna new recipe.” 

Roman frowned. “The cupcakes can wait until tomorrow, Patton; I’m going to bring you to bed and clean up–”

“No!” 

Roman jumped at the sheer volume of Patton’s voice, suddenly nervous that he’d wake the rest of them up.

I can handle this myself,  he thought.  I always have been able to, this isn’t different. 

“No, I don’t– I don’t need your help.” Patton stumbled up to his feet, leaning his arms on the kitchen counter like it was a life raft. He buried his head in his hands.  “I don’t need your help, I don’t need anyone’s help, I just need– I just need to finish this, then–”

“Darling, I don’t think–”

“No thinkin!” He pushed his index finger onto Roman’s lips. “No thinking, that’s for Logan. Tonight, we’re not thinking of anything– not thinking about anything anymore.”

Roman was taken aback. 

“Patton, we can continue,” he said gently, “but only if you sit down first and let me grab you some water, okay?”

Patton lifted his head to face Roman, his eyes red from the tears. 

“Why do you take care of me?” he suddenly asked, his voice a small whimper. Roman froze as he continued. “Why do– why do any of you care?”

“Patton, I–”

“I don’t do my fucking job right anyway,” Patton hissed. “I’m– I’m broken junk in Thomas’ brain! I can’t even do the right and wrong thing, I can’t– I can’t make him happy. I can’t make you guys happy– ‘n I  love you guys! God, I can’t even make stupid cupcakes–”

“None of that is true, Pat,” Roman tried to protest. “You make us extremely happy, you make me– ”

“You’re a liar!” Patton cried, turning on his heel to stare at Roman, whose heart dropped. “You’re– you’re a fucking liar, Roman.”

The air suddenly felt too thick for both of them to be breathing. Patton must have noticed that because as soon as the words left his tongue, he covered his mouth with his hands with teary eyes. 

“...Patton, please sit down. You’re not thinking straight.”

“M’not–”

“I know.” Roman tried to keep his voice levelled as he spoke. “Just...just sit down, okay? We’re going to talk it all through.” 

Patton just stared at him blankly for what seemed like an eternity before finally speaking up. 

“I’m sorry.”

And before Roman could plead for him one last time, Patton sunk out, the bottle of rum still in his hand.

Roman blinked at the spot Patton once stood in, all shaky and teary like he was facing an inky, twisted nightmare. His words echoed in his head and while Roman knew it was best not to take it all to heart, he still felt the sting of each curse. 

What kind of a hero was he?

He then looked at the splattered mixture on the floor and sighed. It looked a lot like cake mix. And if there was rum in that, it probably would’ve been good. A shame, really.

His eyes then spotted a book on the kitchen counter, open to a page that had a bit of rum on it judging by the smell. Roman frowned, going over to grab it. He closed it to look at the cover. 

It seemed to be Patton’s recipe book, judging by the baking-themed stickers littering the blue cover. When he opened it, he was greeted with pages of ingredients and instructions to make some of Patton’s signature baked goods. The first few pages made Roman smile; there were puns besides some of the ingredients and even cheesy references to him, Logan, and Virgil. It seemed very Patton-esque. 

But as he went further through the pages, the tone seemed to shift. There was an absence of puns for one of the recipes, and Roman knew he could’ve at least hit a few. And when he got further than that, he just stopped writing measurements all together. The rum cupcake recipe, which seemed like a recent entry, was barely decipherable. 

He flipped back a few pages and saw words scratched out; sentences that didn’t belong in a typical cookie recipe. And the corners of some of the pages were crisp, as if water dried on them over time. 

Roman’s breath hitched as he closed the book. Something was wrong, and for the first time he didn’t know what to do.

----------------------------- 

~ whats good-berry muffins ~ 

ingredients

who

cares

theyre

just

stupid

muffins

berries, probably

––  

“Roman, he did not mean what he said,” Logan said as Roman paced in front of him. “Perhaps you caught him at a bad time.” 

“A bad time?” Virgil echoed incredulously, turning around on the couch to face Logan. “Dude, he was wasted. That’s not a bad time, that’s a ‘code red’ time.” 

“Besides, shouldn’t you be advocating for intervention,  lo -ve of my life?” Roman asked, still pacing. “You seemed pretty upset about the now-called ‘marshmallow incident’.”

Virgil gave Logan a look and Logan looked down, almost embarrassed. 

“...I have since realized that my actions were not ideal, but that is to no fault of my own. Holding guilt does no good, and neither does intervening when one does not want to be...intervened upon.”

“Okay first off, even Janus lies more subtly than that.” Logan didn’t make eye contact with him, but stiffened at Virgil’s words. “And second of all, Patton  needs support. We’re supposed to be there for him – not just waiting for the most dire sign. The plane is crashing, Logan; you can’t just put your seatbelt on and wait. You have to do something.” 

“Actually, if an airplane is crashing and you are instructed to put your seatbelts on, it is of your best interest that you–”

“For Odin’s sake,” Roman groaned. “I love you, my nerd in shining armour; but you got to learn what a metaphor is.”

Logan fell quiet as Roman continued. 

“We need to do something. This isn't a typical Patton dilemma. And I know he doesn’t want to talk about it just out of the blue so we can’t confront him. We have to figure out a way for him to trust us.”

“He loves us,” Virgil grumbled, though hints of anxiety singed the edges of his words. “Shouldn’t the trust be there already?”

“Virgil, he loves us an infinite amount,” Logan said reassuringly, finally settling back into the chair. He pushed up his glasses. “In fact, he probably loves us too much to want to worry us or cause us any emotional strain.”

“But it wouldn’t cause us– well, whatever you said!” Virgil protested. He slumped over, his elbows pressed into his thighs. He looked defeated. “I just want to help him. I can’t stand seeing him like this.” 

“I know, stormcloud,” Roman murmured, sitting down beside us. “But...but we can do this. Together. We always have and now, we will.”

Logan nodded, tapping his shoulder so Virgil could rest against it. 

“Roman is correct. Besides, we do not even have to confront him. Perhaps confrontation is where part of this issue stems from. The trust is there, we just have to remind him that we are willing to, given that we are his partners. We just need to make a comfortable environment for–”

Suddenly, Virgil felt a small tug in his chest; as if something was pulling him downwards. His eyes widened and his breath hitched at the sensation. He knew where it was coming from. 

“Guys, it’s Patton. Something’s wrong.” 

In a flash, he sunk out, Logan and Roman soon following suit. Roman pulled out his sword just in case.

When they rose, they found themselves in Patton’s room; though it was less bright than usual. The fairy lights were flickering and swaying against the walls and the frames were all askew. It looked as if it was struggling to keep itself together. 

And in the middle of the room was Patton, on the floor and tugging at his hair as he cried, heaving into each sob. Surrounding him were boxes of half-summoned muffin mix, as well as some sugar slowly fading out of existence. In front of him was his recipe book, tearstained and ripped at the edges. 

Virgil immediately went to Patton’s side, scooping him up into his arms. Patton made no effort to protest, his body still clenched up from all the energy he was spending summoning the ingredients into his room. In the corner of his eye, he could even see the beginnings of what would be an oven.

“Patton,” Virgil heard Logan breathe out, still standing in the same spot behind them, almost in shock. “You are spending too much energy summoning all these things, your room nor your form cannot handle it. Why don’t you just go to the kitchen?”

Patton sobbed even more, tugging at his hair and curling up into Virgil’s chest. Virgil looked up at Logan over Patton’s hunched shoulders and just shook his head, his eyes flickering between him and Patton. 

Logan then made a small ‘o’ shape with his mouth, slowly approaching the two on the floor and sitting cross-legged beside him. He made an attempt to lower Patton’s hands from his hair. Eventually, it turned into him rubbing small circles in Patton’s back with the palm of his hand, softly whispering “it’s okay” under his breath as he moved closer to him and Virgil. 

Roman dropped his sword onto the floor and followed suit, grabbing a fluffy blanket from Patton’s bed and going behind his three boyfriends, laying the blanket over their shoulders as if he was shielding them from the unstable room surrounding them. He hovered over their shoulders for a while before kneeling down and hugging all three of them. 

And as the ingredients slowly disappeared around them, the room began to fix itself. Patton could breathe a bit slower now, yet the others curled up into him like the warm blanket they were surrounded by. 

Eventually, Patton realized that he was no longer crying;  yet everyone stayed. 

And then, Patton fell asleep;  and they stayed for that too. 

----------------------------- 

~ Don’t Forget-ti That We Love You Funfetti Cake* ~

 Ingredients:

 For the cake

1 and 2/3 cup (210g) all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda (because so-da one for us!) [1]

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup (1 stick or 115 g) unsalted butter, melted

3/4 cup (150g) granulated sugar

1/4 cup (50g) packed light brown sugar

1 large egg

1/4 cup (60g) yogurt

3/4 cup (180ml) milk

1 Tablespoon (15ml) pure vanilla extract

2/3 cup (90g) sprinkles (nonpareils not recommended**) 

For the buttercream

1 cup (2 sticks or 230g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature

3–4 cups (360-480g) confectioners’ sugar

1/4 cup (60ml) heavy cream

2 and 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

salt, to taste

 *Virgil actually came up with this and thinks its so lame so thats why that’s the name LOL ~ Roman

[1]  Roman wrote this pun but I am making the executive decision to retract this comment from the original script because it is not a necessary part of the recipe.

**can you tell that lo was the one who wrote the recipe ~ v 

–– 

Patton tried his hardest to fight the pull coming from the kitchen. 

It’s been a few days since the others found him in his room after his failed ‘bake muffins in isolation’ mission and Patton hadn’t dared to bake since. After all, if that incident wasn’t a good enough warning, the other times they found him in the kitchen were. He couldn’t let them see him like this again, what ‘this’ was. 

The others thought they knew he was upset about something, but Patton didn’t know how to tell them that he didn't even know what he was feeling. He wasn’t upset, he wasn’t stressed; he was just feeling every feeling, all at once.

And he didn’t know what to do. 

Baking was the only thing he could do when he felt like this. He longed to see a smile on Virgil’s face; to watch Logan actually eat and enjoy it rather than talking about how it didn’t matter that they ate; to laugh as Roman scarfed all of it down and ask for the recipe. The recipe book was actually going to be Roman’s gift for their anniversary. It made his heart ache even more knowing that it wasn’t good enough for him anymore. 

When he felt everything or nothing at all, he would just bake and watch as the people he loved were filled with joy; and Patton, selfish as it is, would bask in the sunlight they radiated. If he kept baking and kept making them happy? Well, their light could never disappear. 

But then, it did.

And Patton couldn’t bear to stand in the darkness of that kitchen anymore. 

Still, the tugging persisted. Patton secretly hoped that him pitying himself would guilt whatever force was summoning him to the kitchen into giving up its pursuit. 

Patton sighed, tugging the strings of his cat hoodie a little tighter so that the hood with wrap around his head. Maybe if he didn’t show his face, no one would see that he had been crying for an hour or so. 

When he sunk out, he was met with a warmly-lit kitchen and a small cake in the middle of the dining table.

Patton frowned, walking towards it curiously. It was a very...rustic cake, if rustic still meant ‘messy’ in baking terms. The icing was a bit rough around the edges and he felt like the writing in icing was supposed to say “WE ❤ U” but the heart looked a bit like...well, Patton didn’t want to say. 

Still, it was rather cute. There was a small plate beside it with a fork and a slice of the cake, dots of sprinkles baked into it. Patton smiled; it seemed to be a funfetti cake! His favourite!

Patton took a bite out of the cake without really thinking about it, his smile only growing at the sweet taste. 

That was when he saw the book. 

It laid neatly beside the plate, open to a page he didn’t quite remember writing. On it were various scribbles of bright red ink mixed with blue ink, along with a note written in pencil at the bottom of the page. He recognized the handwriting immediately as he picked up the book and began to tear up. 

“Virgil, if he does not want to be summoned you cannot–”

Patton looked up from the book and saw Logan and Virgil suddenly at the entrance to the kitchen, stopped in their tracks with their eyes wide. They stared at each other for a brief moment before Virgil huffed, breaking the silence.

“See, Lo?” He kissed Logan's cheek and went on his tip-toes to ruffle his hair, much to Logan’s dismay. “Patton always comes down for cake.” 

Patton dropped the book on the table and went over to sweep the two in a big hug, warm and tight and filled with love. Virgil fell quiet, but hugged back as Logan chuckled, patting Patton’s back. 

“I sincerely hope the cake is to your standards, Patton,” he said as he pulled back. “I know that the aesthetics are not...well, they are not ideal; Roman spent so much time planning that he forgot to take into account the amount of time we’d  actually have–”

“Logan?” Patton said, his voice still scratchy from being close to tears. “I love you. It’s perfect.” 

Logan smiled brightly, the light from it almost blinding Patton. 

“You guys didn’t have to bake for me!” Patton rubbed at his eyes with a small laugh. “I know baking a cake is no easy task, especially a funfetti cake!”

Virgil shrugged. “Logan led most of it. I kinda just made sure the kitchen didn’t explode. You know how those two can get."

Patton giggled. “Of course.”

“Roman should be on his way shortly,” Logan said, pushing up his glasses. “He is acquiring a few blankets and pillows from his room.”

Patton perked up at the thought. Roman’s blankets were made of the softest, most delicate velvet. The idea made his chest warm up.

“You guys did all of this for me?” Patton asked, his voice small. 

“Of course we did, Pat.” Virgil held Patton’s hand and kissed it softly. “We love you. And we want to be here for you; even in the less-than-ideal times. You would do the same for us.”

“But we do not expect you to dwell on your emotions if you do not feel comfortable doing so,” Logan continued as he went over to the dining room to grab the cake. “If you would like, we can watch Disney movies and eat cake and provide a distraction. However, we want to reassure you that we are here to listen to whatever is troubling you, so whenever you feel comfortable, please do not hesitate to reach out.” He paused. "We do not have to find a solution right now. We can metaphorically 'sit in the feelings' for a while."

Patton smiled as Logan arrived at his and Virgil’s side. He kissed Patton’s shoulder softly before making his way to the living room, where Patton could hear Roman rambling about what movie would be the best to watch; and he heard Logan’s rebuttals come after. 

And walking out of the kitchen and into the living room could only be described as a slow-moving blur. Patton watched as Roman spotted him and swept him up into a big hug, startling Virgil who was later brought into the hug as well. He watched as Logan gave them an amused smile, patting the blankets Roman arranged under a pillow fort in front of the TV, the opening to Tangled—Patton’s favourite—playing on the screen. 

“I love you guys,” Patton murmured as he sat in the middle of the pillow fort, a plate with cake in front of him. Logan sat beside him with a nod, kissing his head as he summoned four forks with a smile. Roman and Virgil found their way somehow into the tangled mess of each other, cuddling against Logan and Patton until they were the closest humans, or sides, could ever get.

And no one complained when Patton paused the movie when Eugene got stabbed, crying a bit and telling them about how that scene sort of reminded him about what he felt the night before. No one left when Patton began to spiral a bit from that and sob into his cake, finally admitting to them his thoughts and how he had just been feeling everything. 

And then, everyone stayed; even after that. 

[janekfan]

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

[spicyfoodboi]

he’s making you upset

Genre: fluff

An akira kunimi, keiji akaashi, and koushi sugawara x reader

Synopsis: you saw a new trend on tiktok. When the time came when you were bored or the boys ignored you, you busted out the "he's making you upset." to see his reaction.

a/n: back with another self-indulged haikyuu fic. This inspired by the "he's making you upset" audio. The one where s/o would sit still and play the audio "he isn't trying to be mean. he just doesn't feel like he has to try as much anymore because he knows you're wrapped around his finger and probably doesn't even realize that he's making you upset." to see his reaction. Hope you guys enjoy this! 💖💖

Akira kunimi

He's an introvert, you know that very well.

He's also very lazy.

So you would usually initiate most of the romantic gestures.

He honestly loved everything you do for him.

He wants to repay you for everything you did for him.

But not now.

He just came back from a very long practice session with the aoiba johsai team, he has a lot of homework.

He had to move so much during a practice match with karasuno.

He was just very tired and wanted to sleep.

He's lucky enough to invite you, his girlfriend to sleep over at his place tonight.

He invited you sure but he didn't acknowledge you all night.

He was on his bed, eating some salted caramel cookies you baked before going to his house.

He was just on his laptop, watching some volleyball compilations when you get fed up.

He invited you to a sleepover but he wouldn't bat an eye at you.

You set up your phone on his desk and sat in his chair, making sure the distracted akira was in the frame.

You sat smiling, facing the camera before playing the robotic audio.

He looked towards your direction in surprise.

He stays silent, staring at you, wide-eyed.

Did he make you upset?

he backtracked and gulped.

He realized he was ignoring you.

You on the other hand were silently panicking.

You could see the fear and panic in his eyes like a cloud blocking the light in them.

He placed his laptop down, stood up, hugging you from behind.

He made sure to nuzzle his face into your neck for 2 reasons.

So one, the camera wouldn't see his stricken face.

And two, as a silent apology.

You turn off your camera and turned to face him to hug him.

He might ignore you at times but you know he truly cares.

Keiji akaashi

He knows how to stay in control.

He has bokuto and the team to worry about.

But sometimes days don't go as planned.

Days when he feels that he doesn't have control over anything.

He couldn't keep the team together during a match with nekoma.

He still looked the same old akaashi on the outside but on the inside, he was very irritated with himself for not keeping the team on track.

You could see in his eyes how angry he really was.

You didn't wanted to anger him more with your mouth so you did what you what you usually do.

You let him stay in your apartment.

You understand why he's mad, he tries so hard.

So you make him his favorite nanohana no karashiae and let him get comfortable on your bed.

You can't help but feel a bit neglected while he listens to his music.

You got a great idea to get him to notice you.

You placed the camera by the foot of the bed and sat very still.

Keiji opened his eyes and looked at you then the camera in confusion.

What were you planning?

he took off one bud of his earphones just in time to hear the robotic audio saying those words.

His eyes were filled with sorrow he never felt before.

Not even when his team loses a match.

He looked at you and sighed.

"if you feel like I'm neglecting you. Just tell me." he muttered, scooting over to the foot of your bed and hugging you tightly.

He laid you both down in bed and held you close, not letting go for the rest of the night.

koushi sugawara

Baby suga is a sweetie pie that needs to be protected.

He usually won't drag into his bad moods.

You didn't want to do this to him but your friends dared you to.

He was throwing his ball up in the air while laying on his bed.

You on the other hand were just texting your friends when they gave you the signal to do the prank.

You sat up next to him and leaned your camera on a stack of books on his nightstand.

Sugawara looked at you and smiled, sitting up and smiling happily at the camera, thinking it was a normal video.

He could never be more wrong.

He listened to the words carefully and you can see through the screen how the happiness on his face started to drain out into an empty smile.

He was frozen in thought.

You finished the video and looked over at him with worry.

He looked so angry with himself.

"did I do something? Am I ignoring you? You know I would do anything right? I won't stop until you feel happy with me. i-"

"KOUSHI IT WAS A JOKE I'M SORRRRRYYYYYYY!!"

You pounced on him, giving him a big hug.

You can feel him nuzzle into your shoulder and sniffle quietly.

"Please don't joke like that again." He said, looking back up and smiling his tears away.

You drowned him in hugs and kisses the rest of the day.

 Thank you so much for reading this! I loved this one even though kunimi's was a tad longer than the others. Requests are still open so please leave them in my inbox. Love you guys so much 💖😊❤

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved. 

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM. 

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope. 

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings. 

You failed the exam. 

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel. 

This day could not get worse. 

Famous last words. 

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag. 

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state. 

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache. 

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought. 

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head. 

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal. 

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes. 

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace. 

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner. 

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes. 

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish. 

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets. 

Interesting. 

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body. 

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes. 

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt. 

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you. 

First the dishes, and now a bath? 

The boys are definitely up to something. 

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom. 

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV. 

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable. 

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!” 

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?” 

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more. 

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist. 

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.” 

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year. 

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.” 

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now. 

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name. 

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward. 

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.” 

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.” 

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath. 

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person. 

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones. 

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on. 

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest. 

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.” 

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction. 

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.” 

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room. 

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.” 

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit. 

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you. 

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.” 

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin. 

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear. 

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played. 

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.” 

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.” 

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.” 

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home. 

You are home. 

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling. 

You are the luckiest. 

And you realize that every single day. 

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.  

[gaysailorsonlyevent]

Galen the Non-Binary Mermaid x Trans Reader: Coming Out

Just some uhh self indulgent shitty writing because I haven't come out to a single person in my real life sooo... This is a lovestruck fanfic but I spoil nothing, so anyone can read it really. Reader implied to be nonbinary but can also just be trans in general.

I stared up at my boss until they seemed half-startled by my unwavering gaze. Their lips parted as they asked a question that I couldn't hear over the nervous buzzing in my head.

“Galen?” I ask, voice croaky. They nod at me expectedly.

“What is it? You’ve been staring at me while I’m looking over this scroll for the past few minutes and I’ve been asking…” They stop lecturing at me when I blush and dart my eyes.

“I wanted to ask you something…” They set down the scroll now, their brow raised. A tick that shows they’re listening.

“Yes?”

“How did you know… your uh…?” They smirk at my flustered face, walking lengths closer. I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.

“Your gender.” I whisper, half ashamed already. They crane their head to the side, eyes blinking in surprise.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” They start looking at me more closely, sort of inspecting me as they might a gold coin to see if it was false, and I want to melt into their expensive mahogany seats, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t feel like,” Suddenly I’m choking up, I think I’m going to cry, my face both burns and feels numb, “like what people see me as, I just feel so disconnected from what everyone expects of me and…”

I am grasped by my arms and thrown into their chest, immediately surrounded by a familiar smell of coconuts and sea salt. Their arms surround my back completely, and mine do the same to theirs. I realize their shirt, pressed to my face, is getting wet with my tears, but I don’t remember starting to cry.

“Thank you for entrusting me with this piece of you,” They kiss the top of my head fondly, “I will help any way I can.”

I respond with a pathetic sob, and they chuckle fondly, kissing my head again.

-

Hours later, we lay side by side on the bed, moonlight cascading over us as we hold hands. The light touch tingles.

“To answer your question…”

I look at them, their eyes half-lidded with suppressed sleep.

“My people don’t hold the same limitations of gender as yours do…” They smile, and the wrinkles alongside their mouth almost inspire me to kiss them. Almost.

“I questioned, I experimented, and I’m happy as I am now. Even with an accepting society, it is hard.” Their hand clenches on mine.

“I just, I get filled with these stupid thoughts of like…” I stop, suddenly aware of how much I’ve been unloading, and…

Their hand finds my chin, and coerce my eyes to find theirs again.

“Don’t be scared to tell me your worries,” Their eyes glisten with emotion, “We are partners, and we carry our burdens together.”

[onyourzeus]

all alone | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: all alone pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you  genre: heavy angst, fictional universe words: 3.7k

inspired by: 50 proof by eaJ (give it a listen if you please, here)  author’s note: this is my first fic in years, feedback appreciated.

content warning: alcohol use, swearing, description of anxiety and loneliness

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

It’s not a matter of when, but of how you’re going to stop yourself. They keep saying it heals with time, but no one ever tells you how much time you need to feel completely fine again. 

So, instead of waiting for that moment, you take it upon yourself to numb the pain inside. It’s easier to keep it bottled up, then pretend to wash it away with age-old whiskey taken from a nearly empty cabinet. 

Your friend reminded you to buy anything other than 50 proof alcohol, but that’s what’s left on your grocery list nowadays. 

She’d come by to keep you company, but there’s always an excuse. An emergency meeting, a family gathering, a blind date across town. 

It’s okay, you text her repeatedly. At this point, you’d rather she focus on herself than judge you for decisions affecting your life. 

The moment they get angry at you, it is time to push them away. 

You’re not about to be the reason for another falling out; another heartbreak; another memory turned sour and hard to swallow. 

A big gulp of fiery hot liquid comes into contact with your throat, and you exhale with a wince. Ah, just the way you think you like it. 

But no one’s stopping you, so why not keep going? You haven’t reached your limit yet, even though you’re not sure what that would look like. It’s no matter, though, it’s your apartment— your bathroom floor, your money, and your own fate decided. 

Once the tears trail down your cheek, you have a moment of self-awareness. What are you doing? Glancing at your slippers, sweaty oversized shirt, and frizzy strands of hair sticking out of your head— when exactly did you start looking like this and decided, “Yeah, I feel comfortable in my own skin.”?

You dart your tongue out slightly, tasting salt on the corner of your mouth. It’s wet as the tears keep coming. Tonight’s one of those nights, you laugh sarcastically. 

You’re probably going to play russian roulette with your medicine cabinet tomorrow; you’ll either be lucky and find a couple of painkillers lying around or be reminded of the emptiness that surrounds you. Usually it’s the latter, but maybe you’ll be lucky this time?

You scoff loudly at the idea. Another gulp of alcohol, and it stops the tears momentarily. Just so you can indulge in the sound of your heavy breathing, vision blurring the sight of your kitchen. 

Your phone lights up on the couch, buzzing and emitting a soft light that disturbs the dimness of the room. It can’t be your friend, it was a double date night with her co-worker, or some shit you don’t really care for. Although you remember pieces of memories that include you being in the same exact situation a few months prior;  it’s a bit hazy now, probably due to the alcohol. 

But also because you use what coordinated strength you have to approach the ringing sound. You can’t make up the caller ID which should be the first red flag that you shouldn’t answer the phone. 

You never do when you’re like this, but something inside you just doesn’t care anymore. 

You slide your finger across the screen, fumble through the circles you can make out until a static hum goes off louder than usual. Finally on speaker mode, you put the phone back on the couch as your body drops down on the floor. 

Resting the bottle on your side, you cradle your heavy head against the palm of your hand and exhale a long drawn out, “Heyyyyyyy, who’s this?”

God, you sound horrible. 

You hear nothing but static, and wonder if there never was a call at all. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?” You’re starting to get annoyed, grabbing hold of the bottle’s neck and taking a short swig. It causes you to cough, your fist pounding helplessly against your chest.

“What are you doing?” He sounds sad, disappointed, and concerned on the other end. You don’t know who it is, but the knots in his voice deem familiar to you, somehow. 

“Who is this? I’m gonna call the cops on you,” you drawl out, not understanding your own logic. “Why are you calling me at—” you try and check for a watch on your wrist to no avail, so you leave the question at that. 

Hiccuping, you blurt out, “I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s Younghyun. Leehi keeps calling me, asking to check up on you. Did you receive her messages?” 

Frankly, you understood at least two words with his reply. Leehi and messages, immediately you seethe with anger once again. Your friend on the double date texted you? With droopy eyes, you check your notifications, and the caller is telling the truth. 

10 text messages left unread, and none of those words she sent mean shit. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“I won’t do that. Where are you? At the bar or in your apartment?” He keeps asking all these questions he doesn’t have the right to in the first place. You feel your face scrunch up in frustration, figuring out who’s so concerned at your well-being so randomly on a Thursday night. 

“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you! Please stop bothering me, sir,” your voice cracks in the end, a semblance of fear creeping up onto you. This is why you never answer calls with alcohol controlling your system. 

“It sounds quiet in there, so you’re in your apartment,” he continues, ignoring your nonsensical pleas. “I’m nearby, can you please stay put for another 20 minutes or so? I’m coming to check up on you.” 

“I told you I’m calling the police if you even come near my doorstep!” Your frantic tone causes your body to shiver, welled up tears leaving eyes that start to sting.

 No one has been at your apartment for months; it’s not that they don’t ask. You don’t want them to come in. You don’t want anyone to see how you’ve been when you’re all alone. 

He calls your name on the other end, and again, and again he whispers it like a gentle reminder. A song to soothe your anxious mind, and it works. For a moment, you remember the feeling of comfort and security in the form of arms wrapped around you, and this very same voice to calm you down. 

“It’s Younghyun, okay? Please take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m on my way very soon,” Younghyun instructs. His hushed voice contrasts your shaking whimpers, yet you follow what he says with relative ease. It’s so familiar, fragments of flashbacks filling your mind one after the other. 

“Please unlock the door soon so I can come inside. I don’t have a spare key anymore,” he continues. That’s weird, he always had it to access your apartment whenever he wanted. You were the one to insist on that, too, since he basically lived with you for… a while. 

Reality tries to get in the way of the memories, you block it off for just a little bit more with the last drop of alcohol. It should last you throughout the night. 

In a daze, you do what Younghyun told you: unlock the door, and take deep breaths. You don’t want to be completely sober, so you refrain from drinking water even if your throat has been begging you to. 

A lucky soju bottle hides itself from an empty carton of milk inside the fridge, so you grab it hastily. No shot glasses needed, you go straight for it.

Younghyun didn’t tell you to stop, so why should you? But something in your stomach suggests you do. It’s a wincing pain you’ve had before, but this time it digs deeper than that. A liver concern, dehydration, or perhaps guilt? 

You couldn’t think any longer as you heard a soft knock against the front door. Followed by Younghyun coming in quietly, his steps barely audible. As if he’s never set foot in your apartment before. Or at least, maybe it feels different this time. 

As if you haven’t seen him and remember his presence anymore. 

“Hey,” he greets you quietly, and his voice is so much better in person. “It’s dark in here.” 

You’re not sure how to move forward from here. You’re back on the floor, head laying weirdly on the couch that your neck has started to hurt. Your hands hold tight onto the soju bottle as if it’s about to be taken away from you. It’s the one tangible thing keeping you grounded. Your mind begins to float away again upon seeing Younghyun’s face. 

He has that effect on you, but you didn’t consider it ever happening in months. 

You think you’re sleepy, but really you become hyper aware of his every move. It’s just hard to see with droopy eyes, and the silent steps he takes on the hardwood floor. 

He turns the light on the hallway to the bathroom, and even with its faintness you squint at the source of any kind of brightness in the room. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to step on anything,” Younghyun apologizes. He places a plastic bag on the kitchen counter and takes out what looks to be a bottle. 

Definitely not alcohol, you frown.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” you tell him first, the croak of your voice so heavily dissimilar to the friendliness of his. Yours sound guarded, unsure of yourself. “I have this,” you add as you sway the soju bottle in the air. The liquid spills on top of your head, and Younghyun is quick to take it away from you. 

“H-hey—” you argue, but the cold bottle of water has now replaced your source of alcohol, and your lips continue to curl downard. Younghyun shortly laughs at your reaction, but you don’t find it funny. 

“That was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath. “Don’t let it go to waste, then, drink.” 

Younghyun sighs, shaking his head while meeting your figure on the floor. The soju bottle remains on the counter, out of your reach. His slanted eyes point towards the neglected bottle around your grasp. 

You find yourself staring mindlessly, his face showing smooth textures and a hint of base make up doning his features. You’re in awe, just like before, of the beauty in front of you. So close to touch, just the tip of your fingertips to graze against his skin. 

If only you didn’t feel so guilty and looked like shit. 

“Staring at me won’t make you sober up any sooner,” he chastises you, sitting with his legs crossed. He looks dapper, a fine suit without a tie and two buttons opened up. Was he at a photoshoot? A company dinner? A date? 

That last thought shoots a strange numbing sensation on your chest. 

“Why are you here?” 

Younghyun looks taken aback at your bluntness. It doesn’t seem like you’re drinking that water anytime soon as your focus shifts at his presence in your apartment. He lets it go this time, then, entertains your question for the sake of your satisfaction. 

“I told you. Leehi called me. She’s been worried about you recently.”

“Oh, has she?” You sass him just for the sake of it. 

“Yes,” Younghyun doesn’t give in to your bluff, his voice suddenly firm and unnerving. “She cares about you a lot, and I understand if she hasn’t had the time to come see you very often anymore, but she works long hours and—”

“Why are you defending her? Did you just come here to lecture me like a little kid? I know how the world works, Younghyun. I know people can be busy, and that they have their own fucking problems to deal with. I know, okay? Fuck, I know that!” 

The words just leave your mouth like poison, it was ready to spill out of your guts all of a sudden. It just needed an opportunity to. 

You didn’t expect it to come tonight— in front of Younghyun, out of everyone. 

Maybe that would slap him cold and hard with what’s going on. Maybe that’s the final straw with you, not the uninviting welcome to your apartment, not the refusal to drink the water he’s bought you, but the words you have spoken. It’s always been the most hurtful. 

You avoid his gaze, suddenly feeling small and even more guilty of how you’re acting. You know you’re not supposed to lash out like this, you hate angry confrontations that can be avoided. But this is why you drink alone, cry alone, and fall asleep when the sun goes up— alone.

Younghyun was never supposed to be here witnessing this. 

Just like how you predicted, you see him stand up and walk away. It’s what you deserve, right? No one ever wanted to stay. 

But you don’t hear the door slam shut following his departure. You don’t hear his footsteps trudge their way out of the door, out of your life once again.  

Younghyun approaches the corner of the living room where the heater is, and turns it on.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I won’t be able to stand the cold like this,” he says with the same gentle, knowing tone of his. “I hope you don’t mind me turning the heat on a little bit. Are you warm, though?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on. 

Yes, it’s been a chilly autumn season but not that you cared. The alcohol hits you from within, igniting unfound frustration, anger, and desperation in every corner of your soul then almost instantly numbs it all for you. 

With parted, dry lips you manage a meek shake of the head. The sweat on your shirt dried up, and your shorts aren’t doing any better making you feel cozy either. You compensate by hugging yourself, the condensation of the bottled water touching the goosebumps on your skin. 

“You should probably drink that before it gets lukewarm,” Younghyun suggests, walking three steps forward to sit next to your figure. He gives you space, almost like a shield in between your bodies in which either of you are afraid of breaking. 

Finally, you relent to his wish and chug the water in seconds. It cools your throat along with your state of mind. A bit more stable now, with the way you see things, and process your surroundings. Your conscious eyes land on Younghyun’s worried gaze, and you struggle not to fall back into them. 

“I’m… not really mad at Leehi, I hope she knows that,” you quip quietly. The haziness drifts away from your consciousness and floats midair. It clings to the barrier in between you and Younghyun, frosting up unseen glass as Younghyun studies your features carefully. And he waits for more of what you have to say. 

You don’t follow through anymore, so he adds to the conversation. “I’m sure she knows. She’s just concerned about you.”

You reply with a subtle nod, wishing you had more water to drink. 

“I’m worried about you, too.” 

And he says the magic words that start the first broken piece of glass stopping you from seeing him eye to eye. You turn your figure away from his sitting one, knowing that the more you attempt to find the answers in his eyes the harsher the tears will come from your own. 

“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” What a massive fucking lie, you think bitterly. It’s not like you to lie out loud, You say what’s on your mind when needed. And if it isn’t, then you know best not to bother others and keep it to yourself. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s not true,” Younghyun disagrees— in the most polite way he can that it hurts. It hurts to hear him pander to your childish behavior right now, to have him tiptoe his way around your insecurities. 

This is what you didn’t want to happen, and yet in the end you meet your own demise this way. 

“How can I help?” He urges on.

He can’t.

“I want you to feel better.”

You won’t. 

“Please tell me how.” 

You don’t even know the answer to that. 

He sighs, but he tries hard not to let it bother you. Younghyun’s always been like that, so perfect and so accommodating. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sweet gesture from a lover? To know your needs, and meet you in the middle. You basically met a match made in heaven with him years ago. 

What went wrong?

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” Younghyun points out. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He’s trying to look so small, innocent. 

It’s funny, you think, and recall the nights he convinces you to be the big spoon for once. His sturdy frame was difficult for your arms to gather in one warm embrace, but whenever you tried he never complained. And it was nice. 

You try to regain focus, and look down at the shirt you’re wearing. The print has faded so much that anyone who didn’t know its history wouldn’t have guessed what words were imprinted on it originally. But you do, and for a moment you thought you had forgotten— or at least, actively erased from your mind.

But this shirt has always made you feel like you have a sense of connection to this world, to a person you once held in your arms. 

“I can’t believe we had Dowoon design that logo before. Nobody really told us how it really looked,” Younghyun chuckles in the night air, temperature going up a few degrees. 

It wasn’t hot, you weren’t bothered, it was just… right. 

And suddenly, you remember what he’s talking about. Because you were there, and you were this close to dropping the truth onto them that yes, it’s hideous, no one will buy your merch, but the grin on their faces and the spark of excitement in the room was too huge to disrupt. You then convinced yourself that yes, their fans won’t mind, they love you for your music. They love you for you.

You were supposed to love Younghyun for who he is. 

“I liked it— eventually,” you admit and Younghyun raises an eyebrow. Defending yourself before he gets a say, you add, “It’s a sort of charm you and the others had. Up and coming in the scene, innocent boys singing their hearts out because you have nothing better to do.” 

“Hey now, I was in college with you. I had midterms literally the day after our first official gig,” Younghyun corrects you lightly, and you do remember that. You’re starting to remember it all, like a kaleidoscope of days, weeks, and years through Younghyun’s starry eyes.

You don’t realize the barrier has begun to shatter until you feel the heat of his hands hovering over yours. 

“What is it? Tell me, please. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you hear him say repeatedly. He has even moved so much closer to you, his hands grasping yours the way you held the bottle of whisky for nights on end. 

He holds you like he cares, like he doesn’t want for you to disappear. For a second time. 

“I let you go. I let you go, and now I’m left with nothing but haunted memories of you. Of us,” you sob into him, the sturdiness of his body keeping you from shaking terribly. 

Younghyun wraps his arms around you, the way he would when you fell asleep waiting for him late at night on the weekends. Younghyun cradles your fragile figure within his tight embrace, the same way he’d tuck you in bed when fatigue overcomes your system. Even when he’s tired himself, even when he’s on a tightrope of his own priorities— he made you his first. 

But you didn’t want that, you knew that wasn’t good for him, his career. The peak of his fame alongside friends he’s known as family for so long would be right around the time you decided to move to a different city and pursue your own passion. 

There was no way it’d work. You’d be too far away from their studio, his and his bandmates’ apartment, the company building, everything. Everything Younghyun built from the ground up with his talent, his opportunistic mind, his own purpose in life. 

The visits happened less often, the calls coming in at hours you couldn’t accommodate for anymore. People flock to him, and it’s the sort of crowd you flinch at, disassociate yourself with, it’s not who you want to be. 

But it was Younghyun’s, and you loved him so much to take that away from him. 

And yet, in the place you’ve buried yourself deep; hours away from where you once lived with Younghyun, months after the dreaded decision you falsely stood your ground for. He’s here, with you. 

Does he still love you now?

“Don’t think too much right now, okay? You worry your pretty face with all your troubled thoughts like that,” Younghyun reassures you softly. If you had the strength to react to his superfluous words, you’d do so just like before. But exhaustion overcomes you— from the drinking, the sobbing, and the weight of your guilt draping over Younghyun’s shoulders as he embraces you even further. 

You don’t deserve such warmth, such tender love, you hurt him. He can’t love you after that. 

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Younghyun shakes his head, ruffling your hair next to his face. He lets you go for half a second, and before you know it his hands are secured around your waist again. You don’t protest, but your eyes seem mesmerized by the way his demand you to see him. 

“I’m sorry,” he shares your words, “for not coming sooner.” 

The next sunrise doesn’t sting you in the eyes this time. This time, you fall asleep without nightmares accompanying you in bed. And this time, you wake up to what seems like a beloved past of yours. But it’s not, it’s the next day, and Younghyun stayed. 

You let him. 

[loveless-scribes]

Lovely LS Art!

A lovely piece of art from the fabulous and talented @dags-sz​ for the story I’m currently co-writing, Angelus Mortis. A wonderful visualization of our secondary couple’s first meeting! Thank you so much Daguer for lending your fabulous talent to this story! Please check out her work, she’s absolutely amazing and a pleasure to work with! <3

You can find the story here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13642600/2/Angelus-Mortis https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736001/chapters/69569037#workskin And the scene here: The third day, the sky split suddenly overhead, releasing a downpour that drenched her to the bone. She went on wandering the streets, now with renewed desperation, cursing herself for not better informing herself on the workings of the mortal realm. Wishing she had thought to ask Jui what "money" was. She was accustomed to the conveniences of the Underworld. Hunger meant seek out the kitchens. Boredom sent her to the gardens, to Kayt's cheerful banter. Tiredness sent her to the servant's quarters. The mortal realm meant searching and searching without quite knowing just what she was searching for.

She was beginning to despair of her rash decision. Bitter tears lodged in her throat. Even if she were to be killed by pickpockets and die in the rain on this cold night, she decided, it would still be better than the humiliation of having to see Thanatos again. Of walking him back to the castle even one more time.

She paused, catching sight of the dim windows of an establishment that was clearly closed. A forest green sign overhead read Wings of Freedom in gold lettering and underneath that, in smaller cursive the addition, Tea Shop. She approached the locale to seek shelter from the rain under the overhanging awning. Peering inside the windows, she saw an impeccably clean little café, with tables and chairs furnished out of warm cherry wood. She sighed and turned away from the view. What she wouldn't give to be sitting at Jui's side by the warmth of the kitchen fire with a mug of tea in her hands.

A shiver passed through her as she looked down and watched the water snaking down her arms and dripping down the hem of her chiton. What was she doing here? What did she think she would achieve by leaving home? What was she hoping to accomplish? Surely, she was the most foolish nymph in all of existence to have attempted such an imprudent escapade. She was a half-witted, bumbling, poor excuse of a – the sudden tinkling of a bell roused her from her thoughts.

A young man stood in the doorway of the tea shop, a large bag of parchment paper in his left arm as he opened the large, glass door to the locale with his right. His black hair was parted in the center and damp from the rain. His expression was one of annoyance that seemed characteristic rather than provoked. Cool, icy blue eyes were hooded by narrowed eyelids, his annoyance emphasized by his furrowed, thin eyebrows. He held the door open with his foot as he ran a hand though his wet hair, pushing the strands back from his face.

He seemed then, to notice her. Drawn, perhaps, by her own gaze. He looked her once over and Slayte was suddenly uncomfortably aware of her appearance. The flower garland Kayt had adorned her black hair with had long since been removed. Her hair was a wet, tangled mess. Her lavender chiton, ridiculously out of place in the mortal realm, dripped water like a wet rag. Try as she might to stand up tall and meet his eyes confidently, she could not banish the shivering of her bare shoulders. All in all, she knew she made for a pathetic picture.

He looked over his shoulder up and down the abandoned roads to confirm what he already knew. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather.

"We're closed." He told her. His tone was brusque, but his voice surprisingly calm and gentle, in contrast to his expression. It was oddly pleasant, Slayte thought. A voice she should like to hear again, when she wasn't soaking wet and being looked down on.

"I am aware." She answered quickly, avoiding his gaze, "I seek only shelter under this awning until the storm passes. Pray, pay me no mind."

The man blinked at her odd manner of speech. He turned his eyes heavenward, as if already regretting the next words to leave his mouth.

"Come in, it's better to get out of the rain inside." He wiped his shoes on the mat before stepping inside, holding the door open only for the fraction of a second it took her to make up her mind. She followed quickly, catching the door before it closed on her.

He switched on the lights and Slayte got her first, good look at the quaint establishment. All of the surfaces were polished to a gleam and the lighting was warm on the dark wood furniture. The chairs were lined with green cushions that seemed to be a trademark color of the little shop. Beyond the counter she could see a neat line of appliances, along with shelves that lined the entire wall filled to the brim with various assortments of tea, each labelled neatly in careful handwriting.

The kind stranger gestured vaguely to a table to her right and she pulled out a chair to sit down, glad to finally be off of her feet. The warmth of the room settled in slowly, and she soon stopped shivering. Although it was embarrassing to be dependent on the kindness of a mortal, it was the first such kindness she had been shown in the last three days and she was grateful for it.

She looked down on her leather-sandaled feet that had gone blue from cold and wondered if perhaps she would be able to survive in the mortal realm after all. She looked up as a cup of hot tea was placed on the table beside her and watched the steam rise from the dark liquid, spellbound.

"Drink that." The man commanded with the same careless expression before turning away.

"Oh! But… I'm afraid I don't possess any of the required money," she protested, hoping she was pronouncing the foreign word correctly.

The man in question gave her an incredulous look before answering, "it's on the house."

Slayte took this to be a reassurance of some sort, that it was alright to drink the tea. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the gods for listening to her prayer. How badly she had wished for a cup of tea!

"Thank you," she whispered, "That is truly… most kind of you."

She closed her hands around the teacup reverently, allowing the warmth to seep into her fingers before taking a long, indulgent sip.

"Did the rain wash your brain out of your head?"

She sputtered at the rude comment, swallowing quickly so as to avoid spitting out the precious tea. "I beg your pardon, my sir?" she asked, wondering what she could have done to warrant such a response from her benefactor.

"The way you talk. It's bizarre." He added, watching her with that same devil-may-care expression.

She flushed. She had taken notice that the mortals seemed to speak quite differently than the Underworld dwellers but had not had time to adjust to their speech.

"I…" she stammered, "I will take care to speak more appropriately."

"Eh?" he looked disgusted by her response. "Who cares? Just do what you want." He turned away from her and headed instead to the kitchenette behind the counter. She watched as he unpacked the groceries, washing the vegetables with care and laying them to the side. He set a pan on the stove and turned a dial. A faint click was heard before the stove burst into flame, heating the pan.

"Sorcery…" she whispered, spellbound.

The man pulled a knife from a block, and tossed it into the air, seemingly without thinking about it. It glittered in the lamplight before he caught it and flipped it between his elegant fingers before setting to work chopping up the vegetables. Salt wondered if it was normal for a mortal to be this adept with a knife. Even the robbers that had attacked her a day prior were fumbling with their knives in comparison to this man. She had narrowly escaped them by slipping into the shadows themselves, a skill she possessed by virtue of being born from them, but the fear they instilled in her had been very real. Their words had been deceptively charming and flattering. In contrast, this man's rude and brusque demeanor made her feel very safe.

Soon, her teacup was empty, and the delicious smell of spices and cooked vegetables wafted over to her nose. She was fearful of outstaying her welcome and her eyes darted to the window, wondering if the rain had let up enough for her to take her leave.

"Where do you live?" The stranger asked over his shoulder. "I can drop you off, if you want."

She had seen any number of city signs over the last three days but could not now recall a single one. She needed to say something, but she was oddly tongue-tied. What if he caught on that she had no home?

"That's quite alright. I'll just go on foot. It isn't far from here." She lied awkwardly. Only an entire world away, leagues beneath our feet.

"If it isn't far, why were you shivering out there in the rain?" he tossed back, unconvinced. His scowl making apparent that he knew she was lying to him.

She opted instead for silence, not wanting to make it worse. He walked back over to her table and placed two plates of noodles and mixed vegetables down. Had he cooked for her? A stranger? She had always heard that mortals were cruel and amoral creatures and although she had seen nothing the last three days to suggest the contrary, this man was swaying that belief. Warm and with a meal set out in front of her, Slayte was beginning to see that mortals were not all the same.

He took the chair opposite from her and began eating without preamble. Salt whispered a thank you and did the same, glad to finally be eating real food. It wasn't Jui's cooking, but it was delicious all the same.

"If you have somewhere to go, then go home after this. If you don't, there's a room for rent upstairs. I'm looking to hire someone anyway, if you want the job, I'll just take the rent out of your pay."

Overwhelmed by the number of words she didn't understand. Rent? Job? Pay? Slayte merely looked on mutely. "You will give me a… a job?" She queried, nonplussed.

He looked at her as if she were particularly dim-witted. A justified impression, she reluctantly admitted.

"You work. For money." He deadpanned.

"Oh." Slayte thought hard. Money was apparently a form of currency required for transactions, not unlike the coins she used for passage over the Styx. Only in the mortal world, money was required for nearly everything imaginable. Including resources required for life such as food and water. In her short time in the mortal world she understood that money was essential for survival. It was something everyone had asked her about. That, and…

"I'm afraid I don't have any identification." She admitted. "That will be a hindrance, will it not?"

The man chewed his food slowly as his mind worked. His expression somewhat softened, he answered, "Then we'll just make do with a verbal contract and I'll pay you in cash. That works out, right?"

"Does that mean…" Her eyes went wide. "I can stay here?"

"Yeah, sure, if you want the job." He rose to clear the table, and Salt jumped to her feet, unable to contain her excitement. "I do! Very much so!" She was close at his heels and followed him into the kitchenette, ignorant of the way he winced as she tracked footprints over the clean floor.

"I'm Levi." He introduced curtly. "You?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the dirtied floor.

"My name's Slayte." She announced, extending a hand in greeting.

He looked her in the eye with that same irritated expression, ignoring her outstretched hand altogether before commenting, "That's a shitty name."

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Oh Love Sweet Love

Summary: Your period is due, you hurt, and you’re sore. To top it all off, someone finished off your snacks, and all you want is to curl up and cry. 

Features: Fluff and smut

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader

Notes: This is a request fill! 

Request: “ If you’re ok with taking smut requests, could I request a smutty Natasha Romanoff x female reader fic please? One where R is on her period and her breasts are just so sore and sensitive so her ever loving girlfriend Natasha, offers to ‘gently massage’ them for her. An offer which R happily accepts, she loves Nats hands on her chest. Thank you! :)”

Word Count: 1081

You stomped through the compound searching for the one thing that would make your day better. You had a strong craving for the bag of Pirate’s Booty you had bought the previous day. You knew what was coming. Your back had been hurting, your head aching, and your breasts were tender this morning. It had hurt pulling on your sports bra that morning before heading to train with Natasha and Wanda. Add in the cramps and you were in a sour mood. That was all before you opened the pantry and found your precious popcorn missing. As irrational as it was, you felt tears prickle at your eyes. You wanted one damn thing. One simple thing. And you weren’t even able to have that. 

“Who the hell ate my popcorn?” you asked. No one else was around. 

“Captain Rogers opened the back to have some with his lunch. Mr. Barton took the bag and finished it approximately an hour ago,” FRIDAY said. You were pissed. 

“I’m going to murder him,” you snapped. You were craving something salty and Pirate’s Booty White Cheddar popcorn had just the right amount of salt to satisfy that craving, your current mood excepted. If your mood was literal salt you’d never have to buy any at the store again. 

You stormed out of the kitchen and headed for the room you shared with Natasha, hoping you still had some salty snacks stashed there. You had learned the hard way that nothing was sacred when it came to snack food and the Avengers. Once, you had seen Peter web Bucky to the ceiling after the older man admitted to finishing off the cookies Aunt May had made for Peter. That had been a damn near disaster. And then you had the time Sam finished off the homemade bread you had made for Natasha based off an old family recipe of yours that she liked. That was the last time you made such a small batch. 

You entered your room, making a beeline for the second drawer in your dresser, which you had designated as the snack drawer. You found a full can of Pringles and settled on those before heading into the bathroom and turning the taps on for the bath. You had a bottle of water and Youtube queued up on a screen you had asked Tony to install. You knew your period had started, but a relaxing bath was still in order. Mother Nature would not take that comfort from you. 

You were nodding off in the warm water as the video you chose played. You barely noticed when Natasha came in and pulled the plug on the tub, helping you out of the water and wrapping you in a warm towel.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as you leaned against the counter, a new wave a cramps washing over you. 

“Annoyed,” you grumbled. She laughed as she lead you into your room. You face planted onto the mattress, not bothering with clothing. 

“Lift up,” Natasha said. You did as asked and felt her slide another towel under you. You felt her hands on your back as she started to massage your shoulders. You let yourself relax into the mattress as you turned your head to the side, letting out a content sigh. She loosened the towel, allowing it to fall and expose your back. She made her way down your back, paying special attention to your lower back, where the most tension was held. 

“Flip,” she said. You rolled onto your back, settling onto the towels. You hissed as her hand came into contact with one of your breasts.

“Sensitive, hm? Feeling a little sore today baby?” she asked. You nodded. 

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” she continued. While you loved all the dirty things Nat could do to you, the ways she worked your body, you couldn’t deny one of your favorite things was having her hands on your breasts. You hadn’t realized just how much of an erogenous zone your breasts were until you met Natasha. She grabbed the massage oil, one that was designed for the times like this, where massage wasn’t the only thing on the table, the scent of strawberries hitting the air. 

Natasha gently massaged the oil into your breast, avoiding your overly sensitive nipple in the process. She repeated the process on the other side as you let out quiet moans. Soon, her hand was replaced with her mouth as she licked around the sensitive area. You hissed as she made contact. It wasn’t painful, it was the exact opposite. Natasha was an expert in many things, your body included. She knew just how much pressure to apply to keep things just on the edge between pleasure and pain in a way that drove you wild. 

You weren’t sure how long she had been at it, alternating sides, before her hand started drifting south. You moved to stop her.

“Natasha,” you said sharply.

“Relax. You’re still cramping aren’t you?” she asked gently. You nodded.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Is that even a question?” you asked, earning you a look from the redhead, “of course I do.”

“May I continue?” she asked. You nodded, which earned you another look before you vocalized your consent. Her mouth returned to your breast, as one hand moved down and the other moved to your other breast. You jolted as her fingers came into contact with your clit. 

Natasha made slow circles, drawing low, desperate moans from you. You hadn’t been aware of just how desperate you were to cum until her hand had moved down to your pussy. Your moans grew louder as she increased pressure and pace. Meanwhile she pulled her mouth off of your breast, focusing on massaging your breasts with her hand. You felt like you were on cloud nine. You felt the impending peak, and arched off your bed as you came, chanting her name as if it were a prayer. She pulled away, placing gentle kisses from your neck to your mouth, pulling you into a kiss.

After a few moments, she pulled you from the bed and into the bathroom to clean up and get dressed for an evening in bed, curled up under the blankets with her watching your favorites while indulging in some junk food. When you emerged, you saw a bag of Pirate’s Booty sitting on the bed and smiled. Yeah, you were definitely in love.