#and like in a week it will have been more than a month since i quit but my friend's right worst case scenario is

[burningembers91]

Fuscia Pink Kisses - Choi Su-Bong x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Not Who I Want to Be

The Beauty of Vulnerability

Synopsis: When Choi Su-Bong celebrates your birthday, he receives potentially life changing news

A/N: This is a reupload. I originally posted this yesterday, but for some reason this fic kept being hidden, so i have reposted :)

It’s true what people said: just as one part of your life started going well, another part fell to shit. Your relationship with Su-Bong was going from strength to strength. The two of you were so perfect for each other and neither of you could quite believe it was real. He hadn’t stopped smiling in months, hadn’t felt the need to numb his existence with a bottle of vodka or a brightly coloured pill. You were so enveloped in the blissful bubble of love, that nothing else seemed to matter.

Su-Bong had been thinking seriously about his music and career as well. Thanos was well and truly gone; his devilish alter ego died the night he met you. He wanted to rebrand, wanted to use his own name and make songs that were about more than just partying and sex. His record label hadn’t like that though. They’d signed Thanos, not Su-Bong. People were interested in his brand, not the person behind the crazy purple hair and tattoos. He’d been dropped by his label two weeks ago, a decision that had crushed him and almost made him reach for a substance to numb his brain.

You’d stayed by his side though, holding him as he cried and tried to wrap his head around the bombshell decision he’d had no say in. His whole career had gone up in smoke, simply because he didn’t want to play the part of a false character anymore. The comments on social media were just as bad. Su-Bong had been called every name under the sun, he’d been referred to as a fake more times than he could count and each insult cut as much as the last.

He was determined to stay true to himself though. To make the music he wanted, to be the person that he knew would make you proud. It had been you who’d suggested he return to YouTube. It was how he got famous in the first place, recording himself rapping in his childhood bedroom. He returned under his real name, his songs now focused on softer subjects. He still rapped, but his songs now featured softer R ‘n’ B melodies. The response had been promising, attracting a new kind of fan base, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the fame that Thanos did.

He’d thought about moving as well, finding a new apartment that reflected his new life. His old place held too many negative memories and he’d outgrown the space. He wanted somewhere that he could grow with you, somewhere he could create a life with the person he held the most dear. He was waiting to broach the subject with you, waiting until he’d found a place he knew you’d love. Despite the downturn of his career, Su-Bong had bigger things to focus on.

Today was your birthday, and he intended on spoiling you beyond your wildest dreams. You’d gone shopping at the weekend, picking out a bright fuscia pink mini dress you’d seen in the shop. You usually wore more muted colours, but your boyfriend’s love of bright colours had influenced you to try something new. The colour looked incredible on you, and Su-Bong couldn’t resist dying his hair and painting his nails to match. You’d giggled when you saw the shock of pick hair on his head, pulling him in for a kiss as he spun you around his vast living room.

“Happy birthday, Señorita,” he whispered, smothering you with kisses.

“Gracias, senor,” you smiled, cupping his cheeks in your hands as your eyes explored his handsome face. His skin was glowing, his eyes were brighter and for the first time since you’d met him, his smile reached his eyes. You were so glad you’d taken a chance on him; life with Su-Bong was nothing short of perfection.

He’d showered you with gifts, the presents piled high next to the sofa. He’d ordered from your favourite restaurant for breakfast, making sure you had the biggest mug of your favourite coffee. Nothing was too much when it came to you; Su-Bong would get you the moon if you asked him.

He made love to you for hours, drawing out your pleasure again and again until your shaking body could take no more. He would never tire of the way you felt, the way you tasted, the way you sounded as he brought you to the brink of bliss again and again. He could have laid there with you all day, just the two of you between his sheets. But he’d promised you a fancy dinner, and he was dying to see you in your new dress.

You looked more beautiful than he ever could have imagined, the bright pink of the dress accentuating the colour of your eyes, the colour of your skin, still flushed from the orgasms he’d given you.

“I adore you,” Su-Bong whispered, pulling you close against his taut frame, inhaling your floral scent. His hair and nails matched so perfectly to your dress, but tonight you would be the star of the show. He took you to the fanciest restaurant, hiring a private room just for the two of away from the prying eyes of his former fans. Time seemed to both stand still and somehow accelerate with you. Su-Bong had all the time in the world with you, and yet it never seemed to be enough. You ate until your stomachs were full to bursting, your eyes welling with tears of laughter. No one made you laugh as much as he did, no one made you feel as safe.

Sleep evaded him that night, and he stared up at his ceiling as your sleeping form lay nestled against his chest. He felt agitated, on edge, but couldn’t figure out why. Picking up his phone, he scrolled through his emails, coming to a stop when he found an email from a record company. They’d seen his new music and they were interested in talking to him. He looked over you, so beautiful and peaceful as you slept. His excitement was almost overwhelming, but you looked too comfortable to wake up now. He would wait until the morning to tell you. You were his muse, the subject of every song he’d written in the last 3 months. He hoped this meeting would bring only good things, and he hoped you would join him for the ride.

[crushpunky]

rafe stands up for kook!reader

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

based on this ask, but the context is a bit different. warning for creepy dude + language

Y/n’s phone had been buzzing all day and it was about to drive Rafe up a wall. The two of them had planned on spending the day inside, watching a movie curled up on the couch in Taneyhill with snacks, but he was having a hard time relaxing with the incessant ringing of y/n’s phone. His arm was flung on the back of the couch, his fingers mindlessly toying with y/n’s hair, but flinching with anger each time their peaceful bubble was interrupted.

“I’m about to chuck your phone across the room.” Rafe said, his eyes wide as he looked down at y/n. Y/n groaned, rolling her eyes as she sat up to check her phone once again. She scrolled through the chain of texts, each one more bothersome than the last. Regardless of how many times she blocked him or told him to leave her alone, she couldn’t get rid of him… Luke.

The two of them had gone on a date a few weeks ago at a burger joint downtown. The date itself had been fine, the two of them getting along well enough, but took a turn when it was time for her to leave. She’d driven herself and Luke had been kind enough to walk her out to her car. With a smile, he’d leaned in for a kiss on the lips, but she’d quickly turned her cheek, his lips landing square on her cheek. He tried again, y/n swerving nervously out of the way and sending him a quick goodbye before rushing to get into her car. Luckily, that’d been the end of the situation… or so she’d thought. Ever since that night, he’d been texting, calling, and messaging her nonstop, simultaneously calling her a ‘prude’ and a ‘slut’, begging for another date then telling her how nobody would ever want to date her.

“What is it?” Rafe asked, trying to peer over y/n’s shoulder once he noticed her anxious expression. She quickly yanked her phone away from him before shoving it back into her pocket. Rafe scowled, eyeing her suspiciously before turning back to the movie. It was barely a second before y/n’s phone went off again.

“Ok, that’s it.” Rafe shouted, grabbing for y/n’s phone. He beat her, but only slightly, her hand clamping over his as he dug in her pocket for her phone.

“It’s nothing, leave it!” Y/n groaned, her fingers trying to pry her phone out of Rafe’s hands but failing. He took it, using his other hand to keep her flailing arms and squealing away as he looked into what was causing all the fuss.

“Rafe, seriously! Stop—” y/n fought, trying to grab the phone from him, which only resulted in him pulling it further from her.

“W– What the fuck is this?” Rafe said lowly, his hands practically trembling with anger as he continued to scroll through the essentially endless string of texts, Snapchats, Instagram and Tik Tok messages, voicemails, fucking emails…

“It’s just this guy, it’s fine—” Y/n sighed, sinking back into the couch next to Rafe in defeat.

“The asshole from, like, last month?” Rafe scoffed, his jaw clenched at the memory. She’d told him about the awkward ending to the date, and how the guy was maybe a little weird, but she had decidedly neglected to tell him about anything since…

“I— He—” Y/n groaned, trying one last time to take the phone from Rafe. “Yes.”

“Why the fuck did you not tell me?” Rafe spat, his eyes filled with anger and mouth agape as he looked at y/n. She took in a shaking breath, fiddling with her hands as she tried to avoid Rafe’s intense gaze.

“Because it wasn’t a big deal—” y/n said.

“Not a big deal?” Rafe said, his voice rising. “Not a big deal? This guys fuckin’ crazy! You saw the shit he was saying!”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to freak the fuck out—” y/n snapped.

“Yeah I’m freaking out!” Rafe stood, his grip still tight on her phone. “You’ve had some psycho fuckin’ stalking you, saying insane shit, and you didn’t tell me!”

“I can take care of myself, Rafe! I don’t need you taking care of me!” Y/n shouted, her tone adamant.

“Well too fuckin’ bad because I have to take care of you!” Rafe snapped, his chest heaving with anger. “I have to because I fuckin’ care about you.”

Y/n bottom lip trembled, an overwhelming mix of anger and fear and worry coursing through her as she looked up at Rafe. The stress of the harassment had been weighing on her, gnawing at her insides no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Rafe had noticed, of course he had, and now she was terrified of what would happen next… despite this, however, she couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel good to finally let it off her chest. To finally let someone else in on all the turmoil that had been plaguing her since the fateful night she agreed to go on that date.

“Rafe—” y/n whispered, but was quickly interrupted when her phone began to ring. Their gazes locked for a moment, both of their eyes wide before both shifting to look at her ringing phone. Rafe quickly swiped a finger of his tense hand, answering the phone on speaker.

“Finally you’ve gotten some sense knocked into you—” Luke’s voice rang through the phone, causing a chill to run down y/n’s spine and anger to course through Rafe’s.

“Hey, motherfucker.” Rafe growled into the speaker.

“Uh, h– hello? Who is this?” Luke stammered. Y/n felt her heart hammering in her chest as she watched Rafe practically trembling with fury.

“Who the fuck do you think it is, asshole?” Rafe snapped. The two of them could hear the staticed silence and uncomfortable shifting on Luke’s end as it echoed through the room.

“Um… hello Rafe.” Luke said, his voice barely a whisper. Rafe chuckled, running a ringed hand down his face.

“Oh, so you do know who I am.” Rafe said, a cheeky grin on his lips. Y/n gnawed at her lip, her breathing shallow as she watched the tense situation unfolding in front of her.

“Yes I—” Luke stuttered, the air of confidence and authority he seemed to have in his previous incessant messages vanished

“So you do know what the fuck I’ll do to you if you ever try and talk to her or even look at her again?” Rafe said firmly, his grip on her phone nearly crushing.

“I wasn’t— I was just—” Luke scrambled.

“I don’t give a fuck what you ‘was’ or ‘wasn’t’ trying to do, a’ight asshole?” Rafe snapped, his free hand pointing sharply to the phone in front of him. “If you talk to her, if you look at her, if you try anything…”

Rafe trailed off, shaking his head as he looked over at y/n. As much as she tried to hide it, the toll the harassment was having on her was apparent and he cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Seeing her like this, riddled with fear at the mere sound of the creep's voice sent a new wave of anger through him as he turned back to the phone.

“... I’ll fucking kill you.” Rafe said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The room hung in a sort of stunned silence, not even the static of the speaker phone registering in y/n’s ears as Rafe’s threat— no, promise— echoed in her mind.

“Do you understand me?” Rafe growled.

“Yes.” Luke muttered. A wicked grin spread across Rafe’s lips as he nodded with satisfaction. Y/n felt a weight lift off her shoulders, her heart finally beginning to settle at the guarantee that the terror that had been following her for the past month was finally over.

“Alright, that’s good.” Rafe chuckled. “Just, just one more small thing before you go, buddy.”

“Ok.” Luke whispered. At his response, Rafe took a step towards y/n, resting his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her into his side.

“I want you to apologize.” Rafe shrugged, lowering the phone to rest in front of y/n.

“T– to who?” Luke stammered. Rafe curled his lip, moving to raise the phone back to his lips but was stopped by y/n’s firm grip on his arm.

“Who the fuck do you think?” Y/n said sternly. Rafe found himself smirking as he peered down at her proudly.

“Y/n, I, um, I didn’t know you were there…” Luke scrambled.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Y/n said, propping her hands onto her waist with an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m… I’m sorry for… for, uh—” Luke muttered.

“For harassing me? For stalking me? For not taking no for an answer? For being a fucking creepy asshole?” Y/n snapped, her brow furrowed in aggravation.

“Y– yes.” Luke sighed. “I… I’m sorry.”

“And it won’t happen again, right Luke?” Rafe added, raising his brows as he awaited Luke’s response.

“No. It won’t.” Luke whispered.

“Good. I think that settles things then, right, girl?” Rafe said, looking down at y/n. A relieved smile spread across her lips as she looked back at him, his arm moving to wrap around her waist lightly.

“Yeah.” Y/n grinned, Rafe mirroring her satisfaction as he turned his attention back to her phone in his hand.

“Alright, bye asshole. Don’t think about trying to reach out… or you know what will happen.” Rafe said before hanging up y/n’s phone. Y/n let out a sigh of relief, relaxing into Rafe’s hold as he sat her phone down on the couch. His other arm wrapped around her, pulling her into him for a hug.

“Thank you.” Y/n said into Rafe’s chest, the vibration causing Rafe’s smile to only widen.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, a’ight? I can’t.” Rafe said, squeezing y/n lightly before the two of them finally stepped apart.

“Thank you.” Y/n repeated, causing Rafe to roll his eyes, his arm resting on her waist.

“Enough… it’s basically my job to make sure you’re ok.” Rafe grumbled, causing y/n to elbow him in his ribs playfully.

“More like your life’s purpose.” Y/n teased. Rafe chuckled, a smirk dancing across his lips.

“Exactly.” Rafe smiled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of y/n’s head. “Exactly.”

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | S.R.

feat. Steve Rogers x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You and Steve broke up, but life as an assassin for SHIELD goes on, no matter how grueling. little did you know, Steve was suffering too, and reality is far from how it appears.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups, protective!Steve, assassin work, mentions of blood and death, Steve is a bit of a munch (but he still tops you), happy ending

AN: inspired by "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart" by Taylor Swift from her album The Tortured Poets Department.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Steve left you on a random Tuesday afternoon. No fanfare, no warning, no discussion. He barely even looked at you when he shattered your heart.

In the two years you'd known him, and the six months you loved him, you'd never seen him so callous. He'd looked at motorcycles with more affection than he looked at you in that moment.

You didn't understand, couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. Your relationship was over, and your life felt like a held breath ever since.

He said he'd love you all his life, but for a man that's been alive for a century, six months was barely a blip. You were barely a blip.

But you couldn't dwell, couldn't break down like you wanted to, because you were one of the top assassin's at SHIELD, and missions didn't care about your feelings.

So you were sent out into the field, day after day, week after week, with a smile on your face and your shoulders thrown back, never ever missing your mark. And still, SHIELD demanded more of you.

Fortunately, you could do it with a broken heart.

“Agent L/N, report to Fury’s office for assignment,” the earpiece in your ear crackled to life, jarring you from the workout you were pretending to do.

“Another one? Seriously?” Nat said, looking up from the squat rack, sweat glistening along her hairline.

You shrugged. “The fun never stops,” you said with a half-hearted smile, and she rolled her eyes, returning to her reps.

As quick as you could, you pulled an oversized hoodie over your sports bra and retied your ponytail, which has fallen into sweaty disarray during your workout.

Normally, you'd change into your suit, but when Fury called, he didn't like to be kept waiting.

You take the elevator direct to his office, and when the doors roll open, you're greeted by Nick Fury, Sergeant Barnes, and, of course, the back of Steves head.

His hair has grown a little longer since you were together, and your fingers itched to run through it, to scratch his scalp in the way that makes his dark lashes flutter, to tug on his roots in the way that makes him groan low in his throat…

You shook yourself and slapped on a smile. “Good morning, Nick,” you chirped, sauntering into the room.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, offering as close to a smile as he could manage. “Have a seat.”

You perched on the edge of Bucky’s table, and he gave you a stiff nod in greeting . Steve didn't look up from the open file in front of him, but you could tell by the angle of his shoulders that he wasn't happy.

Nausea twisted in your stomach, your heart splintering a bit further, but you kept your expression pleasant.

“Would it kill you two to be a little more cheerful?” Fury quipped, and Bucky snorted. “Could all use a little more sunshine around here.” Fury winked at you, and you winked back.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the file, but you chalked it up to its contents.

“Little Miss Stabs-a-lot seems to be managing just fine for all of us,” Bucky said, his voice dry even though his eyes were smiling.

That's you, managing just fine.

Fury chuckled and passed you a similar file to Steves. “Your target is Lugoff Isaacson, HYDRA weapons director.”

You flipped through the file, finding a laundry-list of diabolical misdeeds, as well as a number of altercations with the two men beside you.

“Dinosaur’s couldn't hack it?” You teased, but only Nick laughed.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Isaacson lives like a hermit, and the only people allowed in his company are fellow HYDRA agents—” Nick paused, bracing his hands on the desk. “And pretty women.”

You heard Steve's teeth grind together, and Bucky glanced over at him, but you kept your eyes on your boss. “When do I leave?” You asked, already rising.

“Nick, she can't go in there with Isaacson alone,” Steve snapped, pushing the file away from him. His voice was rough and low, menacing, and it sent a chill up your spine.

“She certainly can,” Nick rebuffed. “Unless you want to go with her?”

Steve glared at Nick, so sharp it was practically lethal, but didn't say another word.

You felt like he stomped your heart beneath his boot, and were seized by the urge to fall at his feet and beg for a reason why he would do this to you. But instead, you flipped through the file, finding your orders in the back. “Flights at 2:30. I need to pack and get a blowout. I'll update when I land.” You tucked the file under your arm, blew Nick a kiss, and flitted back to the elevator, not sparing Steve a second glance.

He certainly wouldn't look back at you.

“How many is that this month?” You heard Bucky ask as the doors started to roll closed.

“15,” Fury answered, pride clear in his voice. “She's our most productive assassin to date.”

Steve's POV

“Don't give me that look, Rogers,” Fury droned, avoiding Steve's eye.

“She's not some goddamn chess piece you can just play however you want,” he bit, barely contained anger simmering underneath the surface. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his mouth shut during that meeting, to not grab you around the middle and run for the fucking hills.

The thought of Isaacson, that slimy rat laying a hand on you—it made Steve's mind bleed red with rage. He knew you could handle him, knew you'd make quick, clean work of the kill, but the things you'd have to endure to get that perfect opportunity…

He couldn't bear it.

“Thats exactly what she is,” Fury said, snatching the file from in front of Steve. “It's what you all are.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Steve rose from his chair, bracing his hands on the table to lean into Fury’s smug face.

“I'm done playing your fucking games. And if you think I won't take her and leave, then you don't know me very well,” he growled.

Bucky got to his feet, metallic arm flexing as tensions mounted.

“Oh, I know you, Cap. I know you'll do whatever you need to do, move wherever the fuck I want you to move, so she stays on the damn board. Right?”

Steve grit his teeth. “And when we leave, whose going to come after us? Him?” He gestured to Bucky. “Nat? Thor? Quill? Whose it gonna be?”

Fury narrowed his eye.

“Because here's the thing you've never understood. Without us, there is no fucking SHIELD. You broke us up so she'd be free to your dirty work right? Without my interference?”

Fury scoffed and went to back away, but Bucky was standing directly behind him, blocking any escape route.

“She likes it—”

“It's killing her.” Steve cut him off. “When's the last time she had a day off? A vacation? A job that wasn't too hard for another agent, but too low profile to send us? Hm? Call her fucking sunshine while your burying her alive.”

“Steve,” Bucky warned, and the table cracked beneath Steve's hands.

“It ends now. Either SHIELD takes care of her, or I do.” Steve pushed off the desk and stormed out of the room, taking the stairs to get to the control room faster.

Nat was already there. “She just got to her apartment. Steve, she's—”

“I want eyes on her 24/7, and a team waiting to deploy within twenty miles of Isaacson bunker,” he ordered.

A chorus of ‘yessir’s’ answered him, and he sunk down in the vacant swivel chair, steepling his fingers as he watched the entrance to your apartment building, a SHIELD van idling just outside.

“Cap, listen.” Nat leaned against the control panel beside him. “This has to end, before she fucks up.”

“I know—”

“No, you don't. At this level of burnout, one misstep and that's it.”

“I know!” He barked, and the surveillance workers all jumped. “I'm fixing this. I just need a little more time.”

“She might not have time.” Nat pushed off the panel. “It might not be this mission, but it could be the next one, or the next. Stop being a fucking coward and fix it before it's too late.” She stormed off, leaving Steve staring at the monitors, his heart in his throat.

He was going to fix this. He had to fix this, before he lost you for good.

You hurried out of your apartment, dressed in slacks and blouse, wrapped up in a leather trenchcoat. The driver jumped out to greet you and took your bag, and you slipped into the backseat.

He flipped the camera to the car feed, a wonky fisheye from the dashboard, and saw you check your mascara in the mirror, faint smudges of black under your eyes, your nose kissed pink.

You'd been crying.

“I'm gonna fix it, baby,” he muttered to himself, wishing you could hear him somehow. “I promise.”

Reader's POV

You took out Isaacson without any issues, just smiled and tried to ignore the way he groped your thighs, ogled your tits. He made it too easy to slit his throat.

And as soon as you returned, there was another assignment, and another, and another, until you didn't even bother going home anymore. Which was well enough for you. You didn't care to sleep in the bed Steve held you in, or the couch you'd watched his favorite black and white movies on. Didn't care to eat in the kitchen where you taught him to make your mother's signature recipe, or shower in the stall he'd washed your hair in when you were sick. It was better to stay away from all the little reminders that you didn't imagine the whole thing.

You pretended to love being busy, treated every mission like a birthday gift, and pushed forward. Until, you were assigned to work at the Winter Gala.

SHIELD hosted the annual event as an excuse for the team to rub elbows with politicians, diplomats, and executives. You'd be masquerading as a guest, of course, but in reality you were on intel duty, eavesdropping on conversations and flirting trade secrets out of the most powerful people in the world.

One of the few perks of still being anonymous to the world.

You were dreading it. A night filled with romantic music, dancing, and drinks, watching Steve schmooze with women twice as wealthy and twice as powerful as you? You'd rather choke on your own dagger. But you were determined to look fabulous, a young woman in her glittering prime, and maybe you'd feel something besides emptiness.

Tony had a gorgeous ball gown sent to your apartment that probably cost more than your annual salary, and you spent three hours on your hair and makeup for the occasion, mainly because you kept crying it off. But at the last minute you steeled yourself and carpooled with Nat to Stark Tower.

She wolf whistled as you climbed into the car, looking downright stunning herself. “I know I'm not supposed to comment, but that fossil is going to lose his fucking mind.” She chuckled, tearing off down the street.

“Lose his mind?” You snorted inelegantly. “I can barely get a ‘hello’ out of him.”

Nat looked at you sidelong, the expression sharpened by her eyeliner. “And why do you think that is, babe?”

You didn't dare comment, didn't dare think about it. You'd never get through the night if you clung to a razor thin thread of hope.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, and you came in separately from Nat to forgo any suspicion. With a glass of champagne in hand, you circled the party, trying to tune out your own thoughts so you could absorb all the conversations going on around you.

But the noise completely stopped when your eyes met Steve's across the room.

He was dressed in an immaculately tailored Navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and brown leather loafers. His hair was styled back from his face, his beard freshly trimmed, and he was staring at you like hunter through a scope.

“Y/n, sweetheart, come with me for a moment,” Tony appeared to your left, startling you out of your reverie. “There's someone I want you to meet.” He winked, and you flashed a toothy smile, even though you felt like screaming.

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” you cooed, for the benefit of anyone in earshot.

Tony led you away, but you could feel Steve's eyes burning a hole in your back, tracking you through the crowd.

“Alex, this is Lydia, the daughter of a colleague of mine. You both attended Stanford!” Tony lied through his teeth to a handsome, dark haired gentleman, and you picked it up without delay.

“Oh, of course! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!” You gushed, sliding onto the stool beside the stranger. “Tell me, what was your favorite time of year on campus?” You brushed your fingers along his forearm, noting the model of the Rolex on his wrist, the designer of his suit.

“Fall, of course. Can't beat those colors,” Alex grinned, and you fawned like it was the most ground breaking thing you'd ever heard.

Tony left you to it, and twenty minutes later you were tucked into a booth with Alex, his arm slung over your shoulders, and his phone face up and unlocked right in front of you. Oblivious to the way you scanned every message that came through.

Alex leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow a shiver of revulsion. His hand came up to cup your cheek as you wracked you mind for a way out of this—

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Trevais, but I need to steal Lydia for a moment.” Nat appeared suddenly beside the table, looking smug, and Alex scowled.

“Right now? Really?” He argued.

“I'm afraid so.” Nat batted her lashes and Alex immediately caved.

“Fine, I'll see you later then?” He winked, alluding to the room key he slipped into your bag a few minutes prior.

“Perhaps.” You winked back, playing coy, and he grinned like a fool. “What's going on?” You hissed as Nat led you out of the party and down an dark, empty hall. "I was in the middle of something—"

“You'll see,” she whispered back, stopping at a door and doing a quick sweep before pulling it open and ushering you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

“Nat, what—”

The lights came on in the room, dim and golden to reveal the luxurious study you were standing in, all black leather and granite, shelves of books and expensive furniture.

But you barely registered any of that, because Steve Rogers was waiting for you by the window. Moonlight kissed his face, highlighting the flawless angles on his bone structure, and your mouth ran dry, your heart falling through the floor.

“Uh, is there a problem, Captain Rogers?” You asked, propping up the professional barrier despite the urge to launch yourself at him, the need to kiss him, or strangle him, pushing against the underside of your skin.

When he looked at up you, the air was sucked from the room. His eyes were stormy, fogged with sorrow, water collecting on his lower lashes.

“You really have turned espionage into an art form,” he chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “Like you're having the time of your life.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“But that's not true, is it? You're as miserable as I am.”

You shook your head. “I—I’m fine.”

He huffed a laugh, pushing off the window sill. “You put on a good act, honey. But I can tell when you're performing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, indignation flaring in your gut. “What do you want, Steve? You haven't spoken to me in months.”

He grimaced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. “Y/n, I—”

“You disappeared for two weeks after dumping me out of the blue. You refuse to take missions within a hundred miles of me. You won't even train at the same time." You were yelling, unable to stop once you started. You'd kept it all bottled up for so long, there was no forcing it back now. "You've barely looked at me, Steve! It's like we never happened, like I made it all up in my head!”

“Because it was killing me!” He shouted back, and you flinched, tears pricking behind your eyes. You could count on one hand the amount of times Steve Rogers raised his voice, and it was never at you.

“You left me!” You yelled, your voice cracking at the edges.

“Because I had no choice! They gave me no choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. “Fury, SHIELD, they threatened to send you overseas if I didn't. To some desolate base in Russia.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This couldn't be real. “Steve, that doesn't make sense—”

“You really think I would leave you like that? That I would just throw away what we had? I was trying—” his voice caught in his throat. “I thought I was protecting you. But they lied to me.”

You were shaking your head, backing away. You couldn’t take any more empty words, any more bullshit—

Steve rushed toward you, catching your face in his large hands before you could turn away. “Baby, listen to me,” he said, softening. “They wanted me out of the way so you would be more likely to do whatever they wanted. When we were together, we were working less, we were happier, we cared about something that wasn't SHIELD, and they couldn't stand it.”

“But Fury—”

“Is a manipulative fuck that took advantage of your broken heart.” You gasped at his language, usually reserved for sex or intense fighting. Steve lowered himself to his knees, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and shaking you. “I need you to believe me, honey. I'm begging you. I would never have done this if I knew the truth. I'm so sorry for hurting you, and I wish I could take it back. But I can't, all I can do is tell you the truth.”

“You didn't want to leave me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course not.” He rested his forehead on your belly, drawing a shaky breath before looking up at you again, pleading with big, blue, watery eyes. “I-I love you. And I agreed because I was terrified to lose you completely but then I—I did anyways because I'm a fucking coward.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, the last of your trepidation falling away. “I love you too, Stevie,” you said, and he surged upwards, slamming his mouth to yours in a ruinous, bone-melting kiss.

He parted your lips with his tongue, possessing your mouth in a display of dominance you rarely saw from him. He licked along your teeth, groaning low in his throat as you dug your nails into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He tasted like black coffee and something sweet, like he'd hit the dessert table instead of the bar, and it made your heart flip.

God, you'd missed him.

Your lungs screamed for air, an affliction super soldiers didn't contend with, and you were forced to break the kiss to breathe.

“Cameras?” You panted, craning your head back as Steve planted wet, open-mouth kisses down your jugular.

“This is Fury's personal study. No cameras,” Steve mumbled against the peak of your shoulder, his hands all over you.

You scoffed. “Of course, because he can have priv—”

“Forget about him.” Steve captured your lips again, and you nipped at his lower lip for cutting you off. He backed you against the desk, breaking the kiss to toss you up onto it.

“Forgotten,” you replied, breathless as you looked into his eyes.

“I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet, have I?” He asked, leaning back a bit to take you in, your chest heaving against the deep plunge of your dress, lips kiss-stung and eyes bright.

You shook your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smirk.

“I love this color on you,” he murmured, rubbing the hem of your dress between his thumb and index finger. And your makeup—”

“Steve.” You grabbed him by the lapel and tugged him closer, bringing his face down towards yours. A flare of arousal twinged between your legs, you loved when he let you manhandle him. “I know you're trying to be a gentleman and not fuck me without some proper flirting, but it's been months. I need you.”

Steve smiled, leaning forward to lay you back on the desk. “You don't need me, honey,” he hummed, kissing down your sternum while his hands moved your dress up your legs. He looked up at you when he settled between your thighs. “You've proven that you're a force all on your own. And that's okay, you don't have to need me, as long as you want me.”

You nibbled your lower lip, processing his words. He was right, you'd proven that you could live through heartbreak, that you didn't need him to carry on. And as much as it hurt, and as much as you missed him, there was something liberating in that knowledge.

“So, do you want me?” He asked, grazing his thumb over the gusset of your panties, maddeningly light.

“Yes, I want you,” you answered, threading your fingers through his blond hair and urging him forward.

He chuckled, smiling up at you, then pulled your panties to the side with his middle finger and flattened his tongue against your slit, licking a firm stripe up your pussy. Your head fell back onto the desk when he sucked your clit between his teeth, wasting no time in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Steve, for all his propriety and politeness, loved nothing more than feasting on your pussy. He was sloppy with it, rough and self-indulgent, as if making up for the decades he went without it. He often stayed until you were overstimulated and orgasmed-out, weakly trying to push his head from between your legs while he lapped up the mess you made for him.

“Missed you so damn much,” he mumbled against your pussy, eyes fluttering closed as he drove his tongue into your entrance.

“Missed you,” you whined, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he devoured you, lashing every one of your sweet spots with expert precision.

His hands tightened on your hips while he massaged your clit with his tongue, and even that fraction of his real strength was enough to leave a dull ache. The reminder of his true strength made your head spin, your mind empty. You may not need him, but there was something thrilling about being able let go while you were with him. Trusting that he would keep you safe and you could just be.

He licked one last stripe up your pussy before pulling back, kissing his way up your body. “Baby, I need you,” he mumbled, nosing into your neck. You could feel just how badly from the ridge beneath his trousers, his hips rocking slightly into yours. “Please, can I fuck you?” He asked, unlatching his belt with a flick of his wrist, and a shiver rolled up your spine at the desperation in his voice.

“You want to fuck me?” You repeated, toying with him. You reached between your bodies and pulled out his cock, thick and long and flushed, and pumped it once, twice, smearing precum down his shaft.

He moaned, hot and breathy against your skin. “I know I hurt you, and I still have to make up for that, but I just—fuck, I need to feel you. Please, please let me make you come on my cock.”

“Just start slow,” you cooed, petting his cheek when he lifted his head in excitement. “Been awhile since I took you.” You glided his cockhead through your folds, his breath hitching when you notched it at your drooling entrance.

Gently, he eased his hips forward, sliding in one inch, then another. "Shit, honey. Have a little mercy," he panted, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt, tendons in his neck flexing.

You groaned, releasing his cock to grab hold of his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt at the stretch, bright and burning.

“Gotta relax, baby. Let me in.” He gently guided you thigh up and around his waist, squeezing the fat of your haunch in reassurance. He moved a little deeper, and you both gasped when your walls clenched around him. “So goddamn tight,” he rasped, drawing his hips back a bit, assuaging some of the discomfort before easing back inside, coaxing your muscles to loosen for him.

“Fuck, Steve,” you panted when he pushed a little deeper, your eyes rolling back in your head when he grazed your g-spot.

“Almost there, doll. You can do it,” he encouraged, reaching up to hold your face. He caught your gaze, smiling a little when your eyes struggled to stay focused, lashes fluttering. “Starting to feel good?”

You nodded, pleasure spilling through you as your body accepted him inch by inch, until finally, you felt his pelvis press against yours.

“There we go,” he purred, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheek, giving you a few more seconds to adjust. “Good girl, takin’ all that cock.”

He ground into you, stifling a fractured moan against your shoulder when your pussy made an obscene squelching sound, dripping wet for him. You were on another planet, tingling head to toe as waves of pleasure crested. Every beat of your heart had you clenching around him, full to splitting, and you wanted more.

“Please, baby, need more,” you whined, trying to rock your hips against his, but he was too heavy for you to do much.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, sweeping his eyes down your body as you squirmed beneath him. He chuckled, the sound low and almost malicious. “Need more?"

He drew his hips back and delivered a punishing thrust, two, three, five, until you were all but screaming, unable to do anything but lay there and take everything he gave you.

"How's that for more?" He asked, his cock brutalizing your cervix and stretching you beyond your limits, molding your pussy to the shape of his cock. Ruining you with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust until you were half-mad with desperation, clawing at his forearms by your head and leaving pink, raised lines across his flesh.

“Gonna come for me, baby? God, I missed this little pussy—feels so good,” he grated, bringing one of his hands down to circle to your clit, firm and deliberate. Exactly what he knew you needed. “That's my good girl. C'mon, I’m right there with you—” Another thrust and he sent you both flying over the edge, sparks exploding behind your eyes as the orgasm ravaged your body, flaying you open.

You grabbed onto his arm, desperate for something to ground you as you soared, his hips still thrusting erratically as he pumped you full of his release.

Crack!

The desk suddenly tilted beneath you and Steve whisked you up into his arms, still buried inside you. You clung to him in shock as the desk collapsed to floor, sending all of Fury's belongings scattered across the carpet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, searching your face.

You nodded, easing your grip on him.

Steve adjusted you, lifting and lowering you onto his cock, and you gasped, still sensitive from the lingering orgasm, and mildly shocked by his lack of reaction to what you'd just done.

“Steve, we—”

“We did,” he hummed, kissing along your neck as he caught his breath, lazily working you over his length to wallow in the last dregs of pleasure. “And if he has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

“I think he's going to have a problem,” you snickered, and Steve smiled.

“And I'll deal with it.” He eased himself out of you and set you on your feet, straightening your panties and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You felt like you were floating in a dream, in disbelief that you had your Steve back, that he never really was gone in the first place.

“How are you going to deal with it?” You asked after righting your dress and he had tucked himself back into his trousers.

Steve pulled you back into his arms, like even that moment of separation was more than he could bear. “Depends on how much of a problem he has,” he replied, smirking. “I told you, forget about him. I'll handle it for us.”

Us. Your knees went a little weak at the word. “Yes, Captain,” you replied rising on your toes to kiss his cheek.

Thank you so much for reading!

Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. My inbox is open for requests, check my pinned post for fandoms & characters!

[navyiera]

No One Noticed.

Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem!Reader

tags; angst, wlw, established relationship, caitlyn being dry as fuck.

a/n; inspired by 'no one noticed' by the marias. (i love them)

You woke up as Y/N today. Or maybe you’ve always been Y/N, but it didn’t feel like it lately. The clock on your phone read 3:42 AM, the glowing digits mocking you in the darkness of your room. Your blanket was wrapped around you like a cocoon, but it did nothing to stop the chill that settled deep in your chest.

Your laptop sat open on the desk across the room, the same empty chat box staring back at you from last night.

Maybe you lost your mind.

The thought wasn’t new. It came around often, like an old friend who overstayed their welcome. Days blurred into each other now, but tonight—tonight felt heavier. Or maybe it always felt this way at this hour.

You sat up, your fingers hesitating before you reached for your phone. You didn’t have to scroll far before you saw her name. Caitlyn. You stared at the letters longer than you’d like to admit, debating whether to text her.

It had been weeks since she called first. Months since you saw her in person. Yet here you were, unable to stop yourself from wanting her. Or at least wanting the version of her that used to answer quickly, who laughed easily, who didn’t feel so far away even when you were in the same room.

Maybe she was still that person. Maybe you were the one who’d changed.

The message you typed was simple. “Are you awake?”

Three dots appeared. Your heart jumped. Then they disappeared.

You tried not to care.

But then her reply came through: “Yeah."

You hesitated before typing: “Can I call?”

Another pause. You hated that your chest felt tight, like this mattered more than it should. Then: “Sure.”

You didn’t let yourself think. You hit the video call button, and when her face filled the screen, something in you eased.

“Caitlyn.” Her name came out like a sigh.

She was sitting in the dark, her face lit only by the glow of her screen. Her hair was tied up messily, and she was wearing that oversized hoodie you’d seen her in a hundred times. The one you’d always thought looked better on her than it would on anyone else.

“Y/N,” she said, and her voice was low, familiar, but there was something distant in it.

“You look tired,” you said, a poor attempt at conversation.

“I am.”

“Then why are you awake?”

She shrugged. “Why are you?”

You wanted to tell her the truth. That you couldn’t stop thinking about how she didn’t call anymore, how she felt like a ghost haunting the edges of your life. But instead, you said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did.

The silence between you stretched, the hum of your laptop the only sound in the room. You thought about ending the call, about sparing yourself the ache of wanting more from her than she seemed willing to give. But then she spoke.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You laughed softly, bitterly. “You’d know all about that.”

Her expression flickered, something like guilt crossing her features, but it was gone too quickly for you to hold onto.

“I’m here now,” she said, her voice softer.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just looked at her, memorizing the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers rested against her lips.

“Y/N?” she said after a while, and the way she said your name made your chest ache.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Your breath caught. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

She looked down, her hair falling into her face. “It’s not you.”

“It feels like me.”

“It’s not.” She looked up then, her eyes meeting yours through the screen. “I don’t know how to… stay, I guess.”

“Try.” The word came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. “Just try.”

She didn’t answer, and the silence felt heavier this time.

“I’m tired, Y/N,” she said finally.

“Of me?”

“No.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Of everything.”

You didn’t know how to fix that. You didn’t know how to fix her. But God, you wanted to.

“Caitlyn.” Her name felt like a prayer on your lips. “I’m tired too.”

For a moment, you thought she might cry. But she didn’t. She just looked at you, her expression unreadable.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said, echoing words she’d once told you.

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t either.”

You wanted to believe her. But when the call ended and her face disappeared from your screen, the ache in your chest didn’t go away.

You stared at the blank chat box, the cursor blinking like it was waiting for you to say something. But there was nothing left to say.

Maybe you’d lost your mind.

No one noticed.

No one but her.

And that made it all the worse.

[archive-doll]

tiger!ghost, it's goes on

Author Note: it's been sitting in my draft for weeks, and while I'm not satisfied with it, I still like it somewhat.

Trigger Warning: fantasy of biting into one flesh

The reader's body is mentioned to be fat.

The beast-man has a staring problem.

Everyone who meets him for more than five minutes knows it to be true. His hazel eyes never waver and never seem to blink while he stands there like a statue. Or actually, this morning, sit there.

His little birdie has been scaringly easy to convince into following him home. They even placed a hand into the crook of his elbow, and Simon would never admit it, but his slashed tail puffed out when they giggled and pressed themselves into his side, no sign of fear in their faces or scent.

With kneading paws, Simon guided them into his apartment, suddenly recognizing what Johnny had been saying for the last months—his place did not feel welcoming.

Or rather, it doesn't look like a home. His sharp eyes pinch back, pressing into the puff of blond hair at the top of his hair as he waits for the fairy tale to break apart. But, they look over their shoulders where his hands rest and smile at him. It feels like staring at the sun. His eyes hurt, but the idea of looking away is more painful than that bullet he took in one arsecheek.

"C'mon birdie, wat'r. Then, bed."

They didn't try to say no this time, and after a short moment of pressing clothes into their hands - a tee shirt and a boxer - they were softly snoring between his sheets.

Since then, Simon has been looking. Or staring, it depends on the point of view, maybe. They're curled into a ball while he sits on the foot of the bed, guardian body securing the door and seeing the window from the corner of his eye. And he keeps staring.

It is strange, to have another into his flat. Nothing actually changed, it's all the same. But their scents recover the itching smell of mould and the dust there. Maybe he should open his windows once in a while. Once he's certain their scents will never leave. He should arrange the place so they feel at ease coming here.

His keen eyes watch how their chest heaves with every breath, some perspiration pearling at the crown of their hair. The tee-shirt is flowing around them, the collar barely staying around their shoulders. And the fact they're wearing his boxer beneath the comforter keeping them warm, makes an unfamiliar heat burn the apple of his cheeks.

The sun is rising as he shifts on the bed, thick fingers finding the tip of their feet, and staying there. He can feel the eat of their flesh, the curves of their toes under the rubbing of his feet, and the comfort their presence brings is his salvation. The soft light of the morning passes through the curtain and he swallows into his heart the little crunch of their nose when it hits their face. He doesn't dare to move.

Simon only goes away to fetch them water, hours later, and painkillers. They're dishevelled, leaning into the wall behind the bed when he presses his palm under the glass of water, placing it against their pouty lips. There are marks on their cheeks from the pillowcase, and now, he can see the arch of their cupid bow. His ears twitch, eyes entranced seeing how their throat shift and moves with every gulp and he can't control it. Or maybe he doesn't want to.

His fingers pat the top of their head, pinching some strands between his fingertips and adjusting it all before his knuckles rub against the softness of their jaw. They're all plump everywhere, and the tent in his trousers grows when they lap at the water straying on their bottom lip.

"Good?"

"Mhm."

The glass of water is forgotten on the cupboard he uses as a nightstand, hands pawing and grabbing at their body until they're laying down again, head finding the old pillow there. There's a sight and soft touches that find his arms. His hips twitch in the air when they murmur his name, when did he tell them? Simon doesn't remember. He doesn't care too with how sweet it sounds, like honey falling from their tongue.

Their fingers find repose along the heavy curve of his biceps while he continues his shaky coddling, tee shirt settling by their waist. It's doughy there, plush and it waves beneath his hands when he presses one palm on their stomach. Simon sooth their angry tummy, gaze devouring the softening curl of their eyebrow.

"You were supposed to call me first, kitty. Not bring me to your bed."

They blink up, quietness overwhelming the bedroom before they grin up at him at the surprise in his eyes. Even though sleep keeps their face hazy, it's dizzying. They look cheeky and the desire to sink his teeth into the swell of their chin is overflowing.

He growls, the scars around his mouth twisting as they chuckle, and presses the tip of his fingers under her ribs, watching the thickness of their abdomen bend to make a place for him. It's hypnotizing, the sight of it.

"Need to eat som'thin', birdie."

No one called him kitty and survived the affront for a very long time. He wants to taste the sound from their mouth. But, it seems he will have to tame them first, teach 'em some manners too. The bed creaks as he rises up, and they let out a gasp when the mattress quivers, hands empty now before he strides toward the door.

"Kitchen, now."

Their laughter hits him like a kick in the gut.

"I need some coffee first, knighty!"

"Tea."

The bedroom door is left open as he disappears into his apartment, searching for his phone He can't wait to see the tears on their face when he buries himself into their mouth. Maybe that'd shut them up.

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI is not permitted. original characters are not my own but the stories and writing are.

[0mg-bird]

Something Positive- S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Agent Reader

Summary: 99 negative things and 1 positive. How will it ever turn out okay?

Warnings: season 7, mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy fear, nausea, mention of miscarriage talks, Spencer being scared and probably says the wrong things 😭 anyway, fluffy, but also depressing themes. I haven’t finished proofreading, oops lol idc.

You’re supposed to know your body and every little change it makes because, well, it’s your body.

So blame this all on your brain that often skips over the small things that it should really pay attention to. You could have suspected this earlier if you would’ve just slowed down for two seconds, but what difference would it make if you came to the conclusion earlier?

Absolutely none.

The test in your hand would still be positive and you would still have the feeling you do now.

A mixture of fear and devastation.

Spencer isn’t in the apartment you just moved into a month ago, he’s at Rossi’s with the rest of the team like you’re supposed to be. But you played the flu card and forced him to go without you. Then you forced yourself to the corner store and bought two pregnancy tests, a back up for good measure. It isn’t needed, the two lines are almost bold as they stare at you. The dates of the calendar back it up, as well as the queasiness about you.

You’re pregnant.

You. You are pregnant.

That can’t be.

You throw away the test, all the evidence goes into the trash and you try to calm your racing heart. You wash your hands and your face, though tears just keep falling no matter what.

This really wasn’t supposed to happen, it shouldn’t be happening. You’re traveling so often for cases, and there’s so much going on with the team. Emily just came back from the dead, literally, that’s already too much to deal with, you don’t need to add anymore stress to the team. You’re no help if you’re pregnant.

Spencer won’t be any help either if his main concern is you.

Staring at your reflection, you suddenly don’t feel real. You rub your eyes and push your hair back, overwhelmed with so many feelings, you can’t distinguish one from the other.

You do know one feeling from the rest.

The urge to bolt.

Blame the hormones, but you quickly leave the bathroom and slip into a pair of shoes, then grab for your coat and keys, and just like that, you’re gone.

Wandering aimlessly, you suck the evening air into your lungs as you walk the streets, past shops and people with different lives. You’re lost in thought, no better than a zombie as you continue to wipe your eyes.

It took you and Spencer long enough to even get together, you just finished placing your things in his apartment, there’s no room for a crib. He has far too many books, he’d have to sacrifice even more space for things a baby needs. The both of you work odd hours and sleep in bad motel rooms and fly all over the country and get shot at. You aren’t an expert but that doesn’t seem healthy.

There is no room for a baby in your life. Period.

The team has only experienced pregnancy with JJ and-

JJ.

Your friend who would know exactly what to do and how to help, the friend you have given the cold shoulder to ever since you found out that she let you mourn Emily, your best friend, for weeks and weeks. She let you cry and talk about how hard things have been for and Spencer, especially Spencer, and she didn’t say a single thing that she knew Emily was okay.

You have a feeling of bitterness now to join your emotion smoothie.

Up ahead, you see a tired mother trying to pull her crying toddler out of a drugstore. Her hair is tied up, she’s tugging at the child, giving up on arguing with him.

You turn around and decide home is actually where you need to be so you don’t vomit up your nerves in public.

When Spencer comes home, you’re sitting at the bottom of the tub, cheek to your knees as the spray of the shower hits you from above. You hear him take off his shoes and coat and walk to the bedroom, more than likely changing. He’s definitely tired.

He knocks on the bathroom door, checking on you.

“Hey, you feeling alright, angel?”

You sigh. He’s so perfect, arguably the best thing that’s ever happened in your life, and you’re going to ruin him with this news.

“I’ll be out in a second.” You call back, smoothing your hands over your hair, then look at the rings on your fingers.

Sliding one from your right hand to your left, you decide your ring finger just is going to stay bare.

“They missed you tonight, Emily said that you call her first if you need anything.” Spencer says as you rub lotion into your skin while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You hum.

“I think she’s just overcompensating, but she means well.” He claims, pulling the covers back.

You can’t tell him tonight, it’s not the right time. Instead you’ll just get some sleep, laying on your side, facing the window. As Spencer lays behind you, you push away his hand that splays on your stomach.

He goes a little stiff with confusion, but holds your hip without question, then whispers he loves you, like he does every night.

You live out a routine for the next following days to come. You wake up tired, you tell Spencer that you never get over the flu easily and that’s why you have the urge to throw up at any given second. When you’re tired of laying on the couch, you go back to work where everyone shares a look at how moody you can be.

“Is everything…okay?”

You look up from the evidence photos to find Hotch.

Most of the team is out all over the town you just got in, trying to solve the disappearance of three young girls.

Hotch suggested you stay at the police station with him for a while, giving Spencer some air after you snapped at him for no apparent reason.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, looking back down at the crime scene pictures.

“Is everything alright with you and Reid?” He pushes.

“Yes, we’re fine. I just hate it when he hovers, drives me crazy.” You huff, not giving him your attention.

Hotch had always been a sort of father to you. Almost like how Gideon was a mentor to Spencer, Hotch tried his hardest not to act like it but he was always very protective of you. No one could really blame him, he helped you through many things over the years, and along the way he became your family. So it makes sense that he’s questioning you now with a furrowed brow.

“I want you to know that if something is going on and you felt like you were alone…you aren’t. The whole team would move mountains for you.” He says in a very fatherly tone, a tone that has always seemed to affect you but never in the way it does now.

You quickly blink away tears and nod. “I just don’t feel well, but I’ll be okay.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and as Hotch looks you over, he proves how good of a profiler he really is. Slowly, he sits at the table and takes the papers from your hand, which is probably good, you’ve been staring at them for too long. Your eyes lift up to him.

“Does Reid know?”

Three words, and you want to flee.

“No.” You say hoarsely.

He nods in understanding. “This isn’t something you can do alone, but I understand if you need some time away to figure things out.”

You wrap your arms around your stomach, something you’ve been doing subconsciously. “This is my job.” You say.

“And it’s really stressful, so if you need some downtime, I’m glad to give it to you.”

Nodding, you understand. “Don’t tell anyone.” You ask of him, knowing he’d never betray you like that.

For two moments, you have a sense of peace.

And then Spencer and Morgan return, causing you to slip a mask back on and pretend you’re fine.

By some miracle, you get through the case and get home without any problems. Spencer on the other hand is convinced that you’re going through a mental break.

“Still tired?” He asks gently, at the end of the week, sitting on the bed and rubbing your leg as you bury yourself in the comforter.

You wordlessly nod, then try to sort out your thoughts.

“Baby?” He calls softly, a name he hardly ever calls you. “I think we should take you to a doctor.”

“Why?” You croak.

You know why. Spencer thinks you’re depressed, which you can’t really blame him, you’ve been laying in bed most of the day, turning your nose up at the idea of food, knowing it will all just make you feel sick. Your boyfriend is a great profiler, he notices your odd behavior these past couple days but he still can’t figure out why.

“I’m…I think they can tell you what’s wrong with you- not that anything is wrong with you but…there’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Bless him and his softness he unconditionally shows you, but you just don’t have it in you to match his tenderness.

“I’m fine.” You state, tone not meaning it.

Before he can deny it and rub your leg again, you sit up too quickly and flee him, foolishly thinking he’ll stay put. Spencer is a golden retriever, though, so he follows loyally, only for the bathroom door to be slammed in his face.

“I’m concerned about you, okay?” He calls, voice muffled through the wood. “And I get scared when you just brush it off, brush me off.”

You stand at the sink, head drooped. The tears start slow, they fall into the basin. What was wrong with you? You have a man as good as Spencer and you’re ruining everything.

You fall into a dangerous storm of negative thoughts, all aimed at you like it’s target practice. The tears fall much quicker now, hot and sticky, your hand presses to your mouth to keep the sobs away.

Spencer hears you squeak, and immediately opens the door you should have locked.

You turn to face him, dropping the hand to your stomach.

His features twist into something of sadness and utter concern, he’s standing in front of you in just two steps.

“What is it?” He questions, holding your face in his hands, thumbs wiping at your tears. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

You can’t. You have to say it but you can’t.

A breath shutters through you and you shake your head. “Spence.”

“I’m right here, it’s alright.” He promises, so adamant that he can help.

“I…”

“Just breathe-”

“I’m pregnant.”

You’ve never seen him stop talking so fast. His mouth hangs open for a moment, then it closes.

All the years you’ve known Spencer, he’s never been at a loss for words. He’s trying so hard to just say something and he can’t. Maybe it’s the fear in your eyes that has him drawing a blank, maybe it’s the fact that he’s come up with ninety nine possibilities and this is the one he didn’t imagine.

“Okay.” He says after a heavy silence. “Okay, that’s, well it’s definitely something.”

Your tears don’t stop, in fact they might just fall heavier now.

He’s mad- no, he’s upset. He doesn’t want this and now everything is ruined. Your fears are coming true.

You pull his hands from his face, then brush past him.

He calls your name. “Wait, I don’t mean it like that. I just didn’t think about this, I haven’t planned for this yet.”

You pull one of his sweatshirts on and slide into your sneakers, not bothering with the laces before you slip from the apartment with a sense of deja vu, vanishing just like that.

- - - -

You’re not even sure how you got here, you’re sure you look like a wreck, but it’s too late to turn back now.

The door opens and JJ’s face morphs into confusion.

“Hey, Jay.” You try to smile, but when she opens the door wider and pulls you inside so quickly, it’s hard to maintain a composure.

You ramble, she lets you. For ten straight minutes you go on and on about everything, because you’ve had all of these thoughts bottled up and now you resemble something of a ship sinking beneath the waves. You apologize, you’re so sorrowful and tell her how wrong you are for saying all the hurtful things you said to her. She sits beside you on her couch while Will is upstairs with Henry. At some point she starts crying too because that’s what best friends do when their other half is saying she doesn’t know what to do. By the end of the confession and rant, you physically can’t cry anymore and your nose is red, face splotchy, and you just look at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Slowly, she takes your hand and says your name, grounding you.

“No one is going to say this to you so I will.” She says. “You’re not a monster for being scared.”

Your lungs exhale and she continues.

“But all of these concerns are just anxiety, they aren’t real. You can still do your job, the team won’t hate you, you are capable of doing this, life isn’t going to fall apart.”

She’s so sure, you’re practically forced to believe her.

“Spencer.” You mumble, watching as she takes a breath and nods like she knows.

“Reid is…Reid has the highest IQ and still doesn’t know the right thing to say. But this is news you sprung on him and he’s never had to deal with this sort of thing. He’s scared too.” She reminds, a little more honest with her words now that you’ve calmed down.

Just as you open your mouth to say something, her phone rings from its spot on the coffee table.

She squeezes your knee and grabs for it.

“It’s Spencer.” She says before answering it.

You can’t hear exactly all the words he says, but based off JJ’s reaction, he’s clearly panicked.

“Spencer- hey, slow down. It’s okay. No, she’s here with me. She’s fine.”

You feel guilty, so incredibly guilty. You left your cell in the apartment, not bothering to bring it with you, and the idea of Spencer freaking out because he has no way of reaching you, has your stomach churning.

Or maybe it’s the fact you’re starving.

Canons of your self destruction fire off at yourself, you’re sitting with your head hung as JJ talks him down. This wasn’t her job, this was yours. He’s your partner.

What are you doing?

As she hangs up, she gives you look, knowing you’re already heading for the door.

“Be easy on him, okay?” She says, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright.”

What a simple thing for her to say and a not so simple thing to do.

You go home, trying to rehearse conversations in your head. Surely, you look odd on the subway, whispering to yourself, trying to anticipate what Spencer will say. A few people shuffle off at a stop, and the seat across from you opens up. A woman takes it, she has a baby wrapped in a sling, it’s napping with its head on her bust and when she pulls the cover back, you can see it’s perfect round head. She gently strokes its fuzzy, brown hair and hushes it softly when it stirs.

Maybe life wouldn’t be so bad if that were you, feeling your child’s warmth.

When you get to the front door of your apartment, you take in one final breath and decide you can face the music.

You open the door, kick off your shoes and are immediately feel the rug getting yanked out from under you.

“You can’t just storm out!” Spencer says rather loudly, giving the reaction you didn’t want. “And leaving your phone here? Giving me no way to reach you? I called everyone!”

He’s angry.

“I was with JJ.” You say softly.

“Well, I know that now.” He huffs.

Shrugging off your coat, you gently approach.

“I’m sorry I worried you, please don’t shout.”

At your meek tone, Spencer immediately softens, scorning himself for being abrasive. He runs his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to get himself back in check.

“I’m sorry. Can- can we just sit down and talk about this, please?” He asks, moving to sit on the worn couch.

After a second, you follow.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to reach out and touch you, but given the way you seem to shrink into yourself, he just rubs his knees over and over again.

“How long have you known?” He asks, though he has some estimates.

You slowly breathe out. “A couple weeks.”

His lungs burn. A couple weeks?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your fingernails dig into your palms. “I was scared…I’m still scared.” And all that work to avoid his eye, you finally meet that puppy dog look of his and immediately break down.

You just can’t seem to stop crying. Why are you crying all the time?

“I’m so scared, Spencer, I’m so scared.” You shudder out, and those hands he awkwardly kept to himself are now pulling you to him, cradling your head to his chest and putting your legs in his lap.

“Hey, I know, I know. And I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, I made it worse, I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair before moving his lips to your forehead. “I was surprised is all.”

“You aren’t mad at me?” You tremble, gripping his shirt. Never in your life have you been this clingy, and if the circumstances were different, you’d be embarrassed by this child like behavior. Spencer doesn’t mind it at all, he’s holding you like he’s the glue keeping you together.

“I’m not mad. I’m a little sad you didn’t tell me sooner, but I’m not mad. Why would I be mad at you?”

With his fingers in your hair, you take a few quick breaths. “I ruined everything.” You say as a cry.

He hates those words that just came out of your mouth.

Spencer shifts, pulling back to look at your face, red and tear streaked.

“Hey.” He coos. “You haven’t ruined anything, sweetheart, don’t even think that.”

Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you shake your head. “My career is over, the team is going to be inconvenienced, and you- you’re never going to be able to do your job the same. All the work you’ve done, it’s just ruined, I’ve done this to you.”

He cups your damp cheek. “Stop, stop. Listen to me, can you do that?”

You shut your mouth and nod.

“Good.” He says. “Now, you haven’t done anything wrong. It takes two to tango, yeah? The team is going to be elated, Penelope is going to throw this biggest party ever. We worked it out when JJ had Henry, we can do it again.”

There’s a way he can say all these things and it just makes sense in your mind. You nod along, this makes him smile.

“And as for me..” He tucks hair behind your ear. “I would give up all my degrees, I’d throw away all the progress and work I’ve done if it meant the only thing I had in my life was you and a baby that’s my own.”

You love him. You’ve never loved him more than you do now, in this moment, starving and crying and so scared. That’s why you lean forward and press your trembling lips to his, trying to steal the oxygen from his lungs.

Spencer is willing to breathe into your open mouth, even if it meant he’s have no part of himself left that was just his. In his mind, he doesn’t want Spencer to be Spencer, he wants your imprint in every part of himself so he’s no longer just him.

He kisses your hairline and then places your back in that space between his collar bone and jaw, it’s carved only for you anyway.

“Tell me everything that scares you.” He instructs, finger circling your bent knee.

You can’t say ‘everything’, so you say what you can form into words.

“It’s so soon, we haven’t talked about this yet.” You start.

“It’s a little early, but we have a home and a stable income and I love you and I want this if you want this.” He says so simply, as if he’s bandaging a paper cut.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I could be really bad at it.” You state.

“We’ll figure it out together, I don’t know what to do either, but no one really does. But there is no way you will be a bad mom. That’s my professional opinion.”

You laugh lightly, he grins and subtly squeezes you.

“But what if it all goes bad? What if I can’t make it healthy, what if I…what if I lose it? Spencer, I don’t think I could live with myself if I was the reason you don’t get a living, breathing baby.” It hurts your chest to even say.

Spencer gently shushes you. “We won’t let that happen. We’ll make sure you’re healthy and doing everything you can to prevent that.”

You let that ease you into silence, then you wipe your eyes once more because you can’t stop crying.

“We’re not married.”

Did you say that out loud?

You must have because Spencer hums, not startled, but he mulls it over in his head.

“Does that matter to you?” He asks, genuinely curious. And you don’t know how to answer because you didn’t think it did.

But you said it, it’s been on your mind…so yeah, it might matter.

“Yeah, I guess…I don’t know.” You sigh, nudging your nose against his neck.

Spencer considers it, then hums like he does when he understands something. “Then we’ll get married.”

It’s the way he says it, so easy, makes you shake your head. “No, I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m pregnant now. Besides, planning a whole wedding is stressful.”

“That’s not why I said it, lovely. Yeah, we’re having this conversation because you’re pregnant but I want to marry you because it means something to me too. I don’t want to do life with anybody else besides you.” He states, dropping his chin to the top of your head, keeping you close to his pulse. “And a big wedding isn’t our style anyway. We can go to the courthouse right now if it’s what you want. Tomorrow you’ll have your name changed- or keep it, if that’s what you want.”

How perfect, how wonderful he is, and how lucky you are to be doing this with him.

Breathing in his scent once again, you nod. “I want to have the same last name as our baby. Oh god, our baby. That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever said.” You gently laugh.

“I like hearing it, though.” He says, a boyish smile, though he’s never been more of a man than in this moment.

You didn’t think your day would end like this, and perhaps this decision isn’t properly thought out, but the two of you want this.

You make it to the courthouse house just as they’re about to close, with the flashes of your credentials, they make a few exceptions. You don’t have rings, that part will get figured out later, and you there’s no grand catering, just Chinese food on the living room floor. It’s all perfect though, because you’re married and so in love with him and he’s giving you the last egg roll.

“You know, I didn’t think it was possible to be so hungry and nauseous at the same time.” You say, slurping up a noodle, washing it down with a Coke.

“You know, the fetal placenta produces a hormone called human chorionic gonadotropin that’s rapidly increasing, and if the mother is more sensitive to it, then they’re more nauseous.” Spencer states factually, proud that his knowledge applies to this.

“How do I cure it, Doctor?” You ask, a fond smile on your face.

“Don’t skip meals, like you have been doing. No more of that. We’re going to have to call your doctor tomorrow, and start prenatal vitamins. You know, if we push the dresser into the closet and shift the brown bookshelf over a few feet, that will free up space for a crib. You’ll want a side sleeper bassinet though, it slides right next to the bed so you don’t have to get out of bed as often.”

Having a baby with Doctor Spencer Reid was like having the next nine months planned out for you. As he rambles on with all the things that will need to be done, you laugh and lean over, kissing him to get him to pause.

“What was that for?” He asks, kissing you once more.

“I love you, that’s all.” I smile.

Tracing your jawline with his finger, he grins right back at you. “I love you too.”

After a moment, you speak again. “Am I a doctor now?” You ask.

“What? No.” He shakes his head.

“I’m technically Mrs. Doctor Reid.”

“Angel.” He laughs.

“That’s Doctor Angel to you.”

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Swallow - H.JS

🌳Who: Hong Jisoo (Seventeen) x female reader 🌳What: Smut. Fantasy. Fae Jisoo. 🌳Wordcount: 3.4k 🌳Warnings: Oral(male receiving). Inexperienced reader. Big cock Jisoo. Praise. Trickery. Morally dark character. 🌳Summary: “ Ever since you were little, your parents warned you to be careful of the tricks of the fae folk of the woods.

You never paid much mind to the warnings, assuming they were nothing more than stories designed to scare little children into behaving and keeping out of the woods.

A little too late, you learn that you should have listened. ” Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. Masterlist

You remember the day Hong Jisoo arrived in town almost six months ago, just when Mother Nature woke from her winter slumber, bringing forth new life, and apparently, a new, handsome bachelor for the women, single or otherwise, to swoon over.

You would like to say that you are not amongst that particular category of starry eyed maidens, but that would be a downright lie.

From the very first moment your eyes were graced with Jisoo’s otherworldly beauty, you were infatuated and wished he would look your way and bless you with one of his charming smiles.

For weeks, it seemed as if the man knew nothing of your existence, and you were far too shy to ever approach and introduce yourself.

Then one day while out in the woods admiring the beautiful blossoms of your favourite tree, a majestic old beauty deeper into the woods than you know any of the superstitious townsfolk would dare wonder, the man himself happened to appear. He stepped out from behind the tree so fluidly and without prior sign of his presence that it truly seemed as if he came from the tree itself; a preposterous thought that did not remain in your head for more than the time it took for him to smile at you.

You found out then that Jisoo had, in fact, noticed you from his very first moment in the town and had been wanting to introduce himself, but you never seemed to have interest in him so he had respected what he thought your wishes were and kept a respectful distance.

Of course, you had stumbled over your words to correct his assumption and let him know that you are simply too shy. He had smiled at you as if he thought you were utterly precious and promised that from that day onwards, he will always approach you first.

You had not expected him to stick to his word, but he did. Every time Jisoo saw you, he would approach, even just to wish you a good day before parting ways. Though sometimes, when the timing was right, the pair of you would be granted the blessed chance to stroll through the town side by side as you got to know one another.

Over time, your time together grew more frequent and adventurous.

It turns out that Jisoo knows an awful lot about a variety of plant life and the life within the forest; from the life cycle of the caterpillar, to the diet of sparrows and foxes alike.

You had never known someone so knowledgeable on the woodlands and became so enchanted by everything he taught you. You were always so eager for more information to put into use in order to point out plants and little creatures, which you had never noticed before, and proudly recite the knowledge the man had imparted on you during your woodland walks.

So your town strolls quickly diverted to the woods to continue the casual lessons that inevitably always gravitated towards that very same tree under which you first met; it quickly became your official meeting spot and a truly a special place for you, more than it already was.

Now that summer is nearing its end and the days turning colder, you worry over what you can do to keep Jisoo’s attention solely on you for hours at a time when it will soon be too cold to be out in the woods.

As it turns out, you need not worry about the weather nor his attention, Jisoo has a plan in mind to solve both issues. Though there is another reason you should worry, you just are not aware of that yet.

You know from the moment you meet Jisoo at the tree that something is different about today. He is standing in wait for you beside the already arranged, familiar blanket, which he always brings along for the pair of you to sit on side by side with your hand securely in his and a blush on your cheeks.

Though today, something about the happy glint in his eyes does not quite sit right with you when you first see him. Yet when he steps closer to you and out of the sun’s rays, the glint vanishes, so you tell yourself it is simply a trick of the light.  

After sitting side by side with your fingers laced with his own on his thigh closest to you and your head resting on his shoulder, you feel something shift in the air as he sighs.

“My love, I fear I must tell you some news,” he says softly as to not entirely ruin the calm content of the woods around you.

“Bad news?”

“I am afraid so,” is his confirmation.

You let out a sigh of your own and take a moment steel your nerves before straightening up and turning your body slightly to look at him better where he’s seated on your right and leaning back against the bark of the tree. “What is it, Jisoo?”

“It is time for me to move on.”

Your heart immediately drops into your stomach. It takes you a few attempts to speak, only managing to open and close your mouth absurdly in shock for a handful of seconds. “Move on? From me?”

“No, my love, I do not mean from you in particular. Though…” He sighs again and lifts your connected hands up to his mouth so that he can press his lips to the back of your hand. “I always intended to stay only for spring, I meant to leave come summer but I became enamoured with you and found myself unable to leave as planned.”

“Then-then you can stay longer. You remained once before; you can continue to stay here by my side.”

“I cannot, my love. I must leave.” He lifts his head to look at you with a pained gaze that you know in your heart means that there is nothing you can do or say to keep Jisoo here with you.

“I see,” you whisper as you feel your throat start to thicken with impending tears. “I cannot join you?”

“You wish to?”

“I never want to be without you, Jisoo. I love you with everything in me.”

“My precious, sweet, darling,” he breathes out and reaches up with his free hand to tenderly cup your cheek. “How did I become so lucky to gain your attention and affection?”

“By being the kindest, warm hearted man to have ever graced this world with his presence.” He chuckles softly at your honest words and leans closer slightly, making your heart shoot back up into place and thrum rapidly with nervous anticipation.

In all the months you have been meeting Jisoo, he has never once tried to kiss you, even holding your hand took some time to build up to, so this is rightfully partially exciting and partially utterly nerve-wracking.

“May I kiss you?” His request is so softly spoken that it meets your ears on a gentle breeze that sends prickles across your skin. You do not even have to think before nodding in consent. Jisoo smiles that same fond, crinkled eyed smile and strokes his thumb over your cheekbone before he closes the distance and tenderly presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet, simple, barely a few seconds of a motionless press of his soft lips against your own, before he pulls back to honour you with another beautiful, little smile as his thumb brushes over your blush adoringly.

“I have been wanting to do that for such a long time now,” he admits.

“Really?” You can barely talk above a whisper; your body is still so full of nerves and a madly thrumming heart that there is no space left for a louder voice. Though the two of you are so close together that you need not talk any louder for Jisoo to hear you so clearly; as proven when he hums softly in confirmation to your words. “Oh, then perhaps…perhaps it would be wise to make up for lost time?” You suggest shyly, glancing away until he taps his thumb against your bottom lip and draws your suddenly wide eyes back to him.

“That sounds very wise to me, my love,” Jisoo confirms in a lower tone than you have heard him speak in before; it sends a shock of something warm through your body that you have little time to ruminate on before his lips are once again on yours.

This second kiss is leagues different from the first.

Jisoo’s lips slot against yours in a way that feels intentional from the first touch; his head tilts further as his mouth moves slowly, thumb gently prying your jaw to encourage you to follow his movements.

Understandably, your response is hesitant and timid; you have never kissed a man before, let alone like this so you are not sure what exactly to do, nor if you are doing it correctly when you try. But Jisoo makes soft little reassuring sounds and strokes his thumb soothingly over your cheek, causing you to gradually relax and melt into the kiss.

Every time you think the kiss is over as the man pulls back a little and opens his eyes just enough to look at your gradually darkening lips, he simply takes a few breaths then leans back in to claim your mouth all over again.

After a few times, you realise that Jisoo has no intentions whatsoever of letting you escape his hungry lips, not that you wish to. You would spend an eternity discovering all the ways his mouth can dance with your own if given the chance.

It is when your feel his tongue slide against your lip that you truly lose your ability to think coherently and whimper softly while opening your mouth wider to allow the wet muscle to enter your mouth expertly. You try to match his motions, allowing your tongue to curiously search out his own, earning soft, pleased groans from the man, which makes your body tremble a little with excitement and rapidly growing arousal.

How long you kiss for, how long your tongues roll and slide together before you are both forced to break to refill achingly empty lungs, is entirely beyond you. It is not even the last thing on your mind right now; time has simply ceased to exist in your heated, private bubble with Jisoo in the deepest parts of the woods with the grand tree watching over you.

“My love,” Jisoo murmurs breathlessly after a handful of seconds of laboured breathing, breaths mingling with his forehead pressed firmly to yours and his hand still holding your jaw securely. “I must ask for something from you.”

“Anything,” you reply with a heavy exhale and not an ounce of hesitation.

Jisoo leans back and flutters open his eyes to peer at you. As you open your eyes upon feeling his gaze on you, you see a darkness in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. Shivers you assume mean excitement, arousal; you are not as in touch with your instincts as you should be right now thanks to Jisoo’s skilled tongue swiping away all rational thought.

“Anything?” He repeats, lips slowly lifting into the start of a pleased smirk. “Promise?”

“Whatever you want; I will do anything for you,” you promise with a nod.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet darling,” he coos and leans over to press a final sweet kiss to your lips before letting you go to get to his feet.

“Wh-where are you going?” You panic, feeling thrown off by the man suddenly getting up and try to get to your own feet, though you only manage to get to your knees before his hand is on the top of your head and keeping you there in place.

“Nowhere, my love. You stay just like that; this is perfect for what I want,” he encourages and brushes his fingers through your hair slightly before pulling his hands to himself.

You are utterly clueless about what he means, what he could want from you, and just stare up at his face perplexed, earning a little amused chuckle from the man. Yet he says nothing to explain.

Catching his arms moving in your peripheral, you lower your gaze downwards and realise that he is unlacing his trousers where he stands in front of you. Now that your attention is in the right place, you can see the obscene bulge of his hard cock in his trousers and it makes your hot body heat up feeling both beyond shy and aroused.

“Hm, expected you to divert your gaze,” Jisoo comments as he tugs open his trousers further and lifts his neatly tucked shirt out of the way to reveal that he has entirely forgone underwear as a teasing glimpse of his most intimate of areas meets your wide eyes.

“Do-do you wan-want me to?” You stammer and start to tilt your head back to easier look up at him, yet he puts one of his big hands back on top of your head to keep your focus angled to where he is pulling his cock from his trousers, making you gasp softly.

It is the first time you have ever seen a man’s nudity, let alone one in such an aroused state, so you cannot be certain but you truly believe that all men cannot be so well endowed as Jisoo. If all men are quite this big, then you cannot believe that so many women would be willing to take such girth for reason past reproductive necessity.

Then again, if all men were as beautiful as Jisoo, you think it would be much more understandable for a woman to want to be split open by such a large cock.

“No, my love, I want you to look; how else are you doing to take my cock into that pretty mouth of yours if your attention is elsewhere, hm?”

You swallow thickly, nervous yet excited when he steps closer, cock in his free hand as he strokes it slowly. “M-my mouth?”

“Yes, sweet girl, your mouth. You said whatever I want, you promised me, so open up and let me in.” Jisoo stops directly in front of you, so close that his crotch is almost in your face and then he leads the tip of his cock to your mouth and taps your slightly parted lips. “Come on, sweet thing, open.”

Tentatively, you open your mouth slightly, then a little wider when his cock presses more incessantly against your lower lip, smearing the wetness from the tip against your flesh.

“That’s it, good girl,” he coos as you open your mouth wide enough that he can slide the tip of his cock onto your tongue. The praise makes the flush on your cheeks darken happily as you lift your gaze as best as you can with his hand on the top of your head and his cock in your mouth, to peer at him. “Oh, don’t you look beautiful like this,” he breathes out, sounding truly taken by the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth.

A pleases hum tries to leave your mouth, though with your lips spread around his girth the sound simply vibrates against his sensitive skin and makes him hiss as he lets go of his cock to plant his palm against the tree at your back while pushing further into your mouth and forcing you to accept the intrusion with his other hand moving to thread his fingers into your hair.

It is a lot; to have your mouth filled in a way you never expected, with his taste starting to coat your tongue in a flavour you are genuinely rather pleased by, while he towers over you until his broad frame blocks the sun from meeting you.

“You just sit there and look pretty for me darling, I will do all the work,” he says and grins a little when you try to nod slightly and close your eyes. “Good girl.”

At first, Jisoo is careful as he slowly works his thick length in and out of your mouth; never pulling out entirely nor pressing in too far knowing that you have never done such a thing before so he cannot rush and risk hurting you. That would ruin the experience.

Patiently, the man leisurely uses your hot, wet mouth for his own pleasure, lust heavy gaze glued on where his slick cock slips through the ring of your lips. He can see you fidgeting in his peripheral, darkly flushed cheeks clearly confirming your arousal, yet he ignores it and focuses on steadily increasing the speed and depth at which he feeds you his cock in a way that causes you no discomfort.

As much as Jisoo is a truly patient man, he wishes he could fuck into your pretty, little mouth with fervour, force his cock into your throat and use you until he can pull out and paint your features with his cum. The only reason he can hold back from just taking what his body aches for is the thought that he will have the chance to use you however he deems fit in the future.

The mental reminder that you have promised him whatever he wants, that you have fallen for his charm and perfect smiles sends Jisoo’s arousal rushing hot and heavy through his body.

“My love,” he pants when he feels himself close to the edge. “Whatever I want, right? You promised whatever I want,” he reminds. You whine a little, needy, but what for you do not even know. It makes him chuckle lowly. “Then swallow.”

It does not register in your fuzzy mind just what that means until he moans, curling over your head a little as he forces the tip of his cock to the entrance of your throat where you feel liquid suddenly spurting out and you realise he wants you to swallow his cum.

You feel utterly filthy in an oddly pleasant way as you obey, working your throat as best as you can to swallow down everything he gives you; at least you try to but he pulls back before you can lave your tongue over his length to claim the last drops.

As Jisoo grasps his cock in his hand to smear the last of his cum over your bruised, still wide open lips, he starts to laugh. Slowly at first, but it builds and builds until he is laughing heartily and sounding so pleased in a way that does not sit right with you.

You open your eyes to look up at him yet have to close them again as the sunlight harshly pierces your eyes. It does not make sense for it to be so bright now when it was not before, especially with the man still standing in front of you and blocking the sun.

You are forced to flutter your eyes for a little as your eyes grow used to the strange, over saturated light before you can keep them open and look up at Jisoo. He too looks different, colours a little brighter as if he has captured the sun in his very skin.

He is still laughing when your confused eyes meet his joyfully manic ones.

“Wh-what’s funny?” You question, voice slightly hoarse even if he had been gentle with you and barely entered your throat, yet there is an unease growing in your chest and spiralling bigger and darker down into your stomach making your voice waver weakly.

This is all wrong; you no longer feel like you are somewhere known and safe to you, both in these woods and with the man in front of you.

“Oh, my sweet, little love,” he coos around his laughter and moves his hand from your hair to cup your jaw and tilt your head backwards to meet his gaze better, to let you see the darkness flit across it; the same darkness you had earlier assumed to be nothing more than arousal.

The same darkness you should have taken as warning.

“Were you never taught the most important rule to abide by in these woods?” His head tilts slightly as he smiles a little too big down at you, showing almost all of his too perfect teeth. “Do you not know to never consume anything given to you by a fae?”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

[sasheemo]

When We Collide

Chapter 14

Chapter Summary: You wake to Agatha's unsettling yet impossibly grounding presence, unspoken questions threatening to unravel a fragile moment. And just like that, walls begin to crack.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N (very long, sorryyy): I still can’t believe it, but here we are. After exactly one month since the last chapter was published, I’m officially back! I can’t promise the creative block I’ve been struggling with for When We Collide is completely gone, but I’m really trying, and I’m so happy to continue this story.

Before you dive in, I just want to take a moment to make a small dedication:

Over the past week, I’ve received an overwhelming amount of love and support that I never expected. Moots, strangers, and even anonymous readers stepped forward in the comments of my update posts on Tumblr or slid into my DMs to show their appreciation and encouragement. You know who you are. It’s because of all of you that, in just over 24 hours, I managed to write an entire chapter after being stuck for a whole month. You gave me an incredible boost of energy and motivation. So, this chapter is for you. To my moots, followers, and each dedicated reader of When We Collide. To everyone who messaged me privately or left a comment on a post or a fic. To those who, even without reaching out directly, have always supported me with their thoughts and good vibes, waiting patiently for an update and never abandoning this story. What you’ve done, and continue to do, for me is amazing. You’ve filled me with so much love and support, and I truly hope this chapter (and the ones to come—yes, they’re coming, hehe) can serve as a proper thank-you.

It’s true that writing should primarily be for yourself, but when you receive this kind of support and encouragement, it becomes something truly special to write for others too.

Let me know what you think of the chapter, and thank you from the bottom of my heart! 💜

PS: Spoiler—I literally felt my heart break while writing a certain piece of dialogue. Had to pause, pick up the pieces, and keep going. Sorry y’all, I couldn’t resist 💔

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

You stir awake to the faint glow of the early afternoon, the light filtering softly through the edges of the curtains. For a brief, suspended moment, your mind lingers in the haze of sleep, the kind where nothing feels quite real, and you’re not entirely sure where you are. Then the weight registers.

The warm, undeniable weight of someone pressed against you.

Your breath catches, your body locking in place as you become acutely, painfully aware of Agatha’s head resting on your shoulder.

Her dark hair brushes against your neck, faintly ticklish, while her arm lies draped across your waist.

You don’t dare move. Not even a twitch.

Every nerve in your body stands at attention, screaming for you to do something. But you lie there, frozen, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure it’ll wake her. The thought of turning your head to look at her fills you with a mixture of terror and curiosity, and you’re too paralyzed to face either.

You try—really try—to focus on the practicalities. How did this even happen? You’d climbed into bed hours ago, stiff as a board, determined to keep your distance. You’d stayed on your side, curled up awkwardly, staring at the wall like it held the answers to every question you were too afraid to ask.

But then sleep had come. Or at least something like it—a restless tangle of half-dreams and unconscious movements, shifting and turning under the weight of the night’s tension. 

At some point, the gap between you must have closed. At some point, her arm must have found its way across you.

A thousand excuses rush through your mind, each more fragile than the last, as if rationalizing the moment could make the closeness disappear. But they all crumble, leaving behind one undeniable truth: you don’t want to move. Not really.

You tell yourself it’s fear. Fear of waking her. Fear of the look on her face if she realized the position you’re in. Confusion? Annoyance? Disgust? The thought twists your stomach into painful knots. But beneath the fear, another emotion lingers, quieter and far more dangerous.

It feels… good.

You hate how much you notice it, how your senses seem to betray you with every passing second. The softness of her hair brushing your neck, the heat of her body radiating against your side, the faint pressure of her arm resting on you—it all feels far too natural, far too easy, like some cruel joke the universe decided to play.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, to shift, to put some distance between you. But your body doesn’t listen. You’re too hyper-aware of every tiny detail, of how close she is, of how safe she feels.

A shaky exhale escapes you, your chest rising just enough to disturb the delicate stillness between you. Agatha stirs slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips as her arm tightens instinctively around you.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat.

You swallow hard, trying to convince yourself that this is normal. That there’s nothing strange or inappropriate about lying here like this. That it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just an accident, a coincidence. That’s all.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except it’s not. 

Because no matter how much you want to believe that this is accidental, that she’s completely unaware, a small, traitorous part of you wonders what it would mean if she wasn’t.

You try to focus on the ceiling, on the faint creak of the house settling around you, on anything other than her. But it’s impossible. Because no matter how still you stay, no matter how hard you try to quiet your thoughts, Agatha’s presence fills every corner of the room—and every corner of you.

Your breath hitches as you finally, finally let yourself turn your head. It’s tentative at first, a small, hesitant shift of movement. 

Your chin almost brushes her forehead, and the nearness of her—so close you could count the faint freckles scattered across her skin—leaves you utterly undone. 

For a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The sight of her like this, her face so close to yours, is enough to send your thoughts spiraling.

Your gaze moves carefully, tracing her features as if each one might dissolve into smoke if you looked too quickly.

Sharp and soft. The words loop in your mind like a mantra, and you can’t stop staring. The sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones, the delicate curve of her lips—they blend danger and allure in a way that leaves you off-balance, like she was never meant to be anything less than both.

Your let your thoughts drift, unbidden, to what you know about her. And, perhaps more troubling, to what you don’t.

You’ve spent all your life in the same coven, shared the same spaces, breathed the same air, yet she’s always been distant. A figure just out of reach, admired and feared in equal measure by most.

You sift through your memories, trying to piece together fragments, to make sense of the person sprawled across you now.

Everyone has been speaking of Agatha’s power in hushed tones since you were children—the raw, unpredictable force of her magic. How it brims with potential but defies control. Even the older witches have always been wary of her, watching her like a storm poised on the horizon.

And then there’s the story. The one no one speaks of outright but that lingers in fragments, carried around by rumors and half-truths.

It was just over a couple of years ago. One of the daughters of your mother’s friends—a girl you barely knew, though her name still echoes through the village homes and halls—was found dead in the woods. Cold, lifeless. Drained.

The whispers said it was Agatha.

They claimed she had taken the girl’s power, siphoned it like a flame devouring a candlewick. That she left her there, alone in the woods, to die. 

But that girl wasn’t just anyone. She was Agatha’s best friend.

The rumors painted it as a calculated act of power, a way to send a message and solidify her place as the rightful heir to the coven’s legacy. They said her magic demanded sacrifice, and she hadn’t hesitated to give one.

But that version of the story never sat right with you.

Even more so now, with Agatha asleep beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, her breathing slow and even in sleep. The idea of this Agatha—the Agatha who clings to you in her slumber—being the monster the rumors describe feels impossible to reconcile.

You’ve always wondered if there was more to the story. If the truth had been buried beneath layers of fear, jealousy, and Evanora’s carefully orchestrated manipulations. 

Because if there’s one thing you know about Evanora Harkness, it’s that she’d burn the truth to ashes to protect her image.

The slow rise and fall of your chest brushes faintly against Agatha’s arm, jolting you back to the present. You exhale shakily, your gaze locking once again on her face.

She looks so… harmless. The thought slips into your mind unbidden, and you can’t stop yourself from clinging to it. Here, now, in your bed, tangled against you, she does look harmless. Innocent, even.

And yet… the stories remain. The danger, the sharpness, the fury—it’s still there, lurking just beneath her momentary serene exterior. 

You should move. You really should. Break the moment, pull away, regain the distance you’re supposed to have. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the danger and mystery that surrounds Agatha Harkness, there’s something else, too.

Something that keeps you rooted in place, your gaze drinking her in, feeling her presence in every breath you take.

The stillness is interrupted by a faint shift. Agatha stirs against you, her body shifting slightly as her fingers twitch where her hand rests near your waist. Her breathing changes, no longer the even, steady rhythm of sleep but something shallower, more conscious.

You freeze, your own breath caught in your chest. Her head lifts just a fraction before settling again, her hair brushing against your neck in a way that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. For one agonizing moment, you wonder if she’ll pull away.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, Agatha lets out a soft exhale, her lashes fluttering as her eyes blink open, slow and heavy with sleep. There’s a beat—a single, suspended second where her gaze adjusts, flitting from the faint light of the room to you.

Her arm remains draped across your waist, though her fingers flex slightly, testing their place. Her lips twitch, just barely, into something resembling a smirk.

“Is this how you treat all your guests, or am I just special?” she murmurs, her voice husky and rough from sleep, the teasing lilt sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

The words pull you from your haze of panic into full-blown mortification, heat rising to your face as you open your mouth, then close it, scrambling for a response. 

“You—you asked me to stay!” you stammer, your voice breaking as you shift just a little, glaring at her. “Don’t twist this into—”

Agatha cuts you off with an expression so faux-innocent you want to scream, her tone light but laced with mockery. 

“Did I?” she muses, her brow quirking as though she’s genuinely pondering it. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like me.”

Your jaw drops. 

Your heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she stirred, and her smirk only makes it worse. The audacity, the smugness. She’s so calm, like waking up tangled together is just another morning for her.

For you? It’s a waking nightmare—or at least, that’s the excuse you cling to as you try to suppress the heat that is completely taking hold of your whole body. Your fists clench at your sides, and your frustration boils over. 

“You did! You said—” you stop yourself, huffing in exasperation as her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“And you’re far too fun to annoy.” she counters shifting slightly, her arm sliding away from your waist as she props herself up on one elbow.

You bite back another retort, your face burning as you turn your head to look anywhere but at her. She’s infuriating. Smug and sharp-tongued and—close. Too close.

The silence stretches for a beat, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. 

It doesn’t help that she’s still watching you, her gaze a quiet weight against your skin. You can feel it without looking—how her smirk lingers, how her eyes flicker between amusement and something unreadable.

She shifts again, finally breaking the silence. 

“Well,” she says softly, her voice still carrying that teasing lilt, “if this is how you handle all your guests, I can’t imagine they stay very long.”

Your breath hitches, and you glance at her despite yourself, catching the faintest flicker of something beneath her grin. She’s teasing, sure—but there’s an edge to it, a quiet discomfort she’s trying to mask.

You huff again, crossing your arms and refusing to let her get the last word. “Maybe they don’t. But you did ask me to stay, so if you have complaints, take it up with yourself.”

Her grin softens slightly, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back a little, her hand brushing against the blanket as she rests her weight on her palm. Her gaze flickers briefly to the window, her expression almost thoughtful.

You watch her for a moment, your own irritation ebbing away as curiosity takes its place. She’s still infuriating, still impossible—but there’s something else, too. Something quieter. 

You should let it go. The tension, the moment—it’s already too much and you both literally just woke up. But the question lodges itself in your throat, unspoken words buzzing like a swarm. You don’t even mean to say it. It just… slips out. “What really happened that day?”

Agatha’s head tilts slightly, her eyes cutting back to yours in a sharp, measured motion. 

“What?” she asks, her tone casual, but there’s a sudden wariness in her gaze, the edge of a blade being drawn.

You hesitate, regretting the words almost immediately, but it’s too late now. 

“The girl.” you clarify, your voice quieter than you intended. “The one they say you… killed.”

The room seems to still, the air shifting as the words settle between you. 

Agatha doesn’t move, her expression unreadable, but the flicker of something raw flashes behind her eyes—a shadow that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.

Her lips curve into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Really?” she drawls, leaning back slightly, the picture of feigned nonchalance. “That’s what you want to talk about? Here? Now?”

Your stomach twists at the sharpness of her tone, but you don’t look away. 

“I just…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I just want to know the truth.”

Agatha lets out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks away again. 

“The truth…” she mutters, her voice low, almost mocking. “You’re the first person to actually ask me for it, you know?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

“Wait.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one’s ever—?”

“No.” Agatha cuts in sharply, her tone laced with dry amusement that barely conceals the bitterness beneath.“Why would they? They already think they know. They don’t need my version.” 

She scoffs, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk.

Your chest tightens painfully at the words, the weight of what she’s said settling over you like a heavy fog. If no one’s ever asked for her version of the story, if no one’s cared enough to hear the truth… then everything you’ve heard—the whispers, the rumors, the stories—might not be true. Or at least, not entirely.

Agatha’s gaze flickers back to you, piercing and unreadable, as if she can sense where your thoughts are heading. 

“I know what they say.” she continues, her voice quieter now, colder. “Some of it’s lies, some of it’s not.”

Your breath catches, her words hanging between you like a challenge, daring you to press further. And you do. 

“But if not all of it’s true…” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, “… then why?”

You hesitate, the question twisting in your chest before it finally escapes. “Why do you let them believe those things about you, hmm?”

That stops her cold.

Her gaze locks on you, her expression sharp and unyielding, but there’s something flickering beneath the surface—something fragile and dangerous and far too human.

For a moment, you swear you see something shatter behind the mask she wears so flawlessly. And when she finally speaks, her whispered answer tears through the silence like thunder.

“Because the truth is too awful.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her. The rawness in her voice, the vulnerability she so desperately tries to hide, steals the breath from your lungs.

But you don’t back down. Not now.

“Maybe.” you say quietly, your voice softening but steady. “But I don’t think it’s worse than the lies, than the stories people tell.”

Her head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease, but there’s something in her gaze—a flicker of hesitation, of consideration.

“You’re persistent.” she mutters, the edge returning to her voice, though it’s quieter now.

“And you’re exhausting.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual despite the knot in your chest tightening with every passing second. “But since it looks like we’re stuck together—and you’re literally in my bed—you might as well tell me.”

You know the truth, though: you’re not really stuck together. Agatha could leave anytime she wanted—she’s clever, resourceful, and probably already thought of four different ways to slip out unnoticed, if she needed or wanted to.

But you also suspect that getting Agatha Harkness to open up requires more than simple patience. She needs to feel cornered—not with malice, but with intent. She has to know that someone is paying attention, that someone cares enough to ask, and that walking away won’t make the questions disappear. So you hold her gaze, refusing to let the moment slip away.

Agatha exhales sharply, the sound laced with frustration as she rubs a hand over her face. For a long, agonizing moment, you think she might retreat entirely. But then her hand falls, and she looks at you again.

And just like that, the walls begin to crack.

[cads-the-cat]

Sleep Token is being turned into a brand rather than a band and being commercialised to a point where it will harm them more than help them

An opinion on there being too much ST merch

Befofe starting this, i want to clear up a few things

I am aware that Vessel and ii probably have very little responsibility/say in this and it's the management/rca who is doing this

Yes, i am a fan and i support them. However, it is unhealthy and not good to blindly support every decision and action of your favourite artist, person etc without questioning them and holding them accountable

I know that earning money with music in times of streaming is hard/impossible but that does not justify those moves of tryihg to get as much money as possible out of them

This also applies to other bands, but the extent to which this aapplies to ST is extreme compared to others

We are one week into this year and there has already been a new merch drop. After 6 days. You know when the last one was? Less than a month ago. Same merch shop (US). The items? Some of them questionable (flannels??). The leather jacket? Insane (not in a good way). It looks okay but you could make one yourself and make it look way cooler and get it for less money as one of my tumblr moots said.

I remember last year up until July/August it kind of was a running joke in the fandom about the emails with obtain and how we're too broke to obtain, but now? This is not a joke anymore. Ever since last year we have gotten emails ALMOST EVERY MONTH, sometimes even several times a month about new merch releases.

Yes, there are different stores worldwide, but we live in a time of international shipping. And even for one store it's lots of releases. Plus then there's all the licensed products shops like Hot Topic, Impericon, EMP and whatever their local equivalents are, who also constantly release more merch.

What's even worse: a lot of those things are either a shitty quality (if i remember right, one of the hoodies or tshirts from the EU tour 2024 had the print peeling off after one wash) and/or really bland. Where is the cool art, the thing that makes these items special? I got a tshirt from the German Rituals 2023 with this sick artwork on it that i cherish more than anything. But compared to that most tour merch of the more recent tours has been nothing special.

Most of them just have the logo on it and it reminds me of any ither fashion brand. There's only so many jumpers and t-hsirts and sweatshirts with the logo that a person needs and the constant release of new but actually the same stuff is creating this insane overconsumption which harms fans' bank accounts and the environment and is straight up boring. There's nothing about them that makes them special and unique and cool. It feels like at this point it is a contest of how many ST logos can they plaster on an item before it looks ridiculous (on the leather jacket i counted at least four, three of them massive).

Which brings me to the next point. People just slap on a ST logo because the band is so hyped and to make money off it or get more clicks, even if it is only remotely related to them. I understand that in today's world you need to use buzzwords to make people pay attention, but with ST it has reached the most ridiculous level. The air of anticipation some magazines or brands build around some upcoming stuff with words like Worship and whatever, which everyone connects to ST, just to reveal a mid product or result is just horrible and will eventually make it less effective which can harm the band in the long run if they can't build up excitement for new releases as much as they could because everyone is 'burnt out' because it's been overused.

Overall, this insane amount of merch and using ST to sell anything or get clicks is not okay. The fan base is so dedicated and loyal and we deserve better than to be - for the lack of a better word - exploited like this just because we like and support an artist. Prices for everything have been rising for years and it's hard for a lot of us financially. We spend so much money on concerts already and then the ton of merch and everything on top is just too much. ST as a brand is used to exploit fans which is not how you should treat your fans (again want to emphasise that this is mostly on management and label, not Vessel)

You might think 'But you don't have to go to concerts or buy their merch'. That's right, you don't. But concerts are kind of the thing when you're a fan of a band, and you want to support your fave band abd wear merch and show that you like them. However, the merch and everything is limited and posed in a way that creates FOMO and everyone is always drilled to Consume and Obtain (yes that's how capitalism works and that is not good in this situation because it harms us fans so much.) I can't deny I've given in to this as well twice during the EU shows and i am now left with an underwhelming sweatshirt and a hat that i never really needed and probably wouldn't have bought if i hadn't been in this mindset so much.

'Oh but i want to support Vessel and the band.' Yes, merch does help out artists, especially in times of streaming. But how much do you think they make? Merch is using little to no lyrics or song related things that the band could earn money off due to copyright. And i don't know who owns the right to the logo (i did some research and found someone in management with three trademarks on something ST related but it never specified if that applies to just the name or the logo or the music or whatever - it was not Vessel though). Who knows how much is going to management and the label and how much the band actually earns. Right now it feels like the management and label want to make as much money possible from them for their own gain. As an alternative to support them, start buying their albums and vinyls so they earn more money off their songs.

So, what do i want? Obviously i don't want fans to stop buying merch because it does help artists to some degree. However, I want less merch releases, one or maximum two a year per merch store (so AUS, US and UK/EU). We can have a few simple designs with the logo on it, but i also want some cool pieces with art or something else that makes them special. I know artists are expensive and stuff, but that's why you make less items but higher quality. Make them available in larger quantities so that more people can buy them and they will still get their money. Plus you always have extra tour merch, which is another extra release. Make the merch special again and make it mean something to people instead of just being another logo like a fashion brand.

If they continue like this fans will eventually be unable to afford stuff, people will turn away from merch because they realise it's all the same, and the effect of using ST as a brand/connection simply to sell stuff will harm their reputation (it already is). Whoever is responsible for this merch insanity needs to put a stop to it. Please!

This is just my opinion. Disagree if you want to. Some things, especially the effects of the situation, are portrayed slightly exaggerated, but this is how it makes me feel and I truly believe this is not a great situation we're in right now with the merch.

(Not taking any responsibility for typos)

[starstruckgoateepuppy]

the cut that always bleeds

park jihyo x f!reader

synopsis: jihyo has been grieving over the loss of her sister, as much as you try and help her move on she seems to get more agitated and bitter which causes the biggest argument of your relationship.

warnings: drinking, kinda toxic jihyo, death and anything else i didn’t say

wc: 1.8k (its short im sorry)

a/n’s note: oh my god its been so so so long 🥲🥲 thank you @cry4mina for encouraging me and giving me ideas your soooooo nice and sweet for reaching out to me ☹️🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷x infinity

You and Jihyo have never had many arguments—mostly just bickering. This is largely because you both are understanding and mature with each other. The few disagreements between you aren't serious, and you typically make up quickly. You love Jihyo, and everyone close to you knows it. No one would have thought things would turn out like this.

-

day one

It was just your typical morning routine with Jihyo, and you nevertheless cherished every moment of it. You lived in an average-sized apartment with her, and both of you were very satisfied and content with your living arrangements.

You had been married to her for quite a while, and it was quite obvious that would not change anytime soon.

While at the table, having your hands on the delicious avocado toast that was made by Jihyo, there was suddenly a tense moment as she picked up her phone and answered the call that had been made while she was in the midst of brewing coffee. She was in such distress that you could tell something was very wrong. After a few minutes of giving her time, she put the phone down and mumbled, "My sister... she's not here anymore... she's dead." You looked at her face, her eyes glistening in the light as tears filled her eyes. You just hugged her as she sobbed into your shoulder.

You held each other for what felt like twenty minutes before gently guiding her to sit down. You assured her that everything would be okay and that her sister was in a better place now. Through her tears, she spoke about their close childhood bond and her deep regret about not interacting during the holidays. from the little times you met her sister, it was clear that she was really a nice and kind woman, it also pained you seeing how wretched she was processing all this.

you called out from work and took the next 2 weeks of just to help jihyo and her family out.

-

day 7

it has been a week since the death of your sister in law, who is now 6 feet buried underground. jihyo still hasn’t taken in the fact that she would never be able to see her sister again.

-

day 90

3 months has passed since the tragic loss of jihyos childhood best friend. to say jihyo was still taking it hard was an understatement. jihyo hasn’t been able to do much other then work and go on her phone reminiscing the memories of her sister. every chance you get, you try and get her to go out and spend some time together but she always seems like she’s out of it. as much as you try to help, she pushes it away and ignores it.

-

day 365+

it has been a year since the death of the park sister and jihyo has still yet to move on. although you still insist in trying to help her deal with her feelings and emotions, she becomes more insistent about being able to deal with herself. and you really can’t lie about how aggressive she has been lately and how much it has been frustrating you. you really just care for her and want to know if shes okay, but how could you if shes trying to push you away? you’re her wife and you feel like you should be responsible for her and her emotional needs. now she’s making you feel like you haven’t been caring and doing your responsibilities as a wife.

all of this causes a big change in her attitude towards you. her being more agitated and angry made you feel like you shouldn’t be talking to her as much anymore than you should. it gets to the point that you try to start avoiding her, worried about making her angry.

-

The clock was hitting 1 in the morning and you still weren’t home. The door clicked open, slowly creaking wider. She saw your familiar shoes and flowy silky black hair tip inside the door. The lights were turned off, just her sitting on the sofa staring at the television in front of her. You slipped off your shoes, placing your sweater on the door. you slightly jumped when you saw her figure get up from the sofa walking towards you.

“hyo? baby why are you awake?”

“don’t even think about talking to me in that sweet tone. what have you been doing at this hour? there cannot be an excuse reasonable enough for this!”

“jihyo you know i would never do such a thing! what kind of person do you take me for? its like you dont even know me anymore. you never try to even bring up a conversation with me!” you fired back at her. She was mainly the dominant one in the relationship. You never made statements like this. “i have been through so much this year and you still treat me like this like its nothing!” its like she was made to make people feel in the wrong, like she purposely wanted to make you feel terrible, like how she has been how the pass few months, and you don’t want to deal with it anymore. You didn’t want to feel like that anymore, you wanted to tell her the truth. “I have been doing my best to help you cope and deal with your grief for months and all you have been doing is pushing me away! how do you think i feel jihyo? i have feelings too! i also am devastated that my sister in law passed away! i also had connections with her but i had to care for you too!”

she stays silent for a little while, taken aback by your words. you thought it was done, maybe she started to understand that what she did was wro- “excuse me? are you trying to tell me that me grieving over my dead fucking sister is crazy? i spent my entire childhood with her, you don’t get it! i am her sister, you are her sister in law. its very different from what i know, or what? are you gonna tell me what i know is wrong too? i am never right to you, is that right?” you were left speechless, unable to process what you had just heard. “no way you just had the nerve to tell me that..” she just raised her eyebrow as you both stood there. you decided that you didn’t want to hear her voice anymore so you took your coat, packed up and left, ignoring whatever protests she was doing.

you got in you car, rethinking everything she had done and how much she neglected you. all the effort to make her feel better, all of that pushed down the drain so easily. all of that and she still called you the problem. you didn’t even know what to do and where to go. your mind was still trying to process everything that had happened in the past 15 minutes.

meanwhile, you could say that jihyo was astonished. she never knew you would go this far and leave the apartment, but she definitely knew that she did something terribly wrong. she was probably sitting on the couch, head in her hands in the most distress she has ever been. obviously she still loved you, but the loss of her sister took a toll on her and she started losing her mind not being able to deal with the pain and grief. she was starting to realise how much she messed up and had a pang of guilt hit her. she called and texted you, pleading that you would give her another chance, that she wouldn’t push you away from helping her. whatever she did you just didn’t answer, she was without a doubt starting to get worried.

it has been hours since you left the house and you genuinely didn’t even know where you were anymore. all you knew was that you weren’t ready to go back to where jihyo was. you were afraid that some unintentional words might slip out which would cause an even deeper misunderstanding with her. you hesitated checking your phone, aware that there would be tons and tons of messages and missed call notifications from her who is named as “my loml 🧡”. you needed a place to stay for the meantime, but you didn’t want to stay at her members place.

if you went to a members house they would probably question you (which isn't unreasonable at all because who the hell shows up uninvited at nearly 3 in the morning?) unfortunately you didn’t want to deal with that with how dazed you were. you knew they would very surely take you in without any protests, you just hated the fact that you would have to explain everything and make even more conflicts and problems.

after the hours of driving and reflecting on your situation. your last hope was to sleep in the backseat of your car. fortunately you had some blankets to keep yourself warm. sleeping in the backseat of your car in the parking lot of your apartment complex, something you never thought you would have to do one day.

-

at 6am

3 hours of minimal sleep, you drove to the nearest convenience store and got yourself some coffee to keep your mind running while on the verge of breaking down again. you didn’t get yourself any food, you doubt you were gonna eat it anyway and it would go to some pigeons in a park or something. you were trying so hard to prevent yourself from having to return back to your house.

you genuinely wish it could start over. things shouldn’t have been like this. there was no one to blame. no one should be forced to get over it.

-

it hits you. your facing what she faced. your sitting at a graveyard, in front of a tombstone.

there it marks the words.

“here is the forever home of

Park Jihyo“

you cry again and again, begging her to please just come back.

why did it have to end like this? you hated it, you wish you had never left the house. she wouldn’t have to go looking for you. then she wouldn’t have gotten into the car crash.

this whole thing could’ve been avoided. if you just continued giving her the time and she would’ve just allowed you to help her.

you wanted to blame the stupid drunk driver. but who are you to blame when she was driving to look for you? you made her worried? driving all around all alone. you thought losing a sister in law was one of the worst experiences. your sister in law will never know she was a reason her sister died just a year later.

[wwooyology]

You're Mine Baby | K.YS

「pairing」 : ex bf!yeosang x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.2k

「synopsis」 : you and yeosang had been broken up for at least a year now, but when you come back to town and saw him with another girl it sets you off. he was only supposed to be yours and this time you were going to make sure that he understood that.

「genre」 : psychological horror/thriller, angst, dark romance, slight gore

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, DARK THEMES!!!, cussing, tiny bit of kissing, stalking, reader has SEVERE mental illnesses (she's just straight psychotic), gore, blood, murder, stabbing, use of a weapon (knife), name-calling (skank...), manipulation, threats, hitting/slapping, blackmail(?), reader is in love obsessed with yeosang, mentions of a therapist/mental hospital, EXTREME violence, petnames (my love, baby…), yelling/shouting, fighting, anger issues, gaslighting, reader lowkey gives off 'if I can't have you no one can' vibes, kidnapping, implied use of drugs/sedative, possessiveness, lmk if I missed anything bc I feel like I did…

「now playing」 : kill bill by sza

「notes」 : this is some dark shit so I HEAVILY advice you to carefully look over ALL of the warnings before you proceed with reading!! also if this isn't your type of thing that is perfectly fine, but please keep your unnecessary comments to yourself, thank you.

It was late afternoon when you found yourself sitting outside a cafe, an iced coffee sitting on the table in front of you as you stirred the ice around with your straw. However, your eyes were focused on the couple laughing away with each other on the other side of the window. Your eyes narrow as you watch the girl lean onto the male, anger coursing through your veins. That was supposed to be you, not some worthless skank.

How long has it been since you last saw Yeosang? Oh, right…it has been two years, six months, two weeks, and four days since you were coldly ripped from his arms. You could even recall the seconds, hours, and minutes as well. 

You had hoped that whenever you were released that you would get the chance to reconcile with your ex-boyfriend. Yet as you learned of his new girlfriend the more that bitter taste in your mouth grew. So much so that you wanted nothing more than to get her out of the picture.

The straw in your hand made a pathetic sound as your fingers tightened around it, absolutely destroying the poor thing as you watched Yeosang lean over the girl and capture her lips in a kiss. Rage started to cloud your vision and you stood from your seat, the chair scraping the ground roughly.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The sound of the worker's voice drew you out of your intense haze, and you looked over at her with doe eyes. Seeing her glance down at your hand, you noticed that with the force of your abrupt standing, it caused some of your coffee to slosh around before splashing onto the surface of the table.

Swallowing thickly, you recalled your therapist's words, ‘Remember, y/n, don’t let your anger consume you. It will only cause you more trouble, and I would hate to see you back in here again.’

Letting out a shaky breath, you apologized to the girl before using a few napkins to clean up your mess. Whenever you were finished, you looked back over your shoulder only to find Yeosang and that wretched girl was gone. Grumbling lowly, you threw the soaked napkins away before grabbing your drink and storming off down the sidewalk.

“Of course, they just had to leave when I wasn’t looking. No worries though, I can find them.” You assured yourself as you took a sip of your slightly watered-down coffee from the new straw the worker had offered you.

That’s exactly what you did. You found them later that night at a movie theater. Then it was the food stall that was just right down the road from the school you and Yeosang had attended years ago before finally Yeosang took her home. You watched from across the road, hiding just beyond the shadows of two houses.

Disgust settled deep in your gut as you saw Yeosang pull her into a deep kiss, his hand against her lower back to pull her closer. Rage once again started to bubble in your gut the longer you watched until he finally pulled away, wishing her one last goodnight before walking off.

Eventually, this led to you following Yeosang around, no matter where he went or what time it was. You were there. You wanted to speak with him, tell him to leave that thing he calls a girlfriend so he could be with you once more, but you knew you couldn’t. He would run the moment he saw you.

 So you needed a plan… A plan that would surely make him yours once again.

Then, one day, while you were walking a good distance behind them, you started to recognize the familiar path that they were taking. You hoped that he wasn’t taking her to the spot that he once showed you and promised to never bring anyone else. Yet when he rounded the corner to an all too familiar alleyway, you just knew.

You stopped dead in your tracks, fingers curling into fists at your sides as rage boiled over, flooding every single part of your body until you saw nothing but crimson red. Then you knew… knew it was time to put your plan into action.

It was such a simple plan, really, and your poor, sweet ex-boyfriend was just as clueless as always. He didn’t even bat an eye whenever he received a gift of an all-paid vacation rental from his ‘friend.’ You watched from afar like you’ve done for the past two months, watching as he happily packed all his bags with his happy-go-lucky girlfriend. The sight made you sick, really; how could he be so happy with something like that? Only you truly knew what he deserved, and that was you, of course.

After the lights turned off in his girlfriend's apartment, you made your trek back to your car. All you had to do now was wait for that perfect moment to strike, then he’d be yours again.

—

Yeosang awoke with a groan. The back of his head was throbbing. However, upon trying to reach for his head, he noticed that he couldn’t move his hands. His eyes flew open as he pulled at his restraints after noticing that he was tied to a chair.

‘What’s going on?’ Was all he could think as he tried his best to recall what had previously happened. He and Yoonmin were sitting in the living room, watching a movie, when suddenly the lights went out. He couldn’t remember much of what happened next, it was far too dark, but he did remember feeling an excruciating pain in the back of his head before everything went black.

His eyes then wandered around the room until they fell on the unconscious girl who sat tied to a chair just a few feet in front of him. Panicked, he thrashes around in his seat, but the knots in the rope are far too strong and way too tight for him to break free of. Not only that, but his limbs all felt like jelly, and his muscles were not working the way they were supposed to.

Hearing noises from the other room you sat down the mug of warm tea that sat in your hands, a borderline psychotic smile spreading across your face. Walking into the next room over your steps, light but happy, this is what you’ve been waiting for after all.

“Well, lookie who decided to finally wake up.” You greeted the male happily, making slow strides into the room.

Yeosang’s head snapped in your direction, his eyes blown wide and pupils dilating in anger and fear. Seeing you again was as if he had woken up in his own personal hell, one that he knew he wouldn’t escape from, but he would be damned if he didn’t try. 

“Y/n, what the hell is wrong with you? Let us go!” He shouted, arms still roughly pulling at his restraints. Hearing words caused you to stop dead in your tracks, your smile completely wiped off of your face. 

He should be happy to see you, not angry. Not with so much hatred in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense, but then you heard a small groan from the other side of the room. Your eyes narrowed into slits as you looked over at the girl. She must have brainwashed him. That had to be it. There would be no other reason Yeosang would even dare to look at you with such contempt.

The clicking sound of your tongue breaks the deathly silent room, the floorboards creaking with each step you take toward the girl. Once she was fully conscious and saw you walking towards her, she started thrashing around in her chair, trying to escape, but to no avail. Yeosang shouts and pleas for you to stop filled the room as you roughly grabbed the girl’s hair, yanking her head back.

“Why are you doing this to us? We did nothing wrong!” The girl weeps as she looks up at you, silent pleas filling her eyes, but you can’t help but scoff at her words. 

With a scowl, you yanked her head back until she was looking up at you fully. “Nothing wrong? Nothing. Wrong?” A crazed laugh fell from your lips as if she had said the funniest thing in the world. After a few short moments, your laughter stopped, and your face fell stoic. 

Yeosang watched in fear and disbelief as you leaned into the girl's face until you were merely inches away. 

“You’re anything but innocent.” The words came out in a growl, your grip on her hair tightening causing her to cry out, more tears streaming down her face. Your wide eyes then studied the girl's face, taking in every little detail that you could possibly find. However, the longer you looked, the more aggravated you became.

What in the world could possibly be so good about her? 

Yeosang’s breath hitched, and his yelling stopped as you turned your head to look back at him. A violent chill ran down his spine at the crazed gleam in your eyes. He knew this look all too well after spending years with you, the very look that meant disaster would strike if nothing was done to stop it.

The corner of your lips twitched as you maneuvered yourself next to the crying girl before yanking her head up so she was looking at Yeosang. “Tell me Yeo… What's so good about her? Huh?” Your voice gradually grew in volume, “What does she have that I don’t?” Yeosang shouted at you to stop once more as you pulled on the girl's hair eliciting a pained cry from her lips. “What the fuck makes her so much better than me?”

You couldn’t possibly understand. He had promised you that he would wait until you were released so you could be together again. ‘Why did he go back on his word? Why would he lie to you like that? Why? Why? WHY?’  Thoughts started to cloud your mind, and your sanity slowly started to drift away as you teetered on the edge of the deep. 

Yeosang opened his mouth to speak, hoping to calm the situation like he had so many times in the past, but before he could even utter a word, his poor little girlfriend beat him to it.

“Because I’m not a fucking lunatic like you!” She shouted, spitting in your face and causing your whole body to freeze. At those words, that last little push was given, and something inside of you snapped, a small laugh leaving your lips.

Noticing that something wasn’t right, Yeosang pulled against his restraints, “Wait, wait, y/n! She didn’t mean it!” He tried to reason with you as you slowly stood straight, your hold on her hair slipping until your hand dropped back down to your side.

“Of course, I meant it, Yeosang. Do you not see her?!” She shouted at the male, who pleaded with her to stop talking, but she, of course, didn’t get the hint. “I don’t know why she was let out. I mean, look at her, she’s a total fucking nutjo–”

Before she could even finish her sentence, your hand collided with the side of her face, damn near knocking the chair over. A shrill cry of pain left the girl's lips as you slapped her once again, sobs raking her body. Yeosang screamed and thrashed in his restraints, begging you to stop, but you just glared at him.

“Pulling on those restraints is pointless. You can’t get out.” Your eyes were wide as a smile spread across your face, an idea coming to mind. Walking away from the sobbing girl, you make your way over to the table with a slight skip in your step.

“Yoonmin, look at me. We’re gonna be okay, I promise.” Yeosang tried to comfort the girl, who nodded, her hair a mess as she looked over at him. His words pulled a laugh from your lungs as your fingers wrapped around the hilt of a large kitchen knife.

“Oh, Sangie, you should know better than to give empty promises.” You pouted, dragging the blade off the table, allowing the sharp scraping sounds to echo around the room. Yeosang looked over at you with a glare until he saw the knife in your hand, his whole body going rigid. “There’s no one coming to save you. You are on vacation, after all.” A small chuckle fell from your lips as you neared Yoonmin, her whole body trembling as she shook her head profusely, “No one is going to find you… At least not for a while.” You covered your mouth as a borderline psychotic laugh racked your body.

You rounded the girl's seat, pointing the blade dangerously close to her face until you stood behind her. Then, in the blink of an eye, your hand was tangled in her hair once again, yanking her head back until her throat was fully exposed. Yeosang’s eyes widened as he lurched forward, begging you to stop and put the blade down as he tried once again to get out of his restraints, but just like all of the times before, he failed. However, as soon as the blade's sharp edge made contact with her skin, you stopped, a sinister smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Y/n, please.” Yeosang cried out, tears of his own blurring his vision. He knew that one wrong move could easily end Yoonmin’s life, and he also knew that he had very limited time to act. “You’re here for me, right? Let her go, and I promise I’ll go with you. Just let her go, y/n, please.” 

Your eyes narrowed into a glare as you pressed the blade further against the girl's neck, choked sobs racked her body as she tried to shy away from it. However, your grip was far too strong for her to go against.

“Oh my love,” You tilted your head, expression changing to one of pity as you looked at him, “we both know I can’t do that. You see, as long as this skank is alive, you’ll never fully be mine, and we can’t have that.” Your words alone were enough to send a chill down the male’s spine, but he wasn’t going to give up as he continued to try and negotiate with you, but it proved fruitless. “Can’t you understand it, Yeosang? I’m the only one you need. I’m the only one who loves you, who is truly right for you. Not some watered-down rat you found on the street.” You growl, pressing the blade just far enough to break the first layer of skin; bright crimson-red blood seeped out, running down her heaving chest. 

Growing even more aggravated, you told Yeosang to just say goodbye before starting to drag the blade across the girl’s skin.

“No, no, please y/n! NO!” Yeosang shouted, but it was useless; with precise movements, you had sliced the girl’s neck wide open. Blood sprayed out of the gaping wound as she struggled to intake any air. Your hand became covered in the thick liquid as you laughed maniacally.

Yeosang could only sit there in shock, tears streaming down his pale face as he watched the life drain from his girlfriend's body until she fell limp in her chair. “H-How could you?” He choked out, looking up at you as you wiped your face with your forearm but only managed to smear more blood. “Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?!” Sobs fell from his lips as he shouted at you, but you could only shake your head.

You slowly walked over to him, your hands behind your back as you playfully swung the knife around. “One day, you’ll understand Sangie, but she had to die. That’s the only way you would be mine and mine alone. I didn’t want to kill her, but that was the best way to do it.” You pouted as you finally reached him, bending at the waist to look at him.

“This is wrong, y/n.” Yeosang’s voice shook as he stared at you in nothing but unadulterated fear. He knew that you would never physically hurt him, but you definitely had your way around it. 

A pained expression fell upon your features as you reached out to him, cupping his cheek in your hand despite him trying to back away. “I just love you so much, Sangie, I can’t stand seeing you with other people. It just hurts me so much, and I’d rather die than be without you.”

“That’s not love, it’s an obsession.”

“Oh, but Sangie, you know deep down that you belong with me. Even your sweet mother knows that.” You spoke softly as your fingers tightened around his chin, “I would absolutely hate to see something happen to that poor woman.” 

Yeosang felt his blood run cold at the mention of his mother, eyes growing wide as you pulled your phone out of your pocket. After a few taps, you turn the device around to show Yeosang the screen. Even though the smeared blood on the screen, he could very clearly tell that it was his mother, humming to herself in the kitchen while she cooked dinner.

Fear sunk its claws even deeper into his bones as he took in the unsettling smile that was on your lips. He was trapped.

“Now… are you going to be a good boy and listen to me? I’m only doing this for your own good, baby; I hope you understand that.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet as you cooed at him, your phone placed back into your pocket.

Yeosang knew that he didn’t have any other choice but to agree with you. It was the only way he could guarantee the safety of those around him. His pain-filled eyes flickered back over to the dark-haired girl's lifeless form before shifting his gaze back up to you.

“I’ll go with you, but you have to promise that you won’t hurt anyone else.” He begged, tears still spilling down his face, now mixing with the blood on his chin from your stained hand.

Shaking your head with a click of your tongue you brought the blade up to your face, waving it from side to side, eyes trained on the crimson cover metal. Then your eyes moved back over to meet Yeosang’s.

“That will all depend on if you can behave, my love. Be good, and no one else will get hurt.” Your tone was kind, but there were undertones that indicated that your words were anything but a bluff.

His heart pounded in his chest as he swallowed thickly, “I’ll behave, I promise.” He told you reluctantly, and he felt goosebumps litter his skin when a bright smile spread across your face.

Reaching forward, you cupped his face once more before leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead. “We’re gonna be the happiest couple in the world, Sangie, I love you so much!”

It was then that it finally set in that he was trapped with nowhere else to run. His most terrifying nightmare had actually come true, but unlike those wicked dreams, he couldn’t wake up from this one.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[cyraclove]

14 🤲🥺

14. A kiss to the stomach

Chrissy stands at the bathroom counter as she opens a cheerfully purple box marked Ovulation Predictor Test. She chews her lip as she unfolds the creased instruction page to peer at the tiny print.

A pamphlet from her obstetrician that reads ‘How easy is it to plan a winter baby?’ lays near the sink, a squishy infant with a fleece hat shooting her a gummy grin from the center of the page.

Sighing, Chrissy runs a hand through her hair.

When she and Eddie had decided to stop using birth control, she hadn’t been prepared for trying to get pregnant being as complicated as advanced calculus.

And she’d been really bad at calculus.

Before her annual earlier that month, she hadn’t known that things like ovulation tests existed. Naively, she’d thought that she and Eddie would just… have sex and make a baby.

Turns out it’s a lot more involved than that.

“Alrighty, looks like we’re just doing the pap today,” Dr. Whitman had said at Chrissy’s last appointment. “Give me one minute to put your vitals in the system here and then we’ll go ahead and get started.”

“Oh, take your time,” Chrissy had replied politely.

She’d glanced down at her socked feet as they hung off the side of the exam bed, absently twisting the hem of the thin, blue gown she was wearing.

Her pulse fluttered against her throat when she’d looked up at the framed poster on the wall in front of her titled Pregnancy & Birth.

The thought of a life growing inside of her—a fragile combination of chromosomes with ten tiny fingers and two little eyes—was as wonderful as it was terrifying.

“Um, actually,” Chrissy had started with an odd sort of trembly joy in her chest. “We’ve—I mean, my husband and I—we’ve decided to start trying for a baby. That’s, um, probably something I should’ve mentioned before.”

“Oh, that’s great news! Congratulations,” Dr. Whitman had said with a wide smile. “How exciting.”

“Yeah, we’re excited.”

“Have you already stopped using contraception?”

“Yes, maybe… around three weeks ago? I was using a diaphragm.”

“And you’ve had intercourse since?”

Chrissy’s cheeks had gone hot. This is your doctor, she reminded herself. That’s a normal question to ask.

“Yes.”

She’d fidgeted on the exam bed, paper crinkling beneath her as she tried not to think about the last time she and Eddie had had sex.

About the deliciously filthy things he’d whispered in her ear while he’d fucked her from behind, his hand at the back of her neck.

That hadn’t seemed like an appropriate thing to think about in a doctor’s office. It sent a tingly little shiver up her spine, anyway.

“You said the first day of your last period was the eleventh?”

Chrissy had cleared her throat.

“That’s right.”

Dr. Whitman nodded as she’d clacked on her keyboard. Turning back to Chrissy, she clasped her hands together.

“Well, Chrissy. Let’s go ahead and do some bloodwork while you’re here. There’s a chance that you may already be pregnant.”

Chrissy’s heart had flown into her throat.

“Really?”

“It’s certainly possible. Might as well go ahead and check, right?”

Twenty torturously long minutes later, Dr. Whitman had come back into the room with a look on her face that told Chrissy all she needed to know.

“Don’t worry. No two couples are the same,” Dr. Whitman assured her. “Just because you haven’t conceived yet doesn’t mean you won’t.”

Chrissy had driven home with a new hollowness in her heart, a melancholic longing for something she hadn’t even known she wanted.

“What’s the verdict, sweetness? Are we procreating today?”

Chrissy startles, the husky warmth of a familiar voice pulling her back to the present.

She looks up to see Eddie leaning against the doorframe, his mouth twisted into that impishly handsome grin of his. Her stomach flutters a bit, just like it had the first time she’d seen it.

"Eddie. You scared me," Chrissy chides halfheartedly. "And did you just use the word procreate?"

“Yeah, baby, you and me," Eddie says, stepping toward Chrissy to twine his arms around her waist. "We’re repopulating the planet, remember?”

Splaying her hands over Eddie's chest, Chrissy absentmindedly hooks a finger into the silver chain dangling from his neck as she looks up at him.

“How about we start with one?”

Eddie knits his brow in mock contemplation.

“I can agree to those terms, I guess. Just remember that we’re humanity’s last hope.”

Pushing herself up onto her toes, Chrissy presses her lips to Eddie's. He hums softly against her mouth as his grip on her waist tightens.

"What'd your test say, huh?" he asks eagerly, gravelly and low. "We got the green light to go ahead and get started?"

“Ugh,” Chrissy groans, pulling away with a frustrated sigh. “Eddie, this is just so weird.”

Eddie blinks.

"I’m sorry, Chris," he says sincerely, "I was really just kidding, sweetheart. Shit, I didn’t mean t—“

“No, not that,” Chrissy clarifies, softening a bit. “Just… this. The calendars and the tests. Scheduling sex. It feels very… clinical. Mechanical.”

With a knowing nod, Eddie rests his forehead against hers before pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get where you’re coming from," he agrees. "Like a science experiment, or something."

“Yes. It’s not very romantic. And it doesn’t..." Chrissy trails off in a small voice, shrinking away from Eddie's gaze.

"Doesn't what, baby?"

"It doesn't make me feel very sexy," Chrissy replies, whispering the word sexy like it's a secret she's not meant to be telling.

She lets out a little yelp of surprise when Eddie turns her towards the bathroom mirror, planting his chin on her shoulder as he hugs her from behind.

“I'm sorry, have you seen you? You melt my face off. Like those Nazi guys in that one Indiana Jones movie.”

Wrinkling her nose, Chrissy bites back a laugh.

“Eddie, gross.”

“Seriously, though. I hear you," Eddie tells her, meeting her eye in the mirror. "I get it. I wanna do… whatever you need me to do to keep it fun. ‘Cause we have fun, right?”

“We do,” Chrissy agrees, suddenly bashful. “A lot of fun.”

“Yeah, we do, sweetheart. We can still have fun even though we’re trying to make a lil’ munchkin.”

Those words out of Eddie's mouth make Chrissy's heart go wobbly, her knees a little weaker than before. Even still, she can't seem to shake the uneasy weirdness of the whole situation.

“I know, I just feel like a… I don’t know," she sighs. "I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like we’re just baby-making machines or something.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes darken as they fall to the cut of Chrissy's blouse, a look of wolfish want on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Christine Elizabeth," Eddie starts, clearing his throat. "Light of my life. Apple of my eye. I hate to have to tell you this, but that’s so hot.”

Chrissy all but whips her head around as she cranes her neck to look back at Eddie.

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That just made this whole thing a lot sexier.”

“I don't even... How?”

Eddie's fingers are in the belt loops of Chrissy's jeans then, turning her in his arms to face her before he sinks to his knees. Kneeling at her feet, his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt.

Squirming, Chrissy threads her fingers through Eddie's mess of dark curls. Her breath hitches when his lips ghost along the swell of her stomach, leaving a tickly kiss just below her navel.

“Christ, just… thinking about knocking you up drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

Chrissy's cheeks burn hot, stomach swooping.

"You're serious?"

"Oh, baby," Eddie groans, dragging his thumbnail along the teeth of Chrissy's zipper. "You have no idea."

"So, you... you don't mind that it's taking longer than we thought it would? What if it takes forever?"

Eddie tips his head to look up at Chrissy with his wide, whiskey-warm eyes. When he smiles, there's something wild in it that crackles up the length of Chrissy's spine.

"Guess we won't know if we don't try."

KISS ROULETTE!

[susiekern]

16. the one with the boys

a/n: after two important chapters, I present to you: this fucking thing

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.096

masterlist

previous | next

“Are they mad about it?”

“Nah, Toge almost cried about me getting a girl faster than him, but Yuta and Cho are actually pretty chill about it. They know it’s serious and all.”

“Shit, it’s so weird when you say it’s serious.”

Megumi’s eyes move towards you, giving you the meanest side eye in history. You’re on your way to one of the bars, so you can meet the rest of the Fallen, or more like just Megumi’s friends. It’s been a few days since you officially started dating, the right way this time, and it was his idea, believe it or not. The three of them are the closest people in his life, besides you and Yuji, and he wanted you all to meet and get along. You know Yuta, obviously, but you’ve only heard stories about Toge and Choso.

“I’m kind of nervous. What if they don’t like me?” Saying that, you furrow your brows. Megumi sighs and squeezes your hand tighter in his own.

“I couldn’t care less. Besides, Yuta already likes you, Choso is as chill as it gets, and Toge’s been following you on Twitch for the past few months. But don’t tell him you know that; he wanted to act all cool around you or something.” He says with a smirk. “And I’m not with you to show you off, they could hate you, and I wouldn’t give a fuck.”

Your smile is back on as you get on your toes to peck his lips. Before you pull back, one of his hands is on your neck, keeping you close and deepening the kiss.

“We’ll be late, Megs.” You laugh quietly, but that doesn’t keep the black-haired man away from you.

“They’re constantly late for rehearsals, I don’t care.” He murmurs, relishing your taste for a few more seconds. When he finally lets you go, your cheeks are blushed, and you have that glint in your eyes he loves so much. “If you hate them, you can just talk to Yuji or tell me, we’ll go home and watch that weird show of yours.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He opens the door for you, following close by as you enter the bar. It’s the middle of the week, so it’s relatively empty, which makes it much easier to find a booth occupied by the boys. The sight of Yuji’s pink strands soothes your nerves a little. He’s talking with Yuta and a black-haired man with a dark streak running through his nose bridge who must be Choso. There’s also Toge, you assumed, his white hair making him stand out from the group. He’s also the only one who’s not dressed in dark colors, with the pink t-shirt (that’s weirdly almost the same color as Yuji’s hair) and light jeans on. His focus is on his phone, tapping fast on it, until he notices you two coming their way.

“Gumi! Finally, I can’t deal with another minute of their boring shit.” Toge puts his phone down on the table and gets up to greet Megumi with a typical manly handshake and back pats. His brown eyes then land on you, and he smiles. “And you must be y/n?”

“Be nice, Toge. She doesn’t know how weird you are yet.” A much taller figure appears behind him, the man you recognized as Choso, based on Megumi’s stories.

“You don’t need to spoil it for her then, gosh. Give a man a chance.” Toge sighs and moves a little, so Megumi and Choso can greet each other. “The tall emo is Choso, I’m Toge, as you probably know already.”

“Nice to meet you both. Y/n y/l.” You offer them a smile and a polite head nod. Before you can say another word, there are warm arms wrapping around you, as Yuji almost jumps your way.

“Finally, a crossover episode.” He grins, squeezing your body and pulling you to the leather couch, where you quickly greet Yuta. Thankfully, without any awkwardness. You haven’t seen each other since your little date, only exchanged polite texts where you thanked him for the evening, not expecting that the next time you’ll meet will be like that. With you, meeting your boyfriend’s friends. The universe has a weird sense of humor, you have to admit.

“I’ll do that, and you all will see. It’s a new way.” The evening is going great; it turns out they’re all as welcoming as you could ever ask for, and it’s not long before the conversations are flowing naturally.

They share a few funny stories about Megumi, asking you how you’ve met Yuji in exchange; Toge admitted to following you, to which Choso reminded him about the time he called you a “twitch baddie” in their group chat. You’re really enjoying this. Megumi is by your side all the time, keeping a hand on your thigh or at the small of your back, smiling almost constantly. It eased his mind to see you getting along with his friends, something he was anxious about, even if he’d never admit it. He doesn’t keep a lot of people close to himself, so the sight of you joking around with his support group warms his heart in a way.

“Toge, I guarantee saying random food items won’t make you popular among the girls.” Yuji is shaking his head, barely keeping the laugh in. For the past few minutes, Toge explained his brilliant plan to the whole group, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or cry.

“It works for him!” The white-haired man says offended, brows furrowed as he looks around, looking for any support but meeting none.

“It’s a guy from an anime. He has a magic tongue, and you think it’s about saying salmon all the time?” Megumi lifts one brow before taking a sip of his drink.

“First of all, he’s a cursed speech user, he doesn’t have a magic tongue. And second, I even look like him!”

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror?” It was Choso’s time to stick a pin in. “If you look like him, then I look like the blood guy you talked about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’m with Cho on this one, you don’t look nearly similar.” Yuji nods, eyeing his friend up and down.

“Just admit you all hate me.”

“Easy. But when did we start playing truth or dare?” You almost choke hearing Megumi’s words.

“Shit, and you say Nobara’s rude.” He rolls his eyes as you murmur, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“She is. You just don’t notice it anymore.”

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764

[eternaltempest]

Light without Darkness

{Part 2 / TBD}

Demetrian Titus x Fem reader

! 🔞 ! ✠ Pregnancy ✠ Violence (chase scene?) ✠

A/N : God this park took forever. Also writing the latter half took the writussy outta me. Not sure what else to put for tw so uh- good luck!

Tempe out! ✌️

S : After a chance encounter with a guardsmen, you find yourself pregnant and terrified of the future in store. You plan to escape, only to be stopped in your tracks by Demetrian Titus himself, who gives you an unexpected vow

Part 1

Following the celebration, your days return to relative normalcy. You and the other serfs are put straight to work cleaning up after the feast. This one was particularly... unseemly and the messes made throughout the fortress take nearly a week to properly cleanse. 

You and your fellow serfs are no stranger to disarray though, and it is cleaned with efficacy. 

While working, however, you notice a set of unwanted changes within your body. At first you're just sore, that which is to be expected and only lasts for so long. And even the bruises and love bites eventually fade with time, albeit you found it tedious to cover them up each morning. But such was the livery codes of serfdom, as no self respecting serf would present themselves in such a manner before their lord. 

This was all manageable and you are able to pull through after a couple weeks. However, the soreness and pains were replaced with a sudden sickening dizziness and nausea. 

Each morning, you wake queasy and unsteady, a green tint to your bronzed skin damn near every morning. Your senses become hypersensitive, particularly to smells and you end up forgoing breakfasts, running to the nearest chamber pot or window each time you get a scent of anything unsavory. Which was more often than not.  Still, you press on. You dismiss the minor aches and inconveniences; the unusually strong, lingering odors of over seasoned food or the caked on sweat and blood of the infantry's laundry.     

Yet as days turn into weeks, you continue to push your luck and brush it off. You convince yourself that it’s just a passing sickness. Everyone falls ill at some point, you tell yourself. And many of the serfs became ill after the feast, you were just taking a bit longer to recover, that's all. Nothing more.

But by the time you know it, it has nearly been two months since the night of the feast. The morning sickness shows no sign of stopping and other symptoms arise as well, like near constant exhaustion even when you've had a full night's rest. you start to become anxious as you cannot deny the looming truth any longer. 

You find yourself one day brooding and sitting on your bed in your shared room, half-asleep and clutching your aching stomach. You stress about your realization and the truth of your... condition. You wearily get up and head to the serf maids common area, everyone else is there and as you enter the chamber there is a noticeable hush in the previously boisterous conversations. 

The other serfs have long noticed your behavior as well, but in your exhausted state, you fail to register their concerned whispers. 

Your friend Zoahra and two recently conscripted serf maids; the twins Sydia and Dynia, approach you out of concern. 

Zoahra puts a hand on your arm and tenderly pats you “Morning lovey, we're all a bit concerned for you, are you… feeling well?” You blink through the mind fog that seems to perpetually follow you, bleary-eyed and exhausted. "I am well, just a little tired.” you lie, forcing the corners of your mouth into a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you are most clearly NOT, fine child!" A voice sharp but smooth pierces the hushed mutterings of the room. You turn around and realize it’s one of the older head serfs, Icara, a woman everyone sees as a mother in her matronly role. She’s seen many things in her long years as both a midwife to the high Lords of Macragge and a veteran serf. Throughout her years her eyes and mind remained sharp as steel and she was known for picking up on falsehoods or sniffing out a rat.

“You are not fine,” she scoffs. “And your deceptions are as poor as your health, child." She booms as she squints her knowing eyes at you. The room erupts with more whispers and you realize what everyone has been talking about. You hang your head with a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

"WHO TOLD YOU LOT TO PRATTLE ON ABOUT MENIAL TOPICS, ALL OF YOU, BACK TO WORK. IMMEDIATELY!" Icara booms, causing the hive of serfmaidens to frantically scatter to their posts. Zoahra, who stayed by your side, gives you an apologetic look and stays right where she is. The twins in their curiosity stay as well.

You four are left alone with the matron as she refocuses her attention on you. "Now, child, I am no stranger to the throes of life as a serf maiden. Nor am I ignorant to the annals of youth. And I promise you, no harm will come to you if you speak with honesty and humility. So that being said, if you'd please, tell me. Who is the father?” she sternly but gently coaxes you.

You hesitate, taking a pensive breath before answering in a rattled voice, “One of the guardsmen, an officer, I think. He had a beard but I… I-” 

You swallow your nerves before continuing. “Forgive me, Icara, I cannot remember. My memory of that night is all a distorted blur.”

“Emperor guide us, let’s hope it’s not one of the insufferable ones, like Major Cytharion,” Zoahra says with a sigh of exasperation. Cytharion is known to be a strict officer to both his serfs and the guardsmen under him. He has a presence as intimidating as an Ultramarine.

Your stomach churns at the very thought.

“He’d never. If anything, he would be easier to deal with if he got a little action. Even his personal serfs say he’s a headache.” one of the twins says with a wag of her eyebrows. "Besides I heard he's made friends with a company of Ultramarines and they often let him train with them!" Another adds enthusiastically.

"Just think if he ends up being an Ultramarine." At this point the twins are going back and forth, forgetting that the matron is right there beside them. 

"No way, that's unheard of. Regular people like Major Cytharion cannot become Space Marines so late in life. It's a whole process that starts at boyhood, you know." 

"Well maybe that's why he's so wound up, he missed his shot right? And that's why he's just a Major in the Imperial Infantry?" 

"Tch Major Cytharion, more like Major pain in the-"

The matron tsks and snaps her fingers at the two of them. “If you have the ability to stand idle and chitter then, you most certainly can start thinking to help.”

The twins are stunned into silence but turn to you and offer an apologetic bow, to which you return with a pat on their heads. They remind you of the younger serfs that grew up with you.

“Now, we must make plans,” the matron says firmly. “You may not recall the face of the father, but he will certainly remember you. In order to avoid confrontation, you'd best get to the outer city. I have connections there, people: good people, who can help hide you. Keep you and the child safe until enough time has passed to avoid suspicion. If we time everything correctly you may leave within-”

"Wha- pardon me, Matron, but leave?? I cannot leave. All my life I've only ever known the inner city and this fortress.” Your face twisting in horror as you imagine the situation 

“And a serf can't simply leave, we're hunted down and forced to return to our lords. Nevermind about the subjection to any manner of punishment. It's dangerous!" You plead with a tinge of fear in your voice. Such notions of fleeing your livelihood are unthinkable to you and many others in servitude.

She pauses, her tone deepening when she speaks. “Ordinarily, yes, this would be unheard of. However, given the circumstances you cannot stay. If you do, you'll be punished either way, and even worse, your child could be taken and you would have little say in it. You must have strength.”

You reel slightly and your face contorts with the realization. They're both dangerous options, but at least with the former you'll be able to be with your child and it wouldn’t be subject to a life as a serf like your own parents subjected you at birth. You swallow a knot in your throat and meet the eyes of the Matron. 

"What must I do?"

She begins to explain her plan with precision worthy of her years. Like she has done this a million times before, and it comforts you in your hour of need. The preparations will take time, lots of time. Over the next fortnight, you all coordinate in between downtime and shared chores. Practicing over and over until everyone has their parts memorized by heart. 

A few days after you are with Zomahra and Icara, hanging up sheets to dry in the inner courtyards. It dawns on you to ask something that has been at the back of your mind since the day in the common room. 

"Why are you all helping me?" You ask with a curious and cautious tone. 

They both pause their work and steal a glance at each other before once more busying their hands. But nonetheless they answer in haste. Icara is the first to speak.

"Many years ago when I still worked as a midwife to many of the Lords and their ladies I was also midwife to the locals. Young maidens such as yourself, but oh how they struggled. You know not of the desperation countless women suffer through. Many of them endured violent acts at the hands of their lords and subsequent retaliation of their envious ladies. And many more succumb to unspeakable invasions of their bodies so they would be rid of a lifetime of living reminders of their abuse." Her voice drops to a reverent whisper as she reaches the end of her sentence.

"Others were in a situation similar to yours but with much less at stake, they chose to flee regardless. No matter the situation, I helped them all. And although it has been decades since those times, your struggle reminded me I still have a moral obligation to uphold." She finishes with a pained smile. 

There are countless people under the Imperium of the God Emperor, as abundant as the grains of sand or stars in the sky. One less life in the world would make little or no difference at all. But to say or think one thing and to actually do it are completely different concepts. And you cannot bring yourself to do what the Matron spoke of. 

Zoahra speaks up while you ponder Icara's words. "Well, I am not sure if you remember but you helped me so much when I first came to be conscripted. And over the years I've come to see you as a dear friend. Perhaps... My dearest one." She states bashfully 

“And there's no chance I'll let you suffer through this alone, at least not if I can help it…” her words trail off as her face flushes red and she quite literally hides behind the fresh linen. 

Overwhelmed with gratitude you give her the warmest hug you can muster “For one such as I, so fallen from grace, it is an assurance to have so faithful a friend. Thank you so much, Zo.” You say as you bury your face in her side swept hair. You squeeze her close, grateful to have someone like her in your corner. “I'm grateful for your steadfast loyalty, even though I have not mirrored the same to you.” You place a hand on the side of her head and leave a kiss on her forehead. Her entire face turns crimson as she jerks back and touches her hand to where you planted it. “Wha- you! I-!!!” She stutters as she tries to find her composure “I-it's not like you wouldn't do the same for me!” 

Her bashful demeanor makes you smile and the Matron lets out a hearty laugh behind you. In days of relative anxiety, the jovial mood is a welcome one and it gives you hope for the long journey ahead of you. 

The coming weeks are filled with further preparation for your departure. Icara has asked a few other serfs whom she trusts to aid with the plan. She begins to  detail her plan for you. Schedules and movements are practiced with everyone over and over, all under the guise of emergency drills or supply runs so that the ever watchful eyes of the servo-skulls and the chaplains are avoided. Until finally, everyone is comfortable in their roles and timing and the day of your escape is at hand.

That night, you make your escape, donning an unassuming merchant garb and a cloak to attract less attention. Clutching a satchel of emergency supplies you begin your path, your heart stirs in your chest while you navigate the fortress’ dimly lit corridors. Thanks to Icara’s foresight, all who would be patrolling are well distracted or removed from the usual patrol routes.

You slip through the dimly lit corridors, staying close to the stone walls with quiet steps, and appearing as normal when you encounter someone so as to not raise suspicion. You swiftly twist and turn in the halls that are more abandoned as you pray that no one spots you. You grow more excited the closer you get to the main exit, but then notice— a shadow of movement, the steps quiet as a barge mouse but sñthe figure large enough to be...

You pause at the realization. An Astartes. The world goes deafeningly silent and your stomach lurches with a combination of your sensitivity and anxiety. Then the shadow moves again, and your senses sharpen with the sudden adrenaline. You can hear the ceramite dragging on the stone floor as he inches closer. Your eyes dart around as a multitude of questions arise. Here? Now?  Why? He shouldn’t be here. You and the others checked and double-checked, consistently and obsessively, so no one should be here. So why,  why? 

You don’t have time to ponder long as the weight of the steps continue their pursuit of you. But as you try to shake him it dawns on you; he’s been following you. He knew you were there from the beginning, before you could even think to run or hide.

The corridor suddenly shrinks around you and you feel a chill as you break out into a cold sweat, but you regain your composure and instead retreat back around the way you came. Darting down a different hallway, keeping note of your location respective to the fortress' exit. Maybe you can get around him and avoid being caught completely. “Don’t panic, don't panic, if you act as if  you’re doing nothing wrong you’ll be fine, just keep going, keep going.” You think to yourself like a mantra to keep yourself grounded and focused.

Your stomach twists, threatening to fold you over and slow you down. But you can’t let yourself get caught — not now, not after coming so close. You clutch your abdomen as you calmly navigate the corridors until you find something familiar, a symbol on the walls signaling a path to the exit. You let out a quick sigh of relief. You approach the corner and beyond it finally see the massive metal doors that are marked as an egress. 

You’re so close now, but so is the marine you catch a glimpse of — your eyes meeting for a split second as you round the corner. Something in you snaps and you break out into a run, hopeless compared to the speed of an Ultramarine but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. 

Thunk- Thunk- Thunk- Thunk.

The heavy footsteps fall in line, one rapid step after another. The chase is pathetically short lived, you don’t even make it half way down the hall before he’s already upon you. His imposing shadow looms over you and the world slows to a crawl, the once long corridor stretches out into an abysmal length. Like a rabbit in the clutches of a wolf, you freeze. Your hands are chilled as your sweat robs you of warmth. 

There’s silence except for shaky breaths and the loud rushing of blood to your head.

Until a heavy gauntlet hand lands on your shoulder and you jump from the sudden contact.

You hear movement and a sudden whisper in your ear 

“Breathe,” 

You do, but it refuses to come out as anything less than trembling breaths. In an instant all those plans you made, the efforts of everyone involved, have been in vain. Tears of fear and frustration well up in your eyes. But that voice, it almost sounded like

He squeezes your shoulder. It’s not a command, but a gentle urging for you to turn around and face him. And what else can you do? You obey and half heartedly turn to look up at him. You recognize him right away. It’s Lord Lieutenant Demetrian Titus, an officer of the Ultramarine 2nd Company. As a ranked officer his orders were absolute, second only to those above him in rank. From the whispers and gossip you had heard of him, he is a long decorated war hero. Though if you recall correctly he had a recent demotion, why and of what severity was unknown to you. Despite his vague fall from grace, he’s always been a favorite among the serfs for his exemplary kindness and temperance among his fellow Ultramarines. Why someone of such renown was bothering with a lowly serf like you was beyond you though.

The usual stern expression softens with concern when he takes in the clearly troubled look on your face and your still shaky breathing. Yet, his hand remains firm on your shoulder, steadying you.

“Breathe,” he says again, kinder this time. “Explain yourself.”

“P-please my Lord,” you whisper as you turn your gaze to the ground between the both of you. There’s no sense lying or trying to make excuses now. “I cannot remain… I-” Your own words betray you as they get caught in the  lump in your throat.

You feel another gentle squeeze, a soft but urgent reminder to speak. You lift your head back up to him but avoid meeting his eyes by squeezing your eyes shut. A warm, desperate tear streaks down your cheek. 

“I’m with child, Lord Titus.”

Titus slowly moves his head back, as if to show his sudden clarity, his grip on your shoulder lifting but never leaving. “Hrm, but why flee?” His question coming off rhetorical.

You blink, not expecting the question, and the shock suspends your tears momentarily. Titus’ mind races, no doubt, mulling the situation over in his head, trying to find answers in the codes and regulations, and a way through. But he comes up short. After all, it is not often an Ultramarine, especially an officer, is made to deal with such civilian frivolities. Not knowing what to follow up with, he begins asking more questions. “Why not just raise the child here? It would not be the first time.” 

You shake your head, your head still hanging low. “The Ordinator of the House and the Master of the Refectorium I serve under, are both exemplary but quite strict. They say there is no room to bring up unwanted babes. Besides I—.” 

The shame in your next thought stops you as you further explain. 

“As much as the position is honorable, I do not wish to burden my child with the life of a serf. My own parents brought me into this world a serf but that does little to motivate the same fate for mine. My thought was to flee the fortress and raise my baby in the outer city, where it is relatively safe. But… now…”

His gaze hardens as he brings the other hand up and squeezes your shoulders.

“That is… unfortunate” he begins. “However, suppose there was a way to avoid this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, lifting your head to look up at him, a fragile blend of fear and hope twisting inside of you. “...how?”

“You wouldn’t just run without a good reason especially given the ideology of your serf officers and the mention of your child being unwanted.” 

While he continues you wince at his words, although you yourself never considered your baby undesirable, it hurts to think others would. Or worse, take them from you.

“I suspect the father is not another serf, and it is this that drives you to take such drastic action.”

Meeting his eyes, your face twists in the looming fear of having to relinquish your child  “I am afraid,” you confess quietly, as the stream of tears track down your face once more. “I don’t know what to do. What if he takes the baby from me… what if he makes it so I never see it again— what if he dooms it to a life worse than serfdom!” You place your hands on his forearms in a desperate attempt to explain yourself “I do not want them to take away my baby!” You shake your head vehemently among your cries.

Titus’ hands tighten on your shoulders, effectively focusing you and drawing your attention back to him. “I understand. I do. It is the duty of an Astartes under the God Emperor Himself to protect humanity. That is why, on my honor, I will offer you my protection,” he vows. “Become my personal seneschal and I can shield you. And if need be, I will claim your child as my own.”

You jerk your head back and your face contorts in apprehension at his sudden vow “But— my lord… What of your status? What of your reputation!? Why would you—?” you bring a hand to your chest as you react.

“I have weathered worse blows to my reputation,” Titus replies, a look of fortitude upon his face. He looks down at you. “And this is the right course of action. There is little I could do in this situation, this is what I believe is appropriate.”

The astounded expression remains on your face as you cannot shake the reality of what is happening. 

“Come,” he says, letting go of your shoulders. He gently takes the satchel of supplies from your hands.

But you are frozen still. More so stunned than afraid now. Titus could have easily overtaken your meager strength when you refused to budge but he just looks back when he notices your hesitance. 

You stare at him. A scowl on your face and mouth agape.  “My lord, forgive my impertinence but why are you doing this? Do you not think this to be far beneath your station? It’s not even—”

You look away as you stop yourself from sounding too insolent by telling him it has nothing to do with him. 

“It’s nothing to do with one such as yourself. My lord.” 

He is silent for a moment too long until finally “Do not concern yourself with such things.” he says with a low timbre in his voice. 

He extends a firm hand to you.

You glance at his hand and back at him. Your expression falls seriously.

He sighs, perhaps out of slight exasperation.

“Come. There is a room near my quarters you may utilize, and once you’ve gathered your thoughts we can discuss this further.”

You hold his gaze but take his hand and begrudgingly accept his help

It is either this or losing your child to its unknown father. The former, although bizarre, seems a lot more… manageable at the very least.

“Thank you. Lord Titus.” you murmur, following him as he leads you deeper back into the fortress. With each step, you feel the heavy weight of fear and uncertain lift and for the first time in weeks, you breathe.

[numinousmysteries]

The Baying of the Six-Pound Hound

For the @twocakesficfest (several months too late) prompt:

immortal / invincible queeqeg who likes to show up and mess up a case or two (probably by eating the victim - e.g. Mulder: the victim walked away, cut to a tiny dog dragging a leg away)

A very special thank you to @leiascully for catching all my nauseating tense changes, ensuring I didn't accidentally summon any evil spirits, and making me work a tiny bit more to get them smooching.

[on Ao3]

1. 

He'd been in an uncharacteristically deep sleep when the yapping woke him up, which made it all the more annoying. It was rare for him to be so fully disconnected from the waking world. Typically, he'd float just below the surface of consciousness, the smallest noise enough to rouse him. But on this night, in a narrow, single-story motor lodge wedged up in the Colorado mountains, Fox Mulder had been completely, deeply, aslumber.

He'd been dreaming, too. Not his usual fretful nightmare but a rather sweet dream that featured his partner. It wasn't the first time he dreamt about her, although those dreams were typically of a more erotic nature and would leave him waking up feeling filthy with guilt—and more often than not, rock hard. He'd dream of bending her over the desk in their basement office, burying himself in her, and hearing her soft little moans as he gripped the curves of her hips. Or they'd be on the couch in his apartment and she'd be in his lap, riding him as he watched the smooth undulation of her breasts. These dreams would send him to the shower full of shame. He'd shut his eyes and take himself in his fist, gripping his cock with a firmness that bordered on pain to break the mounting tension with enough self-punishment that he could face Scully in the morning.

But this most recent dream left nothing to be ashamed of. They were walking hand-in-hand, fully-clothed, down a Georgetown street near her apartment. The sun warmed his face and Scully's small hand fit perfectly in his. They weren't in pursuit of a suspect or off to meet an informant, just strolling aimlessly like two people in love. In a way, this mundane dream felt more illicit than his most perverse fantasies because it seemed like more than anything he deserved. He could better imagine a tense moment, even an argument between them, dissolving into frenzied sex than allow himself to indulge the idea of a happy, out-in-the-open relationship with Scully. Which was why this dream was so lovely—and why it had been so frustrating when the yapping shocked him awake.

It sounded like Queequeg. But Scully didn't bring the dog with her on cases, not since– Shit , he remembered. Scully's annoying little furball of a dog, whom she inexplicably loved (which, he considered fleetingly, might bode well for her capacity to love other irritating beings), had died on the shore of Heuvelmans Lake, eaten by an alligator, or Big Blue, depending on who you asked.

The barking must have been coming from one of the neighboring rooms. But Scully was in the room to his left and the room to his right had appeared to be unoccupied when they arrived. 

By the time he showered, dressed, and made it outside to meet Scully at the rental car, she was already waiting for him with a cup of bitter coffee from the urn in the motel lobby. 

"That dog wake you up, too?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she sipped from her styrofoam cup. "What dog?"

"Nevermind," he said, unlocking the car door.

They snaked around the mountain to the ranger station where they'd planned to meet the park ranger who’d supposedly spotted the Slide Rock Bolter. The Bolter, according to legend, was a giant landfish with a forked tail that could pick up a lumberjack and split him in two. It also had the jaw of a whale, the teeth of a shark, and the power to cause avalanche-like rock slides, hence the name. The ranger who contacted Mulder claimed that his partner, who’d gone missing the previous week, had been swallowed whole by the Bolter.

Their interview proved to be less than illuminating and they spent the rest of the afternoon hiking the mountain on their own searching for the creature. The high altitude left them both breathless so they were slower than usual as they ascended. Mulder was annoyed that they couldn't cover more ground before the sun started to set. Their descent was even slower as neither had brought the right shoes and they found themselves stumbling down the rocks and grasping onto each other for support.

Then, he saw it. A flash of auburn darting between a row of skeletal aspen trees. He gasped. 

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him. 

"I saw something," he said. 

"The Slide Rock Bolter?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Probably just a fox. Maybe a coyote.” Although, if he were being honest,  it kind of looked like a small dog.

Scully shrugged, turned away from him, and started heading back down the mountain. 

2.

He didn’t want to say anything, but Scully's apartment smelled bad. It normally smelled nice. Like the candles she lights or even freshly baked bread, even though he knows she doesn't bake bread. But now, it smelled like wet dog. He specifically wouldn't bring that up because she hadn't owned a dog in nearly a year now. For reasons that might have been, depending on who you asked, his fault.

He tried to hide his disgust as he spread open a file of photographs on her kitchen table, but the odor was truly overpowering. It was as if Queequeg—or let's say any anonymous dog who had not been eaten by, depending on who was telling the story, Big Blue or an alligator—had been mucking around in sewer water after not bathing for several weeks.

"Sorry, Scully, but what's that smell?" he asked finally. He felt his stomach contents rising to his throat, and it wasn’t because of the gruesome crime scene photos on the table.

She paused and tilted her chin up to the ceiling. He watched as she sniffed the air in sharp, short inhales through her perfectly proportioned nose.

"I don't smell anything," she said. 

"Really?" he asked, stunned. "It smells like—and I don't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories—wet dog in here."

She sniffed again, then shrugged. "I really don't smell it," she said, shaking her head. "But I can open a window if you want."

"Nah, it's okay."

He tried to run through his explanation of the case as quickly as possible. Three victims found without tongues, but no evidence of any procedure or act that would've resulted in the loss of said tongues which, their friends and family members insisted, were surely present before their deaths.

"The killer could be a surgeon and have access to fine tools or even lasers for seamless cuttage," she said, examining the autopsy photos.

"Mmmhmm, mmhmm," he nodded, trying to open his mouth as little as possible to keep the scent out. "But there's no sign of cutting or scarring. Which there surely would be if the procedure was performed so recently? None of the victims were missing for more than 24 hours—and all had been seen, with tongue no less, within a day. No wound could heal that fast, right?"

"So, what's your theory?" she asked. "Cat got their tongue?"

She was pleased with her little joke and gave him a rare, precious Scully grin. He wanted to at least humor her with a laugh but the mention of a cat—so close to a dog that smelled like crap—made his stomach gurgle yet again and he had to swallow sharply to keep the acidic bile down.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it's just...that smell. It's nauseating."

She shook her head again, that long neck taunting him. "I'm a little concerned," she said. "Are you feeling alright? A sinus infection could cause phantosmia. Or a head injury. Although you weren't banged up much on our last case."

"I'm fine," he said. "Anyway, it's not a cat I'm thinking of, but a cannibalistic spirit documented by Algonquian-speaking Native American tribes in the Northern US and Canadian wilderness.” 

"A wendigo?" she asked, eyebrow arched and ready to fire.

“Very impressive, Scully,” he grinned. “Although you should know that merely saying the spirit’s name is considered taboo. Some believe doing so could summon it into being.” 

She rolled her eyes.

He swallowed hard, and continued. “The spirit possesses a man, who then becomes unable to resist the temptation to eat human flesh. Specifically, the delicacy of the tongue."

"So you think a possessed person ate the victims' tongues?"

"Perhaps," he says. "And the legend goes that because it's actually the spirit feasting on human flesh—not the killer himself—there are no wounds where the tongue is removed. It also explains how these victims lost more than half their blood volume with no signs of trauma."

"It could be severe gastrointestinal bleeding," she said, ignoring his theory. "Perhaps as the result of a communicable illness which would explain why three members of the same community died in the same manner."

"So you think they shat out all their blood?"

"It's not unheard of," she shrugged. “Have any of the victims traveled to a region where ebola is endemic?” 

It was all making him nauseous now. He thought he'd gotten used to it after being in the room for a few minutes but the smell, if anything, was getting worse.

He felt vomit rising into his mouth and cupped  his hand over his lips. "Sorry, Scully. I gotta--" he started before bolting to her bathroom and puking into the toilet. 

"Are you okay?" she asked when he re-entered the room, eyes bloodshot.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he said. "Listen, why don't you take a look at those photos and we'll discuss more in the office tomorrow. I better get going."

"Jeez, Mulder, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were pregnant, between the heightened sense of smell and the vomiting. But that sounds like one of your theories, not mine."

"Very funny, Scully," he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and heading to the door.

In the hallway, he gasped a sigh of relief. Whatever disgusting dog odor permeated Scully's apartment fortunately hadn't made its way out here. 

3.

At first, he thought the sharp prick at his heel was Scully's toenails. He was about to tease her about trimming them when he realized she was sitting beside him on her couch with her feet tucked underneath her. They were back at her apartment a week later debriefing their previous case. He hadn’t been able to prove the existence of a cannibalistic spirit and she hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible scientific explanation so they were left in their typical stalemate. Although the animal smell had dissipated, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. 

He was listening to her recount her autopsy findings when— fuck , there was that sharp biting sensation again. He involuntarily kicked out his foot as if fending off an invisible ankle-height assailant. 

"What's wrong?" Her eyes popped open. 

"Shit, sorry Scully," he said, trying to settle back down. "I could've sworn something was biting my ankle.”

"Biting?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he trailed off, folding in half to examine the carpet underneath the sofa. "Almost like a little dog."

"Like Queequeg?" She smirked. 

"Actually, yeah, I think that's exactly what it was like. Like that fur ball was nibbling at my heels.” 

“I don’t have to tell you that’s impossible.” He detected a hint of sadness in her voice and his heart sank, not for the first time, for all that their work had taken from her.

He opened his mouth to tell her about the other recent events—the barking sound, the flash of auburn in the Colorado wilderness, the wet fur smell of her apartment—but he knew she’d just dismiss it all.

“What?” she asked, sensing he was on the verge of revealing something. As if they were on a case and he was holding back a vital piece of information. Something he had been guilty of doing in the past, he knew, but he usually had a valid reason. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Mulder….” She dipped her chin down as her eyes bore into his.

Powerless against her, he told her everything. "Maybe he's haunting you," he concluded.

"Oh, no, Mulder," she said definitively. "I don't think it's me he's haunting."

4.

They decided to hold a seance the next day. Scully sneered at first but ultimately went along with it without needing too much convincing. She still had Queequeg’s leash and collar, so they set up a small shrine on her coffee table. She gathered a mismatched array of candles from the bathroom and living room and put them around Queequeg's memorabilia.

"How does this work?" she asked. 

He considered reminding her that she'd demonstrated the ability to transcend the boundary between the living and the dead in the past, but that would have required bringing up her father, which would have put a damper on this otherwise delightful evening. Scully felt warm next to him and they were essentially hanging out without the pretense of a case. Sure, they were having a seance for a dead dog, but how else would the two of them bond after hours?

"Let's just close our eyes, hold hands, and try to summon his spirit."

"Is this just an excuse to hold hands, Mulder?"

"Any excuse I can get," he said, as he reached out to take her hand in his. He hoped it came off as a joke, but he really did mean it. It felt so good to hold her hand when neither of them were near death. 

"Mary Todd Lincoln used to host the nation's most renowned spiritualists at the White House for seances to speak with her late son," Mulder said, trying to lend an air of legitimacy to their makeshift session. "Even honest Abe would sometimes make an appearance."

"Don't we need a medium?" Scully asked, keeping a firm hold on his hand. 

"I figure you could play the role, Madame Scully," he said, tipping his chin in her direction. She smiled. He liked making her smile. Her smile always had the effect of flicking a switch deep in his belly that felt like the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"I think Melissa and I had a Ouija board back in the day."

"Pfft," he snorted. "The Ouija board is a purely commercial invention. I don't think anything made in the same factory as Chutes and Ladders can be trusted to commune with the dead."

Scully smirked. "I assumed Ouijia boards would fit right in with the Fox Mulder cosmology."

"Then, Scully," he said, shaking his head, "I don't think you know me at all."

He grinned at her and she smiled back. 

"So, how do we start this thing?" she asked.

"First, we have to close the circle." He extended his free hand to hers and she squeezed tightly onto it.

They stood silently for a beat, facing each other, holding hands. He wasn't actually sure if there was a spiritualist reason for creating the closed circle, but it had to have roots in ancient concepts of energy channeling. He'd done silly little seances in college, typically led by witchy girls with dyed black hair and crystal jewelry, and they always stressed the importance of not breaking the circle. Once he had taken the time to dive into the occult and 19th century spiritualism—the heyday of the modern seance—he couldn't find anything on the importance of maintaining a circle. But then again, if holding one of Scully's hands was nice, holding both of them was even better.

He closed his eyes and, without saying anything, sensed that she'd closed hers, too. He relished the trust she placed in him, listening as her breathing slowed and deepened. He inhaled the heady mix of candles they'd gathered from around the apartment. Vanilla and eucalyptus mingled in the air with musk and gardenia and he suspected these weren't all supposed to be lit at once, but somehow it worked. 

"Do you want me to say something?" she asked, her soft voice drifting over to him in the dark.

"Um, if you want," he said.

She paused, then began. "Queequeg, we welcome your spirit into our circle. If you're near us, please make your presence known."

"Not bad, Scully," he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

"Melissa used to do this crap all the time."

"Hey, don't rain on my parade over here."

"Sorry," she said with a giggle that set his soul aflame.

"We miss you, Queequeg, you were a good dog," she went on. "You didn't always smell the best, especially when you were flatulent, which seemed to be more often than not—"

"What were you feeding that dog?" Mulder interrupted.

"Shut up," she said. "But no matter how poorly you smelled at times, I loved you very much and truly enjoyed the time we spent together. If you've come back because you're angry at Mulder for leading you to your demise at the hands of an alligator—"

"Or Big Blue," he piped up.

She tugged on his hands and ignored him. "If you're angry at Mulder, he'd like to take this chance to apologize and request your forgiveness so you can transition on to the next plane in peace."

"Scully, this isn't half bad," he said, genuinely impressed. 

"It's your turn now—go on, apologize."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you want him to stop haunting you or not?"

Mulder smiled and tried to convey his happiness through their grasped hands.

"Queequeg, this is Mulder speaking. I want to apologize for calling you names and dragging you out to Heuvelmans Lake where you met your untimely demise. I wish we could have spent more time together with Scully—” 

She cut him off with an adorable snort of a laugh.

"—listening to Scully talk. And have Scully check us for fleas and ticks."

Her giggle was a full-blown laugh now. He was desperate to open his eyes and see her face light up. but he’d bought into this seance, so he wasn’t about to break it now.

"I checked you for ticks once , Mulder," she said. "And that was because we'd just spent the night in the woods."

"Well, you're welcome to check again any time."

"I think we're getting off topic," she said, collecting herself. "Keep talking to Queequeg."

5.

There was no gust of wind, flickering light, or even jingling collar bells ringing through the room after he finished speaking, but they both sensed a change. It was as if a six-pound weight had been lifted. 

"I think his spirit is free," Scully whispered to him, solemnly. 

"Run free, Queequeg," he said. He gently opened his eyes and found that hers were open too, and she was looking at him warmly. Despite her reputation for being cold and closed off, he knew that Scully emanated warmth. Once she let someone into her life, she’d hold them in her warmth and protect them with her loyalty. He was only slightly peeved that she had opened herself up to Queequeg before him.

She loved with a fierceness and dedication outsized for her tiny frame. Then again, everything about Scully was larger than her small size would suggest. Her brilliance, her strength, and yes, her love, all seemed like they should overwhelm someone so tiny, but Scully managed to contain it all in just a few inches over five feet.

In that way, she was  like Queequeg. An outsized force stuffed into a small package, with a tuft of auburn hair, who would bite if necessary. He wouldn't dare compare her to Queequeg out loud, though.

Instead, he said, "He was a good dog."

"I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I don't know if we ever saw eye to eye, per se, although that might've been more of a height issue." He gave her a crooked smile. "But I know you liked him, that he kept you company."

"That makes me sound pretty pathetic," she sighed. 

"I didn't mean that. Just that—" he paused to choose his words carefully—"it's nice to come home to someone. I know fish aren't really the same as dogs, but sometimes it's soothing to see them after a long day of the shit we deal with. It just helps me put things in perspective—I'm dealing with lies and gaslighting and conspiracies, and they're just obliviously swimming along and enjoying their lives. A dog must be similar, I imagine."

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was like that with Queequeg. Whenever I'd get frustrated with work or with you"— he gasped in mock outrage and she just smiled and continued—"he'd always be here and look so excited to go for a walk or get his dinner. The consistency was comforting. And he was good at cuddling. He'd get so warm, like a little ball of heat."

"You know, Scully," he started, "I'm available for cuddling if you're ever feeling cold."

“I’ll keep that under consideration.” She smiled. “For now, want to stick around for a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” he said, and she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and glasses. 

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to speak with Queequeg's spirit," he said when she returned,  accepting a glass of red wine from her. 

Settled into the opposite corner of the couch, Scully sat with her legs scrunched up underneath herself with her own glass of wine. He couldn't deal with how precious she looked—nor with how far away she sat.

"Get over here, Scully," he said, patting the cushion next to him.

She smiled, untucked her legs, and moved to scoot over next to him. He transferred his wine glass to his left hand so he could drape his right arm over her shoulder. 

"Maybe Queequeg just has to realize that I'm not a threat to you," he said. Emboldened by her lack of response to his arm over hers, he started lazily tracing circles on her tricep. "Then he'll stop haunting me."

"You're not a threat to me," she said, seriously.

"Come on, Scully." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I'm responsible for so much shit that's happened to you over the years. If I were a little Pomeranian in love with you, I'd do everything in my six-pound power to make this Mulder guy's life a living hell."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think Queequeg was in love with me?"

"How could he not be?" he spit out without even thinking. "I mean—" he tried to recover—"you took good care of him."

Scully just gave him a Cheshire cat grin. She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You think that's all it takes to fall in love with me? If I take care of you?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons a guy—or a dog—could fall in love with you. You're loyal, kind, and caring. You're fucking brilliant. And you're not half-bad to look at either."

"’Not half-bad,’” she repeated, frowning. “I’m flattered, really.” 

“Give me a break. I’m trying to play it cool here,” he admitted. 

She blushed and took a sip of her wine. He did, too, as if trying to use the alcohol to mask his sudden confession. Although it was his first sip and he'd been drunk in love with her for longer than he cared to admit.

"Oh, fuck it," he said. He leaned forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table and pivoted to face her. Bravely, he delved into uncharted territory. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Scully. I'm not about to speculate on what got Queequeg's gears going, but if he's anything like me, he wouldn't be able to resist you. Frankly, I'm jealous of how many nights he got to spend in your bed."

"I didn't allow him in the bed."

He smiled wide. “Of course you didn't," he said. "Because you know about things like pet dander and how sleeping with a dog in your bed can interrupt your REM cycle and that's another reason why you're so lovable.”

“You’re making me sound more anal-retentive than lovable.” She looked up at him with sad eyes before quickly glancing down again. 

“Oh, Scully, you know that’s now what I mean.” He leaned forward to nudge her shoulder with his. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes still downcast. 

“Just that—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You’re so you , Scully. You’re so fully realized, so completely yourself, but not in a way that makes you predictable or boring. It just makes it all the more thrilling when I learn something new about you that somehow both surprises me and fits into the puzzle of what makes you you.”

“And that fact that I didn’t let a dog sleep in my bed somehow makes me more lovable?” 

“It does to me.” He brought the tip of his pointer finger to her chin, softly encouraging her to look back toward him. “What I’m trying, and apparently failing, to say is that I love everything about you. I love that you’re particular and exacting. I love that you force me to be honest and vigorous in our work, and I love that you’re part of my life outside of work, too. And while there’s nothing I value more than our friendship, I hope I’m not being too presumptive to say that I’m getting the feeling we’d both like to be more than friends.”

Terrified, he searched her eyes for confirmation, any sign that his feelings were reciprocated. But she simply stared back at him, her chin wrinkling as she considered his words.

“Although, I suppose, sharing your bed with a creature a lot larger than a Pomeranian might be much more disruptive to your sleep cycle,” he added. 

“I might not mind the interruption,” she said finally, her voice low and breathy, her eyes still locked on his.  

“Even from your defiant, alien-chasing, nutjob of a partner?” 

“Do you mean my incredibly tenacious, intelligent, and loyal partner for whom I might just harbor similar feelings?” 

"Do you think Queequeg would approve?" he asked.

"Let's find out," she said. Before he could question her, Scully's lips were pressed against his. She tasted like tannin-rich wine but also something deeper and more Scully-like: warm and tangy with other unidentifiable undertones that he could drink from his whole life and never get enough of.

He took her wine glass from her and placed it next to his on the coffee table. With both hands free, she felt her way up his arms to frame his face. His own hands wandered wildly, up her back, through her hair, on her soft and tender cheeks. She opened her mouth to him and he tasted her tongue with his. He felt his body responding to her kiss—and judging on how she was squirming and shifting her hips towards him, he knew she was responding as well.

Just as he was about to slip a hand up and underneath her feather-soft sweater to caress the even softer skin underneath, he heard a low, deep growl off in the distance.

He pulled away and faced Scully, puzzled.

“That couldn’t be—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I heard it, too. I think my neighbors down the hall got an English bulldog. It’s not a ghost.” 

“Good enough for me.”

“I should kiss you more often if it gets you to agree so easily.” She smiled at him, inching even closer on the couch.

“I think you should test that theory, Agent Scully.” 

She leaned in again. This time, there were no howls or growls interrupting them.

[coffeegnomee]

do you have any blindfold brother thoughts i may be cooking but ive been in lifesteal circles for barely five minutes so i may be making shit up

Well now I'm interested to know what you're cooking.

I have only fragmented thoughts on the blindfold brothers. especially as a duo.

They're so Unknown. Because Flame can profess undying loyalty to Mane.. but will he follow through? Will something come before that? Will the allure of something Fun overtake basic loyalty in a similar way Zam and Mapicc are devotions but will similarly be willing to be against each other?

And Mane is so fast and loose with his loyalty, but so far has not really gone against Flame at all unless you count putting Flame above Flame when he was blowing up spawn, telling Pangi he would take up the mantle of blowing it up if Flame didn't get his fight. Even if Flame was willing/wanting to stop blowing it up. He doesn't put Flame's wishes first, but he does put Flame first, choosing what he believes is best for Flame over what Flame says he wants.

And Mane stepped back from being against Mawn when he found out Flame was on Mapicc's side; he was willing to fight Flame if need be, but he didn't end up having to do it.

Flame stands by and watches (or joins attacking) as any other of his loyalties gets attacked by Mane, putting Mane above anyone else, and he told Mapicc he refused to fight Mane if it came down to it.

And yet. Flame back when he died said everyone was kill on sight and Mane slyly asked if that included Zam, to which Flame said, no of course not Zam.

And yet we know he did go against Zam just a few weeks later, and now completely did a torment arc (day) against him. All with zero provocation from Zam except Zam objecting to Flame blowing up spawn. It swapped on a dime when Zam went from neutral innocent cute pacifist at spawn to possible adversary. And has stayed adversarial since. So Flame is capable of being loyal for one month and when the situation arrises that is good enough, he will break that loyalty.

So where they might end up is completely untested, which I find fascinating. Both have such different and unique perspectives about the server, Mane going for BBEG who never dies who has a reason for everything he does, while Flame more goes for wanting his short term video idea and is more willing to jump onto someone else's idea and do what they want to do rather than being the BBEG himself. Flame is more social and willing to show up in person, while Mane is paranoid about traps to a degree even more than Flame, is hesitant with the yap, and more wanting to be mysterious (though this might be changing)

Both exhibit a soft spot for the chunguses, though Flame (esp with like Pangi) is more loyal as support and negotiation, while Mane is more giving of hearts and killing others for them and coming to defend them in person (mane was more around for Zam early season than Flame was).

Flame has a tendency to be very worried about his image, defensive over it, while Mane is willing to risk the embarrassments (being Flame's lawyer, being the BBEG and more or less seeing it through)

They're simultaneously attached at the hip and one unit together and completely unique and nuanced players. I'm just excited to see how they end the season and where they start s7 as because that is going to tell So Much about who they are as lifestealers.