#and i am going to be buzzing out of my skin until i can share it

[stevethehairington]

godddd i have 270 words to cut from my fic and it is SO DAMN HARD!!!!! AHHHH

[23victoria]

Pink + White ❀

lewis hamilton x fem!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: none just fluff!

authors note: oneshot!! this is literally just fluff!!! inspired by pink + white by frank ocean!! don’t know how i feel about this one either 😭 any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

f1 masterlist

"It's always something with you, isn't it? It's always an emergency," you say cheekily, a playful smile spreading across your face as you stand at the doorway of Lewis’s driver room. The paddock is a hive of activity, the anticipation for the race buzzing in the air, but here, in this moment, it feels like just the two of you.

Lewis grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he sits on the edge of the small sofa. "What can I say? I needed to see you. Forgot my headphones, can you believe that?" He pats his thighs, inviting you over.

You roll your eyes, knowing full well that the 'emergency' was just an excuse to steal a moment with you. “I knew it! You didn’t forget your headphones. You just wanted to see me.”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that makes your heart flutter. "Guilty as charged. Come here," he says, his hands reaching out for you.

You step closer, and he gently pulls you between his legs, his hands settling comfortably on your waist. The familiar warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. You lean into him, your foreheads touching, sharing a quiet moment amid the pre-race chaos.

"I missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ve been so busy today with meetings and interviews, I barely had a second to myself."

You smile, your hands resting on his shoulders. "I missed you too. It’s been a hectic day."

He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I couldn’t wait until after the race to see you. I needed a little bit of you to get through the day."

You feel a warmth spread through you, your heart swelling with affection. "Well, here I am," you say softly. "Consider this your pre-race good luck charm."

Lewis’s grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you. It’s a gentle, lingering kiss that makes your heart race. When he pulls back, he starts peppering kisses all over your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead—making you giggle.

“Lewis!” you laugh, trying to squirm away from his playful assault. “You’re going to smudge my makeup!”

He chuckles, his hands firm on your waist. "I don’t care. I want my kisses!"

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so clingy and cute, it’s adorable.”

For a few minutes, you just stay like that, wrapped up in each other, sharing soft kisses and whispered words. It’s a precious respite from the frenzy of the race day, a moment to recharge and reconnect.

As the minutes tick by, you continue to chat, the conversation flowing easily between you. You talk about everything and nothing—his meetings, your plans for the rest of the day, little inside jokes that only the two of you share. It’s these moments, the simple, everyday interactions, that make your relationship so special.

Lewis’s fingers trace idle patterns on your back as he talks, his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine. "You know," he says, a thoughtful look crossing his face, "I’ve been thinking about taking some time off after the season ends. Just you and me, somewhere quiet. What do you think?"

Your eyes light up at the idea. "I think that sounds perfect. Where were you thinking?"

"Maybe a beach somewhere. Just us, the ocean, and no distractions."

You smile, imagining the two of you lounging on a sunny beach, the sound of the waves in the background. "That sounds amazing. I’d love that."

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Then it’s a plan."

You kiss him softly, your heart swelling with love. "I can’t wait."

The sound of a knock on the door breaks the spell, and you both look up, slightly startled. Lewis sighs, his hands slipping from your waist. “Time to go.” he says reluctantly.

You nod, stepping back to give him space. "I know. Go do what you do best. I’ll be cheering for you."

He stands, pulling you into a final, tight hug. "Thank you for coming baby, even if it was just for a few minutes. I needed this."

You squeeze him back, your head resting against his chest. "Anytime, baby. I’m always here for you."

He kisses the top of your head, then reluctantly lets you go. "I’ll see you after the race."

You smile, giving him one last kiss on the lips before heading for the door. "Good luck. I love you."

"I love you too," he replies, watching you leave, a soft smile on his face.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

A few days later, you’re at home, the quiet peace a stark contrast to the wild energy of the race track. You’re in the kitchen, baking some of Lewis’s favorite cookies, when you hear the door open.

“Baby, I’m home!” Lewis calls out, his voice filling you with warmth.

“In the kitchen!” you reply, smiling as you wipe your hands on a towel.

Lewis walks in, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Something smells amazing,” he says, coming over to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Just a little treat for my hardworking husband,” you say, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

He smiles, a contented sigh escaping him. “You always know how to make everything better.”

You lean back into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I try.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening together, enjoying the simple pleasures of home. After dinner, you settle on the couch, Lewis’s head resting in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“I’ve been thinking about that beach trip we talked about,” he says, looking up at you with a soft smile.

“Oh? Have you made any plans?” you ask, intrigued.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve booked us a place in the Maldives. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and delight. “Lew, that sounds amazing honey! When do we leave?”

“Next week,” he replies, grinning at your reaction.

You lean down to kiss him, your heart overflowing with love. “I can’t wait.”

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

The moment you step off the plane, you’re enveloped by the warm, salty breeze and the sound of waves gently crashing against the shore. It’s paradise, and you can’t wait to explore it with Lewis.

Your villa is a stunning overwater bungalow, complete with a private deck and direct access to the crystal-clear ocean. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of a beautifully decorated space, the perfect blend of luxury and comfort.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, turning to Lewis with a wide smile.

He pulls you into his arms, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted this to be special. Just for us.”

“It’s perfect. I love you.,” you reply smiling, feeling a surge of gratitude and love.

“I love you” he says as his lips meet yours.

Bonus:

y/n_ig

liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, beyoncè, oscarpiastri and 5,968,987 others

life with you ❤️

comments have been limited 

lewishamilton

liked by y/n_ig, charlesleclerc, almave, gerogerussell, oscarpiastri and 5,998,937 others

is perfect ❤️

comments have been limited

© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.

[darklordofthesimp]

Dissonance (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When a mission-gone-wrong leads to a confrontation, Ghost confesses the way that he feels. 

A/N: Get a load of the fucking ART OH MY G O D 

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Mutual Pining || Tension 

Warnings: Graphic Language 

Disclaimer: Sunshine is Gender Neutral as always, however I am looking to start showcasing fan art as the cover pieces on fics and it will always be up to the artists discretion to decide what they want their Sunshine/Saint/Birdy to look like.

Like the characters? Birdy Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Such amazing Ghost x Sunshine fan art by @hiskonigin honestly leaves me breathless every single time I swear to God.

___

The mission had gone terribly wrong. 

You felt like they always were, these days. Any task or deployment that started off well, started off controlled, they’d fall to pieces the second pressure was applied. It wasn’t all of them, though. Just enough that it had become noticeable to Price and the team. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out the issue. 

But, as you stood nose to nose with the Lieutenant in the shared kitchen, you were beginning to see the common denominator. 

“I’m not doing this with you again, Riley,” you snapped. “I’m fucking sick of this conversation.” 

Simon’s fists clenched by his side, “I say when this conversation is done, not you.” 

Your eyes narrowed, grinding your teeth in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. You’d been warned by Price about your insubordination but the urge to risk it all was at an all-time high. Simon Riley was insufferable. 

“Yes,” you ground out miserably, “Sir.” 

The officer took a step toward you, unrest buzzing beneath his skin. You could feel the discourse running in his blood, you could sense the unreasonable rage that burned in his chest. You knew it because you knew him on a plane that nobody else would understand. You’d related to him. You’d experienced it all, too. 

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he snapped.

Yet… every time. Every time. 

Rejection pinched your heart but the feeling was almost hollow. You’d been hurt by Simon so many times that you could almost say that you were numb to it. It’s not as though you were chasing his approval, it was that you were never going to earn it. You couldn’t get civility, you couldn’t get anything from him. 

You were tired. 

Things had changed, everything had changed since the incident. You’d been kidnapped, held ransom, beaten and battered, and then left to die in favour of your teammate. It was ironic that Simon had been the one to save you; it felt like he regretted it some days. 

The fire that burned beneath the skin had dimmed and you felt out of place. There was only so much you could take and you could feel that breaking point creeping up on you. It was foul that you were treated with the same hostility as König, your only crime was being brought onto the team. 

Your only crime was that you weren’t Birdy. 

“Okay,” you rasped, nodding your head. “Noted. Am I dismissed?” 

Simon took in a deep breath, eyes steady on yours. He didn’t waver and you knew that he had more to say. There was always more venom with Simon, quiet with others but angry with you. Always so angry. 

“Dismissed.” Ghost confirmed. When you turned on your heel, the man spoke up from behind you. “First parade tomorrow is 0700 at the gym with Birdy and König for training.” 

You whirled around as fast as you’d gone to leave. “Sorry?” 

Simon barely blinked. “You heard me.” 

“I have the day off tomorrow,” you snapped, “we all have the day off tomorrow.” 

The officer only shook his head. “Learn to follow orders and you’ll earn a day off.” 

Your chest burned, blood rushed to your head and you wanted nothing more than to just scream. You wanted to grip Simon by his stupid shoulders and shake him until that fucking mask fell from his face. You wanted to beat on his dumb fucking chest until you knocked some sense into him. 

“I’m sick of this, Riley.” Your voice shook as you raised a finger. “I’m fucking sick of this.” 

“Imagine how I feel, Sunshine,” the LT drawled, turning to leave like he hadn’t just ruined your night- like he ruins every night. 

You couldn’t breathe. The sensation of being alone, of being rejected over and over by the people that are meant to be the closest to you. You’d never stopped experiencing that particular pain. From your parents to your first few units, and now, to this. 

To the 141. 

To Simon Riley. 

“I won’t be there,” you rasped. The words escaped from between your lips before you could catch them. “I’m not going.” 

Your Lieutenant shifted his body to face you again, eyes square on yours. You couldn’t care less about the murder in his eyes, you couldn’t care less about the chill drifting along your spine. You didn’t care about anything anymore. 

If they wanted to treat you like some erroneous outsider, then you would act like one.

“What?” It was low, almost whispered, but you heard him loud and clear. 

You glared up at him, moving forward until you were only inches from him. You could taste his unrest, the shift in his body language, you could almost hear him grit his teeth. You didn’t care. His upset meant nothing to you, he meant nothing to you. 

“You heard me.” You dared him to do something. Anything. “I’m not doing shit for you people anymore. Especially you. I’m never doing anything for you again.” 

“That’s what you’ve been asked,” he snapped, “your job and nothing else.” 

“I’m trying!” You all but shrieked. You felt the tether to your calm demeanour beginning to slip from your fingers. “I’ve been doing nothing but trying and it’s never enough for you.”

Your lips trembled as you gasped for air. Adrenaline was rushing through your system and you prayed that he wouldn’t push you over the edge you teetered along. You felt the unfamiliar tingle along your nose and cheeks, the tell-tale signs of angry tears. 

Don’t say anything, you begged internally. 

But, if there was one thing Simon was good at it was disappointing you. 

“If you have to try that hard then maybe you’re in the wrong place, Sunshine.” 

Something inside you snapped.

Tension slingshotted from where it had been building in your chest and landed straight onto your tongue, tasting of venom and fury. Rage washed over you, tears spilling from your lashes as you pushed a finger into his chest. 

“Maybe I am.” You finally admitted to your own fears but you wouldn’t be conceding peacefully. There was too much you had to say, too much spite poisoning your lungs to leave it there. 

“Maybe this is the wrong fucking place,” you nodded, “because it’s just a fucking high school in here. Everyone’s fucking someone, everyone’s in love with someone and everyone hates someone.” 

The LT said nothing as you pushed him hard, stepping back from the force beneath your palms. 

“I can’t do anything right because I’m not Birdy,” your voice was warbled as you shouted, thick with tears and anger alike. “König can’t do anything right because of a mistake from the brass, Birdy can’t recover because they’re being babied, and you can’t be unbiased because you want to fuck Birdy!” 

“What?” Simon hissed, but the word was lost on you. You hadn’t even heard him as you pushed him again and again. He let you shove him, let you gain ground on him until his back was pressed against the wall. 

“And you!” Your voice cracked beneath the volume. “I’ve done everything for you, risked everything for you!” 

“I never asked you-” 

“You didn’t have to!” It was a sob. It was a confession. 

Simon’s jaw fell slack from beneath his mask. 

“I’d do anything for you,” you finally fell to a whisper. “We both know that.” 

The man took in a shuddered breath from beneath your palms. He was pressed hard into the wall with your hands splayed across his chest as though readying yourself for another attack. 

But then they fell slack. 

Then they left his body completely. 

He shivered at the loss. 

“I hate you,” you took a step back, body shaking from emotional overload. You had so much more to say, so much hatred built up over the months. There was just no energy to deliver them anymore.

And, the more you thought about it, maybe it wasn’t hatred. Maybe it was just hurt. 

The realization that you would never be loved, never be accepted- the understanding that you would never be the first choice. Always an afterthought, always a hindrance. 

A self-sabotaging menace that no one could tolerate. 

“You’re right. I don’t belong here.” You affirmed, sorrow forming a pit in your stomach as you finally came to understand. “But, I want you to know that you made this every inch as miserable as it’s been, you selfish cunt.” 

The insult fell like a gavel between you. 

You half expected Simon to yell. You almost wanted him to. A reaction would be better than the silence filling the small space between you both.

The air grew heavy with tension the longer the quiet continued. Your fingers twitched at your side, the understanding that this was the end of it all. The end of the farce that he’d put on in the hospital, the short pretence of caring. 

You supposed people did crazy things when lives are at stake. 

Maybe he only pitied you when he’d spoken those words, the sentence you’d been hanging onto for weeks. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

The only thing that Simon followed you with was dissonance.

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked and wavered. “Got nothing to say?” 

Simon didn’t move, didn’t say a word, he didn’t even blink. You supposed you’d been expecting too much. The man never gave you anything when you needed it, when you were desperate for a sign. His silence was infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you said, wobbly and broken. “Of course, you don’t, you fucking coward. Never do when it matters.” 

You took another step away from him, forcing yourself to detach from the situation. The longer you stayed the longer you craved a response, you felt like he owed it to you. But no one is entitled to anything and you sure as fuck weren’t about to let yourself fall into that mentality. 

The man before you brought out the worst in you. 

As you were readying yourself to turn around, Simon Riley finally spoke. 

“Are you finished?” 

Your jaw fell slack. “Excuse me?” 

Ghost pushed himself off the wall, inches from you in what felt like a second. You could barely catch your breath at the sudden proximity, the overwhelming sense of being in his presence. The feeling of being on the back foot beneath him, rather than the one in control, was intoxicating. 

“I said,” he repeated, stormy eyes bearing into yours, “Are you finished?” 

Each word was enunciated, a pause in between that felt like a beat on your chest every time. You were, in all honesty, flabbergasted. There was no better way to put it. 

You couldn’t even string together a sentence to come back at him with, really. The audacity that it took to reply to everything you had said with such an arrogant question made your blood simmer beneath your skin. 

Simon took your silence as a confirmation that you were, in fact, finished. 

“Can I talk now, Sunshine?” He growled, stepping closer into your space as if there were any more room for him to fit. You receded, feeling as though you were gasping for air that wasn’t tainted by the taste of him. “You gonna let me talk?” 

You said nothing as he walked you backward, desperately wanting to dig your heels into the ground. When your back hit the wall you looked up at Simon with wide eyes, hands hovering over his chest. 

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna talk now,” the LT deliberated mockingly, nodding his head as though he’d given you the choice. The sarcasm dropped from his tone when he spoke next. “You have no fucking clue, Sunshine. You’re a fuckin’ clueless idiot, is what you fuckin’ are.” 

Tears burned in your eyes, collecting on your lash line against your will. Had he really trapped you against a wall just to shatter you further? Did he really hate you that much? 

His gloved hands came to grip your own and you flinched away, the back of your head thudding against the drywall. Simon’s eyes narrowed, pressing your trembling fingers against the thin shirt covering his chest. 

You could feel his heartbeat. To your shock, it wasn’t steady. 

His heart was racing. 

You met his gaze once more, watching as his eyes trailed the lone tear on your cheek. 

“You’re an idiot.” He repeated but, this time, his voice was a whisper. “You have no fucking clue.” 

You wanted to say something, anything. You wanted to believe what he implied, you wanted to hold onto it with the hope that you’d had so many times before. 

Unfortunately, vague confessions and sweet nothings weren’t enough anymore. 

Simon knew it, too. 

“I can sit here correcting half the shit you’ve said,” he shook his head. “But I’m not gonna bother ‘cos I agree with you.” 

Your heart dropped.  

“Don’t look at me like that, let me finish.” Simon rasped, his fingers tightening against yours. “You’re right about it all, ‘bout it being a fuckin’ high school. König wants Birdy, Price wants Saint, Soap wants Gaz, and everyone’s a fucking bitchy cunt to someone on the team.”  

You blinked at the last couple that he’d mentioned. 

“But,” he shook his head, gaze heavy on your skin. “I’m not targeting you because I don’t think you belong. And I don't. Want. Birdy.” 

You made a small noise, embarrassment burning flush along your neck. You cast your eyes to the side and took in a shuddering breath. 

“I don’t give a fuck who you want-” You began, the lie falling shakily from your lips. 

“Yes, you do.” Simon interrupted sharply. You looked up at him quickly, ready to defend yourself. “Because I give a fuck about who you want, too.” 

“Why?” You blurted, heart thrashing in your chest when he shoots you a pointed glare. 

“Come on, Sunshine, don’t play dumb.” 

“Then don’t be a coward, Simon.” 

The LT raised a brow, gripping your hands tightly at your words. The beating beneath your palms picked up in speed, reminiscent of a racehorse sprinting towards the finish line. You’d never have picked his anxiety if you were just watching him, those dead eyes unwavering. 

Maybe, that was why he let you feel it… feel him. 

He wanted you to know, he wanted to show you in the only way that he could- in the only way you would trust.

Simon Riley was laying himself bare. 

“I give a fuck because,” he paused, loosing a shaky breath. He blinked, finally. Those blonde lashes fluttered as his eyes scoured the features of your face, building the courage to spill his honesty to you. “I give a fuck because I want you, Sunshine.” 

There it was. 

There it was. 

You were frozen, suspended in time with your hands on his chest and your face inches from his. The taste of his words lingered on your tongue as you took him in with every trembling breath. 

“I give you a hard time,” Simon nodded, “I do. You put yourself in these fuckin’ situations to save me and I can’t do anything to protect you.”

And, as if someone had turned on the lights, everything suddenly became clear. 

The time he’d been so furious that he barged into your room after a mission to berate you. “I could have lost you,” he’d said, “You would have died and it would have been on me.” 

That shattering incident where you’d fought in the kitchen, “I don’t need you to save me!” Ghost had snapped, smacking your cup from the table. “I don’t need anything from you.”

And, of course, this mission. This whole debacle had started because you’d recovered him from an ambush. 

“This whole time…” You rasped, “I thought you hated me.” 

Simon scoffed, the sound bitter on his tongue. “No. I just hated the way I felt. The way I feel.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, your fingers pressing into the skin of his chest. These months had you doubting yourself, had you wondering what you could have done so wrong to deserve this treatment. The embarrassment of wanting someone that couldn’t stand you was crippling. 

But now… now as his eyes bore into yours, begging you to say something wordlessly. The way his body was on edge, waiting for your response, fearing your rejection. How could you be asked to articulate anything? How were you meant to formulate a sentence? 

You wanted to tell him how you felt, you wanted to tell him everything. 

You wanted him. 

But the craving to put your hands on his skin, to taste his confession on his lips, to show him what he meant to you, it was overwhelming. You wanted him to understand how you felt in a way that he’d never doubt, in a way that would explain why you were constantly risking yourself for him. 

You knew he understood when his hands moved to grip your waist.

“Oh, my God.” 

You leapt away, your body thumping into the wall as the spell broke between yourself and the Lieutenant. 

“Oh, my God!” Birdy said again, hands coming up to their eyes hesitantly as they stumbled back and forth in the doorway. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” 

You groaned, dropping your chin to your chest as you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“Relax,” Simon coughed, his fingers trailing along your skin until they fell by his sides again, slow and hesitant. “Just- We were debriefing.” 

You could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall and the urge to throw yourself out the window grew exponentially. Out of all the times for these two idiots to make an appearance, they had to pick the most paramount moment. It was as though they were the main characters and you were simply a side-plot, cursed to never be able to develop further than the main story-line.

You glanced up at Ghost who offered you a similar expression, unimpressed. 

König cast a shadow over the intruder as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, undoubtedly investigating the commotion. His eyes fell on Birdy first, watching as their hands came up and down from their face, unsure whether they were allowed to look. Then, jade eyes moved to observe Ghost who hadn’t moved from his position posted next to your flushed body. 

“Oh…” König murmured, realization slowly dawning as he returned his gaze to Birdy. “Oh.” 

Gigantic hands reached to gently but firmly tug on the back of the stumbling sniper’s shirt. He offered an apologetic wave as he began to drag Birdy from the room, the latter still sputtering embarrassed atonements. 

“It’s okay,” you slipped out from your space between Simon and the wall. “I was just leaving anyway.” 

You quickly moved towards the door, wiping away any remaining tears from your face roughly. Just as you reached the exit, you realized that you’d left the man hanging. What if he thought that you were rejecting him? What if he went back to hating you? 

What if you missed your chance? 

You paused, turning to look over your shoulder. 

Simon was already watching you, eyes soft and his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. 

“Don’t worry,” he offered. “I’ll catch up, Sunshine.” 

You hid your smile as you turned back around and continued. 

You left the room embarrassed, sure. But, you also left with newfound hope and a promise. 

You left with the promise of Simon Riley. 

[gilverrwrites]

A kiss for the caged bird

Tim Drake/Reader, 5K

AN: Please don't think too hard into any of the science-y crap I wrote, I was pulling it all out of my butt. Anyway, this was supposed to be a quick 500-1000 thing to clear up my writer’s block and here we are. Bon appetit my loves, I hope you enjoy ♥︎ Warnings: Dub-con (purely by the nature of sex pollen) | voyeurism | swearing | dirty talk | mean-ish Tim | minor slut-shaming ♥︎

His normally tender blue eyes are completely saturated with a dense shade of green. From the whites, to his pupils, they almost seem to be glowing. They've also been watching you like a hawk with a heated intensity that puts your hairs on edge from behind the glass of his cell since you’d entered the cave.

“It's just a shame the one person who could probably crack this in no time is the one person who can't help us right now.” Dick laments as he adjusts his bootstraps. “But I have complete faith that Oracle has got this.”

“Me too.” You agree as you stare at the projected screen, all of Barbara’s research thus far. Most of it made little sense to you but it all seemed technical enough, like she was on the right track.

“Right, so she's gonna keep working on that, Spoiler and Orphan are following the Narrows lead while Red Hood and I check out the Reservoir.” The words breeze through your head, you know you should be paying more attention but you're only half listening. Tim has taken his shirt off and is leaning against the cell door. His toned body gleaning under a layer of perspiration, as his venomous green eyes stay locked onto your frame, in all of its dragged-out-of-bed-at-2 AM-after-a-looonnnnngggggg-day-patrol glory. Seemingly noticing your distraction, Nightwing steps into your line of sight as he continues to relay the plan. “You just have to make sure he doesn't hurt himself or do anything stupid until we figure this out.”

“I know, I got it.” Dick doesn’t seem convinced, frowning as his eyes dart between you and Tim. Ignoring his doubts, you settle into the chair at the centre of the console, clicking away until you pull up the live feed from inside Tims's 6x8 prison. You can understand Dicks caution, the undeniable chemistry you and Tim shared had been evident to everyone for a long time, impeached only by your mutual reluctance to date on the job. If Bruce were here, he’d never allow for this, but Dick is doing the best he can with the resources available. Regardless, all doubts aside, you won’t allow your feelings to cause problems, not when lives hang in the balance. “Just go.”

“You’re sure?” He tries to place a reassuring arm on your shoulder but you both jump at the sudden sound of Tim’s fist needlessly hitting the wall. He’d need superstrength to break out of that thing, you're not concerned. Maybe a little more roused by the lack of restraint than you’d like to admit, but no less confident in your ability to babysit than you had been moments ago.

“Certain.” You wave off Dick when he turns back to you, lips still pursed. “Go. Who knows what that crap is doing to him, the sooner you find Ivy, the better.”

He knows it, probably better than you do.

“Buzz if you need anything.” At once you're relieved by his departure, and concerned for his safety, for everyone’s safety.

“Be safe.” You bid, watching as he straddles the Wingcycle.

“Be safe.” He echoes and without another word he's gone, leaving you alone to care for your caged Red Robin.

For a long time, you stare at the empty space Dick left behind, all too aware of Tim and the way his hot-blooded stare makes your skin burn but eventually you have to face him. Can’t monitor him without looking at him after all.

In an attempt to ease the mood, you offer him a smile. Apparently, it does nothing to reassure him or ease his tensions. He simply continues to glower at you. When that doesn’t work you play up your preceding frown, playfully pouting the way you would when you’re teasing his mid-mission stresses, but that fails too. Finally, you curve your left hand in a half heart shape, a common greeting between the two of you from rooftop to rooftop and for a moment you think it might work. He pulls the hand he has pressed to the glass back for a moment, but all he does is clench his fingers back and forth a few times before letting it fall to his side.

At a loss you spin around to the computer, tapping your fingertips on the desk as you consider Barbara’s research once more. The chances of becoming a forensic palynologist within a few hours with nothing but google and whatever research Bruce has backed up in the archives is slim, but it saves twiddling your thumbs, so you start by looking up any chemicals identified by the forensic scanner that you’re not familiar with.

It’s hard to sit still, knowing your every move is being scrutinised but by far the worst part is the silence. Tim and you are muted to each other unless you’re pressing the comms link located on the keypad by the cell door. The only sounds you can make out are the far away screeches of real-life bats located further into the cavern, and the drip, drip, dripping of the wet walls. It’s downright eerie when you’re practically alone, so when Oracle buzzes in about an hour later you jump to answer it, eager to hear another human, and anxious to find out if she has any updates.

“How’s he holding up?” She asks, and you’re glad she can’t see your worried expression. Tim hasn’t moved since Dick left. Except for when you’d crossed the bullpen to look for a fresh pen after the one you’d been using ran out of ink. You exclude that last part from your update, however.

“Okay, just tell him to hang tight, I'm getting closer.” You can tell she’s trying to sound more hopeful than she actually is, and your suspicions are confirmed when she begins to ramble about her findings. She often uses the team as a sounding board when she’s trying to wrap her head around something. “The pollen he inhaled is decreasing his plasma levels and increasing his testosterone.”

“If he’d touched the plant like she’d wanted him too it would re-level those hormones, presumably she was relying on him needing that to keep him under her control.”

“Right.” You’ll pat yourself on the back for impressing her at a more appropriate time. “And if that were it, we could just pump a bunch of oxytocins into him and voilà! But something else is messing with his nociceptors. Not to mention this stuff is packed with things I’ve never even heard of. Have you heard of horny goat weed?”

“Yeah, epi-me-di-um.” You sound the word out from your notes. “Only since tonight.”

“Where do people get these names from?” Babs groans, you can hear her tapping away at her keyboard. “I’m close though, I know it.”

“I believe in you.” She ‘awhs’ at your encouragement.

“Until I’ve got this, there is one thing he can try.” She trails off at the end. Her hesitation strikes you as odd. Surely whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. “If he’s really suffering… ejaculating might help ease any pain if only temporarily. Masturbatory only, obviously, this stuff can and will spread like hot gossip at one of Bruce’s galas.”

“Ah, okay.” You understand her aversion now, looking over at Tim as you consider how you’re going to tell him that. “I will pass the information along.”

The line goes quiet, Babs clearly sensing your discomfort, but however you’re feeling, Tim is likely feeling one thousand times worse.

Habitually, you tell each other good luck and be safe before hanging up, promising to get back to each other ASAP should anything change.

As you pass by the glass of his cubicle to reach the control panel on the other side Tim follows, falling into stride with you like a mirror image. When you stop, he stops, pressing his forearm to the glass and leaning his weight against it as he awaits your next move. Tilting closer when your fingers graze the comms button. Up close you can see that actually his irises are still blue, they’re just almost non-existent, drowned out by his green sclera’s and the sheer size of his impossibly blown-out pupils. 

Bzzt. The mic crackles as you activate it.

“Hi.” You test the waters, but when he doesn’t respond you press on. “Are you in pain?”

He silently gazes at you for so long that you start to think he’s never going to answer you. Dumbly, you tap your finger on the plane to try and coax him out of his head, instantly feeling bad as you remember all those signs in zoos ‘PLEASE DON’T TAP THE GLASS, IT MAY CAUSE STRESS OR HARM TO THE ANIMALS’.

Tim must feel the same, like a caged beast, because the seething in his response startles you. 

“No.” He taunts mockingly, mouth still twisted into a tight snarl. “I feel fantastic.”

At least his sharp humour is unaffected.

“Oracle said… that…” You can’t help allowing your eyes to trail down his body, shamelessly locking onto the subject matter, due to the distance and the darkness of his tights you’d hadn’t noticed until now that he’s rock hard, the length of his erection straining against the close-fitting fabric. Your face burns at the realisation, at your obliviousness. Of course he was, that’s what aphrodisiacs do. But mostly you're ashamed of how much you enjoy looking at it.  

“Wh-” Tim's voice makes you jump. Embarrassed, you inadvertently take your hand off the switch. An uninfected Tim would have rolled his eyes at that, would have laughed at you good-naturedly, but this Tim just tilts his head like he’s cracking his neck, eye still on you. It’s like he physically can’t look at anything else, can’t stop drinking in every inch and crevice of you, cuts and moles and all. When you push down the button again, he repeats himself impatiently. Bzzt. “What did Oracle say?”

You take a deep breath, staring at the wall behind his head to help you concentrate, determined to get the words out no matter how awkward you feel saying it. “She said that masturbating, specifically ejaculating, won’t fix things, but it should… alleviate some of your discomfort, for a while.”

It’s his turn to drum his fingers on the glass, jaw growing tight as he seems to mull on what you’ve just told him. You chance a glance back down to his crotch just long enough to see him palm his hard-on through his pants. You’re unable to keep from imagining what he looks like down there or how he might go about pleasuring himself. Feeling bad for having such depraved thoughts about him while he’s suffering and vulnerable, you remind yourself not to gawk at him.

“No, I’m not doing that.” He states sternly.

“It might help.” Your objection comes purely from a place of concern.

“What would help me is if you’d fuck off.” His response is like a slap in the face, hitting you out of nowhere. You’re only trying to help, had your wondering eyes really prompted this level of ire?

“Wh- “

“It’s bad enough that I can’t control my body and that I’m stuck in here unable to do anything worth doing, but I have to watch you fucking slutting around in those f-.” Shocked by his sudden outburst, you instinctively pull your hand back. You know he’s just trying to let off his frustrations, but it still stings a little. Feeling bad for silencing his partly warranted rant, you tune back in, unable to keep yourself from flinching and jumpily flailing your hands around every time he gets under your skin. Bzzt. “Should be making an antidote or tracking down Ivy but instead all I can think about is bending you over that-”

Bzzt. “-out there trying to help me and I wanted to punch him for touching you like some macho i-” For the first time since you’d started supervising him, Tim finally looks away from you. Throwing his head back and tugging on his own hair as he tries to compose himself. It doesn’t work. You hadn’t thought it possible but when he finally comes back to you, his face is flooded with even more ferocity, like he wants to eat you alive. Bzzt.“-elp me, if you want to help me then fuck me yourself or get out of my sight!”

There's no way you’ll let him get away with talking to you like this, but now is not the time. Swallowing your pride and clenching your fists, you leave him be, hurrying back to the desk, cursing him under your breath as you pull your feet up into the chair and turn your back to him in order to try and make yourself as small as possible. You hate to admit it, but if it weren’t for the risk of infection, his parting words might have worked. Fuck. The thought of opening that door and letting him bend you over whatever he’d had in mind makes your blood rush. 

To distract from the thought of Tim’s cock being buried tight in your walls, or how hot he’d look, panting and red faced beneath you as you fucked yourself on his length, you return to your research, glancing at the live feed to Tim’s cell every few minutes purely to confirm that he’s still alive. 

You consider changing into something more conservative, this might be the one and only time you could consider slut-shaming somewhat okay, but to do that he'll be forced to look at you, so ultimately you elect not to.

Filthy thoughts continue to plague your imagination as you try to work, and the knowledge that Tim is thinking them too, only makes it worse. You’re so tired and tense and horny that after a while it becomes difficult to focus. You’re pressing your palms into your eyes when you hear a ping; A message from Spoiler to say that The Narrows was a bust, they’re moving on to another location. Another ping from Red Hood reporting a similar issue with their own intel. One more from Oracle to say that she’s pinpointed 90% of the formula and should be able to start reverse engineering soon. 

You chime in to state that Tim is holding up. The computer pings once more, a private message from Oracle asking if it helped. You’re part way through typing that he refused when you glance at the video feed, Tim still has his back to the camera, his body pointed toward you the same way he had been all night. You freeze as you notice his bare ass.

His hose are around his knees, back bent in a hunched position, one arm jerking rapidly to and throw as he presumably strokes his cock. Without thinking you turn to face him, and he brazenly stares back at you. Once your suspicions are confirmed, you rapidly swing back. 

He’s working on it. You amend. Unsure what to do from there you needlessly stare at the jagged ceiling, restlessly pulling at your fingers as you try to calm and distract yourself from the fact that Tim is currently playing with himself, and using whatever 2-inches of your skin he can see to fuel his fire. Brain and libido at odds, you force yourself not to look at the spectacle he’s putting on.

He’ll be mortified when he’s cured, don’t make it worse, you think. Yet ultimately you crack, too intrigued not to sneak another peek and once you give in to the temptation it becomes impossible to stop.

You could watch him like that all day. Watch the fierce look of concentration on his face, the bulge in his cheek where he’s biting his tongue. Watch the pink crown of his cock, and the way his balls tighten with each brutal thrust of his fist. Watch the way every lean muscle in his body tenses and twitches as waves of pleasure roll though his body. The way his green veins grow more pronounced as he chases his climax? Wait. That can’t be good. 

Had they been green this whole time and you just hadn’t noticed? You've only seen one thing like this before. Venom. Could that be the missing 10%?

As though you hadn’t just been ogling him, you cover your eyes as you approach. This time he doesn’t follow you, legs firmly planted on the ground, but when you glimpse through the cracks in your fingers his head is turned to watch you still and you hastily snap your digits closed again before you speak to him.

Bzzt. “Tim, your veins are turning green.”

At the sound of your voice his knees buckle, your hand falls away to watch as his weakened muscles cause him to fall forward. His weight rests precariously against the glass as he hangs between standing and kneeling.

“Tim. Y- “

“I know.” The aggressiveness in which he snaps at you makes your skin run cold, but he follows it with the most pained, puppy dog eyes that you immediately forgive him. As if you have ever been able to hold anything against him for a substantial period of time.

“It hurts.” His teeth are gritted as he explains. “Hurts when I stop.”

You’ve no idea what to say. You wonder if there’s a painkiller on earth that could help him right now but he speaks again before you can suggest it.

“Help me.” He sounds so solemn, despite the fact that he hasn’t once stopped stroking his dick, closely staring at every curve of your body.

“We’re trying.” Your words barely seem to register with him. “It won’t be much longer.”

“No. Help me.” The repeated instruction does nothing to clarify what else he could mean until he continues. “Your voice sounds so sexy, fuck. Talk to me.”

Oh. “And say what?”

“God, fuck. Do I have to spell it out for you? Anything!” He barks, simultaneously carnal and irritable. Each word out of his mouth is more breathless and desperate than the last.  “Fucking anything. Tell me you want me, that you want me to fuck you. Come on, please do this for me.”

“Okay, okay.” You can do this. “I do want you. I want to fuck- I want you to fuck me so bad, Tim.”

Despite it being true, you feel lame, clumsily parroting him, but Tims full bodied reaction spurs you on. He takes the final plunge, dropping onto his knees, leaning back on his haunches and practically presenting his engorged shaft to you. From here you can see how his skin is tinted several shades of pink and red. His blush seems to stem from his chest, running along his neck and shoulders, highlighting his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. You’ve never seen a prettier sight. It’s so enchanting, it almost diverts from his unnerving blood vessels.

“You’re so beautiful.” You purr, finding more confidence with every quiet huff and moan that spills from his lips. “I wish I could do this for you. I want to make you feel so good, I’d let you fuck me anywhere.”

He nods rapidly at you, encouraging you to continue while bucking his hips forward.

“I know your cock would fit just right in my mouth and feel so good, would make me gag until you came down my throat.” You open your mouth and stick your tongue out to show him, feeling silly until he replies.

“Fuck. Yeah. You’d look good sucking on my cock.”

“Yeah!” You agree, just the sight of him is enough to make your heartbeat race. But the thought of taking him in your mouth, slobbering all over his cock and watching him enjoy every second of it makes you rub your thighs together. You want so badly to get yourself off too but the little voice of conscience in the back of your brain is telling you not to, that it would be taking advantage. “Or you could bend me over, rip off my clothes and fuck me. I’d love to feel you pounding into my tight pussy.”

“Oh, pleasepleaseplease.” The words are slurred as he sinks his teeth hard into his tongue.

“You don’t have to beg, Timmy.” He hangs on your every word as you vocalise the thoughts and fantasies you’ve only ever indulge in when you’re alone at night. “You can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want, you can fill me up over and over. We’ll make sure everyone knows who my pussy belongs to. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” The confirmation is instant, no-nonsense. Followed by him closing his eyes and slamming his spare hand against the window to steady himself. 

“Mine…” When he opens his eyes again, they unsurprisingly immediately lock onto you once more, zeroing in on your throbbing centre as he tells you. “Let me see it.”

“What?” The saliva in your mouth turns dry in an instant. Despite Tim baring all to you the thought of getting your whole pussy out in the Batcave scares you. In a strangely invigorating way.

“Need to cum and I fucking can’t.” Tim explains weakly, punching the wall again, this time with less vigour. “Show me your cunt.”

The c-word sounds so strange on Tims lips, so filthy. He’s frantic. You’re no closer to understanding how to cure him, and apparently your presence has only made things worse but maybe this is how you help him.

Hurriedly, you scurry over to the Batcomputer, Tim asserting his discontent by hammering his open palm on the wall repeatedly until you return moments later with the desk chair.

You waste little time shimmying out of your sleep shorts before you lose your bravado. Falling back into the chair, you adjust the height until your now exposed pussy is level with Tims eyeline. His demeanour changes in an instant, lips morphing into the first semblance of a smile he’d given you all night as he shifts closer.

Emboldened by his enthusiasm you spread your legs wide, resting your feet on the glass and using your fingers to spread apart your folds for him to get a real look. You’re not sure how he’ll feel about the shameful amount of moisture you’ve produced later, but for now his mouth very visibly waters. You don’t think he’s blinked since you sat down.

Uncurbed, you brush your finger over your sensitive clit, toes curling in response. You’d love to say you did it to put on a show for Tim, to help him find relief but in actuality it’s entirely self-serving. Unable to resist touching yourself at the sight of him on his knees for you, mercilessly fisting his cock in frenzied, rhymeless strokes. Regardless of your motivation, Tim seems to appreciate it.

Strands of his dark hair fall into his face as he leans forward, partly hiding his glassy eyes and reddened cheeks, but he quickly whips them back once more ensuring he maintains an uninhibited view of your fingers as they rapidly paw at your sex. Angling yourself so that Tim can see every minute detail, every roll of your hips as you lower your hand and sink two fingers into yourself. All the while you keep massaging your sensitive bud, Tim’s name a prayer on your lips as you watch him, watching you, fevered and hungry. 

It comes as a surprise when your orgasm hits first, walls convulsing and spasming as you objectify yourself for Tim, acting like his personal pornstar. It’s a shame he can’t hear the wetness of your hole or the strangled, lewd gasps and moans that escape your throat as your body trembles from the intensity of your climax.

The slick of your release leaks from your sex, trickling between your legs, down the chair, and onto the metal floor. Like a man starved, Tim slams his face into the glass, finally closing his eyes and lapping at the pane with a flattened tongue.

Whatever vision he’s conjuring works, his lids twitch, eyes darting open to watch your panting frame. He looks sacrilegious, full body blushed and sweating. His face softens, mouth slack and drooling as rope after rope of cum spills from his reddened tip and hits the pane.

You’re only able to enjoy the sight of him coming apart for a moment before you notice that the viscous fluid is unsettlingly coloured. Not milky white as it should be, but a strange, luminous green colour.

Tim slumps downward once he’s spent, and you watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest while he comes down from his high. Your heart aching as you wonder whether his pain has been even slightly alleviated. The fact that the swelling of his veins seems to have subsided bodes well. Eventually he comes too, enough to also notice the puddle of green excrement between his legs and it’s your turn to all but lunch yourself at him. You shout falls on deaf ears until your kick’s echoes into his cell. His hand freezes and he watches, still hunched as you stumble to the control panel on unsteady legs.

“Don’t touch it.” Tim nods sheepishly in agreement. It probably won’t hurt him, having come from inside him, but better safe than sorry. “I’m gonna grab you some gloves and slides to take samples with.”

Before he can concur, you’re gone, inelegantly hiking your bottoms back on as you go. You feel bad, jumping straight back into business without so much of a ‘how was that for you?’ but these are strange circumstances, and whatever freaky substance he just shot out of his balls might be the missing puzzle piece in treating him.

Eventually, once you’d collected everything you’ll need and updated the Team, you do ask, holding the mic down with your elbow as you pull on a pair of rubber gloves, waiting to take the samples from him. “How do you feel?”

“Hot, and sore.” He tells you. He’s pulled his trousers back up, but you can still see the outline of his half-hard penis. “It’s still in me, I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt as much. I can think. Which is something.”

“I’m glad it helped. Hopefully we’ll get you back to normal before it gets bad again.” He offers you a smile then. A genuine, none-hedonic one that makes you feel fuzzy. You’ve missed that smile.

“Yeah, hopefully.” He places the slides, tools, and used gloves in the containment slot and closes his side of the two-way mechanism. You offer him a half heart which he returns before you start sorting and bagging everything.

You’re about to turn your back when he taps gently on the glass, gesturing for you to open the comms line again and you oblige with your elbow once more.

“Listen, I’m really sorry for being an ass earlier. You didn’t deserve what I said to you.”

You can tell he’s stressing about it from the gloomy look in his blue-green eyes and the way he tugs at his waistband. Normally he fidgets with his gloves or his collar, but needs must an’ all. You’d give anything to be able to hug him right now.

“Don’t worry, I know you didn’t really mean it.” Admittedly it had shaken you, for all of five minutes, but you’ve never been able to stay mad at Tim, even at his worst, and you’ve seen him do far worse. “You weren’t really mad at me, right? Just the situation?”

“Yeah. Mostly myself but that doesn’t make it okay.” He’s still fiddling, still looking at you mournfully. It means a lot that it bothers him so much, but you need that to stop. You need him to be normal for like half an hour so you can get some work done without worrying. And you need to get the work done so you can make up for your own misdeeds.

“No really, it’s fine I don’t care.” You stress, hoping if you chide him a little it will absolve him of his guilt. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try not to.” He promises. You can tell by the way he works his jaw back and forth that he’s working up to say something else, something that has his ears and cheeks turning pink. That or the absolved symptoms are coming back already. “And thank you. For the other stuff.”

“Oh good, I was worried you might regret that part.” You hadn’t realised how badly you needed to hear him say that until it happened. It’d kill you and whatever situationship you have going on if he’d considered your actions exploitative.

“No! Not at all. I mean, I always kind of hoped that one day we might end up…” He vaguely gestures into the air which doesn’t help his point, but you understand what he’s getting at and nod, urging him to continue. “You know? But I never would have imagined it happening like this.”

“I know what you mean. I always figured something might…” You’re floundering. This is not the time or place for this conversation, you’re completely unprepared and as badly as this conversation needs to be had, you really don’t have time. “I mean, I wouldn’t wish what’s happening on anyone, but if it had to happen, I’m glad it was you. Because you’re the only person I would have done that for.”  

You can’t imagine having done that for Dick, or Barbara, or God forbid Bruce. Just thinking about it makes your stomach churn.

“Good.” He seems more relieved now than he had when he’d cum. “I’d hate it if you’d done that with anyone else.”

If this were a movie or an action-romance novel, this is the part where you’d kiss, you think. But it’s not, and every second the two of you spend stammering about your feelings and making go-go eyes at each other is a second that could be spent on finding an antidote.

“We’ll talk, later.” You promise.

“I’d like that.” Tim replies before you pull away from the keypad. In a moment of whimsy, you blow your hot breath against the glass until it’s steamed up before pressing your puckered lips on it. No sound escapes the barrier between you, but you can see Tim laughing, his cheeks still palpably pink. He returns the gesture just moments before the Batcomputer begins to buzz.

Hi friend! I just wanted to let you know that I'm glad you exist. ♥︎

[kivino]

I DON’T CARE WHAT’S IN YOUR HAIR || ROOMMATE!JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH X GN!READER

Word Counter – 1.9k

Tags/Warnings – Some friendly banter, can be read as both platonic and romantic, fluff!

Summary – Your roommate Johnny comes back after his deployment and his hair looks like it needs a little trimming.

A/n – I AM ON MY ROOMMATE!SOAP AGENDA AND I WILL SPREAD IT FAR AND WIDE. let me know if you guys would like to see more roommate!Soap things on my blog, i'm very interested in different opinions!!!

ao3 link!!

Soap couldn’t wait until he was finally back home – several months had passed since his last leave and he was getting restless and antsy without the very much-needed rest. And, well, your company, which he missed more and more each day. You’d constantly be on his mind, plaguing his every thought with your presence, from a rather simple, passing “Oh, they’d like this joke” inside his head to talking the ears off of anyone who’d listen to him ramble about his lovely roommate, who he affectionately called “my dumbass back home”. Slowly, but surely, the number of people willing to lend an ear to restless Johnny became less and less, with each day of him staying on the base. So really, it was more of a favor extended to all the resident soldiers there.

Soap could almost feel the buzz of excitement itching under his skin, the commute back to your shared apartment was really long and tiring; the huge duffel bag filled to the brim with dirty laundry and a variety of clothes he shoved inside in a hurry didn’t help with the soreness in his body either. Soap, thankfully, didn’t forget to tell you earlier this week that his leave got approved, which you didn’t seem too excited about over the text, but he knew that you were screaming and jumping from joy. Maybe.

The last time he forgot to do that ahead of time he came back to an absolute disaster inside the apartment, with you trying to cook dinner while doing laundry, vacuuming, and cussing him out for not telling you earlier. Truth be told, Johnny didn’t mind if the apartment was messy, with undone dishes and whatnot, he’d help you do everything, but you were fixed on the fact that you should do it yourself and it’s absolutely crucial that everything has to be perfect by the time he’s back. Ghost joked that you had some military spouse mentality when Soap mentioned it to him (among countless other times he’d tell the big guy about you). Maybe there was some truth to this joke. Just maybe.

Regardless, Johnny could feel the bounce in his step and the same lightness in his chest when he was finally within a short walking distance of the apartment, and he just simply couldn’t wait to see you, even if you were a bit tired after all the cleaning you’d have to do in the apartment to keep up this image of a “perfect roommate”, despite being to him much more than just that. Seconds drag out unbearably long when he’s going up the steep stairs in the building that have certainly seen better times than the 21st century, and Soap thinks he could combust when he has to rummage through his pockets for the keys he hasn’t used in months. Johnny could hear the vacuum moaning from exertion from his place outside the door and an unintentional smile grazes his lips when he hears you cursing something out in your native language. Johnny finally fishes the key out of his pocket, hurriedly unlocks the door, and goes inside, as quietly as he can, which you can still hear even over the sound of a working vacuum.

“Johnny, you ass, you’re finally back.” You’re immediately distracted from the home appliance, as you turn it off and focus your attention solely on Soap, running up to him across the room and helping him with the giant duffel bag. “Thought you died out there with long they held up your leave.” You mumble with a chuckle that turns into a rough shriek, courtesy of Johnny squeezing the life out of you with a tight and warm embrace.

“Aye, there we go, bonnie, let’s hug it out!” If you could hear over his loud booming voice you were sure you’d hear your bones snapping from how tight his arms wrapped around your torso. You’d probably hug him back if you could free your arms out of Johnny’s hug too, but that didn’t seem to be an option at the moment.

“Johnny, for fuck’s sake, you stink!” You only hear a hearty laugh in response to your dramatic delivery. You tried to seem annoyed with Soap, which was a bit harder than you initially thought. You kind of missed him, the apartment felt cold and empty without his chatter.

“And that’s how you treat me after we haven’t seen each other for months? You wound me so deep.” The man says in a mock-sad tone. Deep inside of him, he felt that – you’re not being serious and just messing with him. So, he only continued squeezing you in his arms, without much thought. “When did you shower last time anyway?” you ask with a light groan. “Not in the past 24 hours, I’ll tell ya that.” Johnny’s chest rumbles with a low laugh and you can feel those vibrations going right through you, from how close you were.

“Oh, fuck off. And what’s with the hair? Decided to take some fashion advice from those edgy lads down the road?” You finally look up at Soap and he looks…Interesting to say the least. It’s obvious that someone probably helped him trim down the sides, since they didn’t appear much longer than they were several months ago when he left last. The longer part of the mohawk, however, made him look like he decided to go full mullet, with parts of his hair cut in certain places, like there was an attempt to make it shorter. It wasn’t bad-looking by any stretch of the imagination (in fact, you were sure, that Johnny can make look good just about anything if he managed to pull off the fucking mohawk in the first place), but you had to take the piss at him while you had the chance.

“Everyone’s a critic. Help me cut it then, will ya?” The man asks, slightly loosening his iron grip on you to look you in the eyes with an infectious smile.

“Only after you wash.”

“Naturally.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the cramped, tight bathroom of your apartment, Johnny sitting in front of the mirror on a stool, back hunched over the sink and you standing right behind him, with a pair of scissors and a clear goal in mind – sort out whatever mess was on his head. If it was up to you, you’d find a person who decided to make Johnny the next victim of their questionable fashion choices and cut off their fingers so they can never hold anything that can cut hair in their hands again. But for now, you just have to figure out what to do with Soap.

“You look like a feral rat on steroids, Johnny,” You say, as your fingers slowly drift through the longer, very grown-out parts of his mohawk. You look at his reflection in the mirror and your eyes meet, despite the weird angle his head was positioned at, just to rest on your stomach. Soap gives you a lopsided smile and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh. That bath must’ve been good, you scrubbed the shit out of the bathroom yesterday.

“Well, somebody’s gotta be the pretty one outta the pair of us.” If you were meaner than you already are you’d yank his hair to teach his ass a lesson. But you don’t. And he knows you wouldn’t do that, which is why you can see one barely open blue eye staring back at you from the mirror. He’s such a pain in the ass, but you love him. The world will collapse the day you actually acknowledge that though.

“You’re butt-ugly.” You mumble instead, playing with the damp strands of hair that refused to stand up the way they did before his deployment. You didn’t know much about the military dress code but you’d be surprised if he wasn’t violating any regulations with how his hair looked.

“Yer mum would disagree.” Johnny gave another hearty laugh and leaned more into you with his back. It really felt great to be back home. He could’ve still lived with his parents and sisters back on that farm, but as much as he loved them, relatives were too much sometimes. Maybe he should visit them soon with you. That’d be great. Johnny just has to explain beforehand that you’re only roommates, so it doesn’t turn into a big mess, that he’d hate to sort out.

“You don’t even know my mum, you wanker.” You slap Johnny on the shoulder lightly and he doesn’t even flinch. “Come on, straighten up.” He reluctantly obeys and gets up from his unusual resting position, you hear no verbal protests from him. With a light, gentle motion your hand ruffles his hair in approval.

“I’m sure she’s a woman of refined taste.” This earns Soap another slap to the shoulder, to which he laughs like a damn schoolboy. Your eyes are glued to his hair, studying it carefully. You didn’t have much experience even trimming it on somebody else, so this was a bit nerve-wracking – you didn’t want to mess up and make Johnny look worse. Although not a lot of things could look genuinely bad on the man, you were willing to admit that. You finally take the scissors that have been sitting on the edge of the sink for the past half hour and pinch the longer stand that fell over Johnny's eyes between your index and middle fingers. “Well, what are you waiting for? Cut it.” He tries to hurry you, and you can’t even see the way he observes your expression - brows tied together in a thoughtful frown, Johnny thought it looked quite cute.

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Your eyes rise to the mirror again and he playfully rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, letting you take your time, as you put down the scissors. You start ruffling Johnny’s hair again and you see the way he closes his eyes in the reflection, a warm smile stretching his lips. Your hand rests on the side of his face for a moment and not even a second passes, before you feel Soap’s palm rest over it in a gentle motion. But it doesn’t end on it, when he rubs his cheek over your skin, his stubble scratching you slightly. You let him have this moment though.

You look at his hair, as you ruffle and play with it using your free hand, and your realization makes you want to bash your head on the wall. You like it better like this. This is stupid and you feel like an idiot. At least you had an idea on how you can tell Johnny that you changed your mind about cutting his hair. Your fingers dive into his hair again, scratching the scalp lightly with the nails as you give your final verdict, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t think I can make it any worse than it already is, to be honest. Somebody fucked you over real good with that one.” You lie right to his face. Johnny opens his eyes and gives you a mischievous smile when he hears that.

“So, what I hear is you’re chickening out?’ He asks with a light, airy laugh that makes even the cold bathroom feel warmer.

“Johnny, get out of here before I shave you bald”

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[peachesofteal]

Oh sweet, sweet Peach 🥺 I just blew through your Dead Disco writing in a matter of hours and holy fucking shit I think it might seriously be one of my favorite fic series I’ve ever read in my entire fucking life. I am completely, utterly, irredeemably in love with the way you’ve captured their dynamic—I just want to snuggle up in their little world and never leave. I adore the way you’ve written about Darling’s insecurities in such a realistic way because I know if I were in her situation I’d struggle with the same issues. And the way Simon steps up as a dom to take care of his loves both in and out of the bedroom… cue open weeping. He’s perfect. Johhny’s perfect. Darling’s perfect. So perfect I can hardly stand it. And your writing overall is so beautiful; you should be beyond proud of what you’ve created ❤️

One thing I’d love to see if you’re still writing for this series is for Simon and Johnny to figure out what is going on at work that is stressing Darling out so much (maybe a coworker or superior harassing her and threatening her job if she doesn’t give in) and they just ‘casually’ stop by to bring her lunch and catch the coworker in the act and go all overprotective 🤤 God I love me some overprotective Ghost and Johnny!

Anyways, thank you for sharing your creations! You seriously should be so proud ❤️ much much love!

Hi! Thank you so much, this was so incredibly sweet of you. I've loved living in their little world so for you to say you could curl up inside of it too makes me so incredibly happy. I love them so much, sharing them with others who also loves them just turns me into a pile of sap.

Additionally, I was so happy to write this little snippet that takes place after "On a Slow Night", so thank you for the inspiration. I got to dive into Darling's life a little bit and it was so fun.

Ghost x Soap x female reader Takes place after On a Slow Night This is CANON (weird I have to say this now but I dig it) for Dead Disco. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Protective Simon and Johnny. Possessive Simon and Johnny. Darling doing darling things. Anxiety. Eating and food related issues.

It was well past five in the evening.

It was well past five in the evening, and you were still at work, eyes straining across two monitors, comparing lists and numbers across two screens, estimates and bids and evaluations all jumbled together.

A mess. You were staring at a mess, a mess that you hadn't even begun to unravel, a mess that you had to fix before even thinking about going home for the night, the realization of that fact settling like a stone in the pit of your stomach. It unsettles you, sending unease surging through your veins, making your skin crawl with anxiety.

This was your dream job. So why didn't it feel like a dream?

You knew that answer, of course. It was because your new boss, the promote-from-within, the monster that walked these halls, despised you. She regarded you the same way she regarded a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her way too expensive heels, with disdain.

Johnny had tried, bless him, to encourage you to go over her head, to say something to her boss, even though you explained you couldn't.

"I'm just an assistant curator. I can't go over her head, her boss barely even knows my name yet." He had argued, tried to push, until Simon stomped his fight out.

"She can't violate the chain of command. You know that."

Besides, you weren't a snitch. You weren't going to behind her back, or above her head, just for her to retaliate against you later. Which she certainly would. You weren't willing to risk it. You were due to be promoted, and had been waiting. For over two years.

Your phone buzzes against the desk, the group chat lighting up your screen. It's the guys, with the usual questions; where are you, when will you be home, what do you want for dinner. It makes your heart ache, a little bit, makes your head spin, thinking about them at home without you, waiting. Standing by. Just as you do for them, all the time. You begin to type out a half hazard text, trying to explain how you're going to be late, again, when a shrill voice grates against your ears.

"Knock knock." She's standing prim and proper right in the doorway of your office, bony fingers folded around a stack of papers. Oh my fucking god, no way. "These need to be scanned and compiled along with your acquisition list from today." The pressure in your skull skyrockets and you fight the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Kelly, I've really got a lot on my plate. Is there a way I can-"

"Are you refusing?" Orange red lipsticked coated lips flex into a feline smile. A sinister smile. A smart one. Fuck.

"N-no. No, I wouldn't."

"Great. tonight then." She drops them in front of you with a thud, eyeing your taupe wool sweater with disgust.

"Okay, tonight." You slump forward in defeat. You wanted to go home. You wanted to curl up on the couch between the guys, and let run you a bath or give you a back rub. All of that... sounded a lot better than all of this.

I'm going to be really late now. You shoot off the text before putting your phone facedown and cradling your head in your hands.

How late? Johnny asks immediately and you grimace.

Have you eaten? Did you finish your lunch? You try not to wince at the direct line of questioning from Simon, who undoubtedly already knows his answer, based on how you were feeling this morning when they tried to feed you breakfast, and how busy you've been at work.

Don't know. Yes. Half of it. You fire back, ignoring the burn of the guilt from the lie, and then put it in your drawer. Less distractions means you'll get home sooner if you can focus and just get it done.

You don't mean to fall asleep at your desk. It's just, the heat kicks on, and the room warms to a very nice temperature, and your eyelids feel so heavy that you suddenly find yourself excusing it a little if you lay your head down for a minute.

It's a mistake. It's the worst mistake, and you know it, you feel the weight of your mistake sharply when there's a crone like voice shrieking near your ear and you're jerking up in a fright, eyes wide in panic.

"-eeping? While you're getting paid? When you're supposed to be working?" She's standing inside your office now, a foot from your desk, face twisted into a macabre mask of indignation.

"I'm sorry." You croak. "Didn't mean to." You palm finds your face and you rub, trying to get with it, and quickly, before she loses her mind. Your head is spinning, dizzy and clouded, and you curse yourself for not actually eating at least half your lunch like you said you did.

"And you think you'll be a curator next year? With this kind of lazy behavior." She scoffs, nose wrinkled, and shame licks against the skin of your jaw while you grind your teeth.

"Kelly, I'm sorry. I'm exhausted and-"

"I don't want to hear your stupid excuses. I should fire you, right now. Sleeping! On the-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" Everything inside you grinds to a halt at the sound of the deep, gritted Manchester accent. Oh, fuck.

Simon's standing just inside the office, Johnny next to him, holding a bag. It's got a Tupperware in it, you can see from here, still fogged up by the warm contents inside. They've brought you dinner. Your heart melts at the sight, and then swiftly hardens and drops like a stone when you realize 1. They're not allowed to be in here after hours and 2. Simon just cussed at your boss. When you don't say anything, still sitting there slack jawed, Johnny prompts you.

"Darling? Is everything alright?" You try to put a thought together, to answer, but Kelly beats you to it, turning on a dime, taking a few steps to where they lurk just inside your office.

"Who are you? You can't be in here after hours." She hisses, and while Johnny sneers at her before looking back to you, Simon's fist visibly clenches.

"Security let us in."

"They don't have the authority to do that, you can't be-" You stand, but the floor somewhat shifts beneath your feet, walls tilting, and your fingers grip the desk. It's enough for Johnny to disregard anything she's saying, pushing past where she stands with her hands on her hips to stand at your side, a steady hand on your elbow.

"Alright love?" The blue eyes search yours and you manage a nod.

"Jus' tired. A bit hungry." He looks back to Simon, who's watching you carefully, before he turns his irritated gaze back to Kelly.

"Did I hear you threatening to fire her?" His voice is cold. It's seeking, lethal, something sharp and refined that you've never heard. Johnny keeps his hand on you, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin.

"She was asleep."

"Because ya've overworked her, you daft cunt." Johnny snaps, and her eyes widen in shock.

"How dare you! Who do you think you are?" She caws and Simon takes yet another step, this time close enough that she jerks backwards.

"She works outside her contracted hours all the time, and she doesn't complain. At your request." Simon cocks his head. "Sounds like a labor law violation, if ya ask me."

"Aye, it does." Johnny cheerfully agrees, warm palm sliding up and down your spine. Kelly looks between the three of you, something uncertain tugging at the corners of her eyes, before she's shaking her head in protest.

"She volunteers, she-"

"She's ours." Simon snarls it, and Kelly blanches. "And we're not going to allow whatever mistreatment is going on here to continue." Something warm simmers in your stomach, even though your mortified. Ours. She's ours. The words make boulder sized butterflies thrash in your stomach. You're probably going to need to find a new job, but this is kind of worth it. Kelly is sputtering at Simon, who's now standing with his arms crossed, glowering at her from the behind the mask, looking properly terrifying, while Johnny continues to rub your back, warm palm soothing you into a big yawn, one you fail to stifle. One they both see. He dismisses her, with one more promise of a phone call to the labor advisory, or worse, the board of directors. That threat alone is enough to shut her up, scaring her into pressing her back against the wall meekly, while Simon gives Johnny a subtle nod.

"We're leaving." Johnny declares, and Simon nods. He crosses the room to pull your bag from the back of your chair, while Johnny slides your laptop into it's sleeve and grabs your coffee cup. "C'mon darling, let's go home." He coaxes, and you let them lead you from the office, Johnny with a firm hand at your waist, Simon leading the way.

You don't look back at where Kelly stands in the hallway, gobsmacked and speechless.

[ryomens-vixen]

Snakebites

Contains: Angst, NSFW, aftercare, hurt feelings, drug use, alcohol use. If I'm missing any lmk

Author's note: This is based on a dream I had of Gojo recently so don't hurt me in the comments ❤

Word count: it's a joke at this point pookie. 🤦🏾‍♀️

"She made me want to plan out my last days on earth here with her.."

"And on that day..."

"Where I, Satoru Gojo—"

"I thought to myself man I screwed up big time..–"

"I was right, but I had someone waiting for me.. That was until I didn't."

"I knew Nanami would survive anything, I could survive anything."

"Yet even in what everyone thought would be my final moments, even after, you still chose him."

"Am I.. Not enough?”

“Ah— Na- nami…Daddy~”

“C'mon what the hell does he have that I don't?”

“Fuck.. So good to me”

“Goddamn it…”

Long after the Shibuya Incident, Everyone did their absolute best to go back to the way things used to be, some celebrated, some mourned over comrades, some even found their way back into the arms of another. Shoko and Meimei were reunited with their boys Nanami, Suguru, and Satoru who had given everyone the biggest heart attack of their lives, next to Nanami. It was long before the incident was forgotten about by the public. But for those that gave it their all, fought until their last breath… was more than just a memory. 

The air around both of you was thick and hit with desire accompanied by the sounds of skin slapping, hoarse groans followed by heavy moaning. 

Your bodies glistening with sweat— what round was it again? Three? Maybe four? You couldn't remember all you could think about was how Nanami was absolutely incredible in bed. 

Bullying your g spot for another tantalizing orgasm. You're sitting on top of him back against his chest, legs over his own, your left arm reaching behind Nanami’s neck as both of you watched his cock piston in and out of your warm wet hole at a pace you couldn't be bothered to match.

The way Nanami made such passionate love to your body was a sight to behold. 

Sometimes he wished he could just set up a few cameras at different angles to capture these moments together. Maybe he'd keep them to himself or maybe he'd show them off to someone whom he knows that craves your love and affection. 

But none of that matters right now, All he cares about is getting another orgasm out of you and burying his seed in that sweet pussy of yours. 

The way his hips moved uncontrollably you'd think he's trying to put a baby in you.. He would if you weren't on the pill that is. 

That way nobody would have you, not even Satoru or Suguru. Yeah Nanami knew you were playing the field, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help being a little selfish- he just wanted to keep you barefoot and pregnant. 

Pumping his thick Two toned cock in and out of your squelching pussy, mounting you with your knees pressed towards your chest, body folded in half. Sweat drips from his nose, feverishly pounding into you with the wildest expression you’ve ever seen on him, determined to make you cum. 

“Nan..ami.. T- Too Much—”  You were so overstimulated each time the head of his cock kissed your cervix sending a tingling sensation from your pussy up to the spine. 

“You can take it baby, You can take it~ Take it for Daddy, Good- fuckin- Girl-” he emphasized with each thrust. 

Meanwhile your phone on the other side of the room kept lighting up with message, after message from a certain someone. 

You'll have to answer later, too busy getting the best cock of your life. 

◦•●◉✿ 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜'𝑠 𝑃𝑜𝑣✿◉●•◦

[Future Wifey]

Hey, can we talk? - 3:47 pm. 

Are you free tonight, maybe tomorrow? - 4:15 pm. 

Look I just want to fuckin know what's going on between us I'm not getting any younger, y/n! - 4:30 pm. 

I'm sorry it's just.. I don't like sharing you with anyone. I just want what we used to have. - 5:00 pm. 

Hey, answer the phone. - 5:25 pm. 

Are you fucking him? Seriously?! - 5:26 pm. 

Y/N answer the goddamn phone.. -5:30 pm.

 The more your phone buzzed with Satoru's constant calls and text messages the more Nanami fucked into you. 

It was like a fun game to him, if he called, Nanami would keep fucking you into yet another orgasm, if he sends a text he'll switch positions either way you're getting taken straight to pound town and he doesn't plan on stopping until you're an incoherent mess in his arms. 

What orgasm were you on? Your 5th? 6th? Even Nanami lost count and was so addicted to your gushing wet pussy it's almost like his hips  wouldn't allow him to stop even if he wanted to.

TooMuchTooMuchTooM-much D-addy! Ah! The way you dug crescent moons into Nanami's back was so rewarding to him. Leaving scratch marks that drew blood was enough to make him cum. 

He was a mess himself bear hugging you as he fucked into you, thrusts becoming sloppy and more off beat by the minute. SoFuckinGood so fuckin- fuck fuck fuck- c'mon cum for daddy. Cum baby. Cum. With a few more thrusts the both of you were a moaning, groaning, quivering mess. Your pussy feels full and warm with Nanami's cum leaking out. 

While Nanami laid on top of you showing no signs of moving anytime soon. His cock still too sensitive to be pulled out, was still buried deep inside of you. Your breaths mixed together once your lips found each other in an embrace. 

Why don't you spend the night.. Just the two of us? Before Nanami could even get an answer out of you he heard snoring. With a smile on his face he proceeded to gently pull out of you after planting a small kiss on the nape of your neck. 

He's such a sweet man running a nice hot both for you after fucking you to sleep. Nanami was always the best at giving aftercare. 

◦•●◉✿ 𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑢’𝑠 𝑃𝑜v ✿◉●•◦

Suguru had finally come back to his shared apartment with his long time best friend Satoru. After opening the door his nose was met with the smell of weed. There's no way Satoru lit one up without him; they always smoked together especially after a long day of Sorcery. Well, actually that was before the incident , but now Suguru has retired along with nanami. 

Satoru on the other hand wasn't quite given the option to retire as the strongest the higher ups needed him and his power and so did his clan. But Suguru didn't expect to come home to a complete and utter mess. 

Satoru sprawled out on the couch an empty bottle of sake on the coffee table, half of a blunt in his mouth, his blindfold covering his puffy red eyes as he had been crying earlier after receiving not one call or text from you in the past hour or two. 

Suguru didn't say a word to him, just quietly sat next to him giving him a pat on the thigh. 

He hadn't a clue what could be going on with satoru today, but if it had him like this then he was too afraid to even ask. He just sat there with him in silence, but took the blunt from his lips to smoke it himself. He also had a rough day.. Satoru wasn't the only one trying to get in contact with you. 

Tag list: @blkkizzat @honeeslust @biscuitsngravie @littlemochabunni @halosdiary @halobuns @gojos-thot-patrol-main @oreo-creampie @callm3senpaii

[lovesick-rambles]

Spa Day

commission for: @kylars-princess

summary: Delilah comes home with something new for her and Kylar to try

word count: 2k

author's note: GAH i am such a sucker for cute little spa day fluff! THANK YOU NICK <3

“Kylar!” Delilah happily yelled when she walked through the door. “I’m finally home!”

“Welcome back, pretty girl!” He walked over to greet her before noticing the big, plastic bag in her hand. “Did you go shopping before you came home?”

She squealed when he asked that, throwing the bag on the floor to quickly search through it. She was buzzing with excitement, telling him how she had been looking forward to showing him this all day, how they’re both going to love it, and how she has a whole stay-at-home impromptu date planned out for tonight.

“Here it is!” She pulled out a little tub and held it up proudly.

Kylar took the container from her hand and inspected it curiously. “Clay face masks, huh?”

Delilah beamed at him. “Yes! My friend told me all about them! I never knew there was such a thing until they told me about them! I then went to the store and found tons and tons of them!”

“That’s so cool!” He smiled at her. Her happiness was contagious and he couldn’t help but be glad that she was excited about something new.

“Oh! I even found a special kind that’s gentle on acne for you to use!”

He cocked his head to the side and awkwardly asked, “For…me to use?”

She nodded and started to read the label on the container she was holding. “When my friend was telling me about these things and explaining how they’re good for skincare, I immediately wanted to try them with you!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Kylar tried not to show it but he was hesitant to agree to do this with her. Not because he didn’t want to spend time with her doing something new, but because he could hear the voice of his father berating him in the back of his head.

“You gotta be a fucking man, Kylar. You don’t want to be seen as a little pussy, do you? The last thing you want is to be seen as womanly.”

He was ready to tell her he wanted to opt out of this idea but the sweet look on Delilah’s face melted his heart. He couldn’t possibly say no to her when she was looking at him like that. Especially when she went out of her way to find a special kind of formula that wouldn’t harm his skin.

“What do you think?” She asked in an attempt to break the silence between them.

Kylar came back to the present and smiled at her. “I think this is a great idea, pretty girl. Where do we start?”

Her face lit up and she excitedly pushed her bag full of goodies into his arms and bolted to the bathroom. He could hear the sudden rush of water filling the tub as he started to pull out everything she bought.

She got two kinds of clay face masks, like she said, and a plethora of other things. Not only did she plan on doing skincare with him, she planned an entire spa day. She bought a bottle of lavender scented bubble bath, a little platter of fresh fruit for them to share, plush headbands, and even two of those little crystal rollers. While Delilah was still getting things ready in the bathroom, Kylar shoved the tub of fruit in the fridge to keep it from getting gross and mushy.

“Kylar, sweetheart? Can you bring me the bubble bath I got?” She called for him down the hall. “Oh! Also, pick out a CD for us to play!”

He jumped at the chance to look through his collection to pick the perfect album for them to listen to. Finally, he picked out a case after spending a few minutes carefully thinking about his choice. “Coming!”

He walked into the bathroom to find Delilah rushing around the small space trying her best to make it as relaxing as possible.

“Oh!” She grinned at him. “I’ll be taking that! Thanks!” She took the bubble bath from his hands and poured a generous amount into the running water.

The thick aroma of lavender immediately filled the small room. It had a sweet and soothing smell. That mixed with the warmth of the steam coming from the tub relaxed Kylar more than he’d like to admit.

Delilah then seemed to be content with how the bathroom was set up and without thinking, she said, “Okay, take your clothes off.”

“H-Huh?” The command caught him off guard but he didn’t think too much about it. He pulled his shirt off over his head and shook his messed up hair out.

“I just don’t want this getting all over our clothes!” She giggled as she very gently pulled one of the plush headbands she bought over his head. With a careful touch, she then pushed his hair back with it and made sure there were no stray hairs in his face. Then, getting overwhelmed with how cute he looked, she squished Kylar’s cheeks in her hands and squealed in delight. “You are so handsome!”

Kylar became a little sheepish with everything and her sudden compliments didn’t help. His father’s voice was still scolding him in the back of his head. Delilah looked so happy doing this with him, though, and that reminded him that this was okay. In fact, he was allowed to do silly, relaxing things like this without feeling lesser for it. 

Delilah then undressed and put on her own headband, giggling a little at the soft material when it tickled her face. She reached for the tub of clay face mask and eagerly opened it with a loud pop!

“That smells, uh,” he thought for a moment, wanting to pick the right word that wasn’t too insulting. “Interesting.”

“It does smell a little funky, doesn’t it?” She gave it a careful whiff. “It’s not too bad at least! The smell will probably go away after it dries a bit. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, ready.”

Kylar watched her dip two fingers in the odd smelling goo and mix it up a bit. Then, she slowly pulled them out and started to lightly smear it on his face. It was a weird feeling for him. The face mask was kind of cold, smooth, and it was a lot lighter than he expected. Delilah’s touch was very gentle and loving as she made sure to apply an even layer to his face. After a minute or two, she decided it was even enough and booped his nose with her finger.

“Okay! My turn!”

Kylar’s nose felt itchy and he did his best to repress the urge to scratch it. “So, what do I do now?”

She wiped Kylar’s face mask off of her fingers and started to open the tub she bought for herself. Without looking up, she said, “Now you enjoy the bath! I’ll hop in once I have mine on!”

He nodded and finished undressing before slowly sinking into the full tub. He made sure not to get soap everywhere as he settled in.

“How’s the water?” Delilah asked, smearing the face mask on herself. “I hope it didn’t get cold!”

“It’s perfect, actually.” He chuckled. “Still warm, too. Although, if it was cold, I know a good way to make it warm again.”

“Pervert!” She laughed and wiped her fingers off. Before hopping in the tub after him, she popped a CD in their little radio and hit the play button. Kylar picked his favorite metal CD for them to enjoy during their time together. Everything seemed to be in place for this date night. The only thing the couple forgot about for this spa day was the fact the tub was just a little too small for two people at once.

“Easy, easy–”

Delilah slipped a little, making the water slosh around but wasn’t hurt. “I’m being careful, I swear!”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

While slowly getting in the tub, she very nearly elbowed him in the chest. Kylar also accidentally kneed her in the shoulder while pulling his leg outside of the tub for more room. While trying to find a comfortable position for the both of them, they kept having painful little accidents like this until they finally figured it out.

Kylar snaked his arms around her middle and pulled her to him. “Comfy?”

“Very.” She felt her face getting warm, both from the temperature of the water and from his touch.

A low noise rumbled in his throat as he made himself more comfortable. The warm, lavender scented water made his tense muscles relax. He didn’t even notice how pent up he was until his body was submerged in the tub. He nuzzled his chin against Delilah’s shoulder and closed his eyes, smiling a little. Much to his surprise, the clay face mask actually felt kind of nice.

“This was a really good idea.” Kylar mumbled.

She swirled the soapy water around with her hands, watching it swirl as she responded, “I’m so glad you agree. I was a little worried you wouldn’t like this at first.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Why would you be worried?”

“Well, I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything. More like,” she paused to think about her word choice. “I didn’t know if you would enjoy doing this. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t be a bad thing! I also worried it would seem a bit…I dunno, dumb?”

Kylar held her a little tighter against him. “I would never find anything you like dumb, baby.”

“I know, but–”

“No buts.” He kissed her cheek and then grimaced at the feeling of the dry face mask against his lips. “I’m sorry about being hesitant before. It was nothing you did, okay? It was just…how I was raised, you know?”

Delilah grabbed Kylar’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It wasn’t anything you did to make me feel this way. I just worry too much I think.” She giggled, attempting to joke about their suddenly serious conversation. 

“And that’s okay. I’m never going to tell you that you’re wrong for worrying or for feeling. Just know that I will never laugh or belittle you for anything. And I mean anything.” 

“Thank you,” her voice was quiet but you could hear the love in her words.

He softly chuckled. “Of course, my muse. I’ve been enjoying my time with you. Now, when do we wash this stuff off? It feels weird now that it’s all dried up.”

“Oh! Right!” Delilah stood up in the tub, letting some of the water drip off of her before she stepped out. “The bath has gotten a little cold, anyway.”

Kylar followed her lead and got out too before draining the water. The CD was still playing and it was loud enough to drown out the noise the water made as it slowly spiraled down the drain. He then wrapped Delilah up in one of the fluffy robes that was hung up behind the door, kissed the top of her head, and told her that he had a lot of fun with her. A sweet smile spread across her face and she agreed that it was a nice way to spend time together.

“Okay, so I think all we have to do is wash this off with water?” She said, inspecting the directions on the back of the container.

“Would you like help?” Kylar asked, already wetting a washcloth for her. He then started wiping her face in a gentle, circular motion before she could even reply.

“O-Oh!” Delilah jumped a little at the sudden feeling but she didn’t stop him. In fact, it felt nice that he wanted to help. It made her feel loved.

The face mask wasn’t too hard to wash off, thankfully. Delilah’s face was almost clean in an instant. Once she was done, she wanted to return the favor and wash Kylar’s face for him while making sure to be gentle with his acne. Then, while staying in their robes, they left the bathroom to feed each other some of their favorite fruits. The voice of Kylar’s father had now been quieted and instead, Delilah’s sweet encouragements replaced it. He couldn’t wait to do this again.

[sunnybeewriting]

Finding Purpose

Hey guys! So this is actually only the second thing I have ever written. As well, I’ve only watched the first Avatar a few times and I’ve only seen the second Avatar once since it came to theaters, so I’m not going to pretend I have a lot of knowledge when it comes to Avatar or the culture, animals, or people in it. But I also tried my best to get things accurate, so if things are not then I am sorry! Anyways, if you like it, please leave a like or a comment!

WARNINGS: None

TAGS: Family feels, fluff

WORD COUNT: 5,055

As you prepare for your first solo hunt, you discover what really matters to you and how far you would go to protect it.

Your mind groggily awakens, and your senses slowly come back to you. You’re lying in your bedroll, waking up after a restless night of sleep. You can hear the soft breathing of your siblings still in the room. As you awaken, your thoughts become less like drifting clouds and more of something solid. There was a reason for your restlessness, you recall distantly, something that had made it difficult for you to find sleep. Something that made your body and mind both buzz with anticipation…

Your eyes pop open and you jolt upwards from your resting position.

The hunt is today!

The full force of your elation surges through your veins once more and you quickly bounce from your bedroll and onto your feet. Your siblings are all still asleep in their own sleeping pads, all sprawled with long limbs and soft snoring.

Neteyam has one of his arms thrown around Lo’ak’s neck, holding him tightly in a way that seems almost like a chokehold. On his left side, his other arm is splayed out palm side upwards across Kiri’s stomach, who is almost completely out of her own bedroll. Sweet Tuk lays sleeping closer to the bedroll of your parents; she claims it’s because they don’t toss and turn as much as your shared siblings, but you also think it may be because of how she just likes to be closer to her mom and dad.

Your sleeping pad is on the other side of Kiri, close to the entrance of the tent. Sometimes, when you find it hard to sleep, you like to listen to the sounds of the forest, the calls of the animals and the buzzing of the insects. It’s a calming lullaby that soothes your restless mind and helps you drift back to sleep.

 It’s visible through the fabric of your home tent that it is barely dawn, the morning light still climbing its way into High Camp. Early time of morning or not, it was still the day you had been eagerly waiting a very long time for.

Your parents are already up and out of the tent by this time, performing their duties. Mom was usually gathering fruits and seeds for your siblings to eat when they awakened from their slumber, while Dad was most likely either fishing or seeing to clan tasks. As Olo'eyktan, your father was often busy overseeing the safety of the clan and making sure everything was in order. There are some days when you don’t see him until the next morning when he’s exhausted and grumpy, but you couldn’t be prouder to have him as your dad.

You quietly push open the front flap of the family tent to step outside into the large, shared cave of your clan. The family tents of your people are spread out the entire length of the cave, and you can already see others moving around. The air is fresh and cool against your skin as you continue your path to find either one of your parents. You take a moment to tilt your head back and take a deep breath of cool air into your lungs. Your tail flicks behind you as you walk, and your sensitive ears twitch as you listen to the low murmurings of your people.

You try to remember that you are striving for a relaxed and wise persona as you walk, to show that you are indeed a responsible adult now. Instead of the over-excited and naïve child many of your people still thought you were, you wanted to be seen as an adult. Even with those thoughts at the front of your mind, you can’t stop the smile on your face or the thrilled spring in your step.

As you bound up the steps to a section closer to the entrance of High Camp, where the Omaticaya clan often cooks and eats their meals, you see the back of your mother. She wears her usual attire of leather and flora, her dark hair braided back with feathers and beads. Her tall, slender frame blocks your view of whatever she is working on with her hands.   

You bounce up to her, hands folded neatly behind your back and what you hope is a charming grin on full display. She turns her head around, takes one look at you, rolls her large, golden eyes, and turns back to her work. You would have taken insult to such a lackluster reaction to your arrival if it hadn’t been for the fond little smile that had appeared on her face when she saw you approaching.

“Hey, Mom! Guess what day it is?” you ask gleefully, hugging her around her waist from behind.

Your mother scoffs and gently pats one of the arms around her waist. You let go and move to the side of what she was working on and begin to help, hands quickly and efficiently pulling apart pieces of fruit and placing them on leaf plates.

“Hmmm. Is it perhaps the day of Lo’ak’s first hunt? Or perhaps, Neteyam’s?”

“Yes, yes, very funny.” You say, rolling your eyes in the same fashion she had done earlier. 

She grins back at you, wide golden eyes relaxed, and then sets down what she had been working on. She grabs your hands, curls her fingers around them, and then says, “Oh, Ayviiri, I am so pleased to be here to see your first solo hunt. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I commend your patience, something you surely did not get from your father. It was not long ago when I feared I would never see this day. I thank the Great Mother for our blessings.”

Your grip on her hands becomes tight, and you can feel your eyes begin to sting. It wasn’t often either of you became overtly emotional, but on momentous occasions like this, it was a sure thing.

You had yet to be born when your clan’s ancestral Hometree and the Tree of Souls had been destroyed by the Sky People. Both places, sacred and thousands of years old, had been razed to nothing but ash in less than a day. Hundreds of your people had been slaughtered, along with an untold number of ikran and direhorses. Your own mother’s father had died in her arms.

The overwhelming and devastating loss of so many clan members, their home, and their sacred place had shaped your childhood. You grew up seeing what impact that kind of grief had on your mother, as well as The People. It had given you an early appreciation of the simple things, such as your own home and family members. Mom often praised the Great Mother, Ewya, for the health and well-being of her mate and children. She had made sure you and your siblings grew up aware and prepared for how quickly things could change.

“Thank you, Mother.”

She softly grips the back of your neck and presses your foreheads together briefly, eyes gazing into yours. You can see your own reflection in them; your own wide, golden eyes, shape and color matching hers.

Mom had been the one to teach you how to shoot a bow, and Dad had been the one to teach you how to handle a knife and throw a punch. One was to teach you how to hunt, and the other to teach you how to defend yourself and kill anyone who meant you or your family harm.

At your age, you had already completed your Iknimaya and claimed your ikran, as well as made your first kill under your mother’s close, protective observation. Now, it was your turn to prove yourself to the clan that you could provide for yourself, your clan, and your family on your own terms. It was another step closer to becoming recognized as an adult of the Omaticaya Clan. Soon enough, you would complete the Ulitaron and become one of The People. Then, you would choose a mate.

I’m not anywhere near ready for that, though, you thoughtfully acknowledge. Someday you would like a mate, but until that day comes and you met the right person, you are fine just on your own.

She pulls back from you and you both continue to prepare the food in comfortable silence. Once you are finished, she bids you to go back to the family tent and gather your siblings.

You walk back and toss open the front flap of the tent once more. By this time the light coming into High Camp was bright and fierce, and the opening of the flap caused the inside of the tent to light up. A beam speared itself across the faces of Neteyam and Lo’ak, who both flinched and groaned at the disturbance. Kiri, on the other hand, slept on peacefully. Waking Kiri up was often as effective as successfully waking the dead. It seemed like she could sleep through anything, any noise or physical commotion. With the sensitive hearing of your species, this was a rare and impressive thing for one of your people to be able to do.

Little Tuk was still curled up in her bedroll further into the tent, face smushed into the thin blankets and eyes hiding away from the light. You decide to get her up first before you even try to deal with Kiri. Neteyam and Lo’ak are mostly up already, though their flailing limbs as they struggle to rearrange their position both away from one another and away from the light never fails to make you laugh. Their grumpy complaining, mussed braids, and bleary eyes were hilarious to you.

You approach Tuk and gently lay a hand on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth softly as you rouse her from her sleep.

“Hey Little Tuk, it’s time to wake up. It’s morning already, Mom has food ready for us and everything.”

Tuk whines but lets you pull her from her blankets by her armpits. You heft her up and onto the side of your hip, where she hides her face into the curve of your shoulder to rest a little bit longer. By this time, Neteyam is standing and rolling up his sleeping pad, hair still messy and eyes squinting. Lo’ak, though, is simply sitting up in his bedroll and staring around the tent blankly, clearly still very tired.

“Come on Lo’ak, aren’t you hungry? Mom found some fruit and lionberry seeds, I know those are your favorite.” You say enticingly. “I think Dad might be fishing, too.”

He gives you a roll of his eyes, but he also seems to pep up a little bit at that, finally standing tall and stretching with a loud groan. He bends down to also put away his bedroll. By the time you turn to Kiri, he and Neteyam are already heading outside. They’re also already shoving and teasing each other, which would have made you roll your eyes in fond exasperation if you weren’t already used to it.

You’re still holding onto Tuk when you squat and put a hand on Kiri’s shoulder. This close to her you can hear her soft snoring. You tighten your grip and shake her, gently at first, and then firmer as her snores continued.

“Come on, Kiri! You sleep like the dead. Come on, time to get up, time to rise and shine, let’s go!”

Her grumbling becomes louder as she is rudely roused from her deep sleep, and a pair of bright green eyes blearily glare at you from behind her thin blanket. You smile at her in turn. You’re not usually so happy in the mornings, but it’s a special day.

“There you are! Alright, Mom has food ready at our usual spot. We’ll meet you there!”

It always takes her a few extra minutes to finally rise completely out of her dreams, so you leave the tent and head back to the entrance where your mother and now brothers would be.

Tuk stays on your hip all the while, but her head is now risen and her eyes are alert as she takes in the fresh air around the cave. You can hear her humming a tune just beneath her breath. It reminds you of your mother’s singing, and you smile. You nudge her head with the side of your face, her soft braids tickling your neck. She looks up at you, grins, and continues humming. Usually, she was a talkative little girl, but it was probably too early to expect much enthusiasm.

You reach your family members just as your stomach starts growling. Tuk reaches out for Mom before you even sit down, and you gladly shift your grip and hand her over, hungry and eager to eat. Mom tuts softly before shifting Tuk to her side and sitting down, legs crossed.

Neteyam and Lo’ak are already digging into the leaf plates you had prepared, and you do the same. You savor the sweet taste of the fruit and seeds, juice spilling around your fingers and mouth before you use the back of your hand to wipe it away. You eat until you are full. Mom takes her time eating, pulling apart small pieces of fruit and handing them to Tuk, who eats them just as eagerly as the rest of her siblings.

You turn your head just in time to catch the devious look Lo’ak gives you. You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows in confusion, curious to see what sort of prank is about to follow. Before you can blink, he starts flicking seeds at Neteyam and then at yourself.  Neteyam and you take the abuse for the first few seeds, before you share a look and team up against your brother, pelting him with seeds from both sides. You both laugh loudly as he squeals, shouting abuse. You only stop when your mother looks up from Tuk to give all three of you a stern look, and all three of you immediately sit back down. You share a guilty look with your brothers, but your mother’s potential disapproval doesn’t stop any of you from slyly smacking each other on the legs outside of her view, just for the fun of it.

So much for being more mature, you think.

You’re almost done with your plate by the time Kiri finally makes it out of the tent and down to your group. She grabs a plate of her own and starts eating before striking up a conversation with your mother.

You sit and listen to the talking of your family members. Mom wipes fruit juice off Tuk’s face and replies to Kiri’s question, while Lo’ak and Neteyam have long since finished their food and are having their own discussion. Usually you would participate, but today your thoughts are elsewhere, already out in the forest. You are still excited, but now that the initial thrill has faded with the early morning, nerves are beginning to fight their way in. You take in deep, full breaths to keep them at bay. You’ve been preparing for this for years, and you are sure you know what you are doing.

There’s no way you’re going to let such a little thing as nerves ruin this for you. Besides, if you weren’t ready, your parents would never allow you to do this. Their confidence in you means everything, and it speaks for itself. If they think you are ready, then you are ready, as simple as that.

That being resolved, you sit up straighter and nod your head firmly, confidence restored. 

Lo’ak is saying something to Neteyam before remembrance appears on his face and he turns to you, interrupting himself mid-sentence to speak with you.

“Ayviiri! I had almost forgotten, today is your first hunt! Are you nervous, are you excited? Have you prepared your weapons? Have you picked your prey?”

Just like you, Lo’ak and Neteyam are eagerly awaiting their first solo hunt. While they have just completed their Iknimaya and claimed their ikran both, they have yet to make their first kill. Neteyam is only a year younger than you, Lo’ak two years, so it won’t be long before they are following in your footsteps and going on their own hunt alone.

Still, you are the eldest sibling, and it feels good to be doing something they have yet to accomplish. You laugh at your younger brother’s charming enthusiasm and say,

“Yes Lo’ak, my bow and arrows are prepared and waiting for me by the tent. As for my prey, Mom and Dad have suggested I choose something on the easier side, so I have chosen to hunt yerik for my first hunt.”

Choosing yerik, an animal certainly not known for its ferocity hadn’t been your initial pick, but you did so to relieve the stress put on your parents. Besides, a hunt was a hunt, and easy prey or not, there were always things that could go wrong. You didn’t mind being cautious, for now; you would have time to prove yourself a capable hunter and warrior in your own right to your siblings, your clan, but most importantly, to your parents.

As well, at least yerik wasn’t as easy of prey as fwampop would be, so there’s that. Yerik’s hearing is exceptionally good, and the scent organs on either side of its head help it smell the presence of a predator. While it wouldn’t be the hardest of hunts, it also wouldn’t be the easiest.

“Yerik. That’s awesome, Ayviiri! I can’t wait until I can go on my own hunt. I bet I’d take down three yerik on my own by the time I get to your age. Or, or talioang, all on my own. Yeah, I bet I’ll even be able to hunt palulukan – ow!” Lo’ak narrowly dodges Neteyam’s second hand that comes swinging over to smack him upside the head again.

“By the time you’re Ayviiri’s age, the only thing you’ll be able to hunt is fwampop, and even then, you’ll probably miss your first shot!” Neteyam throws his head back and laughs heartily at his own joke and his brother’s expense. You can’t help but giggle at the enraged look on Lo’ak’s face, upset at being insulted and having his dreams crushed in one swift blow. Even Mom has a smile on her face as she shakes her head fondly, Tuk giggling at her side as she always does when your brothers play fight.

“Anyways, as I was saying, that’s what I’ll be hunting.”

Mother lifts Tuk from her lap and stands up, resting her hands upon Tuks shoulders. “Well, my children, it is time to begin the day. We will complete our chores, and later today we will see our Marali off to her first hunt.”

And just like that, the excitement of the hunt makes you giddy once again. You leap to your feet, ready to get started. The faster you complete your duties, the faster your hunt begins.

-------

It took you a lot less time than normal to do everything you needed to do. By the time you and your siblings were done, you were all ready for another meal. You sat down beside your mom while Kiri, Neteyam, and Tuk sat nearby. Tuk sat in Neteyam’s lap, laughing at whatever Kiri was saying. You ate your food, careful not to scarf it down and choke in your eagerness.  

“So, what’s Dad doing today?” You ask, picking up a slice of fruit and eating it whole.

“Your father had some issues to resolve within the clan today. Once those are taken care of, he will meet us at the entrance to see you off.”

You nod your head, picking at your plate once more.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, my child?”

“Were you nervous when you went on your first hunt?”

You keep your eyes on your plate, chewing slowly. Your mother stills from where she had been picking up her own food, and then she sets it back down carefully.

“When I went on my first hunt, I wanted to be brave, to bring honor and to provide for my clan. But, I will admit, I was nervous when it came time to leave. I wasn’t so much worried about the kill than I was worried I would somehow make a mistake and come back with nothing, after all that fuss. It has happened before, with much less capable hunters who learned they have better skills in other places. In the end, I stopped thinking with my mind and started trusting my instincts and my skills, and that way I was successful in my first hunt.”

You nod slowly, finally looking up at your mother. She stares back at you, eyes caring and calm, before nodding herself and turning back to her meal.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, my child.”

-------

You stand at the entrance of High Camp side by side with Neteyam. Mom, Tuk, Kiri, and Lo’ak stand to the side, having their own conversations as you wait patiently for the arrival of your father. Well, they might be waiting patiently. In your case, you are doing your best to remain relaxed, practically bouncing on your feet. The sincere discussion you had with your mother just a few hours ago had helped immensely with your nerves, but you still felt a little uneasy. Which was probably for the best, really; you should never go on a hunt completely calm. That’s a good way to lower your guard and get yourself killed. As your dad likes to say, a little fear is always healthy.

You snap out of your thoughts and realize you had been staring blankly at the ground. You blink a few times and straighten your back, and then realize Neteyam is staring at you expectantly, as though waiting for an answer to a question.

Whoops.

“Uh, what did you say?” You ask guiltily, grinning apologetically.

He stares at you, face serious, before reaching out and placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

“You know you’re going to be fine, right? I’ve been watching you since we were kids. You’re a good hunter, and a good fighter. You’ll do great.”

You look back at him for a few seconds, taking in the kind, sweet face of your little brother before smiling gratefully and placing your own hand on the one resting on your shoulder.

This kid. Sometimes it feels like he’s the older sibling and you are the younger.

“Thanks, Neteyam.”

He smiles back at you gladly before bringing his hand back to his side. He looks behind you, and his smile grows even bigger, transforming into a happy grin.

You’re about to turn to look behind yourself when a firm but gentle hand lands on the curve of your shoulder, and you know who it is without even having to turn around. It’s a familiar and loving weight, one that you’ve known since the day you were born.

You turn around quickly and met the proud eyes of your father, already smiling.

“Dad!” You shout and leap up to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. You’d never say it out loud simply to save your pride, but you are very relieved to see him.

He laughs and wraps his own arms around your slender body, and it’s a sound that you feel deep in your bones. You bury your face into his hair, and suddenly everything feels like it’s going to be alright. How could it not, with such a father looking out for you?

“Hey, I saw you last night, you know!” He says, still laughing.

You let go of his shoulders and he drops you down to your normal height. He clasps his hands onto your shoulders and takes you in, all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Your hair is in loose braids like your mother, about the same length too, if a bit longer. In honor of such an occasion, your mother had gifted you new wrist and forearm covers she had made herself. Your dad gave you a pendant made from a rare metal he carved himself, to wear around your neck. You wear both items proudly today. What little attire you have on you is that of your people, leather and flora, mostly, with a few wrappings around your limbs and beads and feathers in your hair. You have the eyes and face shape of your mother, with the same smile as your father. The same heart, too, your mother once said. Strong. Protective. Kind.

It was the greatest compliment she could have ever given you.

“Look at you.” The words are said with pride. “My firstborn, my daughter, already onto her first hunt. There is no one I would rather have as one of my children. I know that you will make wise choices and will bring honor to our family and our clan. I am proud of all you have accomplished, daughter, and I know you will accomplish even more.”

For a moment you are struck silent, before your eyes well up. You’re barely able to make out a small, choked, “Thanks, Dad”, before he is pulling you in for another hug. When he releases you, he grasps your face and presses his forehead against yours in the same way your mother had earlier that day.

He looks into your eyes, you look into his, and you see him. Everything that he is, that he once was, that he one day will be. His strength, his ferocity, his love. And he sees you. You know this, deep in your very heart, your very soul. Your father sees you. Your determination, your love, your own ferocity that echoes both his and your mother’s.

You are seen, you try to say, I see you, Dad. But the words remain choked in your throat.

From the soft look on his face, though, you know he knows what you are trying to convey.

He lifts his forehead from yours, hand still on your face and neck, and says to your mother, “We have raised good children, Neytiri.”

Your mother approaches you and strokes a knuckle down your cheek. She looks her mate in the eyes, voice soft and quiet, and says, “Yes, my Jake, we have.”

Your father smiles gently and lets go of you to take your mother’s hand. Then he turns his attention to the rest of his children, and gestures for them all to come together. Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Neteyam all step forward into the circle of your parents and yourself, and you wrap one arm around the shoulders of Lo’ak and the other around Kiri, bringing them in closer.

Dad picks Tuk up quickly into the air, grinning when she lets loose a shrieking giggle. He uses the other hand not supporting her weight on his side to wrap an arm around Neteyam’s shoulder and bring him in close, hugging him to his chest and whispering words into his ear before repeating the process with Lo’ak and Kiri.

You’re glad to see you’re not the only one from the Sully family with watery eyes after your father speaks with them. Once Kiri is released, she steps back and pretends like she’s not wiping at her eyes with the corner of her shawl. Neteyam has to blink a few times to clear away his tears, and poor, sweet Lo’ak was the worst of us when faced with his father’s praise, swallowing a few times and blinking furiously.

You love your family.

It’s a fierce feeling, but not at all sudden or new. It’s a feeling you have every time your mother sits you down to carefully braid your hair, every time Lo’ak brings you in for a hug. You feel it every time Tuk snuggles into your side while you sit around a fire, listening to your father tell stories of his past.

It’s there when Neteyam laughs, or when he comforts you or your siblings. It’s there when an ever-curious Kiri asks a question or tells you a fact you had never known before. You felt it when your father taught you how to throw a punch, and it was there when you were thirteen and he taught you how to curse in his first language, far away from the ears of your mother.

This is your family, and you will do anything you have to do to protect it.

Suddenly, you have found your purpose in this world. This is it; nothing more, nothing less. You will protect those you love with everything you have, or you will die trying.

Your realization reignites your determination, and you shift into a more relaxed position. You know who you are and what you can do. All that’s left is to get out there and do it.  

Your father turns back to you, and if he notices the change in your eyes, he doesn’t mention it. He simply takes the large bow from your mother’s hands, the bow your mother and father had helped you make, looks you in the eye, and presses it into your hands.

“Be strong. Be wise. Be safe. And remember, no matter what happens, Sully’s stick together.”

You return his gaze and nod.

He nods and takes a step backward, leaving you with your bow in your hands. You fix it over your back, double-check you have your knife and quiver of arrows, and look back at your family.

They stare back at you. Dad is still holding Tuk, his other arm wrapped around Neteyam’s shoulders. Mom has one arm wrapped around Kiri, her other holding Lo’ak to her.

You take one last moment to look at your loved ones, and then you turn and leave High Camp without a backward glance.

Once you reach the edge of the line that leads into the thicker part of the forest that contains your prey, you turn back around and raise your bow. You call out a warrior’s cry, and in the distance, you can hear and see your family do the same, arms raised above their own heads as they cried out.

You turn back around, and with the cries of your family echoing in your ears and your heart, you begin your hunt.

[miasmaghoul]

hellohello :)!! i saw the tags you left on the mountaindew piece, very very glad you liked it <3

based on that i am offering you a prompt of some sleepy ghouls, possibly with how they fight off the cold when it comes to winter :0? go absolutely bonkers w it (your writing is fantastic can i say, like. incredible. esp with descriptions)

ACK THANK YOU OMG YOU'RE TOO KIND <3

THAT MOUNTAIN-DEW PIECE IS WONDERFUL AND I AM THROWING YOU KISSES FOR IT MWAH MWAH MWAH

Cozy eepy ghoul fluff JUST FOR YOU

Rain grumbles to himself in bed, curled up on his side and shivering.

It's another drafty winter night and the water ghoul is miserable, alone in his room and too cold to get up and stoke the fire he'd let burn down to embers much too quickly. It's after midnight and he's tired, a long day of library work and practice behind him. But it's way too cold for him to sleep, and he'd rather be back in the pit than forced to get up in this chill.

Rain hisses as he wriggles an arm out of the mass of blankets he's wormed himself into to grab his phone from the nightstand, fingers shaking while he types.

R: Help, my fire went put and I'm freezing.

R: *out

The screen goes dark and Rain swears he can see his breath in the moonlight pouring over him. He whines high in his throat and tugs a blanket over his head. His phone buzzes a few minutes later.

D: fuck u too? satanas i gotta be in 4 rooms at once apparently

Well, at least Rain isn't the only one suffering.

R: Shit. Sorry Dew.

D: stfu its not ur fault

D: common room in 20

Rain perks up at that. The common room this late at night can only mean one thing. There's just a little problem.

R: I can't het up, I'll be an icicle. :(

R: *get, sorry, fingers are frozen.

D: ffs

D: hang on i'll get u a ride princess

Rain rolls his eyes and curls back in on himself. He imagines the others passing the time while they waited for the impending meetup.

Mountain would be fussing over his plants first and foremost, pressing gentle fingers into their soil to distribute his earthen warmth. He'd be in low-slung flannels and a long sleeved shirt, little sprigs of lavender poking from his hairline as sleep tried to dig its claws into him. Rain thinks about how wonderful Mountain is to sleep next to, naturally warm and big enough engulf his whole body. They sleep back to chest every time, legs tangled together, Mountain's arm clutching Rain's chest with their fingers intertwined. Mountain would snore into his hair, lulling him into a dreamy slumber.

Aether would be in a similar boat as Rain, his proximity to the void at the source of his power leaving him cooler than most. He wouldn't show it though. If Rain went to him right now, Aether would be lounging in bed with a medical text and those elegant silver-framed reading glasses in place, casual as could be in just a pair of pajama pants. His eyes would be heavy though, sleep dragging at their corners. Rain would slip under the covers and Aether would put his things aside, sliding down onto his back and letting the water ghoul curl against his side. Rain would hook a long leg over Aether's hip and an arm over his belly, resting his head on his soft chest. Rain always falls asleep first, soothed by Aether's quintessence and comforting presence.

Dew, if he weren't running around prepping for an impromptu ghoul pile, would undoubtedly be with either Aether or Swiss. It was rare to find the fire ghoul sleeping alone, except maybe in the dead of summer. Rain didn't mind sleeping next to him in any season, his natural chill an advantage that allowed them to share a bed on even the warmest nights. Dew would either be playing his beat up acoustic or watching some nonsense on his phone until sleep took over, dropping the device into his own face at least once. To sleep with Dewdrop is to sleep naked, and Rain quite likes that about the experience. They sleep face to face, entangled in one another any way they can manage, skin to skin and forehead to forehead. Rain would drift off on the scent of cinnamon and a crackling fire, awash in cozy warmth.

Swiss would be in whoever's bed would have him. Not always for anything lascivious, but the multighoul did NOT sleep alone. He'd had horrific nightmares after his summoning, the others finding him shrieking his lungs out in the dark. The presence of others at night had helped him through it, and the habit had stuck. If Swiss had texted Rain to come to his room, it would have led to two things - being stoned and making out. Not that you'd hear Rain complaining about it. He'd lay his head in Swiss's lap and let the other ghoul feed him the joint. Sometimes he'd kiss him with a mouthful of smoke instead, and Rain liked that especially. They would drift together, tactile and giggly and in just their boxers, Rain eventually falling asleep between Swiss's legs, arms wrapped around his waist. Swiss would sing him there, gentle claws running over his scalp while Rain pressed kisses into the little bit of pudge at his waistband.

The girls would be together in their nest, formerly Cumulus's chambers. Cirrus and Sunshine's rooms were always empty at night, unless they were entertaining a guest. Even then, they always migrated back together. Anyone was welcome in their shared den, to their oversized bed strewn with countless pillows and blankets, but it was always at least the three of them. The ghoulettes all sleep in pajamas that differ only in color; camisole style tops with shorts in light blue for Cumulus, silver for Cirrus and peach for Sunshine. They fit together in the nest, Sunshine at the center so the others could nestle into her warmth. Cumulus and Cirrus would mirror each other at her sides, one leg hooked over each of hers and their heads on her shoulders, arms around each other. If Rain joined alone, he liked to lay on his stomach under their tangle of legs, the weight of them carrying him off so easily.

If Rain were warm enough to sleep, he'd be reading himself there. He's currently in the middle of a trashy urban fantasy with vampires and werewolves, one he couldn't make it through a single chapter of without laughing hysterically. But ideally Dew would be here, sitting between Rain's legs and talking about everything and nothing while Rain braided his hair and soaked in his warmth. Dew would be doing something with his hands - rubbing Rain's calves, up to his thighs and then wriggling back against Rain's naked body. The water ghoul would smirk and say his name low, but the fire ghoul would feign innocence. He was just getting comfy. They'd tease each other until Rain was finished tying off the braid, then Dew would be flipping around so they could ravish each other. They'd fall asleep the same way as always, only much, much closer.

The designated 20 minutes fly by as Rain loses himself in thoughts of warmer times, and before he knows it he's being dragged from his reverie by his door being thrown open. Rain startles, peeking from behind his blankets to squint at the broad shape in the doorway.

"Someone said you needed a lift?"

Rain huffs out a laugh as Ifrit strides into the room in just a pair of low-slung sweats, arms crossed over his ample chest. Rain is tempted to just drag the fire ghoul into bed and lay on top of him, basking in his warmth.

"I can't feel my feet," Rain complains, and Ifrit grins as he leans down to scoop the water ghoul up princess style, blankets and all. He gives Rain a peck on the temple.

"You get tit privileges, Regina, don't worry." Rain chirps at the nickname, nuzzling into the fire ghouls neck in search of burning cedar and sun-warmed stone. He lets his eyes drift shut as Ifrit carries him to the common room, not opening them again until he's being set down next to the makeshift nest in the center of the room.

The couches and loveseat have been rearranged into a bed of sorts, shoved together with any gaps having been filled with pillows. It's lined with at least a dozen blankets and a mountain of pillows. The rest of the pack is already present, bleary eyed and swaying on their feet in the roaring firelight. They all clearly need this.

"Okay, Rain's in first tonight," Dew says, standing at the head of the nest. "Everybody wait your damn turn this time."

Rain yelps as Ifrit scoops him up and tosses him directly in the center of the plush pit. He laughs as Ifrit climbs in after him, scooching to the far end of the arrangement. Dew is right behind him, divesting Rain of his own blankets and rubbing a warm hand over his spine.

"Shit, raincloud, you are frozen," he murmurs, pushing heat into the water ghoul's skin. "C'mon, let's get you warm." It never ceases to amaze Rain how caring Dew can be. It only really came out on nights like this, but it blew him away every time.

Ifrit lays down first, half propped against the pillows in a corner. Rain follows him swiftly down while Sunshine mirrors Ifrit in the opposite corner. He molds himself to the fire ghoul's side, head firmly on his chest - Ifrit had given him tit privileges, after all - and twisting a leg around his. Ifrit kisses him on the forehead and Dew is next, pressing himself flush to Rain's icy back. He'd removed his shirt as well, and Rain greatly appreciated it. Dew presses his lips to the back of Rain's neck and hums softly into his skin. It's a weakness of Rain's and he finds his eyelids already begin to drag down.

The others follow suit.

Aether is next, finally admitting to also being cold and wedging himself on Ifrit's other side. He leans over to give each of them a kiss before resting on the other side of Ifrit's chest, laying a strong arm over their little pile. Dew does the same behind him, and just like that Rain is surrounded by warmth and comforting weight. Aether's leg loops around Ifrit's and their knees touch, Rain giggling at the sensation.

In the other corner, Sunshine has been bracketed by her girls in a position mirroring that of Rain and Aether on Ifrit. They all drag their legs up for Mountain to join, laying diagonally between the two piles. Swiss follows, scrambling to lay directly on top of Mountain with his head in the center of the earth ghoul's chest. The rest of them would wait until the two were settled, Mountain then giving the okay for everyone to put their legs up. They all would, a blanket of limbs weighing Swiss down against Mountain's chest until they were both groaning.

Once they're all settled, Swiss is the first to tap into his fire and start the warming process. His heat leaches into Mountain, and into their combined legs. Rain groans as his toes start regaining feeling. Sunshine is next, her summery warmth flooding them with the scent of honeyed peach blossoms. Ifrit and Dew warm themselves together, and the moan Rain gives has all of them chuckling. He can't even think to care, not with the toasty warmth and heady scents engulfing him. It's like he's at a bonfire in a fruit orchard, surrounded by everyone he loves.

"Thank you," he breathes into Ifrit's skin.

Dew kisses the back of his neck again in acknowledgement before going back to humming into the soft skin there. Rain is the first to start purring, drifting away in hazy warmth and a ring of arms. The rest aren't far behind.

Copia finds them like that the next morning when they're late for practice, the room filled with what sounds like roughly a dozen lions. He strokes a gloved hand through Rain's soft curls, chuckling at the way the water ghoul is drooling over Ifrit's skin. He can't bring himself to wake them, instead tiptoeing from the room with a warm smile on his face.

In his sleep, Rain does the same.

[chvnnie]

i am someone who really, really hates touch unless i initiate it and like. after a weekend full of family members not respecting my boundary, i found myself needing jisung x reader who hates touch. so. here.

it’s all fluff. mentions of anxiety.

Jisung stands outside the bedroom door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There’s a debate happening in his mind — touch the silver door knob or wait until he’s called for. He really, really wants to touch it. To go inside and curl on the bed next to you, softly stroking your hair and trying his best to find a solution for what’s making you so upset.

But it’s not about what he wants.

He knew the second you came home that you were upset. Vacant, watery eyes. Nails bit down to the nub and skin picked raw and bleeding. The slight shake to your shoulders.

“I’m going to lie down.” You say in barely a whisper, toeing your shoes off by the front door. “Can you let me know when it’s time for dinner?”

God, the way you’re looking at him shatters his heart. He has so many questions — what happened? Did someone say something? What can he do to help?

He’s learned. Too many questions and he’ll make things worse. The best thing to do is give you space until you’re ready, even if that means he sits in limbo for a bit. “Of course, baby. I love you.”

You mumble, returning the sentiment before walking towards the bedroom. The door shuts behind you sadly.

It’s been an hour since you came home. About fifteen minutes since Jisung come to stand by the door. He hasn’t heard a thing from the other side — the occasional sniffle, maybe. The bed creaking as you turn it in. But other than that?

He’s starting to worry. Did he do something? He knows he wasn’t the most attentive today, could that be it? Maybe it was the way he slammed the bathroom door this morning — it was a little aggressive. Or, could it be-

His phone buzzes in the pocket of his hoodie. Quickly, he fishes it out, almost dropping it in the rush.

You [06:05]: stop pacing in the hallway and come in here

Jisung huffs a laugh. Of course you know. You know him like the back of your hand. It was a given that he would be out here, nervously waiting.

Finally, his hand meets the cold knob, turning it slowly until he hears the click. The room is dark — the sun set an hour ago, darkness fading as the light fills in from the hallway.

You’re laying on his side of the bed, curled in the blanket you can’t sleep without. Even in the dark, he recognizes the soft pink pajama pants you wear whenever you need a little extra comfort. Topped off with one of his sleeveless shirts.

Oh, his sweet baby. He’s in agony seeing you like this.

“Lay with me?” Your voice is rough like you just woke up.

He nods, crawling on the bed right next to you. Every movement is intentional — on his side, facing you. At a distance, so he doesn’t even risk his toes brushing against yours. As much as touch comforts him, he knows it overwhelms you. After he found out how much it can upset you, Jisung made a note to always ask before he gets in your space. Most of the time, you give him a smile before nodding your head.

Sometimes it’s too much. And that’s okay. As much as he wants to be glued to your side, he loves you too much to risk losing you.

For a while, the two of you lay in silence. Breathing in the scent of the other, gently coexisting in the safety of your shared comfort place. After what could have been thirty seconds or minutes, you finally speak.

“I had a bad day.” Your voice wavers when you speak, the tears you’ve been crying continuing to flow.

Jisung takes a deep breath, resting his arm under the pillow. “I know.”

The chuckle you give in dry, but a laugh nonetheless. He’ll happily take it.

“Thank you for respecting my space.”

His hands twitch, ready to reach out and brush your hair back. Slowly, he rolls them into a fist, stopping himself. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Shifting on your side, a hand creeps out from under the blanket and finds the fisted one of his. Carefully, you grab the tips of his fingers, unclenching them. When his palm is exposed, you lace your fingers with his and squeeze tightly.

“I want to.” You bring the back of his hands to your lips, pressing them firmly against the soft skin. “Can I have a hug?”

You never have to ask.

He wiggles across the mattress, pulling a fuller laugh from you as his arms wrap around your waist. There’s nothing better than the feeling of your arms on his shoulders, legs intertwining with his as you crave his comfort.

You trust Jisung enough to let him touch you. That means more than the world to him. Nothing compares.

Burying his face in your neck, he lets the scent of clean cotton and lavender soothe every false worry he’s been humoring since you came home upset.

“I love you, squish.” You mumble into his hair, breathing him in similarly.

“I love you, sprout.” He emphasizes the statement by blowing a raspberry on your skin, giggling alongside you.

You are his comfort, he is yours. You are his home. He is yours.

[ladylooch]

What about some more protective timo of Emma ?

Warnings: mentions of blood, attempted assault, physical violence

“I won’t be much longer.” I tell Timo on the phone. “You can come now.”

“Okay.” He says through a yawn.

“Or I can take a cab.”

“No, I’m coming to get you. It’s really late. I’ll feel better if you’re with me.” I smile, appreciating his sweetness.

“Okay, see you soon.” 

I busy myself with clearing off the clutter from my desk. It’s so nice to have an office and an event space to offer clients. The event tonight was perfect. The space had been transformed into an ocean, beachy vibe to celebrate the next location of an investment firm down in Miami. Clint, the client event contact, was raving all night to me about how amazing everything had turned out. I completely agree.

The door to the office opens and I glance up, surprised to see Clint walking in. I was under the impression everyone was gone for the night. His hand holds two champagne flutes and an open bottle of champagne. I give a polite smile, tossing my keys into my purse and standing up. 

“Hey, glad I caught you!” He smiles. My internal system immediately flags his demeanor as sketchy. “I think we need to celebrate another amazing event together.” He holds the glasses up. I’m weary at the open bottle and the slight unevenness of his steps. He has definitely had his fair share of drinks today.

“Ah, I’m actually heading out soon. So I’ll have to pass.” 

“No. I insist.” He pours me a glass anyway, setting it on my pile of papers on my desk. I move it off immediately, frowning at the ring it made on the paper. I do not take a sip, scooting it back to him as he sits on the corner of my desk. “We sure make a good team together.” He murmurs, looking over my features like a wolf. He’s practically salivating as his eyes ghost over the curve of my ass. 

I am very aware of how alone we are here. The office security guard left a half hour ago after he confirmed the building was empty. How did Clint even get back in? I step back slightly from where we are. He anticipates the movement and crowds further into my space until I’m stuck between the wall and him. Shit.

“You’re making me uncomfortable. Stop.” I say forcefully, being clear that I am not okay with this.

“Hey, we are just talking.” 

“Move.” I snap back, setting my gaze directly into his eyes. His gaze clouds over from lust and alcohol. He reaches out, grazing his fingers along my arm. Disgust rolls down my skin as I flinch away. He leers harder at the weakness I show. My phone buzzes in my purse and I know it’s Timo.

“That’s my husband. He is here to pick me up.”

“I’ll be done with you soon.” I put my hands up shoving his chest back. I take the opportunity to rush around him, deciding I’ll leave my purse behind to run to safety. Clint grabs my wrist, forcefully pulling me back to where I was. His grip is tight and I know I can’t overpower him. My mind is racing with what I’m going to do when the door swings open. My eyes meet Timo’s and scream for help. 

“You better get your fucking hands off my wife.” Timo bellows as he walks into the space. His face is dark and menacing at the position he finds Clint in. “Baby, come here.” He encourages me with an extended hand as he approaches. Clint startles and pulls away, giving me enough space to finally move around him. I’m shaking as I walk towards Timo. “You’re okay.” He says to me, gripping my fingers and pulling me into his body. He kisses my temple to ground me in his safety. “Go to the car.”

“Timo.” His name shakes in my voice.

“Baby, go to the car.” He hands me his keys and waits for me to leave.

I’m worried about Timo with Clint’s obvious drunkenness, so I stay outside the door to wait for him. I can hear his muffled voice through the door once it clicks shut. The words are indiscernible but the tone is clear: stay away from my wife. I hear a loud clanging and then a groan from one of them. I close my eyes, putting my head in my hands as more noise comes out. Clint races out of the office suddenly, bleeding from his mouth, not even stopping to acknowledge my presence. Timo come out of the door, enclosing me in his arms. 

“Are you okay?” All I can do is shake my head no.

“He wouldn’t let me leave.” Timo turns like he’s going to head after Clint. “No, no, no, no. Please I want to go home… our baby is there. He needs us. Both of us.” I grip his wrist tightly.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yeah, my arm.” I show him the obvious finger prints along my wrist.

“We are pressing charges.” 

“No. Please.” A tear slips from my eye. I shake my head no. Timo stops all talking and pulls me securely to his chest.

“Okay, I’ll do or not do whatever you want.” He kisses along my hair, rubbing my back with his large palms. “You’re okay, baby. I’m right here. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“You came up.”

“You weren’t waiting for me downstairs and I knew something wasn’t right.” 

“Nothing was right.” I whisper, gripping the back of his sweatshirt in my fists. 

“Let’s go home. Lee is with Nico and Lex. He’ll make it better. Then I’ll make it better.” He assures me. I nod, turning to walk to the stairs. Luckily Clint is out of sight as we walk to the car. Timo holds my hand the entire ride home, alternating between kissing my knuckles and rubbing this thumb along them.

 During the night, Timo holds me so tight to him that we wake up in the same position we fell asleep in.

I have no idea what Timo said to Clint that night. What I do know is Clint avoids me for the remaining time he is employed by my client, taking the long way around to prevent any run ins. He eventually moves to the new Miami office, never to return to New Jersey. 

[obsidiancreates]

For your consideration, in the turtles meet eachother AU: 2012 Donatello 'I feel like a freak and just want to be human' Hamato meeting Casey 'Physically a human, culturally a mutant turtle' Jones Jr.

I feel like this can only end in them trying out a Body Swap.

"Hey, Other Master Donatello?"

"For the last time, please just say Donnie."

"Sorry. Um, I was thinking. You know how you wish you could be human?"

"Gee, no, I forgot about that."

"Right. Well, I always wondered- see, even though my Mom raised me for most of my life until she- well, I spent most of my time training, usually with Master Leonardo and my other Sensei's, and they kept forgetting I was a turtle like them. A lot of what they taught me was sort of turtle-specific and we had to work on how to adjust it for humans."

"Okay..."

"So, at some point it made me start feeling sort of, weird, about my body. Disconnected."

"We're just commiserating over shared species identity issues now?"

"No! I was thinking, maybe, we could try... swapping. You said it happened to your Ma- your Raph, once, right?"

"You- you're willing to swap bodies? You want to be a mutant?"

"I'm curious! And, besides, I want to try a few things I was taught but could never do myself!"

"... I... suppose as long as we know we can swap back..."

They do NOT tell anyone else because They Would Be Stopped. But boy howdy they go through with it (I just know Rise Donnie has a body-swap machine laying around somewhere that he made at like 4 am one night after too many coffees and promptly forgot about, 2012 just needs to check it over and tinker a bit and bam) and everyone else is just-

"Okay, tell me right now what you two were doing in my lab unsupervi-! Wait, something is off here."

Casey in Donnie's body is ooohing and ahhhing over how weird but strong he feels and how the shell actually has feeling, which he didn't expect, and Donnie in Casey's body is just still and staring into a mirror with wide eyes.

"Oh, no." Rise Donnie looks between them, and then at the machine. "You- I- OTHER LEO, YOUR BROTHER DID SOMETHING INCREDIBLY STUPID!"

Literally everyone rushes downstairs at that, there's a moment of confusion because 2012 Leo was certain it must have been Mikey or Raph, but then-

"They swapped!"

"They- Donnie what-"

"Look at me!" The voice is probably the only part Donnie wishes transferred over, but ah well, small sacrifice. "I- ha! I'm human! I- this is amazing! Even the sensation of the air is different, my skin is so much thinner now!"

"So this is why Sensei always worried so much about me having armor," Casey marvels, scratching at the plastron in amazement at how protected he feels. He startles. "Wow, your voice sounds weird with my speech patterns."

"I know!" Donnie is full-on giddy, bouncing in place. "And-and I feel so light! How do human ever have trouble sneaking?!"

"Sooo... this is probably unhealthy, right?" Rise Leo whispers to 2012 Leo. "Because we cannot let them stay like that forever."

"If they're both happy though, why not?" Rise Mikey whispers back. "All that could happen is instinct could cause them to misuse the bodies, and Donnie could get Casey's spine broken in a fight forgetting he doesn't have a shell and Casey could hurt himself not realizing how strong he is nooooooohhhhh oh okay, I get it."

"Well, they'll have to stay like this for at least a day," Rise Donnie says, scowling as he checks the machine. "It's going to take a while to charge enough to do that again."

"I'm going to go the park!" 2012 Donnie is buzzing with excitement. "And I'm going to get ice cream, and-and talk to other people! I'm going to wear- what should I wear? Ha, I've never had to consider clothes before! Okay, um, I always thought big hoodies looked nice, and- jeans! I want to know why people love jeans so much!"

"I have to do some sparring before we swap back!" Casey goes up to Rise Leo and grins hopefully. "You always had to hold back so much in the future, now we can spar for real!"

"This is going to be a long day," 2012 Leo grumbles.

In the end they both enjoy the experiences very much but also miss their own bodies, but I think they do like. A once-a-month body swap from then on so Donnie can enjoy Human Activities and Casey can mess around while being like 20 times less vulnerable and stronger (those mutants are strong as FUCK and no-one can change my mind, yes including 2012).

Everyone worries a little about Donnie's mental health in the whole situation and keep an eye out for if it worsens his whole dysphoria thing he has going on but for the most part it actually seems to be alleviating it a lot. They're all quite surprised as how well Casey can use Donnie's body in training (never real combat if it can helped, just in case) and realize he really was trained to fight like a turtle and BOY does he excel at it.

[sprnklersplashes]

lifeline (2/3) ao3

cw for gambling addiction

Gold flashes around Jesper’s vision, moving like lightning over the prairie. Beneath his steady hands, the table is trembling, sharing in his anticipation. The whole room rises, tilts, swirls, leaving Jesper dizzy and off-kilter. All around their body, their nerves are crackling and sparking, shooting off aound their body. With a shaking hand, down their drink. Whiskey burns down their throat, hot and thick like bombsomoke in their throat. They call for another.

The wheel spins and spins, reaches its peak and begins its descent. Jesper wriggles to the end of his seat his eyes captured by the twirls of gold and green before them. Fists pound on the table and they join them. As they watch, their tongue pokes out the corner of their mouth, hungry, greedy, practically tasting the luck on the air.

This is it, they think. This is mine, this is my one. Fingers drum on the seat, one-two-three-one-two-three, already itching for their prize.

Numbers are called out. Its not his.

Cheering and booing buzz through the air. Jesper flops back into their chair, chin tilted up to the ceiling. A heavy sigh escapes them, their breath warm from the drink. They rub their head, and their hand comes away soaked with sweat. At that moment, they become acutely aware of how their shirt is stucking to their skin. Their bones turn to lead and their head lolls for a moment, ears buzzing, throat pulsing.

“Deal me in again!” 

The place falls quiet for half a second as the dealer looks up, broken quickly by a heavy bout of laughter. It spreads about the table like a plague, jumping from one person to another. Jesper laughs too.

“You’re done,” the dealer tells them. “Go home why don’t you? Surely you’ve got someone waiting.”

“Deal me in,” they demand sharply. They snatch a few notes from their jacket’s inside pocket, toss it onto the table and nod curtly towards the dealer. “I’ve got the funds. I can play.”

“Actually,” a voice rasps behind him. “You’re done.”

With his head the way it is, it takes Jesper a few seconds to realise who it is. They glance out of the corner of their eye, taking in the gloved hand, the crows-head cane, the low threat of the voice. They sigh and slam more kruge down on the table.

“Go away, Kaz,” they say with a dismissive wave they’ll pay for later. “I’m busy.”

“No you’re not.”

“Evidently I am.” They keep their eyes on the table and force themeself to remain still. There can’t be a later or any bad news, if they stay here and the cards and dice keep coming. “I’ll be back at the Slat after I finish.”

“Wylan’s awake.” 

Shit.

Jesper freezes. The words wash over them, crash like the sea against the cliffs.

All the wamrth drains from them until they’re just a trembling, bleak husk at the table.

Bones creaking, they turn around, teeth chattering, hair on their neck rising. Kaz is glaring down at him, eyes so dark they’re practically black. 

“He’s awake,” Kaz repeats. “And he’s been asking where you are for the past half an hour.” His grabs the back of Jesper’s chair. “So lets go.”

Stumbling into the rapid streets of the Barrel, Jesper trips over their feet and rights themself again and tracks Kaz across cobblestones, their chest heaving with every step. Every muscle feels like its alive, jumping like jackrabbits, and the street before them stretches out and contracts in again.

“Wylan’s awake?” they gasp.

“Yes.” 

“How long?”

“Half an hour, as I said.” Jesper nods. Their mouth is so dry. He has to think, what else, what else, what else.

“How-how is he? Is he in pain-is he hurt?”

“He fell out of a seventh storey window, Jesper,” is Kaz’s reply. “How the hell do you think he is?” Against his own will, Jesper’s body stops, his heartpounding a jittery unstable rhythm. That night comes back to them, Wylan cold and still in his arms. It winds itself around them, chokes them, blurs out everything else. All there is is Wylan falling, then screaming, then doing nothing at all.

“Jesper!” Kaz snaps. White smoke forms in front of his face. Jesper nods. Kaz gives a short, harsh huff. A staccato, Jesper remembers. Thats what Wylan would call it. A short note followed by silence.

“He’s got several broken ribs,” Kaz tells them. “We called the medik back. There was internal bleeding, but its being stabilised. Vision was bad. The medik is checking if its permanent or not. But he knew where he was.” Jesper nods, tries to take stock of what Kaz has said. Kaz pulls his wrist and forces them into motion. “Now lets go. He’s spent the whole time asking where you are.”

Jesper can’t breathe. If it weren’t for Kaz’s hand around his wrist, he may well have collapsed right there. His mind is taken over by a memory he doesn’t have; Wylan’s eyes fluttering open, a soft puff of breath escaping him. He’s looking around, his brow furrowed, asking where Jesper is. And no-one can answer because no-one knows where he is, because he didn’t tell anyone because-

“He did?” 

Kaz doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter as he walks. As they weave in and out of the night-time crowds, hungry for a bit of entertainment, Kaz’s whispered breath brushes past his ear, and it reminds Jesper of the ice cliffs they found in Fjerda. Cold and hard, impossible and unforgiving.

“He did, and we had to lie to cover your ass,” he says. “And if you ever put us in that position again….”

Kaz doesn’t finish the threat. Jesper doesn’t know whether he’s glad or not.

When they arrive, Wylan is sitting up in the bed, a bleary look in his blue eyes. Sitting is one word for it; he suspects the pillows are doing more than he is. Matthias sits in front of him, gently helping him drink the last contents of a glass. Jesper stands in the doorway, his heart buzzing, his soul willing his mind to connect with the image in front of him. 

(He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive)

Slowly, Wylan turns and something sparks in his eyes, like a torch being lit in the far distance. Despite Matthias sitting in front of him, he squirms and reaches out.

Jesper doesn’t miss how he winces.

“Jesper! You’re here!” he says. His voice is hoarse from the disuse, weighted down by whatever drugs they’ve just given him. Wylan wriggles again, legs shifting beneath the blanket and then he’s pressing against Matthias’ hold. Jesper just stands and watches, frozen by some external force, as Wylan’s face screws into a weak frown, he gives a small, pained groan. He reaches past Matthias, slender fingers chalk white.

Finally, he comes back to life and dashes across the room.

“Wylan.” Matthias takes a generous step back and allows Jesper to sit down on the mattress, Wylan’s hand clasped between his two. He presses one kiss to it, intending to be a quick gesture, but then his relief takes over and he kisses him again and again. There’s a slight tremor in Wylan’s hand, as if his body is still holding itself together as it mends. And if Jesper kisses it enough times, perhaps he can fix it.

“You’re okay,” he whispers between kisses. “Oh Saints, you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Wylan mumbles. “M’okay.” Jesper pauses. With one hand still clutching Wylan’s, he allows the other to reach out and carefully, cautiously cup his face. His eyes stay trained on Wylan, breath held, waiting for the moment where something goes wrong. Dried cuts still criss-cross his face, some taped over and some still open.

“You’re all right,” he says again. Wylan just nods, a small reassurance mumbled under his breath. There’s a small moment where Jesper can just breathe, the pieces of himself that had been worn out and disjointed beginning to pull themselves back together.

Then, Wylan’s gaze turns to behind Jesper, and he frowns.

“Kaz Brekker,” he says, weakly jabbing his finger in his direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“You do?” Jesper asks.

“Mhm,” he murmurs. Jesper feels him stiffen beneath the sheets. “You should too. Sending you off on a job like that when I’m hurt.” Wylan pouts, lower lip stuck out, his brows furrowed together. He looks back at Kaz, nothing malicious in his features. “Shame on you, Brekker. Shame.”

“Yes, Wylan.” Jesper almost jumps at the response. Everything that he’d directed towards Jesper on the way here; the low-burning fury, the seething disappointment simmering beneath his skin, it was all gone. When Jesper dares glance over his shoulder, he finds Kaz smiling, his anger hung up outside as if it were a coat he’d taken off. “I do apologise for sending Jesper away.” His eyes turn to Jesper again. Nothing changes, except for his eyes. They turn darker, a stormcloud passing in front of the sun. “He should’ve been right here with you.”

“Too right,” Wylan agrees. Wylan’s free hand pats Jesper’s chest. “You’re not allowed to do jobs for Kaz anymore.” Jesper just nods, response caught in his throat. Wylan blinks, slowly, tilts his head to the side. He narrows his eyes, the way he always does when he’s trying to work something out. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. He reaches up clumsily and pats Jesper’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m-am okay and… you’re here.”

There’s a moment where Jesper can’t move, or breathe, or speak. Where he’s not even sure he’s real any more.

Then, they squeeze Wylan’s hand, and forces his features into a smile. Tears run down his cheeks and drip across the blankets.

“Yes, I’m here darling,” they reply. “I’m not going anywhere.” Wylan nods, a brief, hazy smile passes his face.

“Hey when… we get home we need to… sort out the curtains in the living room…” His voice trails off, words getting lost in a hazy blur as his eyes slide shut. The hand on his shoulder falls slack before it curls and trails down Jesper’s chest like a raindrop down a window. Jesper catches it, feels the limp weight in his grip.

Nina speaks up before they have time to start panicking.

“He’ll be okay,” she tells them. “He just needs to rest. We had to give him some hefty painkillers. He has a lot of broken bones and we’ll have to double check his vision but…” Nina stops. Breathes in, straightens her back. A soldier’s move. She nods, meets Jesper’s eyes. “He’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” they say. His eyes roam around the room, the four of them looking back at him. An accusation hangs in the air compounded by the unavoidable fact that they know what they did. It’s just pity that holds them back from saying it. “T-thank you.”

No-one knows what to do with themselves then. Nina is exhausted, the long hours plain to see on her face, and even then Matthias has to convince her to leave. They leave hand in hand, after Nina gives Jesper a hug and Matthias clasps his shoulder. 

The Fjerdan also gives a last look at Wylan, takes heaving breath. Steadies himself. Jesper shuffles aside and allows Matthias to gently kiss his forehead. Jesper hears the nickname he always uses for Wylan, the Fjerdan for lamb. 

Then they’re gone. 

Kaz and Inej leave shortly after, agreed in one of the silent conversations Jesper is never privy to. Inej sat beside him before they left, wrapped her hands around his shoulders, ran her fingers through his hair. Jesper had leaned into it and readily accepted every little bit of comfort regardless of whether they deserve it.

“It’ll be all right,” she whispers in his ear. They nod, squeeze her fingers. Inej presses herself further into his side and touches her forehead to his temple. “It’ll be all right,” she says again.

That second time, Jesper isn’t sure if she’s still talking about Wylan.

There’s a strange sense of deja vu as he waits by Wylan’s bedside, the feeling that someone wound a key and reset the clock. They’re back where they started, frozen on a hard wooden chair, waiting for Wylan to wake up, a growing, relentless humming beneath their skin.

Its different this time, they remind themself. Wylan’s out of danger now, knocked out due to painkillers, shifting and muttering in his sleep. There should be relief in the air, the sense that a breath was finally released, and there is. Sort of. Jesper can look at Wylan without helplessness drowning them.

Instead, he gets something else, and they can’t say if its better or worse. Because every time they look at Wylan, whatever relief they feel gets swallowed whole, greedily gobbled by the all-encompassing shame inside them. It clogs their lungs as if they’ve swallowed oil, it laces itself into each pathetic beat of their heart. There’s a moment where Jesper contemplates letting go of Wylan’s hand. They don’t deserve to hold them like this. 

They do try to let go. Wylan moans and grabs it back before settling back to sleep. 

Bit by bit, their mind pieces itself together, like fragments of a broken bottle. Half an hour, Kaz said. That’s how long it was between Wylan waking up and Kaz finding him. At they start they had promised they wouldn’t leave Wylan’s side until he was awake, hadn’t they? They said it and they know they meant it. Jesper isn’t the one to break promises like that, especially when it comes to Wylan.

But if they meant it, why didn’t they keep it?

And Kaz had covered for them. As had  Inej and Matthias and Nina. They had all lied for them, jsut as they had lied for them on Black Veil when their father had appeared and where his money went. The same song, the same old dance, just in nicer shoes and a different jacket. 

Jesper runs a hand over their face. Surely, they should’ve learned by now. Why did they make the same mistake again? All around them, everyone else has learned, grown, become better. Why are they still here, repeating habits they should’ve broken long ago? For someone who thrives on novelty, why are they so resistant to change?

There, in the blanketed quiet of the room, Jesper doesn’t have anywhere to run. Nor does he have the energy, or the will. That’s what happens when you spend a life running from your faults. 

As the long, long hours catch up to him, Jesper’s head nods, his eyes close and without quite meaning to, he trips, stumbles and falls into sleep beside Wylan.

Jesper wakes to a stiff neck and heavy eyes. Muffled conversations flow beneath the floorboards and behind the walls; the Slat is waking up. There’s work to be done, cons to be had tables to run. Life goes on. 

Sunrays poke through the curtains, draping across Wylan’s body. His ruddy curls shimmer in the light, his mouth is half open as he sleeps. If Jesper ignored the shadows beneath his eyes and the cuts on his face, they could imagine that its any other day, and that they are just about to kiss Wylan’s neck to wake him up, that they’re about to have lazy cuddles in bed before heading down to make breakfast. Saints, what perfect bliss.

Half-lost in their daydream, Jesper reaches up and brushes Wylan’s hair from his face, a half-smile gracing his face as he does. Wylan’s face scrunches and he shifts, a soft sigh escaping him. Jesper freezes, panic gripping him tightly. Wylan moves again, this time murmurs his name, and then his eyes flutter and he looks up at him his gaze still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” he rasps weakly. He blinks heavily and for a moment, Jesper thinks he’s about to fall asleep again. Then Wylan rubs rubs his eyes, lets out a yawn, and starts trying to pull himself up. It takes about a second for him to pull something too hard, and he lets out a harsh, agnoised gasp. The sound embeds itself into Jesper’s brain, and he knows it will stay there forever.

“Hey, hey,” they mutter. “Here just-let me help.” They wrap one arm around Wylan’s waist while the other arranges pillows behind him. They’re not really sure what they’re doing, and that uselessness works its way into every haphazard movement, but eventually they manage to get Wylan settled and sitting somewhat comfortably against the pillows. Jesper moves to go back to the chair, but Wylan grabs his arm and pulls him onto the bed with him. Its such a classic Wylan move that Jesper can’t help but smile, despite everything. He’s always been clingy. Sometimes its like sharing a bed with a bear cub.

“Morning, darling,” Jesper whispers. Wylan flashes a bleary smile. Carefully, gently, Jesper trails his finger up the inside of Wylan’s arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he breathes. The strain in his voice implies anything but. Without meaning to, Jesper’s eyes drop to Wylan’s chest. Nina said they fixed his bandages last night. Kaz mentioned broken ribs. Internal bleeding. 

After a few seconds Wylan’s gaze follows his. His free hand, still with a slight tremor, comes up and gently touches his ribs. For a few seconds, he lets them trail across his chest, like an animal exploring its enclosure. It seems harmless on the surface, even if Jesper’s heart is hammering with each beat.

Suddenly, Wylan presses too hard or finds a particularly bad spot, and his whole body reacts. He lurches forward, eyes blown wide, and his free hand grabs the blanket with such intensity the knuckles are in danger of ripping through the skin.

“You’re in pain,” they say. “You-you need some painkillers. Here-”

“I’m fine.”

“Wylan, you’re hurting.”

“I’m fine,” he says again, and its because he sounds the strongest he has since last night that Jesper stops himself. With a tug on his wrist, Jesper lets himself be lowered back onto the mattress. “I-I don’t want to pass out just yet.”

“But-”

“Jesper,” he says. For a moment, he almost seems like himself again. His hand curls around Jesper’s wrist. “Jesper, I was out for I don’t know how long, then when you came back I was high on whatever the hell that Nina gave me. I just want to sit with you for a bit. Is that too much to ask?”

On the one hand, he wants to say yes, it is. Because the simple act of sitting up is leaving Wylan breathless and his nails leave imprints on Jesper’s skin. Honestly, there’s a part of Jesper that wants to force-feed Wylan painkillers until he’s better. But there’s another part of him that spent days pacing this room, waiting for the moment Wylan opens his eyes. And then he did. 

With possibly the most care he’s ever used in his life, Jesper reaches up and cups Wylan’s cheek, rubbing his thumb under his eye.

“How can I say no to that face?” he replies softly. Wylan gives a contented hum and then leans into their touch, his fingers relax as he strokes Jesper’s arm.

It’s there, with Wylan’s hands growing warm against his skin, his breaths steady at his side, that Jesper begins to feel it. It starts small, smatterings of rain against a windowpane, and then it grows, the sky turns dark and darker, thunder rolls through him, and the rain pelts and pelts, heavier and heavier, and much as he tries, he can’t escape it or breathe through it or pretend that it’s okay, even for Wylan’s sake.

“I thought I lost you,” they gasp. Their unsteady hand slides round the back of Wylan’s neck and tangles in his curls. The once-tender movement feels like navigating a minefield; one wrong step can ruin everything. “I thought you were gone. I thought-”

“I’m right here,” Wylan reminds them. “Jes, I’m right here.” With painstaking slowness, Wylan grabs their chin and tilts it so that they’re looking at him, albeit through a blur of tears. They blink, breathe, wipe their eyes until Wylan is once again clear, dimples in his pale cheeks as he smiles. “I’m not going anywhere, you silly old man.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. Jesper isn’t sure if he should be relieved that he can laugh or disturbed at how alien it sounds. They kiss Wylan’s fingers, then his wrist, then his forehead, rubs his nose against his. Saints, he hadn’t realisde  how deeply he had missed him until now, how easily he’d taken simply touches for granted. If they could, they’d kiss every inch of Wylan’s skin and nuzzle every crevice on his body. 

They can’t though. Because Wylan’s breath is still hitching, and they can hear the pained moans he’s trying so hard to hide. Even through his shirt and the blankets, they can feel him shaking. So they settle for what they have.”

“Get all those wildest fantasies ready, merchling,” they mutter against his skin. “Because the minute you’re better, there’s nothing off the table.”

“Oh,” he squeaks. A pale pink flush dances across his cheeks. “I’ll start making a list.”

“Gah!” Jesper groans. “That’s the most unsexy thing you can say.”

“My lists are incredibly sexy I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he teases. Wylan giggles, the sound so low and weak compared to what Jesper is used to. Wylan’s breaths are growing more strained, his hand is tightening around Jesper’s wrist.

They’re about to get more painkillers, or maybe call for Nina, when the door opens and the very woman emerges, as though Jesper summoned her from the ether. Matthias trails after her, with a leather bag that Jesper assumes are medical supplies, and the grin that lights up his face when he sees Wylan pulls at Jesper’s heart more than they’d like to admit.

“Um, I sincerely hope you two weren’t getting up to anything here,” Nina tuts. She waves Jesper away and takes their spot on the bed. “Because you, dear Wylan, are on a heavy ban from such activities until you heal.”

“Boo,” Wylan replies. He shrugs, then winces. Still, he keeps his tone light as Nina checks his bandages. “Then I suppose we’ll have to make up for lost time.”

“Civilised conversation, please,” Matthias sighs, but his smile doesn’t waver. “How are you feeling, Lamb?”

“Ugh everyone keeps asking me that,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You look it,” Nina responds. She takes his chin carefully and angles it towards her. “Medik said last night your vision was a worry. How is it now?”

“That was Jesper I was flirting with, right?”

“Wylan!” Nina sighs, sounding rather exasperated. Jesper twitches, hands immediately reaching for their revolvers. It seems to sober Wylan up as well, because the smile fades from this face and what Nina gets instead is a quick, sober nod. 

“I can see you guys. You’re a little blurry, but I can tell who’s who.”

“Oaky,” she says. She tilts Wylan’s head upwards toward the light. “We’ll need to get the medik back in, but your pupils are responding.”

“I love when they do that.”

“Okay. Lets see the ribs.” Wylan nods, lets out a slow breath and screws his eyes shut. From the sidelines, Jesper watches as Nina pulls up Wylan’s shirt. Even from their angle, they can see the myriad of bruises across his skin, painting his chest like a canvas of blue and black and yellow. Nina looks over her shoulder and Matthias rushes to her side, handing her pieces of cloth and small glass bottles that she presses against Wylan’s side, securing them with little pieces of tape or string. They count to three and then Matthias helps move him, muttering small assurances that Jesper can barely hear under Wylan’s muted whimpering. They watch as his head falls back against the wall, his eyes flutter shut, blood pools on his bitten lip. He’s in good hands with Nina, they know. And he’s over the worst of it and the medik stabilised him.

And he’s okay. It’s okay. They’re okay.

Jesper mutters the mantra, as the door creaks open, black flashes in his periphery. One by one, Jesper’s muscles seize, as if building towards something. The cane raps once, twice more, then stops, and leaves a heavy, hollow silence in its wake.

“Jesper,” Kaz begins. His voice is so low that Nina and Matthias don’t react. This isn’t something for the rest of them, they realise. Dread lines his chest. This is something for Jesper and Jesper only. Kaz’s coffee-coloured eyes flash, as if twin bombs were ignited behind them. “Outside. Now.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Nightcap | Guest Check

After the Piccadilly attack Kyle finds himself struggling with PTSD. Nina is ready to take care of him like he's always taken care of him.

"Just wanted to hear your voice." He felt bad for waking her up. It was three am. He had nightmare after nightmare now. Ones where he died, where his legs were blown off, where his family and Nina were victims and he had to pick up their pieces. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"You can always call me." He wished he could hold her voice, let it wrap around his fingers, something to have whenever he needed it. Nina's voice had been the one to follow him throughout his life. He could never tell his mum his earliest memory was of Nina and him playing together rather than a memory of her. "Do you want me to come over?"

"It's late. No trains. I just wanted to hear your voice, like I said. You can go back to sleep."

"Was it a nightmare?"

It was shame that kept him from opening up. He was supposed to protect her. Keep her safe from her father and all the thoughts that ran wild around her head. He couldn't do that anymore. He

"Yeah..." He choked out. He didn't mean to start crying. He could hardly describe these nightmares at least not this therapist. He'd wake up with a crushing feeling in his chest, that inside he was nothing, not even air. He was collapsing in on himself. A scared little boy in a bed too big for him, in a city far away from his mum. Nina was the only tether he had here. The only reason he stuck around.

"I'm on my way. I'll be there soon, baby." He wanted to argue. Tell her to stay home, he'd be okay. It was an hour walk. He also didn't want to be alone. He was scared, grinding his teeth together, sitting in the darkness of his small bedroom. He wanted to be held. Cry into her, feel safe with her. She ended the call with, "I'll text you when I'm close."

He loved her, god he loved her. It made him feel so young and stupid how much he loved her. Head spinning kind of love. Had their own language. Somewhere along the way he must have given her part of his soul and he was given part of hers. They'd shared beds since they were babies. Soulmates and true love was a dumb fairytale idea until he felt her giggle when he kissed her stomach. It was 3am and she was running to his rescue.

He followed his deep breathing exercises till his phone buzzed again thirty minutes later.

He met her in the lobby. She was going so fast he thought she'd crash her bike into the front door of the building. She stumbled as she drug it inside, letting it fall once the door shut behind her.

"Hey," she cupped his face. Her hands were always soft and smelled like almonds. His face crumpled. He held the front of her jacket and sobbed into her neck. "I'm right here. I got you."

In his bed, his head was tucked under her jumper, forehead resting against the bottom of her sternum. Their legs tangled together. She rubbed his back and cooed softly at him. Gentle reminders that he was alive, he was there with her and they were safe. He calmed himself down by counting the moles and freckles on her skin. He knew where each one was already.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, fingers rubbing circles on the back of his neck.

"Just wanted to listen to your voice." He admitted. He pulled his head free and rested his head on her chest. She grabbed a book from his bedside table.

"I can do that." She held his hand as she read to him.

"I love you, Nina." Her eyes had started to droop, words mixing together as she forced herself to stay awake.

Her face faltered, a rush of emotions running over her eyes. Her shoulders hunched up. Don't hide from him. His beautiful girl, don't hide.

"I love you, Kyle." It was her turn to try to hide the tears. He kissed her cheeks. "You can always call me. Always wake me up. Please. I love you."

They fell asleep like that, curled up together like children. They were still children.

Tag List: @queen-ilmaree @macravishedbymactavish @gogh-with-the-flow @water-bearz @pvssytrux

[0averysillygoose0]

I can still make the whole place shimmer (with the skin of a killer, Bella) -Chapter four

Prologue and previous chapters are in my master list♡

Summary

Angelica Cullen was supposed to have died over 300 years ago, but now she gets to watch as her adoptive brother stalks some girl from Arizona.

Born in the 1600s to one Carlisle Cullen and his first wife- a woman whose name has since faded into obscurity, Angelica was never supposed to amount to much more than marriage and children. Now a perpetual sixteen-year-old who wants nothing more than to be able to paint her nails in peace to the Mama Mia soundtrack, she finds herself with little to occupy her time.

Her relationship with her family is growing more strained by the day. The cycle of high school has long since become dull and draining, and despite her desperation for something else, she's forced to stay stagnant for 'the good of the family'.

A family who's wearing her patience thin.

Then Bella Swan moves to Forks and Angelica's pressure is suddenly raised as the Cullen family is thrown into a potentially life-ending challenge every five business days. The Quillute are watching closely, as are the Volturi for any slip-ups, and in the world of the supernatural, Angelica has the grace of a baby deer.

♡ ♡ ♡

Chapter four Edward's need for therapy becomes more apparant

Angelica watched enviously as Rosalie tugged a black tank top over her bra, pulling it down so it hugged her body snugly. She hadn’t thought much of her own body until the 1960s, when suddenly, her face was no longer enough to qualify as beautiful, especially in contrast to her sister.

Where Rosalie was tall and slender, Angelica was short and stocky. Her rib cage flared out and a large chest forced any hoodies or t-shirts to tent out in front of her.

Angelica had found a pair of low waisted jeans that sat well when paired with a white babydoll top that cut down just enough and flared out below her chest, hiding what she’d deemed to be unworthy of public viewing. The counter of their shared bathroom was littered with an array of serums, mascaras, lip glosses and hair straighteners.

Alice had asked them to dress well, with no other details as to why, just claiming it was “important”.

“Can you pass the lip oil?” Angelica asked, leaning closer to the mirror. She pursed her mouth, watching as dimples carved themselves out in her cheeks.

“This one?” Rosalie frowned, plucking a thin tube from her makeup bag.

“No, the Dior one.” Angelica murmured, squeezing her lashes upwards with a curler. She winced as the clamps nearly pinched the skin of her eyelid, though it wouldn’t have hurt. She held her free hand out and felt the cool metal of the container press against her palm. “Thanks, lovely.”

“Of course.” Her sister hummed. “Can I borrow your mascara?”

“What’s wrong with yours?” Angelica frowned, smacking her lips together. They shined glossily under the harsh overhead lighting.

Rosalie shrugged. “Nothing, yours is just better.”

“Then get your own.” Angelica muttered.

“Then you get your own lip oil!”

“It is mine!” Angelica protested, dodging Rosalie’s extended arm that batted at her wrist. “I bought it!”

“Carlisle bought it for us to share.” The blonde girl’s eyes narrowed irritably.

“No, he bought the other one for us to share, this one is mine!”

“Just let me use the mascara.”

“No, I’ll get your eye germs.” She snapped, clicking the lip oil shut.

“We don’t have germs, ‘Gelica.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Yes I can, seeing as we’re dead.” Rosalie said irritably. “But if you want, I can go ask Esme if I can borrow from her if you want to act like a brat.”

“Whatever.” Angelica sighed. “It’s in my makeup bag.”

“Thanks, pookie.” Rosalie scoffed irritably.

“You’re actually so welcome.” She muttered.

“I am, actually.”

“Good.” Angelica retorted curtly.

“Good.”

A silence hovered over the two of them briefly, and the only sound that could be heard was the familiar buzz of electricity throughout the house and the sound of the others milling about as they prepared for their day.

“It’s so weird she didn’t tell us what we need to look good for.” Rosalie said finally, setting the mascara tube down on the counter with a delicate click as marble met plastic.

“She never tells us anything.” Angelica sighed, shaking her head as she reached for the product. “I honestly don’t even care what it is, I’m just relieved that I’m riding with Dad instead of Edward.” Her mouth popped out into an “O” shape as she applied the mascara to her eyelashes.

“He’s riding with us now.” Rosalie shook her head, leaning in to study her lips. “That oil looks good on you.”

Angelica grinned, missing her sister’s satisfied smile in the mirror as she began rifling through her bag. “Girl, if you need an escape just ride with us today.”

“It’s fine, I can just tell him to shut up if he gets too Edwardy.”

“Oh, perf.”

“I can hear you both.” A sullen voice muttered from behind, hairbrush in hand. He’d been there since they’d first come in, struggling with a stubborn knot. Angelica suspected that the sheer amount of hairspray he applied on the daily was behind his struggle.

“Good.” Rosalie smiled. “Maybe you’ll behave today.”

“Maybe you’ll behave today.” He repeated under his breath in a twittering mocking tone.

“I heard that.”

“Oh? Wonder how it feels.”

“I didn’t become a vampire just for you to bitch at me all the time, you know.” Rosalie muttered.

“Personally, I became a vampire to suck blood and fuck forever.” Angelica shrugged. She reached for her blush, a pale creamy pink color that brought the long lost flush back into her cheeks.

“You became a vampire because your ex husband brutally beat you to death and Carlisle has a savior complex.”

“It’s stuff like that that makes us hate driving with you in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You should be.” Angelica told him matter of factly.

***

The drive to school had been far more relaxing than it had been in the past few weeks.

Angelica spent her time singing along to Queen and Taylor’s Swift while Carlisle, having made good on his promise to drive her in place of Edward, nodded along passively. He knew better than to try and talk over the lyrics. Angelica had been coaxed into attending school after being promised a guaranteed trip into Port Angeles with her friends.

Her seat warmer had been turned all the way up, and Angelica leaned heavily against the seat. As per usual, rain raced down the windows, blurring the familiar sights that made up the small town of Forks.

They came to a stop at the red light, pulling up beside a cop car. A man with dark hair and an impressive mustache sat in the driver’s seat, a pensive look furrowing his brows. Upon realizing he had a neighbor, he looked up and a smile broke across his face as his gaze found Carlisle.

Angelica heard the whir of a window lowering just in time to cut herself off from belting out Picture to Burn, just barely saving herself from embarrassment.

“Dr. Cullen! How’s it going?” The other man called from across the lane.

“Just dropping this one off at school.” Carlisle smiled good naturedly, shooting his passenger an expectant nod. Angelica leaned out, waving politely at the chief of police. “How about you, Charlie?” Her father continued.

“Pretty good.” Charlie nodded. “Just picked up Isabella yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you mentioning that she was coming to stay with you.” Carlisle said thoughtfully.

Angelica saw the flicker of red light dim from the traffic lights that hung above the car, suspended on a wire.

“Dad, the light is green.” She mumbled, tugging at his sleeve.

“It’s fine, Angelica, there’s no one behind us.” He smiled, waving her off before returning to his conversation. “How is she liking it so far?”

“We’ll find out.” Charlie shrugged. “She’s starting at school today. Junior year.”

“Oh, Angelica, she’s in your grade, you'll have to keep an eye out for her.” Carlisle shook his head at her with a practiced imperceptibility. Charlie remained happily oblivious, a nonchalant smile tugging at his lips.

“Mhm, for sure.” She murmured absentmindedly.

“Sounds great.” Charlie said.

The sharp honk of Emmett’s jeep behind them put an end to the conversation and Carlisle turned around with a sigh to fix the eldest son of the Cullen clan with a disappointed frown and a shake of his head.

“It was good catching up, Charlie,” He said good naturedly, “Good luck!”

They turned the corner that led up the hill to the school not a minute later, the music blaring just as loudly as it had been before the talk between the chief of police had interrupted it. Angelica was grinning ear to ear as they pulled in, too wrapt up in the swell of country songs to realize the car had come to a stop.

“You have to get out now.” Carlisle reminded her gently. There was an abrupt stop that cut through the chorus of Should’ve said no as the car’s ignition was turned off with the flick of a key. Angelica nodded, grateful that she’d downloaded the album on her ipod and would be able to pick up from where she’d left off soon.

“I’ll see you after school.” He said as she unclipped her seatbelt.

“Mhm.” Angelica fumbled for her backpack “Thanks for the ride.”

“Of course, my girl.”

The centuries old nickname brushed against her ears in a way that tugged at her chest and constricted her throat all at once. She gave him the smile she knew he’d wanted in return, her lips pressing together tightly.

She’d just stepped out of her door when a familiar large frame crossed over to her father’s car and Angelica’s face broke out into a smile as her older brother greeted her.

“Carlisle, funny seeing you here.” Emmett leaned against the window pane.

“It’s a small world.” The blonde man shrugged, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “Eager to get here, weren’t we?”

“It was an Ed-mergancy.”

“Oh?” Carlisle frowned. “How was the drive to school then?”

“He made us listen to his music.”

Angelica scoffed. “Oh?”

“Bro is never getting aux again.” Emmett shook his head.

“Dude, I warned you.”

Carlisle shook his head, not wanting to say anything to condemn the boy. An orange truck had pulled in, rusted at the edges and Angelica frowned. She could have sworn she’d seen it before, rattling around highways on the edge of town, but never in the parking lot.

“That must be the chief’s daughter.” He nodded towards Angelica. “Don’t engage.” He reminded her. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in like three hundred years, I think I’ll be fine.” She whispered back.

“Emmett, keep an eye out.”

“I gotcha. Bye, Carlisle.” Emmett grinned. He gave Angelica’s shoulder a soft tug, pulling her forward before she could protest the lack of trust in her ability.

“Bye, Dad.” She said passively, the words a second thought to her retaliation against her brother. She batted at his arm as they crossed the parking lot and Emmett scoffed in mock pain.

Although she’d never admit it aloud, there was a small part of Angelica, selfish as it was, that enjoyed the fact that no one else had strayed from calling her father any other name than Carlisle. That despite all the ‘adoptions’, no one else had given him the label of “Dad”. The separation was one of the few remaining factors that distanced the others in their connection to the doctor and Angelica’s own.

She’d taken up using the title some seventy years ago and hadn’t put it down since. “Father” had always seemed so stilted and formal to her, and Carlisle had hated it just as much. She’d used “Papa” for decades, immensely preferring how it sounded, although she’d attributed that to it coming from her mother’s native tongue. But when speaking French fell out of fashion, the word seemed far too childish to be used in the company of others. It was bad enough she’d been turned so young, she didn’t want to add anything else on top of her appearance that could potentially reduce her.

At least now, she thought, her age actually served as an advantage. Standing next to Emmett’s hulking twenty year old figure, she almost looked normal.

***

The new girl- “Isabella” or “Bella” as she’d insisted on being called- was, for all intents and purposes, utterly and completely ordinary, save for her one extraordinary trait of being the most uncoordinated person Angelica had ever laid eyes upon. She had brown hair and brown eyes, both the same earthy shade as the other and kept launching the volleyball in every direction except for the actual net.

Angelica watched as half of their grade fluttered around her, squawking out meaningless babble like headless hens in a desperate attempt to make conversation. Lillian and Anna were sat beside her on the gym bleachers, studying the girl from afar.

“I heard she’s from Arizona.” Anna supplied. Her freshly bleached blonde hair had been pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“She’s like really pale for Arizona.” Lillian remarked, taking a sip from her water bottle. Angelica’s own throat felt dry. She hadn’t taken enough last night, although she wasn’t willing to admit it to her family.

“I heard Mike likes her already.” Angelica chimed in airily. “Jess’ll be pissed.” She noted, pulling out a stick of lip balm. The smell of cherry wafted over her. She tugged uncomfortably at her pale blue top. The gym uniform of cheap cotton shirts and tight black shorts sat irritably atop her skin.

“Jess can go fuck herself.” Anna scoffed, her eyes narrowing at the mousy haired brunette who was standing across the room. The other girl didn’t turn around, unaware of the glare bearing down her neck.

“Girl, let it go.” Lilian sighed.

“I’ll let it go when she admits she started the rumor that I dry humped my pillow at the eighth grade lock in because I called her out for stuffing her bra.” Anna huffed, her eyes narrowed sharply.

Lilian let out a small slip of giggles.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“I was adjusting my sleeping bag.”

Angelica snorted despite her best efforts to keep a straight face. Dimples carved themselves into her pale stoney cheeks as a grin twisted her mouth upwards.

“Oh my god, Ange, come on, you of all people should know she’s evil!” Anna hissed.

The girl’s smile fell instantly prompting Lilian to sigh heavily as old ground was retrodden.

“It’s been a year, girl, are you really still mad at her for the Edward thing-”

“Yes, I am still mad at her for the Edward thing.” Angelica snapped.

“Well to be fair, the rest of them are all together so it was sort of a reasonable conclusion-”

“It is not a reasonable conclusion, he’s my brother for fuck’s sake.” She hissed. “And my least favorite at that.”

“I mean he sounds like a prick, but girl you could do way worse.” Anna nodded knowingly. She applied a heavy coat of lipgloss with a tube she’d fished out of her sports bra. “Brother with benefits.”

Angelica gagged. “Christ, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Like if one of them breaks up does the least favorite go back into foster care?” Lillian wondered aloud.

“No.” Angelica frowned.

“I just don’t get it, like s it even legal?” Anna shook her head. “It’s fucking weird, Ange, even you gotta admit it.”

“I’m aware.” She muttered. “I’m aware that it’s fucking weird, but so is humping a pillow at a school sleepover.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Angelica let out a giddy shriek as she sprinted away as quickly as she could without arousing suspicion. Anna lept after her, a laugh streaming musically from her mouth despite her threat. Lilian watched the scene with a fond smile, her palm propping up her face as her elbow leaned on her knee.

And that was the first time Angelica ever saw Bella Swan. To her, she’d been a fleeting piece of gossip, a transitional topic, just another girl. A second thought in a sea of manythat filled her day. To her brother however, she was something else entirely.

Angelica had left gym class flanked by her two friends, as she and Anna continued to gripe about the tyranny of Jess and her wild rumors while Lilian rolled her eyes good naturedly.

They’d decided to grab lunch from the cafeteria and skip the following period by hanging out in Anna’s shitty old car with seats that were so stained the original color was a mystery. Angelica hadn’t been eager to return to Biology class after the Migraine incident and neither Anna nor Lilian felt particularly inclined to attend their chemistry class.

They’d spent their two hours switching between theories about why Jess was such a bitch and how awful their math class had been as of late. Even Anna, who actually enjoyed the subject had been finding it grating in the last month. Their substitute,who was filling in for Mrs. Mason while she was on maternity leave was quite frankly, the most boring person in the history of the world and Angelica, with all of her three hundred years of life, had yet to come across someone who rivaled the man. He had a voice that begged one to fall asleep, a sort of droning monotony that made it impossible to focus on the actual words she was speaking.

She’d been so caught up in her impressions of the man that it had taken her a moment to realize something was very wrong. It was only after she caught sight of Edward stalking across the parking lot with a stormy look on his face and a glint in his eyes she recognized all too well that any apprehension arose in her at all.

“Hey, one sec.” She murmured. Angelica caught the glint of silver car keys clenched tightly in her brother’s hand as he opened Emmett’s driver side door sharply. She heard it slam shut from across the lot.

“What’s wrong?” Anna frowned.

“My dad wants me to keep an eye on him and he looks upset.” Angelica lied, stepping out of the car. “I’ll be right back.” She promised before shutting the passenger door behind her. A flare of worry had arisen in her chest. Edward was usually one of the more collected members of the family, at least in public. It was odd for him to seem so on edge.

It didn’t take her long to reach him, the jeep had been parked only a few stalls away from Anna’s honda civic. Edward had the windows rolled down. He didn’t spare her a glance.

“Hey, you good?” Angelica called, walking over briskly.

“Have you seen her yet?” Edward demanded sharply. He was bent over the steering wheel of the jeep, a CD of what Angelica could only assume was My Chemical Romance blasting out from the speakers.

“Who?” She asked, confusion furrowing her brow. She bent down beside the open window.

“The new girl.” He said in a pained voice, his eyes trained on the dashboard.

“Bella?”

Angelica struggled to think of what the girl could have done to Edward to bring him to such a state of distress. She’d seen the girl a little over two hours ago and was already struggling to clearly recall her face.

“Don’t say her name… it only makes it worse to think of her as a person.” He shook his head. “Her blood… it calls to me… it makes me want to do things, horrible things, for only a mere taste. I feel like a monster.”

Angelica stared at him.

“What in the ever living fuck are you on about?”

She recognized the tone of his voice, the fevered desire and Angelica wasn’t having it. Already the threat of whoever had killed the young university student in the woods forcing them out of town was hanging heavy in her mind, the last thing she needed was her own brother lashing out on a murder streak.

“She has o negative.” He whispered. “I could sense it. The monster in me, it wants out. We need to leave now, whatever it takes to get me away from her and the call of her blood”

“You sound like a serial killer.”

“She smelled intoxicating.” Edward murmered. “She’s intoxicating.”

“You know what else is intoxicating?” Angelica inquired sharply. “Therapy.” She turned on her heel, not having the energy for her brother’s melodrama. She pulled out her phone, punching in her step mother’s number, the complaint already on her lips before she even hit the dial button.