#and then you join his stream and he's discussing feet

[burningembers91]

Grains of Sand - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Sleeping with the Enemy The Gangster's Wife Escape Plan Cabin in the Woods Down by the Sea

Synopsis: You and Hwang Jun-Ho spend the day together, and you start thinking about the future.

A/N: In this fic, Jun-Ho's hair has grown out a little, and this is 100% the hairstyle I was picturing:

The sun was dazzling, reflecting off the bright blue of the water with such a golden glare that you were forced to shade your eyes. The sea breeze whipped at your hair and clothes; the taste of salt fresh on your lips as you picked your way along the shoreline. Your bare feet pressed soft tracks into the wet sand, the feeling of the damp grains in between your toes oddly satisfying. Your sandals clasped in one hand, the other gripped tightly in Hwang Jun-Ho’s, you made your way along the beach, stopping every now and again to pick up a shell for the collection you’d started. “Oh my god!” you squealed, spying an iridescent pink shell, the rainbow sheen glinting in the sun. It would look perfect on the windowsill in your apartment, right next to your side of the bed. You didn’t notice the look of love on Jun-Ho’s face as you pocketed it, his cheesy grin spread wide across his face. You were like a whole new person since moving here, finally free of the violent hold your husband had on you. You were so relaxed, so vibrant and full of life.

You’d been on the beach for hours, just walking back and forth along the sand. Life was much slower these days, but you both preferred it that way. Sunday was Jun-Ho’s only day off work, and you made the most of it, waking up when the sun rose to spend as much time with each other as possible. He’d grown his hair out a little, the wind sending his locks out in all directions. You liked the longer length, liked gripping on to it when he made love to you. “Shall we go home?” Jun-Ho asked, pulling you in close to his body, the taste of salt on your skin as he kissed his way up your neck. “Ok,” you smiled, “but it’s your turn to make lunch.”

That was the beauty of your relationship; everything was equal. You took turns cooking and cleaning, sharing the weekly chores. Jun-Ho always made sure he did more than you, despite your protestations, but you’d spent so long with no one else to rely on, and he wanted to make sure he did everything he could to make you feel special. You walked leisurely home hand in hand, discussing what movie you’d watch that night. You’d never thought life could be perfect, but it finally was.

Your feet were still covered in sand when you got back to your apartment, the stubborn grains clinging to your soft skin. The more you brushed them away, the more that seemed to appear. They coated your calves, clung to your palms and fingertips, lodging themselves under your nails. “I’m going to need to have a shower,” you sighed, pulling your dress off and padding through to the bathroom. “Otherwise, we’ll be finding sand in the apartment for months.”

Turning on the hot water, you were just about to step under the stream when you felt arms encircle your waist, Jun-Ho’s breath warm against your neck. “Mind if I join?” he asked, nuzzling the soft spot on your neck, right behind your ear. You leaned yourself back into him, sighing contentedly as his hands trailed across your body. You helped him undress, admiring the toned muscles of his stomach and chest as you removed his t-shirt. His daily rigorous regime on the fishing boat had bulked him out, his biceps stretching the thing fabric of every shirt he wore.

You allowed yourself to be pushed gently against the cool tile, Jun-Ho kneeling before you as he cleaned the sand from your body. He started with your feet, massaging your arch and heels as he brushed the grains from your skin. The feel of his hands against your aching muscles was heavenly, a soft groan of appreciation falling from your lips. His hands moved up to your calves, then your thighs, his kisses mingling with the warm water of the shower. The mix of sensations was exquisite, your moans echoing off the tiled walls. “So needy,” he muttered, smiling as your fingers gripped his hair. “I wouldn’t be so needy if you didn’t make me feel so good,” you breathed, your last word cut short with a deep, hoarse groan as Jun-Ho slipped a finger inside of you.

He was still on his knees, staring up you like a worshiper praying to their God. His eyes were so full of love and devotion, his gaze trained on you as he brought his tongue against your sensitive clit. A string of praises fell from your lips, your back arching as you pushed yourself further into his touch. His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy. His eyes never left yours, and you knew he liked to watch when you came undone for him. Your whole body shuddered as you came around his fingers, your hands gripping his hair tightly as you held his face against your soaking core.

Jun-Ho finally rose from his position at your feet, sweeping you into the air and pinning you against the shower wall in one fluid motion. “Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed, his arms round your waist, his body flush against yours as he pushed himself inside of you. Now it was Jun-Ho’s turn to whimper and moan, the feel of your tight walls swallowing him whole never ceasing to take him by surprise. “You feel so good,” he whined, thrusting up into you again and again, chasing his high. His lips met yours, your kisses swallowing the other’s moans, the hot water streaming down your bodies. “Fuck, I love you.” His whispered words against the dampness of your skin, his warm breath on the crook of your neck sent delicious tingles down your spine. The way his cock filled your aching core again and again, hitting a spot deep inside you sent you spiralling over the edge again, your moans of ecstasy taking Jun-Ho with you. His seed painted your walls, his thrusts continuing until he was sure you’d taken every last drop of him.

You stayed under the water together until it began to run cold, your bodies pressed together as your lips explored his. You hunkered under a blanket as Jun-Ho made lunch, stopping every now and again to stare lovingly over at you. The rest of the day was spent in front of the TV, the two of you falling in and out of sleep, your head nestled in Jun-Ho’s expansive chest.

You wondered, not for the first time, whether you’d stay in this tiny fishing town when everything was over. When your husband had been caught, when the dirty cops who’d framed Jun-Ho had been brought to justice, would you return to Seoul, or spend the rest of your days by the sea?

This was where you felt most at home, where your heart soared, and your spirit felt free. This tiny apartment overlooking the ocean, your detective by your side. It was all you’d ever needed.

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:30」 — b.seungkwan

» seventeen menu | seungkwan menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ gorgon!Seungkwan × fem!Reader wc: — summary: Seungkwan is the youngest of three siblings and the only male gorgon in his family. Probably due to his half-human heritage on his father’s side. He’s lucky that his appearance is much more human than his sisters’. Although he looks mostly normal there are still some things that aren’t quite… human. His inhuman strength and other snake-like features set him apart from the rest, so why his best friend and roommate likes him so much, he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he’s madly in love with Y/N. genres/themes/au: angst, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, alcohol consumption, supernatural and horror themes, MORE TBD; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this could have been longer but tbh i’m tired of Kinktober lmao i’m ready for it to end already. I love Seungkwan and I would love to write something longer for him like he deserves but I don’t have the time anymore. I’ll make it up to him another time. Thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), shower sex (this is dangerous. Proceed with caution), drunk sex (unless previously discussed, do not do this either), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (use protection!), no one is dom or sub they’re just hella whipped for one another, use of pet names (hers: baby, darling, angel, etc.; his: babe, Kwannie, love, etc.), I think I got everything but of course, let me know if I missed some! kinks: Shower sex + drunk sex dialogue prompt: ❛❛ We’re not just friends and you fucking know it. ❜❜

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“But, we’re friends,” Seungkwan,” you whispered, back pressed against the white tiled wall of your shower as your best friend stood in front of you, hands resting against the cool tile as the hot stream water cascaded down to the mat, splashing your feet. The only thing shielding you from your best friend’s gaze was a thin towel that barely covered anything.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. You weren’t sure what the driving force behind his actions was. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the years of pent up love and adoration he only just spilled out of mouth in the confines of your small bathroom. His confession came as a shock to you although, if you looked back, it only made all of his past actions make all the more sense to you.

But you couldn’t take a trip down memory lane right now, now when you were staring into the bright, almost glowing, green eyes of your best friend. Eyes that looked at you with a mixture of frustration, love, and another emotion you never expected to come from Seungkwan.

Lust.

The night had started innocently enough, attending a simple house party with your best friend. The night had gone as expected, drinking whatever mixed drinks Seungkwan made for you because he refused to let anyone else do it, downing a few shots and joining a couple rounds of whatever party games were going on. The night ended quickly for you when you couldn’t get up alone after a round of Truth or Drink and Seungkwan had to all but haul you out of the living room, very nearly carrying you out of the house.

Seungkwan didn’t exactly look like he possessed a lot of strength but looks were deceiving with your best friend. He was the product of a human and a gorgon falling in love and marrying. His sisters had taken after their mother, inheriting her snake-like attributes but Seungkwan on the other hand took after his father, only his eyes a physical give away to his half monster nature.

He didn’t mind, in fact glad that he could pass for human. It also meant he didn’t have to wear special blinders and be confined to the house as he didn’t inherit the Gaze like his sisters did. He could make direct eye contact and not have serious repercussions. He was also the only person who could look his mother directly in the eye and not be affected.

His human nature meant he wasn’t tormented or heavily bullied like some of the other less than human looking classmates. He also was a child who never took shit from anyone. One of the reasons you liked him so much. He made it his role to stand up to the bullies and look out for his fellow non human classmates. This made him extremely popular with the other kids as well as he stood up to all bullies, not just playground ones.

As he grew up, he gained more and more popularity due to his good looks, kind nature, and friend disposition. Despite how popular he became, he never let that go to his head. Well, not too much. He always made time for you and insisted you were his only true friend.

He wasn’t sure when the line blurred and he started loving you but he just knew one day, you weren’t just a friend to him. He wanted more with you but he never spoke out. He was far too shy and afraid of you rejecting him so he stayed silent for years until that night. The night he finally let it all out and confessed his true feelings and what he really thought about you.

After returning to your apartment, you had said you wanted to take a shower. Normally Seungkwan would wait on the couch and watch TV or play a game on his phone but you insisted he sit on the toilet with the lid down and keep you company while you showered.

He knew it was a bad idea, being that close to you when you were vulnerable on the other side of a thin sheet of vinyl and fabric. He should have just said no and sat on the couch like he usually did but he wasn’t thinking clearly. Neither of you were.

And so there he was, sitting on the toilet while you chatted about the most mundane things until you made an offhand comment about your shower head and how you were so glad you replaced the standard shower head in the apartment with this one you had gotten online. It had more settings than the standard one, was detachable, and came in handy when you needed to get yourself off.

That was the comment that had Seungkwan’s breath catching in his throat, his cock twitching in his pants and his heart racing. The idea of you in the shower, using the pulse setting to pleasure yourself. It made him bite his tongue almost hard enough to make him bleed. You had noticed he’d gone silent, cause of course you did, and asked him if he was still awake.

Seungkwan had to take several deep breaths before finally answering that he was awake and that he needed to leave. You whined, asking him to stay, insisting that he stay, asking him what was wrong and that was when he snapped, blurting out the sentences that would change your lives forever.

“How can you expect me to stay after saying something like that? How can you expect me to sit here and pretend like I’m not imagining you doing that right now? How can you expect me to sit still when all I want to do is rip this curtain open and take you against the shower wall?”

Initially you wanted to laugh it off but something in his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. You grabbed a towel, holding it over your chest and letting it fall to cover your mound before pulling back the curtain to peer out at him. “Are you being serious?” you asked. Seungkwan looked up, eyes meeting yours and he quickly turned away, averting his eyes.

“Don’t,” he grunted. “I can’t look at you right now. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

You weren’t sure if you weren’t taking him seriously or just being stupid but you pulled back into the shower and challenged him. “Maybe you shouldn’t stop yourself.” In an instant, Seungkwan had gotten up, pulling back the curtain abruptly which led to where you were at that moment, back against the tiled wall as he caged you in, ignoring the water splashing his clothes.

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it,” Seungkwan said under his breath.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. There had been some… experimentation in your youth. You both had agreed to keep it a secret but when you were around the age that you started learning about yourselves, there had been a lot of talk, stolen kisses. It had been mostly innocent but when you were older, in college, it had continued. Neither of you had dated in high school, only spending time with one another outside of school events.

You managed to get a dorm to yourself when your assigned roommate dropped out just before classes started. Seungkwan would come over to your dorm most of the time to study but you didn’t get much studying done. You’d never gone all the way but there were times where you ended up straddling him, tongues meeting in a frantic mess as you grinded against him until one or both of you came in your pants.

There had also been times where Seungkwan’s hands wandered when he had you on your back, fingers slipping into your panties to touch and explore your bodies. You never dated, never went out once, and yet throughout college, you fooled around a fair few times. Yet you both always introduced one another as your friend. But friends didn’t do that, right?

Your eyes watched Seungkwan’s dip down to your lips quickly before you reached up, your wet hand curling into his hair. “You’re right,” you murmured. “We aren’t just friends.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, your lips meeting in a very practiced dance. This was familiar for you. Kissing Seungkwan was familiar. You let out a sigh as his lips kissed across your cheek to your ear. “I want to take my time with you,” he muttered. “But I can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Your hands moved, pulling at his shirt, untucking it so you could help him pull it off, tossing it to the floor. The rush to get him undressed left your towel forgotten and it slumped to the floor, landing on the mat where the shower water started to soak it. Seungkwan kicked his pants off before rejoining you in the shower, tugging the curtain back to block the rest of the bathroom as he guided you under the stream of hot water, drops cascading down both your bodies as his hands grabbed your hips.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he backed you against a different tile wall. You nodded as you looked at him. He leaned in, pressing a much softer kiss to your lips before he started to slowly kiss down your body as he lowered himself to his knees. You watched as he lifted one of your thighs over his shoulder, glancing up at you briefly before pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the inside of your thigh, moving closer and closer to your aching heat.

You let out a gasp as he nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you felt his tongue lick against your clit. “F-fuck,” you cursed, head falling back against the hard tile, eyes sliding shut as Seungkwan’s tongue moved over your most sensitive parts. This was new territory with him. You’d never gone this far before and you were regretting not doing it sooner.

“Kwannie,” you moaned as he teased your clit with his tongue. “I need m-more.” You stumbled over your words. “Need your c-cock.” Your cheeks burned as Seungkwan licked and sucked at your clit, the shower barely covering up the lewd sounds.

He pulled back, looking up at you. “So impatient?” he muttered as he slowly got up, lowering your leg back down. “Fine,” he said as his hands moved up to your hips. “But remember, you begged for this,” he added as he turned you around to face the wall, pulling your hips back and making your back arch. “But I wanna see,” you whined as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance.

You heard him chuckle from behind you as he rubbed the tip against your folds. “If you think I’m not going to spend all night fucking you in your bed after this, you don’t truly know me,” he said as he pushed into you, groaning as he very quickly slid in until all of his cock was nestled deeply in your cunt, your warm walls wrapping around him, hugging him tightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he groaned, resting his forehead against your back as he leaned over, ignoring the stream of water falling over the both of you. “You feel so fucking good, baby.” You pushed back against him, urging him to move. “Kwannie, please,” you begged. “Please fuck me.”

Seungkwan let out a breathless chuckle as he stood up straight, his grip on your hips tightening. “Oh don’t worry, angel,” he said as he pulled out slightly, thrusting into you roughly and shutting you up immediately, only a moan leaving your lips.

“I plan to.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[triangularz]

SHOTA- IRRITABLE about 1k, fluff, a tiny bit nsfw (no detailed sexual acts), est. relationship, "slice of life", feelings, connection. Grumpy Shota eventually steps up. I visualized the same reader in each of the Shota fics here, though not as series- more like vignettes. Includes some of my usual style points in terms of form and themes <- I saw a post about this and whether it's true of my writing or not, I loved the perspective- have a peek.

You see and hear it, what's just beyond your thin glass window; it's simple and so invaluable: Golden, late afternoon light replacing the day's cloudy drizzle and crisp, brown leaves camouflaging the school's sidewalks, crunching under the feet of yakking students and yawning staff members. Routine, uneventful Sundays like these meant that UA was safe; they refresh your senses, cozy up close to your heart and feel like home. But what you found comforting was to Shota (groaning and mumbling and long since annoyed by the world) unwelcome noise.

"What are they doing out there? I can hear it from here!" he yells to no one in particular from his watchful, stationary spot in the bathroom. Slightly amused this time and also hoping to shut him the hell up, you stride into his personal space and lean against the wide counter, drawling with faux drama, "They're walkiiing. And for fuckssake stop whining about everything Shota Aizawa, you've sucked the life outta this place all weekend."

A shouting Vlad barged into his office Friday to yap, and Hizashi submitted curricula without edits, leaving hours of work for him yesterday. Toshinori canceled brunch plans for the third week running, and Nezu ticked him off during a discussion about "the benefits of educational autonomy". Over and over again you'd heard it, including a deluge of other long-winded grievances. Embedded in them were frequent little jabs and snaps, with you as the target.

His elbows rest on either side of the sink, and motionless fingers serve as a thermostat under the faucet's rushing water; 60 seconds and the temperature still felt tepid.

"Lukewarm is all we'll get for now; bet the heater's completely done by morning. Should've been replaced years ago, but Nezu's too cheap to-"

"Babe you could turn off the water, maybe check it less often? I think that might conserve whatever life it has left." You and your casual, correct logic; turning off the faucet, he clicks his tongue and shoots an icy glare your way.

"We'll just shower together tonight an-". Shit, you knew better than to say it. A salty, hunched over Shota wasn't up for solutions, but you'd given him two. What he's thinking, he shows- a clenching jaw, stiffening arm muscles, a sharp hassled exhale. For just a second, it stings you. What you'd suggested seemed as distasteful to him as those crackling leaves or the damn water temperature. Pausing for a beat and with an inaudible sigh, you disappear into the bedroom to strip off your clothes. Whether he joins or not is up to him. He finally sounds his agreement a moment later with an exasperated huffed, "Fine."

His reserved nature and dry wit, his intellect and integrity, his tremendous love for his students. God, the man was infinitely attractive to you. But you knew to leave him alone when his usual temperament devolved into an extra pissy mood. With humor and bluffed indifference, you'd do your damndest to avoid adding kindling to his fiery complaints. So you resolve- suddenly tired and melancholy- to get clean and continue enjoying those loudly crunching leaves. A relaxing evening and his actual attention... are ebbing little hopes.

You'd showered together before. Not a regular thing, but it felt so good, even to him- the nearness of it, washing away sweat or cum or the day's work. The catch was intermittent shivering, rushing to switch places for a turn under warm, streaming water. The warmth was absent this round; Shota's discontent infused your togetherness with cold.

Finishing with speed, you step onto the floor's fluffy, cotton mat and grab a massive towel, relieved.

Shit. It hits him now, as he notices your slumped shoulders, quiet deep breath and hasty exit, what not only now, but for two-days his attitude must've cast over you. Shota loves you more than even he can comprehend, and it hurts his heart to have been so caught up in his own miserable mess. He'd done it less and less over time, and you'd always affirm him right away with sweet thanks he felt he didn't deserve. But he hates that he does it at all.

Stepping out after you, Shota furiously runs his hands over your toweled arms and quickly gifts you a long, solid embrace, a stubbly cheek against your temple.

"Better?"

"Mmm hmm." You always felt it, the calm he blanketed you with, so definite and immediate. "Come down here, you jerk." He's used to this cute-the cutest to him- habit of yours, so with a short grunt, he squeezes you more tightly and presses his forehead to yours to listen, really listen to you. Soft, damp strands of dark long hair stick to your cheeks.

"I'm still headed to Osaka tomorrow my Shota sensei; you'll be busy annoying students and missing me these next two days. It'll be fixed before you realize it, and you'll be back to steaming, relaxing showers on your own. Now just be glad we're both fucking clean, ok?" Not a shred of irritation in your words, you always speak so softly and confidently, dispelling his negative energy and surging his love for you. You were beautiful as hell.

"I know, I'm really sorry... about this afternoon, all weekend really... guess I wasted time we could've had before you leave, didn't I? And I love showering with you, a lot more than I dislike being cold... I hope you know, not that I've shown you today, that yeah I am gonna miss you... You'll be gone two days too long as far as I'm concerned," he mumbles into your ear. Tender-hearted, you bury your face into his wet shoulder. Three years together, and with a few gentle words, your pulse races as wildly as it did in the beginning.

The next hectic 48 hours leave you tired and a little numb, but you instantly feel soothed crossing your apartment's threshold. Those several steps remind you that no matter the bickering or rift, anywhere with Shota is where you belong.

A very faint scent wanders through the living room, reminiscent of chalky plaster. Before you can think on it, Shota emerges, with a mischievous vibe about him and a rarely seen sparkle in his worn eyes. His drawn-out, soul-melting kiss sends you skyward.

"Hi there," he mutters softly, grabbing your hand while your head swirls and leading you to the bathroom.

"You were right as always- the water heater's fixed. You should hop in."

"Good, I'm glad. And I think I will. I don't even wanna talk about the trip yet, I just feel yucky after the drive- traffic was awfu-" The change registers slowly. The old showerhead has been replaced with a shiny, silver one, detachable and with multiple settings. And on the opposite wall, is an identical one. "Wha-"

"So neither one of us gets cold." To stare at him is all you can do, blown away.

"You ok with company?" He knows the answer and carefully pulls your shirt over your head.

Twenty heavenly minutes- testing sprays, kisses along all of your curves, and your laughter as he recounts his manual labor snags.

"I need to be better for you," he whispers, draping you with a towel and cascading lazy kisses on your neck.

He's much more than better- his subtle thoughtfulness is more constant than he knows, and it drives you wild.

"Shota."

"Hmm?"

"You take really, really good care of me. You always have."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dropping the towel, you take his hand, beyond ready to fuck the man who's crazy in love with you and who you- grouch and all- love with your whole heart.

[lieutnt]

i promised i would post this so enjoy a half-baked fic/drabble i sent to alec at 2am

john price x werewolf!male reader cw: piss kink (just a little), possessiveness

Werewolf!Reader joining the 141, and with you comes a guidebook about having a werewolf on the team. It’s given to Price and he decides to read through it, most of it obvious stuff that he could have guessed but something sticks out to him, a section that reads ‘As the bond between a Werewolf and its pack mates (the soldiers it serves with) grows, some have shown a tendency to become possessive over their territory and those within it.’ It has Price slightly concerned, and since he’s inexperienced with dealing with werewolves he calls you into his office to discuss it.

He asks you to clarify what this ‘possessiveness’ can mean - for your territory and your pack mates. Before you can stop yourself you make a joke, “I’m not gonna be pissing anywhere other than the toilet if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Price is confused at first until you explain the joke about werewolves marking their territory and warning other werewolves away. It makes something flutter through Price and he dismisses you, except the thought of others like you being able to smell your claim on him has his pants growing tighter, thighs squeezing together and suddenly he’s finding it hard to sit still.

Cut to however long of working together and the relationship between you is way passed soldier and commanding officer - not only is Price yours, you are his. Every so often the thought of what he read in that guidebook floats through his mind, especially when on certain days you’re attached to his hip but he never acts on it, not until one day another team with a werewolf is temporarily staying on base. Full preparations are made, keeping you and the other werewolf apart as much as possible to try and prevent any unnecessary tension, the 141 is very clearly your pack and Price doesn't want the headache if something happens. 

Price still has a duty as Captain to interact with the other team, and when he comes back to his room (that you’ve practically moved into), you’re instantly on him, huffing at his scent and pulling away in disgust when you catch whiffs of the other werewolf on him.

You rectify that quickly, stripping him of his clothes and scenting yourself on his body, fucking him until he’s sure his insides are moulded to you. When you carry him to the shower and his brain is still rebooting the question slips out, Price asking if marking your territory is true. You don’t give an immediate answer, Price finally turning to you to see the way your eyes are focused on him, and just by your breathing he can tell you’re interested. 

As the water switches on Price hides his face in your chest and mumbles how he wouldn’t mind if you marked him like that. His face burns with embarrassment as he waits for your answer, mind running wild with thoughts on if he’s pushed too far when your grip on him tightens and you press him against you, mouth dropping to his ear to tell him to get on his knees.

He does, looking up at you as if he was praying at an altar as you grip your cock and aim towards his kneeling body, nothing happening for a few seconds until he feels the warm stream hitting his chest and trickling down to between his thighs. Despite how eagerly you fucked him earlier his cock makes a valiant effort to harden again, and by the time you’re finished you’re both hard again. You fuck him multiple more times in the shower, being able to smell yourself so clearly on Price sending you haywire.

The next day you manage to catch the moment the other werewolf attempts to approach Price and stumbles over his feet, quickly turning around and walking away. Price stands confused for a few seconds until his cheeks and the tips of his ears start to turn pink as he realises what just happened.

[d3add0vedonoteat]

Carbonara (or Carmy Cooks for You)

Pt. 2 of Chicken Soup for Carmy

This is part 2 of Chicken Soup for Carmy! I hope you love it. NO WARNINGS. Pure fluff

Your apartment was warm. You entered ahead of Carmy, hanging your coat on the wall and kicking off your shoes. “Make yourself at home!” You invited, jovially.

Carmy followed suit, taking in your space. It smelled like you. It was small, but cozy. Personal touches littered every inch of the space. Your kitchen was to the left, a small wooden table against the wall for your dining area. The kitchen counter looked out to the moderately sized living room. Your little orange velvet couch sat before exposed brick and two tall windows. The wall to the left was covered with posters and picture frames, to the right were a pair of bookshelves without an inch of space that wasn’t occupied by a book or trinket. Several plants crowded the windowsills. The rug was soft and plushy on his feet. It would seem hectic to the blind eye, but Carmy could sense the intention behind each item present. Drumming his fingers on his leg, he chose to look at the wall of pictures. It was an eclectic mix of old posters; there were vintage Coca Cola posters, fashion campaigns from the 70s and 80s, music posters like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin and such.. There were pictures and Polaroids of you with people he didn’t recognize and a few random things in picture frames; a pressed flower, a movie ticket, an unused tea bag, a coffee cup sleeve with a scrawling handwriting on it that said “don’t look back”.

You emerged from the bathroom, your hair free from the bun Carmy was used to. It fell about your face, messy and wild in a way that made the breath catch in Carmy’s throat. You joined him at his side, smiling at the wall before you.

“My scrap wall,” you explained. “I love the idea of scrapbooks but I like seeing things everyday.” Carmy nodded, staring at your profile. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He could reach out and caress your cheek… he wrenched his gaze from you and forced it to the wall. “I uh, I had no idea you were into vintage stuff.” He said.

“Likewise.” He raised his brow at you sideways and you laughed. “Loopwheel? Very Americana.” Carmy’s face felt hot. Was this real? It couldn’t be. How could you be any more perfect. You were still wearing his shirt. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Carmy had perused your fridge and pantry, settling on the dish he’d make. You sat at the little table, one leg pulled up to your chest and scratching away in a notebook before you. Music from the playlist you put on floated through the space, complimenting the ambient sound of Camry hard at work. It was so domestic. Usually, Carmy was anxious. His head pounded, his heart raced, and he could never catch his breath. But here with you, Carmy felt peaceful. It was like he’d done this a thousand times before. It was comfortable, safe. Carmy’s chest felt warm and relaxed. His mind wandered as his well practiced hands moved through the recipe. He imagined being here with you, making dinner together after a long day at the restaurant or curled up on the couch watching something on tv, how his arms would wrap around you and you’d lay your head on his chest. Little things filled his mind: going grocery shopping together, washing dishes, folding laundry, having coffee in the morning sitting in your couch and discussing vintage American icons. Sleeping beside you, feeling your skin against his, feeling your-

“Fuck!” The hot sear of the pan against Carmy’s hand snapped him out of his thoughts. You leapt to your feet, rushing over to him.

“Are you okay?!” You asked, grasping his hand in both of yours and guiding it under the stream of cold water. Truthfully, Carmy couldn’t even feel the burn. Not when your hands were on him. You cooed and tutted, closely inspecting his hand.

“I’m alright.” He assured you. You looked up at him and released his hand, much to Carmy’s dismay. You were close, the sink pressed against your back. If you took an extra deep breath your chest would brush against his. Carmy wasn’t particularly tall, but the way he looked down at you, his eyes dark and glued to yours, lips parted slightly, and his uninjured hand resting on the edge of the counter beside you, it felt like he towered over you.

“C-can I help?” You didn’t mean for your voice to come out as such a whisper, but you couldn’t help it. His proximity made you dizzy.

“No, no… it’s almost done.”

It felt like an eternity while you stared at each other. You forced yourself away, resuming your place at the table while your heart screamed at the four foot distance. The next few minutes passed in silence until Carmy set a warm bowl in front of you.

Your jaw dropped.

Carmy kicked the door to the alley open, flicking his lighter. He felt like he was going to explode. Richie’s constant bitching, the endless mess of the office and the kitchen, everything was fucked. It was fucked. Carmy ran a frantic hand through his hair. He couldn’t breathe. He took a few steps into the alley, fully intending on having a total meltdown until he heard it. A sniffle.

You sat with your back against the bricks, your head in your hands. “Hey,” Carmy tried to make his voice as gentle as he could. “Are you, um- are you okay?”

Carmy felt his heart drop out of his body when you turned your face to him. Your eyes were red and puffy, tears staining your cheeks. Shit. Shit shit shit. What had he done? How had he fucked this up already? What happened? Was it Richie? He’d kill him.

“I’m sorry, chef.” You said, wiping your face.

“Carmy.” He said, quickly. “Sorry um… just you can call me Carmy.”

You smiled softly, despite the tears in your eyes you were beautiful. “Carmy,” you tested it on your tongue. Carmy thought he’d explode hearing your sweet voice say his name. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying at work it’s just-” you choked up, averting your gaze and shamefully wiping your tears.

Carmy sank down to sit beside you, unsure. You sighed. “My mom uh… she’s kind of fucked up. And my brother keeps calling and screaming at me because he wants me to go home and take care of her but…” you shook your head. “I just can’t go back there, ya know?”

Carmy’s heart panged with empathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean…”

“It was so fucked up when I was a kid, though.” You stared up at the sky. “When I was 10, my mom would make carbonara every Wednesday. It was my favorite day of the week because I loved carbonara. When she started to get worse, I’d make it on Wednesdays just trying to hold onto it you know? I haven’t made it since I was a kid… I don’t know, I just… couldn’t bring myself to. I miss it though.”

Carmy let you vent but truthfully, he didn’t know what to say. It was a little too close to home for him. He just watched you. The sun on your face, the puffiness subsiding from your eyes. He looked down at the ground, worried he’d say something stupid if he kept staring at you. You sighed again. You turned your head to him with a soft smile on your lips. “Thank you for listening to me rant. It feels good to say it out loud.”

Carmy’s cheeks tingled as he met your gaze. He smiled in return, the anxiety that had driven him into the alley in the first place was a million miles away.

“Yeah, anytime.”

You stared at the bowl before you. A nest of creamy spaghetti, dusted with grated Parmesan, crispy pancetta, and vibrant green chives. You felt your throat grow tight, tears pricking at your eyes. Carmy settled in the chair across from you and you stared at him in disbelief. “Carbonara?”

Carmy was suddenly nervous. Had he overstepped? “You uh, you said you hadn’t had it in a while.”

Nothing could have prepared Carmy for the look on your face. Eyes wide at him and beaming with adoration. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words seemed to fall short so instead you lifted a forkful of the creamy noodles to your lips. You sighed with delight when it touched your tongue. “Oh my god…”

“Good?”

You nodded, vigorously. “That is the best carbonara I’ve ever had.” You shook your head with a chuckle as you continued to eat. “You’re so annoying.”

“What?” Carmy practically choked he was so confused.

You laughed again, the melodic sound easing his nerves. “You’re SO good at this. Better be careful or I’ll have to make you cook dinner every night.”

Carmy couldn’t think of anything he’d like more. The warmth in his chest was threatening to spill over as he gathered all his courage into one single word: “promise?”

Seeing Carmy outside of the restaurant already gave you butterflies, but having him in your apartment so close you could touch made your knees weak. You stood at the sink side by side washing the dishes from dinner. Your shoulders bumped every few seconds. You had just made Carmy laugh with your very strong opinions of John Lennon. You’d never heard him laugh like that before, so earnest and carefree. His shoulders seemed lighter, his eyes brighter. The stress of family and the restaurant was far behind both of you, kept out by your apartment door. You hummed, wishing this night could last forever.

“Yeah… me too.” Carmy was grinning at you, cheeks tinged red and bashful. Your eyes widened, had that been out loud?

“Sorry, I uh- I just mean um-” you looked shyly over to him. He was drying his hands, leaning against the counter with a pleased smile on his perfect lips.

“It’s okay,” he assured. Carmy stepped closer. The warmth in his chest was boiling over. He reached up slowly and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered against your cheek. “I like taking care of you too.”

[leggerefiore]

Hot Springs Getaway

cw: rambley, fluff, post game events, staying at an inn, difficult feelings

pairing: Cyrus/Reader

After everything came to an end – His plans falling through and his name being written down as a fool who attempted something spectacularly mad – Cyrus needed to get away. Galactic would survive under the watchful gaze of Saturn, and he simply could not bear the idea of remaining as it were amongst the masses. His arrest had only been narrowly avoided due to his connections.

A getaway… He found himself already having reservations and disappearing off from the face of the earth for a short while.

You, naturally, found yourself joining him as his partner. While there was certainly much to talk about in relation to his actions, you could see the obvious dread and uncertainty spiralling within him.

Before you stood a far more traditional building than you had expected for Cyrus's tastes. He stood at your side as you were both greeted by a staff member. They led you both to the entrance. The trek there brought the two of you through a garden that held your attention. Green was everywhere alongside mossy rocks and a gentle, flowing stream. Feet echoed against the stone of the walkway as the entrance came into sight. A glance at Cyrus made you see that his expression was stern as ever.

Sitting in the lobby as the room was readied, you were captured by the stunning ambience of a smaller garden. Cyrus drank a tea that had come complimentary while you enjoyed your own beverage. His mind seemed a million places away. It was no place to discuss anything, but your worry increased. He basically had hidden something so horrifying to you, but leaving him would render him alone. There was no simple way to handle this situation. Watching him, his gaze met your own. Nothing was said as a hostess called out to you both to escort you.

It was much like a maze to explore as she led you both to a small area and unlocked the door. A tour was provided of the rook and amenities before you two were left alone. Cyrus took a seat at the low table, glancing out the window at the private garden connected to the room. A small veranda led out to a connecting room with a bath in it. The room was divided up into small areas, of which you both were in the sitting room.

You sat across from him, feeling yourself lost for words. This place was certainly expensive… And exclusive, too. Only seventeen rooms altogether. It certainly was a place for lying low and getting away… If one could pay the fees. Cyrus certainly could. It was silently. You both seemed lost in your own worlds. Leaning forward, it felt odd how serene the place was. The natural finishing of the room, mixed with a traditional style, felt odd. Cyrus was not a very natural decor sort of person.

“… What is on your mind?” the silence was first broken by him, “Speak.” He shifted, clearly growing uncomfortable by the suit he wore. There was no enjoyment from you due to being spoken to more like his Houndoom than a person. Yet, finally, it felt like there was room to discuss what had truly been on your mind. Cyrus grew entirely dismayed as you shared your feelings about what he had done. Shock spread across that usually expressionless face. He glanced away, eyes drifting to the garden. A breath escaped him. Words would doubtlessly be unconvincing to the man. Nothing could make him doubt his decisions. He was more confident than that.

Though, it seemed that the idea of having stressed you out made him reconsider something. “I see…” his voice was barely above a whisper, “… There is nothing to further say. My plans have failed. It seemed that I am eternally trapped to this accursed world.” Your pout at his words silenced him. There really was no changing his mind about the world. You would not pretend to find it much better, but attempting to remake everything in an assumption the one knew best was simply hubris at its finest. He flinched when you stood up and walked away. Though, you only stepped back to change into the provided attire by the inn. Leaving the bedroom, you were greeted by Cyrus. His gaze was intense as he stepped in after you.

Sitting down, you turned on the television. Some awful daytime show was playing. You watched it with a certain level of apathy until Cyrus entered the room once more. The suit he wore previously was gone. A haori rested over the yukata. Your eyes tried not to drift to his chest. A perfect amount of skin was exposed. Biting your lip, you watched as he moved the floor seat to your side. A tablet came out as he tapped away on it – Likely still handling Galactic business. It never would truly leave him, either.

Really… A sigh left you.

It seemed things would continue as they always did, even in a place like this.

As the sun began to set, you found yourself showering in the small bathhouse. The warmth of the water settled into your skin just right as you rinsed away the lather of the soap. Turning off the shower head, you stepped into the bath to soak. The scent of the wooden basin made your mind go to an almost nostalgic place. You settled in with a sigh. Water poured over the sides and dripped down the flooring.

Your eyes closed. This really was what you needed after being interrogated by the International Police for so long. Apparently, it was completely unreasonable for you to have been unaware of Cyrus's plans. There had been no point. You were directly aware of that. Suspicious? Yes, of course. But… Had you known, you would have done more to have stopped him. The steam of the water fanned across your face.

The opening of the door caught your attention. Cyrus entered. He had a towel wrapped around his waist as he pulled out the stool you previously sat on to wash. Your attention was locked onto his body. The surprising muscle to his form always left you astonished. There was an expectation for something like malnourishment from how sunken his cheeks were… He washed quickly and efficiently before mimicking you in turning off the water.

The towel came off as he joined you in the tub. More water splashed over as he settled in. Your heart raced. The sound of the running spring water into the tub was quieter than the pounding of blood in your ears. He gazed at you before closing his eyes. Shoulders drooped with a breath leaving him. It seemed that he was relaxing. Somehow, you found yourself with no better intention than to join him.

The two of you sat in a private dining room as the food was served in a traditional set manner. Cyrus easily ate the food, astonishing you with how proper his skill was. Certainly, it had been far too easy to forget his upbringing. That same upbringing was likely part of why he had… You sucked in a breath and ate a piece of the vegetable array that had been served.

Silence permeated amongst you two. There felt as if a lack of words was a rule as it stood since earlier. The only thing breaking the quiet was the return of the server with the next part of the set. At the point of the meat dish being brought in and simmering in a broth. You finally broke it with a question about whether he was enjoying the food.

“… Of course,” he replied, “Though… I will admit to missing my usual beef bowl. Changes like this probably aren't bad…” No, you would agree. This food was wonderful. You struggled to think of something else to say as you both ate the rest of your meal.

Walking side by side, you both wander along a corridor under an awning. A maintained garden grew alongside the side, illuminated with a traditional lantern. Your arm locked with his own. The distant cry of Nincada left your wandering. He promised that he never had any intention of hurting you when you had confronted him. Everything had been kept a secret to protect you. It was sad. He could not even come to you when he needed someone the most. The idea that he wished to simply rid this world of spirit due to his horror was processing his life.

You both stopped to watch an Illumise and Volbeat float together. Somehow, your head found his shoulder. All you wanted was to be happy with Cyrus in life. A mumble about how pretty the sight was got a quiet agreement from him. You clung to his arm tighter. There was still hurt about what he did, but…

Really, you wanted to focus on getting him back to the world around him.

A beautiful place like this truly appeared to be your best option.

Back in the room, you changed into pyjamas and found yourself lying on the bed. It was unbelievably soft. The pillow felt just perfect. Your eyes drifted out the window to the private garden once more. It seemed the Ilumise and Volbeat had travelled over the wall into it. They fluttered around after each other.

The door slid open to the bedroom. Footsteps drifted towards you as the blanket was pulled back. A weight beside you told everything. Glancing to your right, you watched as he settled in. His gaze met yours once more. The hurt you had felt was gone almost entirely. Despite his complaints, you embraced him and buried your face into his chest. A sigh left him. You ignored it.

For now… He was all yours. You planned to take full advantage of that.

After all, he had booked a week stay.

[gullemec]

Invisible Smoke

Golden Ruin - Chapter One

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Six months after the destruction of CytoGenix, the Boys are back and better than ever. Well... for the most part.

Warnings: reader experiences a panic attack, discussions of PTSD/trauma, mild smut, angst, happily ever after isn't so happy :(

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.1k

A/N: Hello and welcome to Golden Cage's sequel series! This has been percolating in my mind since I finished writing Golden Cage (which, for context, was in summer 2024 lol). I'm so excited to pick up where we left off and see what these nerds get up to <3

You stroll down the sunlit sidewalk, your sneakers tapping a steady rhythm against the concrete.

The air hums with the familiar symphony of the city, the honking cabs and chatter of passerby and rumble of the subway beneath your feet like a chorus. Warm rays of light filter through the gaps between towering buildings, dappling your cheeks in fleeting patterns that feel almost like a blessing from the city itself.

A city that is finally starting to feel like home.

As you turn onto 5th Avenue, your gaze lifts instinctively, drawn to the familiar sight ahead. There it is. The Flatiron building, with its iconic triangular frame slicing sharply through the crystalline blue sky. It stands proud and defiant amidst the bustling world below, like the bow of a grand ship cutting through turbulent waters.

The sight is a balm, a touchstone amidst chaos. No matter how many times you walk this path, the comfort it brings never wanes. It’s more than just a building to you now, it’s a symbol. A reminder that in a world teetering on the edge of collapse, some things can still stand tall, steadfast, unshaken.

You weave through the sea of Manhattanites, dodging tourists with cameras and businesspeople glued to their phones. As you approach the Flatiron, you take a moment to admire its beauty and grandeur, the way it stands out against the myriad of skyscrapers and office buildings surrounding it. The city buzzes with its usual frenetic energy, but you’ve learned how to flow with it, like water finding its way around rocks.

You heave open the heavy front door and quickly rush up the stairs to your new office. 

After months of covert negotiations, Butcher had finagled the use of the abandoned Greywal & Co. Import & Export offices on the top floor, bartered as a perk of your group joining the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs as contractors. It's a marked improvement from your previous hideout, the grimy laundromat basement with leaking pipes and the lingering smell of detergent. You still wake up sometimes with phantom memories of that dark, damp space where everything in your life had started to unravel.

Pushing open the glass door to the office space, the faint creak of old hinges announces your arrival. Inside, the room is alive with the energy of preparation. Maps and photographs plaster the walls, red strings connecting points like veins in a pulsing network. Desks are buried under a mess of takeout cartons, coffee-stained papers, and gear waiting to be packed. Monitors hum softly, their screens glowing with encrypted data streams.

Sunlight filters through the arched windows, casting the space in a hazy golden glow that feels almost serene, if not for the tension crackling in the air like static.

The chatter dies instantly as all eyes snap to you.

Awesome. You’re late, again.

You raise a hand in apology, still slightly out of breath from your brisk walk. “Sorry, sorry! Came as soon as I got your text.”

Mallory’s eyebrow arches in that signature expression of disapproval that somehow stings worse than any verbal reprimand. Her silence weighs heavy in the room, a scolding in and of itself.

Butcher’s eyes meet yours across the room, his expression unreadable. He offers you a curt nod, which you return with a small smile. You round the corner of his desk and perch yourself on its edge. His presence is an anchor, steadying you against the rising tide of anxiety.

Mallory rises from her seat, and the air seems to shift. The room quiets further, everyone instinctively straightening as her commanding voice cuts through the stillness.

“We intercepted intel about a meeting at the Russian consulate tomorrow morning,” she begins, her tone clipped and precise. “Vought executives are holding a private session with Russian diplomats. No press. No fanfare. Just whispers.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeping the room, letting the weight of her words settle. “Whatever they’re planning, it’s big. We need ears in that room.”

A delicious tingle of anticipation races down your spine. Finally.

“How big we talkin’ here?” Butcher drawls, leaning back in his chair with the practiced ease of someone who’s seen far too much.

“This could tie into the superweapon rumors we’ve been tracking,” Mallory replies, her voice razor-sharp. “The overseas labs, the classified experiments… This meeting might give us the proof we need to shut it all down. We can’t afford to let this slip.”

You glance around the room, catching the flicker of renewed determination in everyone’s eyes. For months, the Boys have been chasing shadows, piecing together fragments of a puzzle no one seems able to solve. A superweapon, supposedly capable of destroying Homelander. An opportunity like this could blow it all wide open. 

Mallory’s gaze zeroes in on you, sharp and unyielding. “You and Hughie are on this.”

The spark of excitement sputters into an icy stab of dread.

“Wait, what?” Hughie blurts, his voice pitching upward. “You mean us? Like, sneaking into the consulate us? That’s… uh… not exactly my strong suit.”

“I’m not asking you to steal state secrets,” Mallory replies, her tone cutting. “You’re going in as caterers. Plant a recording device, listen in, and get out. Keep your heads down, and no one will notice you.”

“Right, because that always works out great for us…” Hughie mutters, earning a smirk from Frenchie.

You feel the familiar grip of doubt creeping up your spine. This is no small task. It’s the kind of mission where a single misstep could mean disaster. It’s been ages since the Boys had a lead this good, and Mallory wants you on this. Anxiety creeps in at the edges of your mind, that old familiar feeling of inadequacy paying you an unwelcome visit. Your father may be gone, but his presence left a permanent etching in your brain, a voice that tells you to make yourself small and to shrink away from a challenge. 

You shake it off. You refuse to let that voice win.

“We can do this,” you say, injecting steel into your voice. “No one’s going to suspect a couple of random caterers. I’ve been practicing. I can handle it.”

Butcher’s dark laugh cuts through the room, low and biting.

“Practicing, eh?” he sneers. “Need I remind you what happened the last time you and Hughie tried goin’ incognito? Love, this ain’t amateur hour. You’re walkin’ into a bloody nest of Vought execs who’d gut you the moment they sniff something’s off.”

Your stomach twists as memories flash. The acrid scent of burning metal, the heat at your back as Homelander’s laser eyes chased you out of the laboratory. The thrum of your heart in your chest as you practically dragged Hughie out of the building. The hours spent taking subway trains across town to shake your tail. 

But that was months ago. That was your first real mission. You’ve learned. You’ve grown. No one gets to underestimate you, not anymore. 

“I know what’s at stake,” you snap, meeting Butcher’s gaze head-on. “I’m not going to screw this up.”

His jaw tightens, concern flickering in his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you gettin’ mixed up in all of this. Your arm’s barely healed.”

You gape at him. “My cast has been off for months!”

“That don’t mean it’s healed!” he retorts, exasperated.

You know he's doing this out of concern, and you know he's seen enough shit in his time to know exactly how dangerous something like this could be. He’s seen more than his fair share of bloody messes and catastrophic endings to missions that went sideways. He knows just how quickly things can spiral, how one wrong move can turn a carefully laid plan into a disaster. But for all his cynicism, he also knows you, what you’ve been through, what you’ve survived, what you’re capable of now.

In the six months since your father’s body became a bomb, detonating CytoGenix Headquarters and reducing it to a smoldering pile of rubble, your condition has been rather… delicate. Concussions, fractured bones, months of physical therapy. Your body had taken a beating, and your mind hadn’t fared much better. But as soon as the cast came off and the doctor cleared you of the worst of it, you were ready to throw yourself back into the action. Ready to stop sitting on the sidelines and start making a difference again.

That was, of course, until you ventured out on your first mission post-explosion. It had been simple, low-stakes, meant to ease you back into things. But nothing is ever truly that simple for you, is it?

~~~

The warehouse loomed in the distance, its corrugated metal exterior streaked with rust and grime. You adjusted your binoculars, squinting through the rain-specked windshield of your car. From your vantage point, parked a block away, you had a clear view of the loading dock. Two men in coveralls were hauling crates onto a forklift, their movements unhurried.

Mallory’s intel had led you here, a warehouse allegedly housing contraband Compound V, tucked away in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. It wasn’t a complex mission. Snap photos of the crates, jot down delivery times, and get out before anyone so much as noticed your shadow.

Observe and report, Butcher had said. No heroics, no improvising. Simple, yeah?

His tone had been sharp, but there had been something else beneath it. A hesitation he hadn't quite managed to mask.

You’d nodded, eager to prove yourself. This was your first mission since the explosion at CytoGenix, since the weeks of recovery spent with a cast on your arm and a pounding ache in your skull. The approval from the doctor had been your ticket out of the purgatory of desk work and stakeouts. You were desperate for something real, no matter how small. 

This was your chance to show Mallory, Butcher, and the Boys, and yourself, that you could still do this.

Grabbing your camera, you slipped out of the car, staying low as you crept toward the chain-link fence. Rain pattered softly against your jacket, the cold seeping into your skin. You found a gap in the fence and ducked through, careful not to snag your clothes on the jagged edges.

The air near the warehouse smelled damp and metallic, tinged with the sweet scent of oil. You settled behind a stack of pallets, raising the camera to your eye. Through the lens, you could see the workers more clearly now, their faces obscured by hoods. One of them pried open a crate with a crowbar, revealing rows of glowing blue vials.

Bingo.

You snapped a few photos, your finger steady on the shutter. It felt good to be back in the field, to have a purpose again. You pressed the button on your earpiece. “Got visual confirmation. Looks like a couple hundred vials. Snapped a few shots.”

Butcher’s voice crackled in your ear. “Good. Keep eyes on ‘em. Let me know when they’re done unloading.”

“Roger that,” you murmured.

You were about to shift for a better angle when it happened.

A loud bang echoed from inside the warehouse, sharp and sudden. You flinched, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. It wasn’t a weapon, just a crate toppling over, but the noise slammed into you like a freight train.

Your breath hitched, your vision narrowing as the world around you dissolved. The damp chill of the rain vanished, replaced by searing heat. You were back in the stairwell at CytoGenix, the walls trembling with the force of the explosion. The acrid stench of burning plastic filled your nose. Your body hit the wall with a sickening crack, pain exploding in your skull. You could hear Monica’s screams, the chaos, the blaring alarm—

Your chest tightened, and you clawed at your jacket, desperate for air. The camera slipped from your hands, clattering to the ground. Somewhere in the distance, Butcher’s voice barked in your earpiece, but it was drowned out by the deafening roar of your heartbeat.

You stumbled backward, your legs giving way as you pressed yourself against the cold metal of a shipping container. The rain had soaked through your clothes, but you barely felt it.

Breathe, you told yourself. Just breathe. But the air wouldn’t come.

The earpiece crackled again. “Oi, talk to me. What’s going on?” Butcher’s voice was sharp now, threaded with concern. When you didn’t respond, he cursed under his breath.

You don’t know how much time you spent there, head between your knees, chest heaving, rain pelting your crumpled form, before heavy boots thudded against the ground nearby. You barely registered the figure crouching in front of you until his hand gripped your shoulder, firm and steady.

“Hey.” Butcher’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding. “Look at me.”

You blinked, your gaze snapping to his. His dark eyes were steady, pinning you in place. He moved his hand from your shoulder to your wrist, pressing it against his chest.

“Feel that?” he said. His heartbeat was slow and deliberate, a metronome against your racing pulse. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, yeah? Nice and slow. Come on.”

Your breaths were shallow and ragged, but you tried to match his rhythm. In, out. In, out. The pressure in your chest began to ease, the roaring in your ears fading to a dull hum.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “You’re alright. You’re here.”

The warehouse came back into focus. The rain dripping off the container, the distant rumble of a forklift. You were shaking, but the world had stopped spinning.

“I—” Your voice cracked, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Butcher cut you off, his grip tightening on your wrist. “Don’t start with that. This ain’t about being sorry. You’re human, yeah? You’ve been through hell. This shit’s gonna happen.”

He released your wrist, standing and extending a hand to you. “Now, come on. Let’s get you out of this pisshole.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the warehouse. “But the mission—”

“Forget the bloody mission,” he snapped. “We’ve got what we need. Right now, you’re my priority.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You took his hand, letting him haul you to your feet. His grip was firm, grounding.

As the two of you walked back to the van, Butcher kept a hand on your shoulder, a silent reassurance.

“You kept your head longer than most would’ve,” he said gruffly as you climbed into the passenger seat. “That takes guts. It’ll come back to you.”

His words stayed with you long after the mission, but so did the moment itself, the memory of panic and failure, the echo of your father’s voice whispering in the dark, reminding you of all the ways you didn’t measure up.

~~~

After that, Butcher made it his personal mission to keep you permanently benched. He relegated you to desk work, poring over files and surveillance footage, or staking out low-risk locations that barely required you to leave the van. At first, you told yourself it was temporary, that it was just his way of being cautious. But as the weeks turned into months, the frustration grew.

It wasn’t just about the boredom for you. It was the feeling of being underestimated, of having to prove yourself all over again. You’d fought tooth and nail to stand shoulder to shoulder with this team, to earn their trust and respect. And yet, here you were, still fighting the whispers of doubt, both theirs and your own.

But none of that matters right now. This mission is yours, and you’re not about to let anyone, least of all Butcher, doubt you again.

“She’ll be fine,” Frenchie interjects, breaking the tension with his usual easy charm. His warm smile crinkles the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. “Ma poupette has the brains for this. Just remember, roll with the punches, eh?”

You raise your eyebrows at Butcher, as if to say See?

Butcher doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he glances away. His silence says everything.

Mallory steps forward, her commanding presence cutting through the tension like a knife. Her voice is sharp and no-nonsense. “This is not a debate,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You two are handling this. This is very straightforward. Plant a listening device, get the intel, and get out.”

She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. “I’ll have a van on standby if things go sideways, but the goal is to keep this quiet. No one notices you, no one remembers you. Understand?”

Her piercing gaze lands on you, heavy with expectation. “I trust you can handle it,” she says, her tone softening just enough to let you know she means it.

A flicker of pride warms your chest, solidifying into determination. You nod, your chin lifting as you steel yourself for what’s ahead.

Mallory’s gaze shifts to Butcher, sharp as a blade. “But you need to trust each other. That’s the only way this works.”

Butcher exhales sharply, clearly biting back a retort. He glances at you, something unspoken passing between you, a grudging respect, maybe, or a flicker of belief he doesn’t know how to voice.

You turn to Hughie, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, his nerves written all over his face. But after a moment, he nods back at you, his lips curving into a weak but genuine smile.

In the months since Mallory’s return, you’d found yourself yearning for her approval with an intensity that surprised even you. Her presence cast a long shadow, and you were keenly aware of how she had sized you up on that first night in your apartment. The disapproval in her sharp gaze had been palpable, cutting deeper than you cared to admit. Could you blame her, though?

After years spent in the shadows, having walked away from the Supe-killing squad she’d built with blood and iron, Mallory had been dragged back into the fray. All because she’d heard whispers about the Boys regrouping, more recklessly than ever, in her view, and, worst of all, that they’d let you, the daughter of a Vought crony, into their ranks. If you were her, you’d probably have dragged yourself out of retirement, too.

Though the team had rallied around you, defending your place in the group with fervor, it hadn’t stopped the wildfire of doubt that had sparked in your chest from Mallory’s initial appraisal of you. You understood the value you’d brought in those early days. When CytoGenix was still standing, when your father was alive, when Monica was pulling the strings, you’d offered something no one else could: inside intel. You’d been a bridge to a world the Boys couldn’t otherwise touch.

But now?

With CytoGenix in ruins, Monica gone, and your father’s legacy reduced to nothing more than ash and regret, what did you have left to give? Sure, there was the six-figure inheritance, a hollow consolation prize if there ever was one, but it wasn’t as if money meant much in this line of work. Money wasn’t what this team needed, wasn’t what earned respect here. The voice of self-doubt, ever persistent, had made itself at home during those early months, whispering venom in your ear. 

You’re a liability. A loose end. They don’t need you anymore. You’ve outlived your usefulness.

Your teammates had tried to drown out that voice. Annie, now your closest friend, spoke about you like you hung the fucking moon. Frenchie, with his gentle reassurances, had told you time and again that you belonged. MM had treated you with the same quiet respect and faith he gave to everyone he trusted. Hughie, loyal to a fault, never wavered in his belief that you were part of the team. Even Kimiko, in her own way, had made it clear that she valued you.

And yet, in the still moments, when the adrenaline wore off, when the noise of missions and plans faded, you couldn’t help but wonder. What am I doing here? What do I bring to the table?

Everyone else had a clear role, a purpose that tethered them to the group. Butcher was the leader, the strategist, the one who saw the big picture even when it was dark and bloody. MM was the anchor, the meticulous planner who kept things running smoothly. Frenchie was the wildcard, a fixer with a knack for making the impossible possible. Kimiko was the muscle, the silent force of nature. Annie had her connections to Vought, her inside knowledge of the system they were trying to tear down. Even Hughie, awkward and unassuming as he could be, had carved out his place as the team’s moral compass.

And you?

What were you?

But now, you think, this is your moment. This is your chance to prove, not just to Mallory but to yourself, that you’re more than a liability or a loose end.

No more doubts. No more underestimations. No more living in the shadow of what you’ve lost.

As the meeting begins to wind down, Mallory’s orders echo in your mind. Her voice had been calm, clipped, and deliberate, leaving no room for questions. It left plenty of room for doubt, though. Across the room, you catch her watching you again, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression is as unreadable as ever, a mask of cool indifference that offers no clues. Still, there’s something in the slight tilt of her head, the narrow set of her eyes. Displeasure? Doubt? Maybe both.

The weight of her gaze feels heavier than it should, a silent challenge you can’t shake.

Your thoughts are interrupted as Butcher slides onto the desk beside you, the wood creaking under his weight. The casualness of the action is belied by the intensity in his expression. He leans in close, his voice low but gruff, tinged with an edge of warning.

“Listen,” he says, his dark eyes boring into yours. “I don’t give a toss what Mallory says. You get even a whiff of trouble, you pull the plug and get the hell out. Ain’t nothing in that room worth your neck, you hear me?”

The protective note in his tone catches you off guard, as it often does. Beneath the layers of cynicism, anger, and bravado that make up Butcher, there’s a thread of something softer, something he’ll never admit to. These rare moments of vulnerability always take you by surprise, a glimpse of the man beneath the scars. Normally, you’d relish it, store it away like a secret. But this time, it feels tainted.

Tainted by Mallory’s gaze, still burning a hole into your back. Tainted by the ever-present question of whether you even deserve to be here, let alone trusted with this mission.Tainted by the way his desire to protect you feels inhibiting.

You nod, though the knot in your chest tightens. Your eyes flicker back to Mallory, who hasn’t moved, her stance as rigid as her judgment. Is it disapproval that’s carved into her features? Or is it concern? The two blur together in your mind, indistinguishable from the spotlight of her scrutiny.

“I hear you,” you say, turning back to Butcher. Your voice is steadier than you feel, the words forced past the lump in your throat. “But I’ve got this.”

Butcher lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Right,” he mutters, his tone teetering between skepticism and reluctant admiration. “Guess we’ll see.”

For a moment, the air between you feels heavy with unspoken words. There’s something he wants to say, something more than the gruff warnings and the veiled concern. But he doesn’t, and you know he won’t. That’s not who Butcher is.

As the others begin to filter out, the tension in the room doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a stubborn fog. Mallory remains rooted in place, her gaze unwavering, as though she’s waiting for something. For you to crack, perhaps, or to prove you’re worth the risk she’s taking.

You take a breath and straighten your shoulders, forcing the tension out of your body. It’s an effort to lift your chin and meet her eyes, but you do. You hold her gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of her scrutiny. You know what she sees when she looks at you. A wild card, a question mark, someone with everything to prove and too much to lose.

But you won’t falter. Not this time.

This is your moment. Your chance to silence the doubts. Hers, Butcher’s, and most importantly, your own.

This time, you’ll prove you belong.

~~~

The faint smell of garlic and onions hit your nose as you step into your kitchen, the sizzle of oil in the pan filling the otherwise quiet apartment. Butcher stands by the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder like he owns the place.

You lean against the doorway, watching him work. It’s strange, seeing him like this. The man who’d faced down Supes without a second thought, who carried enough emotional baggage to rival the Titanic, now stood in your kitchen, cooking pasta like some scene out of a rom-com.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” you tease, folding your arms across your chest.

Butcher doesn’t look up, but a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t look so shocked. I ain’t completely useless, y’know.”

“I think Frenchie’s the one who usually takes over the kitchen,” you say, stepping closer and glancing at the array of ingredients he’d gathered. Garlic bread, a fresh block of Parmesan, and… is that basil? “But this? This is impressive. I might let you stick around.”

“Generous of you,” he mutters, though there was a warmth in his tone.

You grab a glass from the cabinet and pour yourself some wine, the familiar hum of domesticity wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. The scene feels so out of place. Butcher standing in your kitchen, the two of you sharing a quiet evening after the intensity of Mallory’s briefing. It’s almost too peaceful, too fragile, as if the world outside these walls doesn't exist.

“How long has it been since you cooked for someone?” you ask, leaning on the counter beside him.

He gives a short laugh, but it lacks any real humor. “Long enough. Don’t keep count, love. What about you? Last meal you had that wasn’t takeout?”

You shrug. “Probably the last time Frenchie decided to experiment with some weird fusion dish. Couldn’t even tell you what it was, but it was damn good.”

He turns off the burner, drains the pasta, and starts plating. The silence stretches as you watch him, the usual guardedness in his expression softening just enough to make you wonder what’s going on in his head.

“Thanks for this,” you say quietly, gesturing to the meal.

He hands you a plate and nods toward the table. “Yeah, well. Figured you could use a proper meal before the big day.”

Ah, there it is. The tension that’s been simmering since the briefing.

You sit down across from him, swirling the pasta on your fork. “You’re worried.”

He doesn’t answer right away, focusing instead on his own plate. Finally, he leans back in his chair, fixing you with a look that’s equal parts exasperation and concern. “Damn right, I’m worried. This gig’s a bloody powder keg, and you’re walking straight into it.”

“I can handle it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ve been waiting for something like this. A chance to prove I’m not just—”

“Not just what?” he interrupts, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Not just dead weight. Not just some liability Mallory’s tolerating because of what I used to know.

“Nothing,” you mutter, looking away. “I just mean I’m ready. My arm’s fine, my head’s fine, and I’ve been practicing my breathing. I know what I’m doing.”

Butcher lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re fine, yeah. But this ain’t the same as sneakin’ round some empty warehouse or trailing some low-level Supe. One wrong move tomorrow, and you’re dead. Or worse.”

“Worse?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what they’d do if they caught you. Vought don’t play fair, love. Never have.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, but you square your shoulders. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not an idiot, Butcher. Did you already forget everything I did to stop Vought from getting V2? You don’t get to keep sidelining me just because you’re scared I might—”

“Because I care about you?” The words burst out of him, sharp and raw.

You blink, startled into silence.

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I’ve seen enough people I care about end up in the ground. I ain’t gonna let that happen to you.”

Your chest tightens, frustration bubbling up. “So what? You’re just gonna wrap me in bubble wrap and keep me locked up in the van while everyone else takes risks? That’s not fair, Butcher. I’m part of this team, whether you like it or not.”

“I do like it,” he shoots back, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “I do. You just… You scare the shit out of me, is all.”

“Okay,” you sigh, annoyance heavy in your voice. “Just… keep it to yourself. I don’t need you psyching me out.”

The air between you is heavy, charged with the weight of everything unsaid.

The silence stretches as you eat, both of you locked in a stalemate neither of you wanted to win. Finally, he stands, picking up the empty plates and carrying them to the sink. His back is to you, his shoulders tense.

“Look,” he says, his voice low, ���I know you want to prove yourself. And maybe you’re ready. But you’ll forgive me if I ain’t in a rush to see you get yourself killed.”

You stand, walking up behind him but stopping short of touching him. “I’m not going to die, Butcher. I’ve got too much to live for.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “You better.”

When you fall into bed together later, Butcher moves with a deliberate tenderness that takes your breath away. There’s no rush in the way he touches you at first, no sharp edges to his usual brusque demeanor. His calloused hands skim your skin like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every scar, every part of you that makes you who you are. Each touch carries a message, unspoken but crystal clear. You’re all I think about.

His hands settle on your hips, strong but careful, pulling you closer as though the mere idea of distance between you is unbearable. When he holds you in his arms, every knot of tension in your body begins to unwind. There’s no room for doubt, no space to overthink the unanswered questions or the simmering tension that has been building between you for months. In his embrace, you hear the words he’s too guarded to say. I’ll keep you safe. It’s all I can do.

At first, his movements are slow and steady, as though he’s afraid to break you. His lips graze your collarbone, lingering there with a reverence that almost undoes you. His gaze locks on yours, dark and searching, and for a moment, you swear he’s looking right into your soul. Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips across your skin is a vow, a reassurance. You’re here. You’re mine.

But then something shifts. What starts as gentleness deepens into urgency, his movements growing frantic, almost desperate. His breathing becomes heavier, his grip tighter, as though holding you isn’t enough, he needs to anchor himself in you, to feel you in every way possible. There’s a plea in the way his lips press harder against yours, a tremor in the way he whispers your name, hoarse and unsteady. Don’t leave me.

His eyes meet yours again, and this time they’re blazing with something raw, something unguarded. It’s as though every wall he’s built around himself has come crashing down, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a way that Butcher rarely allows himself to be. What he can’t bring himself to put into words, he pours into his touch, his kiss, the way his body moves against yours. Every pull, every grasp, every shuddering breath screams what he can’t say aloud. Mine. Mine. Mine.

And yet, there’s no possessiveness in it, no trace of dominance. It’s need. Pure, aching need. The need to protect, to keep you close, to show you just how much you mean to him, in the only way he knows how. In his arms, you don’t feel claimed or conquered; you feel seen, cherished, adored. His actions speak louder than any declaration ever could, telling you everything he keeps locked behind his gruff exterior. You’re the only thing in this godforsaken world that I can’t lose.

By the time you collapse together, tangled and breathless, his arms wrap around you with a firmness that feels like a promise. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

For a long while, neither of you says a word. 

Maybe you don’t need to. 

~~~

The air inside the office feels heavier at night. The soft hum of the city seeps through the windows, but the sharp glow of the desk lamp casts an artificial stillness over the room. Mallory sits behind the desk, papers meticulously stacked in front of her, a pen twirling absentmindedly between her fingers. 

You have a thick manila envelope tucked under your arm, stuffed with building schematics for the Russian consulate, profiles on the delegates Mallory expects to be present, and clear instructions on when and where to place the bugs. Hell, she even included the catering menus in case either of you were stopped and asked questions about the food. She’s being thorough, but it only serves to increase your apprehension. She wouldn’t be going this far if this mission’s success wasn’t absolutely crucial.

Mallory begins to gather up the papers on her desk. “You’ve got the details. You and Hughie should run through them a few more times tonight. You only get one shot at this, and I don’t need to remind you what’s at stake.”

You glance around, expecting Hughie to walk in any moment. “So... where’s Hughie? I thought we were going over the plan together.”

Mallory doesn’t look up immediately, her pen pausing mid-spin. Then she meets your gaze, her expression unreadable but edged with purpose. “I didn’t invite Hughie.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? Why?”

“Because that’s not the only reason I wanted to talk to you,” she says, her voice even.

You tilt your head, folding your arms as curiosity flickers to life. “Alright. What’s this about, then?”

She sets the pen down deliberately, her focus now fully on you. “It’s about Butcher.”

The name lands like a stone in your stomach. You try to keep your voice steady. “What about him?”

Mallory leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk. Her eyes harden, not with anger, but with something sharper. Concern wrapped in steel. “He’s dangerous. You know that, don’t you? He’s a man willing to burn the world down to protect the people he loves. And he’ll burn himself down, too, if it comes to it. You know what he did after Becca died.”

Your jaw tightens instinctively. “Butcher’s been through hell. I don’t think anyone here can blame him for the choices he made after that. The choices you gave him.”

Mallory exhales deeply, leaning back in her chair as if to give you space to process her words. “I’m not blaming him. I’m warning you. That man has a black hole where his sense of self-preservation should be. And if you get too close, you’ll get pulled into it. Just... be careful.”

Her words hang in the air, tightening around you like a noose. You shift on your feet, crossing your arms tighter as a defensive barrier. “Why are you telling me this?”

Mallory’s gaze softens ever so slightly, though her tone remains firm. “Because I don’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions if anything were to happen to you.”

“It’s not like that between us,” you reply quickly, the words coming out more defensive than you’d intended.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Isn’t it? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I mean... we care about each other, sure. But he doesn’t—he doesn’t love me.”

Mallory’s lips press into a thin line, her expression unreadable. “William Butcher is not the most... eloquent man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t always know how to express his feelings. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them. But feelings or not, you deserve to know where you stand. Especially if you’re going to stick around for this fight. Because if he won’t protect you the way you deserve, you’ll have to protect yourself.”

You glance away, her words striking a nerve you hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

“Alright,” you mutter, more to break the silence than to agree with her. “Thanks for the advice, Mallory.”

Her voice stops you as you turn to leave. “Just remember, Butcher doesn’t stop. Not until he’s got what he wants. And sometimes, that’s the most dangerous kind of love.”

You don’t look back. The words follow you anyway, clinging to you as you walk out into the night.

~~~

The night feels unusually quiet, the soft hum of the city muffled by the walls of your apartment. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the faint reflection of yourself in the window, the lights of the city glittering in the distance. Mallory’s words echo in your mind, relentless and insistent.

He’s dangerous. That man has a black hole where his sense of self-preservation should be, and if you get too close, you’ll get pulled into it. 

You exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair as you turn the thought over and over in your mind. You’ve always known Butcher was complicated, that he was damaged in ways you may never fully understand. But isn’t that part of what drew you to him? 

He’s fiercely loyal, to the point of self-destruction. He would do anything for the people he cares about, throw himself into danger without hesitation, take on battles that seem impossible, all because he refuses to let anyone else suffer if he can help it. There’s something magnetic about that kind of conviction, something that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in years. And when Butcher sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. That determination, that fire, it’s intoxicating to be around. It makes you believe he could conquer anything, even the impossible.

But now you see how those same qualities twist in the wrong light. That loyalty turning into obsession, that willingness to protect becoming vengeance. The single-minded determination you once admired, is now a blade that cuts through everything in its path, leaving those closest to him bleeding in its wake. How many people has he hurt without even realizing it? How many more will he hurt if he keeps barreling down this road, blinded by the need for revenge?

You think about the destruction he leaves behind, how he carries that chaos like a storm cloud over his head, and how sometimes, standing next to him, you feel like you’re drowning in it.

And yet, there’s another side to him. A side you don’t think anyone else has seen in a very long time. The way he softens when it’s just the two of you, the way his voice loses its edge, the way he looks at you like you’re the one thing in the world that doesn’t hurt him. You’ve caught glimpses of the man beneath the armor in the gentle way he brushes your hair out of your face, the rare moments of vulnerability when he lets his guard down and tells you things you know he’s never told anyone else.

It’s that softness that keeps you here, keeps you tethered to him despite everything. You know how long it’s been since anyone has seen that side of him. You know how much it took for him to let you in, even just a little. And it feels good—God, it feels so good—to be the one person who gets to see him like that.

But then doubt creeps in, insidious and familiar, a voice whispering in the back of your mind. Is it enough? Is this enough?

You wonder if you’re fooling yourself, if you’re clinging to the idea of what your relationship could be instead of what it actually is. You think of Becca, the shadow she casts over everything, and you can’t help but ask yourself… Am I just filling a void that he doesn’t know how to let go of?

Your chest tightens at the thought. You don’t know where you stand with him, and truthfully, you never have. You’ve never defined what this is between you, never talked about it, never said I love you. And maybe that’s because he doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe he doesn’t know how to feel that way about anyone anymore.

The worst part is, you’re not sure you’d blame him if that were true. He’s been through so much, lost so much, and you know how hard it is for him to let himself care about anything at all. 

It doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.

You bury your face in your hands, Mallory’s words haunting you again. You deserve to know where you stand. Because if he won’t protect you the way you deserve, you’ll have to protect yourself.

You can’t tell if you’re more scared of losing him or of admitting that maybe you already have. Maybe you never really had him to begin with.

The thought settles like a weight in your chest. For the first time, you find yourself wondering if you made a mistake, if involving yourself with someone like Butcher was always destined to end this way. And as the doubt swirls and tightens around you, the question that lingers in your mind feels like it has no answer.

Do I stay? Or do I walk away before I lose myself completely?

I will have a taglist for this series, just lmk if you want to be added :)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bloomberg: The Second Trump Presidency, Brought to You by Right-Leaning Male YouTubers

Davey Alba, Leon Yin, Julia Love, Ashley Carman, Priyanjana Bengani, Rachael Dottle, and Elena Mejía at Bloomberg:

As Donald Trump was sworn in as the 47th US President on Monday, he was surrounded by his family, donors and wealthy tech executives. Just a few feet farther away stood a political newcomer who’s been credited with encouraging lots of votes: Joe Rogan. The fact that Rogan, the host of the world’s most popular podcast, watched from the Capitol Rotunda as Republican luminaries like Florida Governor Ron DeSantis were confined to overflow speaks volumes about the new dynamics at play in Washington and the media writ large. Over the past two years, a set of massively popular podcasters and streamers cemented themselves as the new mainstream source of information for millions of young men, and, according to a new Bloomberg analysis, used their perch to rally these constituents in support of Trump and the political right.

In an effort to understand the media diet of a generation, Bloomberg watched and analyzed over 2,000 videos from nine prominent YouTubers. Reporters reviewed nearly 1,300 hours of footage from their channels, mapped out the podcasters’ guest networks and quantified the frequency of key political messages that they distributed to tens of millions of subscribers each day. To hear them tell it, America is in a desperate place, destabilized by soaring inflation, migrants streaming across the border and the beginnings of a third world war. Gender politics have gotten out of hand while schools and the medical establishment duped the public. The same messages were communicated in Trump’s inaugural address on Monday. Now that Trump is back in power, the broadcasters are well-positioned to help build support for his political agenda, transforming grievances into policy that could have lasting effects even beyond Trump’s term in office.

In the months leading up to election, hosts had more politicians and pundits on their shows and discussed the issues more frequently. Of the broadcasters’ videos that reached over 1 million views on YouTube during the time span Bloomberg reviewed, more than a third of videos mentioned voting or the US elections — often with the host explicitly calling on listeners to vote. None of the broadcasters style themselves as political pundits, and their conservative talking points were sandwiched between free-wheeling discussions of sports, masculinity, internet culture, gambling and pranks — making the rhetoric more palatable to an apolitical audience. Still, their popularity is sparking a “very big sea change in terms of who are the voices that matter,” Mark Zuckerberg, Meta Platforms Inc. chief executive officer, said in a conversation with Rogan published Jan. 10. “There’s this wholesale generational shift in who are the people who are being listened to.”

According to Edison Research, close to 50% of people over the age of 12 listen to a podcast monthly. Rogan’s three-hour interview with Trump in late October drew about 50 million views on YouTube. Zuckerberg, for his part, recently loosened Meta’s policies on Facebook and Instagram to allow more of the type of rhetoric that’s common among the podcasters, such as disparagement of transgender people. He added Ultimate Fighting Championship CEO Dana White, who encouraged Trump to join as a guest on such podcasts, to Meta’s board. Elon Musk, the owner of X, has made product changes to allow longer video streaming, in support of podcasters — and joined several as a guest himself. Google, meanwhile, wants to work through some Republican perceptions of its liberal bias and show that YouTube has already long been popular with conservatives, according to a person familiar with the company’s thinking. Over the weekend before the inauguration, many of the podcasters were coveted guests at parties hosted by YouTube, Spotify and other organizations. YouTube declined to comment. Spotify said “podcasts offer candidates a direct and influential way to engage with their audiences,” noting that both Trump and Democratic rival Kamala Harris took advantage of the medium. With the podcasters’ audiences skewing about 80% male on average, according to people familiar with the shows’ listener demographics, the hosts connected directly to a voting bloc that helped propel Trump back to the White House. Of the 903 podcast guests tracked by Bloomberg in the past two years, only 106 people, or 12 percent, were women. Men, and particularly white men, have long made up Trump’s core support base. But in November’s election, young men swung especially hard to the right. More than half of men under 30 supported Trump, according to the AP VoteCast survey of more than 120,000 voters, though outgoing President Joe Biden won the group in 2020. Exit polls have shown that Trump received more support from young men than any Republican candidate in more than two decades.

“We definitely helped with the young male vote,” Kyle Forgeard, a member of the Nelk Boys, said in an interview. “On the podcast, we just speak our mind, try to be true to ourselves and say what we think.” Above all, the broadcasters described American men as victims of a Democratic campaign to strip them of their power — a comforting message to a disspirited audience. These days, young men are lonelier than ever, with those aged 18 to 23 the least optimistic about their futures, and having the lowest levels of social support, according to Equimundo’s 2023 State of American Men report. Trump and his allies showed up for young men in the places where they were already spending their time — and supplied them with answers.

[...] The male-oriented podcasts tracked by Bloomberg each have their own style of show. Theo Von often discusses substance abuse issues and childhood experiences with his interviewees, while Lex Fridman focuses on expert opinions and tech topics. Shawn Ryan chats with people associated with military and law enforcement, saying he exposes the inner workings of the US government. Logan Paul, the Nelk Boys and Adin Ross tend to focus on humor, sports, pranks and creator drama. Of the programs reviewed, The Joe Rogan Experience, Flagrant by Andrew Schulz and The PBD Podcast by Patrick Bet-David follow the most typical host-and-interview talk show format, discussing news and popular culture, all while challenging political correctness. The hosts largely do not push back against their guests’ ideas. Von, Rogan and Schulz are also comedians, and they often recast controversial content as edgy humor. Yet even as the podcasts have tried to brand themselves uniquely, similar themes and characters appear across the network. Bloomberg’s analysis of 2,002 episodes across the shows reveals how closely interconnected the podcasters’ relationships are, and how much the shows’ talking points overlap. Over the past two years, 152 guests made an appearance on at least two of the shows. Recurring characters are common, not just as guests, but as “friends of the shows,” including the UFC CEO White and comedian Shane Gillis. The effect gives viewers a sense of being inducted into a virtual, close-knit friend group from home.

Read the full story at Bloomberg.

Bloomberg reports on how 9 male YouTubers that have a mostly right-leaning audience, such as Joe Rogan, Logan Paul, Patrick Bet-David, and Nelk Boys, helped push young male voters toward Donald Trump this recent election.

[honey-crypt]

NOW OR NEVER — sam (sdv) x reader

media: stardew valley

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of war

requested by: @luxurylives

summary: sam seeks support from his crush, farmer (y/n), after they overhear a family spat. yet, a proposal from flirty part-time bartender masahi has sam in a tailspin, as he’s forced to grapple with confessing his feelings to (y/n). 

author’s note: my first fic since revitalizing my fanfic writing career! hope you all enjoy :)

“Sam, please,” the desperation in Jodi’s voice was evident. She grasped onto her husband Kent’s arm, the soldier staring down his son blankly. Sam, lacking his usual cheerful disposition, stood across from them with arms crossed.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice was low, almost a growl. Jodi averted her gaze, her grip on Kent’s arm tightening. In an effort to reassure his wife, Kent began to rub her back tenderly while moving forward with the discussion, “Son, I know this is going to be a hard change but it’s necessary.”

“What’s necessary? The fact that we gotta lose you again to the fucking military, huh?” the skater spat venom at his father, “That we’ve only had you back for one year and all of a sudden, you’re called back to the front lines!”

“That’s sadly a fact of life,” answered Kent. A small sob escaped Jodi’s lips and Kent pulled her into his chest, soothing her while she cried. Sam balled up his fists, feeling his cheeks redden from the heat of the summer and the heat of the revelation. Without a second thought, the blond stormed outside, the door slamming behind him and muffling Jodi’s wails.

“Yoba, Yoba fucking…” he began to curse at the All Mighty, enraged at the creator’s cruelty. Yet, before he could utter another blasphemous word, a familiar face greeted him before the front entrance, “Sammie?”

His flames of rage quickly fizzled out at the sight of (Y/N), the ever so kindhearted farmer. They cast their eyes down to the ground, adjusting their grip on their wicker basket, “I’m sorry. I was stopping by to deliver your mom her tomatoes and I, well…” they cleared their voice, “I’m sorry, but I overheard everything.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh and combed his hands through his messy spikes, “Everything?”

“Yeah, everything,” the farmer reiterated.

“You can just… You should just leave them on the step. I’m sure my mom will get them in a second,” Sam stepped off the entrance floor mat, an image of a happy-go-fish with the words “Welcome to Our Home!” featured on it. (Y/N) gently set the basket of tomatoes on the mat and positioned them in just the right way so they remained under the roof’s shade. Sam walked a few feet forward, taking in the whooshing of the stream before him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” the farmer offered, staring at Sam with those pretty eyes he always admired.

“About my dad?”

“Yeah, or anything else that’s on your mind.”

Sam cracked a smile, the first one of his day, “Well, only ‘cuz I trust you,” he plopped down on the grass in front of the stream. The blond patted the space beside him and (Y/N) joined him, the pair admiring the water.

“They want my dad back in the war.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. I kinda,” the skater hugged his knees to his chest, “I kinda didn’t have a chance before I lost it on Mom and Dad.”

(Y/N) offered Sam a sympathetic smile, holding out their hand for a moment. Sam grew flushed at the gesture but took the farmer’s hand, nonetheless. (Y/N)’s hand was surprisingly soft for someone doing hard labor year-round. Yet, they had a few callouses, just like the ones he got from guitar practice.

“He was a PoW. You’d think he would be exempted from having to go through that hell again but… I guess not.”

“It’s not fair,” the farmer mused, “You just got him back, less than a year ago!”

“That’s what I was saying!” exclaimed Sam, squeezing (Y/N)’s hand. The two locked eyes for a moment but Sam turned away, still holding on tight to their hand. A welcoming warmth filled his chest while he held the farmer’s hand, as memories of the past year flooded his mind. The late nights at the saloon, the banter at the festivals, the rainy days spent in his room together, every moment with (Y/N) filled Sam up with an indescribable sense of peace.

“I’ll always be here if you need anything, Sammie. I promise, okay?” the farmer’s words brought the blond back to reality.

“I appreciate that,” Sam replied with a small smile. He loosened his grasp on (Y/N)’s hand and soon confronted the emptiness that followed. (Y/N) leaned forward and grinned, they always had such a beautiful smile.

“(Y/N), I gotta ask—”

A sudden beep beep! cut Sam off, as a handsome man with slick honey blond hair waved to (Y/N) from his even more slick convertible, “(Y/N)! Sweets! There you are!”

(Y/N) blinked in surprise before pushing themself off the ground and dusting off their overalls, “Oh, Masahi, I didn’t think you would be bartending tonight at the saloon!”

“Because I’m not, darling,” the obnoxiously flirtatious and annoying man (at least to Sam) explained, “I’m in this part of the woods looking for you.”

“For me?” the farmer questioned, wiping a bead of sweat off their dirt caked forehead.

“Yes, you, silly!” Masahi chuckled, “I want to take you out to see an old friend of myself, I remember you mentioning how much you love her music.”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped in astonishment, “Masahi, are you serious?!”

“Yes, sweets, I’m serious. KiKi Kiwi is playing at the Juicer… tonight,” the bartender could barely hold back that ultra white pearly smile of his, earning a not-so-subtle glare from Sam, “So what do you say? Wanna be my plus one?”

“Oh, well…” (Y/N) eyed Sam, a small frown on their lips, “You’re going through it, though, Sammie. Do you need me for tonight?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, as he ping-ponged his focus between the concerned farmer and the cheeky bartender. Should I tell them that I need them tonight?

“No, it’s okay,” the skater plastered on a smile, “I know how much you love Kiki Kiwi, stink,” the farmer snorted at the nickname Sam bestowed upon them early in their friendship, “Just promise me that you’ll get me a shirt of hers?”

“I pinky promise!” the farmer shouted jubilantly. The two of them sealed the promise and Sam waved (Y/N) off, as they hopped in the convertible with Masahi. With a cocky smile gracing his lips, Masahi gave Sam a wink, “Later, Sammie!” drove off with (Y/N) in tote.

Once they were out of earshot, Sam kicked a nearby rock to unleash his anger, only to end up grunting in pain because of how sharp said rock was. Defeated, Sam collapsed on the grassy dip by the stream and huffed, staring up at the pinkish orange sky.

“I’m such a loser.”

—————

“And you just… let them go? Just like that?” Abigail hummed aloud, “Seriously? Just like that? Are you kidding me?”

Sam swatted at the pestering purple haired goth, as he laid sprawled about Sebastian’s couch. The aforementioned owner of the couch peered over his desktop to add on, “She’s right. You basically blew your chance.”

“Okay, okay! I did not basically blow my chance!” the skater countered, “I wasn’t gonna let them miss out on their chance to see their all-time favorite musician in the whole wide universe. What kinda friend would I be if I did?”

“A boyfriend, not a friend,” commented Abigail, who promptly received a flick to the forehead by Sam, “Hey!”

“Stop being a dick to me,” the blond grumbled, “I already got enough on my plate.”

Abigail frowned, “Sorry,” and added on, “I’m sure things will be fine, though. Masahi isn’t really (Y/N)’s type.”

Sam’s ears perked up like a puppy dog, “Huh, what? He isn’t?” which earned him a pair of chuckles from both Abigail and Sebastian.

“I don’t think (Y/N) really has a type,” the purple-haired girl continued, “I mean, they never really expressed any indication of a type to me. Hell, I’m not even that sure if they like men or not.”

“Oh,” the disappointment in Sam’s voice was evident but upon noticing the goths’ questioning stares, he backpedalled, “I mean, I mean liking girls is cool! People, regardless of junk and stuff, are cool!”

“And during Pride Month,” mumbled Sebastian with a mischievous scoff.

“And during Pride Month,” Abigail repeated in a similarly teasing manner.

Sam buried his face in his hands, “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured, “I probably did blow my chance,” the idea of (Y/N) being with Masahi in that way filled Sam’s stomach up in explosive balloons of acid, ready to pop from the slightest movement. His mind began to spiral, as Sam recounted each and every supposedly “intimate” moment he witnessed (Y/N) in by mistake.

That time he saw them and Elliott merrily drinking together at the saloon, the way the drunken ginger swung his arm haphazardly around their shoulder.

That time he saw them and Alex tossing the gridball around, the way the human equivalent of a protein shake grazed his hand against theirs when trying to retrieve the misplaced ball.

Yoba, even the times he saw them exchange giggles with Harvey and Shane!

The jealousy continued to rise and rise until Sam could

“I mean,” Sebastian’s voice drifted off with the echo of mouse clicks following behind, “Kiki Kiwi is performing at the Juicer in about an hour. If you make yourself presentable, I could drive you up there in a bit.”

The speed at which Sam went from zero to hero in his appearance was simply a miracle. Neither Sebastian nor Abigail had ever witnessed such a feat, as Sam returned with an outfit fit for a rooftop club scene; he sported a nearly all-black look that one might have confused him for Sebastian if it had not been for his spiky blond hair and the dash of color in his red Converse sneakers.

“That was quick,” answered Sebastian.

“Good luck, lover boy!” Abigail ushered the boys a farewell, as Sam held onto Sebastian’s back for dear life. The roar of the motorcycle rang through Sam’s ears, as a darkening skyline greeted them on the road towards ZuZu City.

Gaining entry to The Juicer appeared to be a daunting task, as a line of rabid Kiki Kiwi fans and club regulars nearly took up the whole block outside the club. Sam felt the vibrations of the opening act’s music pulsate through the ground beneath his feet. He eyed Sebastian for support, unsure how to proceed.

“Oh my God, is that you Sebby?”

Sam and Sebastian directed their attention to the voice calling out, the veiny bouncer guarding the door to The Juicer. Sebastian stared down the bouncer, his brain trying to process if the bouncer was speaking to him or another Sebastian, “Uhh…”

“This is crazy, it’s totally you!” the bouncer proclaimed, as he let a few attendees inside, “It’s me, Lily- well, I’m Liam now but we went to high school together!”

“Oh! Lil- Liam!” replied Sebastian. He gave Sam a subtle nod and walked up to the bouncer to chat, “Wow, man, you’re really jacked now, huh?”

With the bouncer occupied, Sam seized the moment to slip into the crowd of club-goers entering the establishment. Through a series of bumping into people and trying not to slam his face into a wall, Sam managed his way to the top of the building, music’s deep bass bouncing off all surfaces of the club. The skater maneuvered his way through the crowd of dancing drunks and couples displaying PDA that bordered the line of bedroom-only activities, his mind set on finding (Y/N). He tried to shout for them, but the music was too loud for anyone to hear anything else.

It felt like hours before Sam eventually found (Y/N) near the VIP area, the farmer happily chatting with a woman clad in neon green. Masahi stood behind (Y/N) with an almost wounded expression on his face, not able to get a word in; Sam had to suppress the grin trying to form on his face at the sight.

“(Y/N)!” shouted Sam. The farmer paused their conversation and whipped their head around, eyes landing on Sam, “Sammie? How did you- What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Masahi repeated, eyebrows quirked and arms crossed.

“Hi, I’m sorry, it’s a long story but can I please borrow you for just one second?” he pleaded with (Y/N), “I promise, it will only be for one second,” Sam added on for good measure.

(Y/N) exchanged glances between Sam and the woman in green, the latter of which flashed them a smile, “I’m sure we can resume our little chat after, dear. I should be prepping my voice right about now.”

(Y/N) returned the smile, “Okay! If not, it has been a huge honor talking with you!”

The woman in green waved the farmer off, the screams of excited club attendees filling the air while she walked towards backstage. With the woman, presumably Kiki Kiwi, gone, (Y/N) turned her attention to Masahi and stated, “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to hear Sam out real quick!”

Masahi gave the farmer a firm nod, “Yes, of course. I’ll be waiting,” he glared down at Sam while the skater waltzed off with (Y/N) in possession. Finding the most private area possible, that being behind the crumbling walls of the bathrooms, Sam released his guiding grasp on the farmer, “Thank you for giving me this moment.”

“Of course, Sammie, but is everything okay? I thought you wanted me to come tonight,” questioned (Y/N).

“And I did- I do, I do want you to come out and enjoy yourself tonight,” the blond tripped over his words, “Your happiness means the most to me, of course I wanted you to see your favorite musician ever tonight.”

(Y/N) flashed Sam a giddy smile, “My happiness means the most to you?” to which the skater nodded feverishly, “Of course! Ever since we became friends, you’ve always been a priority of mine, someone I care deeply about and…” Sam steadied his voice, “I realized that tonight might be my only chance to say this so I’m just gonna say it.”

Sam gently took (Y/N) by the hands and held them against his chest, “(Y/N).”

“Yes, Sam?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too!”

“No, (Y/N), I… I love you.”

The farmer’s eyes widened.

“You love me?”

“With all my heart.”

“Sammie, I- I-” with their words failing, there was only one way (Y/N) could respond and that was kissing Sam squarely on the lips.

It was like fireworks went off for the two of them, metaphorically in their minds and literally in the sky before them while Kiki Kiwi launched into her first song of the night. For countless nights, Sam dreamed of feeling, tasting (Y/N)’s lips against his own.

And my, my… was the wait worth it.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Sharing an Umbrella🪻

leo my love...

Ship: Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 499

Warnings: cursing

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

The New York City streets were bathed in swathes of neon lights, refracted by rain pelting the asphalt. Deep puddles lined the sidewalks like coursing streams. Small waterfalls leaked off rooves and gutters onto the pedestrians going about their business on this dreary day.

You and Leo were walking, hand in hand, from your shared apartment to your favorite bakery a few blocks down. A royal purple umbrella was held in Leo's hand to shield the two of you from the downpour. At one point your head had landed on his shoulder, the two of you huddled under your shelter.

Easy banter flowed between you. Talk of which coffee is the best, the correct way to cook an egg, and other menial discussions passed in clouded breaths. A dull chill had settled amongst the raindrops. It clung to your jackets in gusts of humid air. The cold burrowed through the wool material of your coat and started to seep into your bones.

Luckily, the bakery was in sight, the comforting glow from the windows shining on the pavement just on the other side of the road. You and Leo waited at the corner while the crosswalk sign flashed red. A small crowd of disgruntled New Yorkers gathered around the two of you.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Leo asked a shivering woman to his right. She threw him a squinted glare, crow's feet deepening as she narrowed her eyes. Her disdain was met with Leo's signature, bright smile.

Green illuminated the gloom as you dragged your partner away. You sighed, shaking your head at his antics. He knew exactly what he was doing. Leo just relished in messing with people in inconsequential ways.

"I think she liked me," he mused, rainboots splashing in the curb's puddles. White stripes lined the crosswalk between you and your destination.

"Uh huh, yes dear," you returned with an air of sarcasm.

Leo answered your remark by dumping the rain that'd collected on the top of the umbrella over your head. You squealed, darting away and across the street, now thoroughly drenched. His boisterous laugh followed you as you hopped up onto the curb. Rainwater dripped from the hem of your coat onto the slick pavement.

"Asshole!" you called over the crowd. A few sideways glances were directed your way at the shout. It was only a few moments before the much drier Leo joined you on the sidewalk.

"Apologies, my dear. The handle must've slipped," he said through a knowing smirk.

"You're buying me coffee for that," you grumbled, not truly mad at him. How could you be? Even just being in his proximity made your brief annoyance leak from you into the puddles. And he knew it, too. That mischievous glint never left his hazel eyes whenever he was near.

"I'll even throw in a pastry," he added lightly. His warm hand brushed a trail of rain from the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, every trace of tension sapped from your body.

this is short and sweet :)

taglist: @just-a-nightdreamer @www-interludeshadow-com @lemurianstarship @venomqueen2002 @c1eepypas1a @amphitrite-5 @yarrystyleeza @theestorm @being-worthy

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

[weirdkpopgirl]

For Once | Jeno Imagine #11

Title: For Once

Genre: Angst, friends to lovers (kinda)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, reader being tipsy, insecurities, depressive thoughts (yay)

Word Count: ~1.06k

Author's Note: I actually came up with this story idea awhile ago, two months maybe? And I know I've written a similar story for Jeno before, so I tried to change it up a bit. But for some reason, I just feel like Jeno fits the friends to lovers trope really well. He's the type of person you could trust, and quietly care about you. Anyway, I hope for this story to reach out to those who might be hurting alone. If you are, you don't have to be. I hope there's someone in your life you can lean on. Thank you for reading ^ ^

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The exact time your feet led you away from the party and out to the balcony with a cocktail in hand, you weren’t quite sure. Maybe it was half an hour after you arrived at Chenle's house, maybe even less. You doubt anyone even noticed your absence, as you rarely came to these social gatherings anyway. To your shame, the only reason you accepted your friend’s invitation to his college party was for the alcohol. However, in contrast to the boisterous intoxicated chatter and laughter from inside the house, you opted to indulge in the effects of drinking strictly alone.

With a firm grip on the cocktail glass, you leaned against the balcony railing, allowing yourself to admire the night sky. Cityscapes have become a source of solace over the years, providing enough distraction for your thoughts to get lost in the beauty of the evening. The twinkling lights of neighboring buildings and the ceaseless stream of cars below added to the aesthetic.

Realizing how pathetically lonely you were, a single sigh escaped your lips before you downed the remnants of your drink. Contemplating the bittersweet nature of the moment, you sensed a lingering gaze upon you. Turning around self-consciously, you found Jeno closing the balcony door before joining you, standing silently by your side.

Honestly, Jeno’s presence would have caught you off guard just a month ago. However, new emotions have recently been stirring between the two of you, though neither of you was sure how best to broach the subject without letting things get awkward. Yet, his friendship was something you hadn’t fully realized how much you cherished.

“I had a feeling you’d be out here,” Jeno spoke first. “You okay?”

You hummed in reply, without meeting his eyes just yet. “Yeah. I just needed some fresh air.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jeno’s gaze linger on you before his arm reached out to offer you a glass of water. “Here, I thought you might need some water.”

The corner of your lips upturned into a small smile of gratitude.  “Thanks,” you replied, setting the cocktail glass on the ground. Taking a long sip of the ice-cold water, you let out another exhale.

Jeno returned the smile, and the conversation flowed comfortably between the two of you from there. Talking to Jeno always felt effortless, as he was the type of person who was always willing to lend a listening ear. He was the first guy you met who was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Somehow the topic of discussion veered to bucket lists, and you found the glimmer of excitement in Jeno’s eyes as he spoke to be a little endearing—maybe more than that.

“Yeah, I’d like to travel to Japan with Jaemin one day,” Jeno expressed. “He’s the type to plan everything out, so I can just sit back and relax.”

You chuckled softly, your gaze drifting back to the night sky. “That sounds nice. I’m sure you guys will have a great time.”

“How about you? Do you have anything on you really want to do?” The male’s head tilted slightly, noticing the distant look in your eyes.

Your brows furrowed in hesitation as you pondered for a moment. Although you hadn’t given much thought about bucket lists before, there was one thing that came to mind.

“This is going to sound silly. But I want…I want to visit a waterfall one day,” you said slowly. “Where I can be alone for an hour or less and cry out loud.”

Immediately following your confession, you cringed at the vulnerability in your voice. But Jeno didn’t appear to perceive you as weak or pitiful. 

“Why would you want to do that?” Jeno asked, his expression flickering with concern.

Avoiding his gaze, you shrugged. “I’m just so sick of pretending to be fine around others all the time, but I don’t like showing my weakness either. So for once, it would be nice to just go somewhere I can let it all out, you know?”

A part of you wished you had another cocktail. You weren’t the type to drink much, especially at parties. But alcohol came in handy when you didn’t want to feel your emotions. Since you were too afraid to face Jeno, you didn’t notice the realization that dawned on him. Then you felt the warmth of his hand enveloping your cold one.

“Will you let me come with you?” He asked in a tender tone, softening the deep timbre of his voice.

Turning to the boy in slight surprise, you passed him a confused look. “You’d do that for me? Why?”

“Because it might feel better to have at least someone there beside you,” he said in a sincere voice. “You don’t have to cry alone, (Y/n).”

Heat rose to your cheeks, not having expected him to make your heart flutter like that. Yet, this was Lee Jeno after all. Since meeting him, he’s inadvertently made you feel a lot of different things for the first time.

Your heart raced as you met his eyes properly this time, overwhelmed by the warmth of his offer. “Thank you, Jeno,” you whispered, smiling softly. “I don’t think I deserve to have a friend like you.

The boy held your gaze for a moment, the air crackling with this unspoken tension that had been lingering between you before this evening. He longed to lean in and kiss you right then and there, to show you just how much you meant to him. However, he restrained himself, sensing that this wasn’t the right time to act on impulses. 

Instead, he changed the grip of his hand to hold yours securely. The skin-to-skin contact sent a tingly sensation between the both of you. It felt nice, and he was relieved when you didn’t withdraw your hand. 

Squeezing just a little tighter, Jeno’s lips parted to say something. “Trust me, you deserve a lot more, (Y/n). So when we go to that waterfall together, don’t hold back, okay?”

Your lips trembled, but you were determined not to cry at this time. Perhaps you were still a bit tipsy from drinking, but this might just be the moment when Jeno captured your heart completely. And maybe you could let go of your insecurities and for once, embrace the fact that you were deeply in love with him.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[eevylynn]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @endwersed and @violetfairydust

This is from my fic for the Sterek Reverse Bang

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eventually, they found themselves way in the middle of a clearing, a cliff rising high on one side, providing at least one wall of protection from anyone stumbling upon them. A stream flowed along the opposite side, adding a peaceful ambiance to the area.

“Well, this is pretty,” Stiles said, turning in place to observe the clearing around him. “How did you find this place?”

“I used to come out here with my Cora, Laura, and our cousins,” Derek replied softly.

Stiles turned to give him a soft look, but he didn’t say anything because he knew Derek wouldn’t want to dwell on it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Stiles asked, swinging his arms nervously but trying not to look like he was actually nervous.

“First things first,” Derek began, “we need to find out how strong you actually are.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Stiles said.

“So, we know that when the Nogitsune had full control of your body, it was stronger than me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Stiles winced, memories of the Nogitsune tossing Derek like a ragdoll flashing in his mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said firmly, dismissing Stiles’ concerns with a wave of his hand. “It wasn’t you.”

“We’re going to start with a warm up. What I want you to do first is climb that,” Derek said, pointing to the cliff that rose next to them. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to time you to see how fast you can climb up and then get back down.”

“What about you?” Stiles said. 

“I know how long it takes me,” Derek said simply.

“Well, I think you should climb with me,” Stiles said with a sly grin. “We’ll be able to compare better.”

“Stiles...”

“You just don’t want to face humiliating defeat if I beat you at this already,” Stiles taunted, his grin widening

Derek fought a smile, obviously debating internally whether or not he should give in. He shook his head with a sigh. “Fine,” he conceded, returning his phone back to his pocket. “Let’s get on with this.”

“And no jumping?” Stiles added quickly. “Just pure climbing, right?” He had seen how much the werewolves in his life took advantage of their ability to jump high and far.

“Just climbing,” Derek confirmed, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We’ll test your jumping later.”

They walked over to the cliff and discussed the best spots for both to climb, ensuring the challenge was as fair as possible. Once they were in position, Derek counted down.

“Ready. Set. Go!”

At Derek’s signal, they both grabbed a hold of the cliff wall and began climbing. Stiles was thrilled by how quickly he could identify the best handholds and footholds, his muscles working in perfect coordination to propel him upward. Glancing quickly to his left, he saw that he and Derek were neck and neck. The surge of confidence pushed him to climb faster, and before he knew it, he was pulling himself over the top.

Mere seconds later, Derek joined him at the top, and Stiles couldn’t help but cheer.

“Nice work,” Derek said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Stiles grinned widely, soaking in the rare praise. “So, what’s next?”

“Next, jump down,” Derek instructed calmly.

Stiles’ grin faltered. “Wait, jump?”

“Yes.”

“Jump…off the cliff?” Stiles asked, staring over the edge in disbelief.

“Yes, Stiles. Jump off of the cliff.”

“But…” Stiles hesitated, his brain short-circuiting as he looked down at the fifty-foot drop. “That’s over 50 feet.”

“Yes,” Derek confirmed, his tone unwavering. “And you can handle it.”

Stiles swallowed hard, nerves tingling in his gut. However, he trusted Derek, so he took a deep breath in and jumped, feeling the wind rush past him as he plummeted towards the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Idk who hasn't done this yet, so I'm going to tag @hedwig221b @thotpuppy @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else that wants to do it

[dmitriene]

— i don't care anymore.

summary: feelings accumulated inside of you for years abruptly bursted out. content: re4! leon x fem! agent reader tags: nsfw, smut, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood - death - trauma - nausea - alcohol, confused relationship, receiving fingering, unprotected p in v, marking. (let me know if i forgot something!) authors note: my first smut which includes leon and quite sensitive themes, hope you like it! please enjoy your reading) 🖤 (18+ warning)

«i'm so lost and confused / i don't know what to do»

«where are they now / i don't care anymore»

Bioweapon —

USSTRATCOM — a place that gradually began to feel like a cage in which you found yourself due to your own choice, joining a secret unit on the list of a few more people in order to prevent the spread of bioweapons, devoting not only your body and mind to this cause — but also your life.

Contact —

Leon Scott Kennedy — the first person who took a step towards you and the first acquaintance that significantly smoothed everything that happens around you — to be honest, an awkward temporary contact with a fair haired man even pleased you, because your rare meetings and short dialogues made your thoughts switch to a slight smile playing around the corners of his lips as he jokes about an upcoming mission or discusses how he would like to go on vacation, and you, to be honest, too.

Zombies —

A defocused look and a veil before the eyes — not yours, but a rebellious creature in front of you, a twisted body and indistinct sounds that came from the mouth of an incomprehensible creature while its ragged movements and crooked legs carried it towards you in desperate attempts to get to you, only for your fingers to pull the gun trigger and fill the space with the sounds of gunshots, the bullets ripping through layers of already rotting flesh only to riddle the body of a creature that faintly reminded you of its human appearance, until it finally fell to the ground.

Blood —

Crimson thick liquid — it oozes like rubies from a limp body in scarlet streams along the floor and down to your feet, and you feel how strong and fast your heart beats arrhythmically, dispersing the blood through your own body with a loud noise from an overabundance of the body, forcing the whole body to break through weak pulsation, you don’t even have time to comprehend what is happening, as a heavy and itchy load immediately falls on your entire body, starting to feel cold sweat that collected in small drops on your skin, forcing your hands to automatically start trying to convulsively brush off the unpleasant discharge.

Nausea —

Unbearable pressure on the cranium — which seemed to have an impact on you from all sides, as soon as you look away from the corpse, your head starts to spin and your breath spirals in earnest, a disgusting lump forms in your throat and it seemed as if all space was leaving under your feet, and any matter around dissolving, followed by a vile, indescribable feeling that forced the body to strain to its maximum limit.

Panic —

An overwhelming feeling that sharply wedges everything around and is very blurry — you try to focus on the environment around you and you suddenly feel that you have nothing to breathe, in an instant you seem to be deprived of any access to oxygen, which, it would seem, should have been enough, your mouth opens in panic and in a futile attempt to swallow more air, but everything turns out to be in vain.

Comfort —

A sharp feeling of psychophysical pleasure and the opportunity to breathe — the necessary warmth began to spread through the body following the sensation of someone's arms ringed around you, someone's strong figure embraces you in an understanding embrace, as if only wanting to divert your thoughts from everything that previously worried you, and then a heavy hand lies on your back and begins to slowly draw ornate patterns with his fingertips

— «Shh.. everything is fine..»

the velveteen tone of voice helps to recognize in whose hands you are and the heart finally stops abnormally rushing around the chest, your breathing gradually returns to normal and in a matter of a moment the lump rolls back from a simple realization — you are in the safest possible place at the moment.

Monastery —

The long awaited feeling that falls on your shoulders and covers you with apathy like a blanket — a successfully completed mission safely returned you for some time to your usual state of affairs, being in the comfortable environment of your monastery and inspiring peace of mind that affects better than any medicine that helps excess weight and thoughts vanish from your body like something superfluous.

Alcohol —

Astringent and bitter taste that recreates a burning sensation in the mouth and further down the throat — an uncounted sip of ruby liquid makes the body perform an incredible somersault, thoughts turn into porridge and eyes get wet over an unpleasant veil that your obscuring gaze, because it is in such an environment that memories overtake you.

Aggression —

Discontent seething through the veins with hot blood, covering everything in front of you — your eyebrows frown after the hope that a few sips of alcohol will help you calm down and cope with painful thoughts, a glass of tart liquid is instantly emptied, your heart is convulsively knocking on your chest and blood walks all over your body with a familiar noise, and then you can’t stand it, with all your strength you hit the glass on the table, breaking the glass to smithereens, while your fingers instinctively clench around the fragments in an attempt to forget, injuring yourself on thin glass.

Return —

A confusing sensation of fussiness and unbearable tension — an unusual sudden fussiness and tight clenching of the lips until the pinkish skin turns white, new and uncomfortable feelings that arose somewhere on the internal soil due to the meeting with the long straight corridor that led to the oval office, provoking uncomfortable bubbling and noticeable lack of air to re-form deep inside, while the mind screamed endlessly that there was no place for weakness and your own discomfort, so the fingers had to slide along the bridge of the nose in an attempt to get out of the viscous shackles of an unpleasant foreboding.

Disruption —

Acute anxiety and inability to focus on the environment — as soon as you cross the threshold of the door out of the office on cottony legs, you already unconsciously rush towards any free room to lie down there until you come to your senses, until your vision swims worse than the raging sea waves followed by a sharp movement of your hand that pulls some unknown door handle for you to roll over the threshold and lock yourself between four walls, leaning back against a wooden surface and taking in air into the lungs.

Need —

Feeling unable to cope with what is happening on your own — fingers smear transparent drops of tears on your face before lifting your head and only then perceive the surrounding picture, in your most vulnerable and hopeless position you locked yourself in an unknown office with a man whom you had already allowed to probe your weakness — Leon Scott Kennedy, you know nothing about him except his name and pair of blue eyes that look at you in pure surprise, and you feel even worse from the realization that if he were to pull you to him again now, you would gladly give in to this impulse, but instead you stand with your back to him and tremblingly reach for the door handle.

Consolation —

A warm, honey like feeling that you succumb to and let yourself feel weaker than usual — only to hear an already completely unimportant document slap on the table before footsteps echo against your eardrums and you feel close contact with his warm chest before strong arm shamelessly wrap around your waist line, carefully and torturously slow forcing you, like a feather, to turn to face him, only to bury your face somewhere in his chest and at the same moment endless and unintelligible sobs pour from your lips, and the tongue unties itself, as soon as his voice with warm breath touches the shell of your ear

— «Shh, sweetheart, i got you.. i got you»

your voice is hoarse and torn after another sob, and you don’t care at what moment a gentle appeal sweetly slipped from his lips

— « I-I'm.. I-I can't take it, Leon.. I'm»

— «I know.. i know»

Attraction —

A blind reaction to the inability to think concretely — a ridiculous desire to remain in caring hands and sink into an unexpected need to feel his presence closer, to force all the disgusting memories to burn out of your head as your head slowly lifts up to meet his gaze with your tear stained eyes, and his hand is incredibly tender as he caresses your cheek and his thumb carefully traces a line under your eyes, collecting tears and watching your eyelashes quiver at the sudden feeling of embarrassment that has blossomed inside you and revealed a pinkish blush on your cheeks.

Awareness —

A complete understanding and acceptance of what is happening, penetrating the spine, an awareness of a need that rises above everything else — his head slowly lowers to face you, and a finger slides from your cheek to your chin to gently lift it, you catch a small quiver of his eyelashes before his warm lips touch yours in an uncertain kiss, and you don’t even have time to comprehend what is happening and the seething heat inside, which made your heart contract and beat not because of an unpleasant lump of feelings, but something warmer, and he pulls away with a half lidded eyes in order to cover half of his face with his hand, squeezing out

— «I'm sorry.. i shouldn't do this, probably, i should - »

he does not finish, because the realization hits you with pressure and you give in to the need, dropping your lips to his again.

Passion —

A strong impulse that is accompanied by an irresistible attraction to someone — something that makes you find yourself in his arms, seasoning your back against a cool wall, while his warm tongue greedily explored all the depths of your mouth and your sweet lips, pulling charming moans and needy whining to his ears — he is ready to give in to your every desire, drawing a path of kisses from your lips to your neck to paint it with bright buds of scarlet traces, a warm hand carefully pulls off your blouse to throw it behind your back, needing to touch your seductive flesh, teasingly swiping his tongue up your collarbones as his free hand gently yanks off your bra, making you whine

— «Please, hmn.. L-Leon..»

his voice is lower than usual, demonstrating a reciprocal need for contact as his tongue touches your chest and lightly brushes your nipples with his teeth, causing your spine to intuitively arch and your fingers to sink into his shoulders

— «Mm, sweetheart, just a little bit, want to taste every part of your delicious body..»

Lust —

The need for voluptuousness, sensual sexual desire from which all sorts of sensible thoughts float — the only thing that left room for thinking was how to cover every part of your body with his marks in order to squeeze out more moans and sweet sobs from you, and it comes out when he gives you what you wished for a long time, wriggling in his arms for closer contact.

his hand slid freely up your thigh, making your legs flinch around his waist, while his hand teasingly lay on your pubic tubercle hidden behind the thin, soaked fabric of your panties to run his fingers along your sensitive spot, listening to how his name slides from your swollen lips

— «L-Leon!»

he hums, turns his attention back to your face and in a quivering kiss covers your lips again until his fingers finally begin to make jagged and erratic patterns over the small pea of your clit, smiling into your lips as your back arches sharply and your head rises back, and he seizes this moment to slip outside of your underwear and pull the panties down, leaving them hanging from your leg while his fingers spread your labia minora to plunge one finger into your wet crotch, swiping and repeating fictitious movements in and out , until your hips begin to buck up intuitively, with every opportunity to move towards his caresses — and a smirk blooms on his lips, he adds another finger and watches your face writhe with an overabundance of feelings.

Euphoria —

An overwhelming sense of bliss — trembling into every cell of your body, making you tremble in his firm arms and sink your head into his shoulder as the walls of your cunt clenched and unclenched around his fingers until the sweet sensation of orgasm slowly subsided, allowing him to take his fingers out and bring them up to his lips, licking your juices utterly greedily, watching your cheeks redden shamefacedly at the sight of him savoring you on his fingers before sinking back into your joint kiss, letting you taste that strange taste on the tip of your tongue before moaning into his lips with not a request, but a sincere need

— «N-need.. need you..»

a low laugh sounds extremely languid, vibrating off his chest and allowing you to feel it to the fullest in connection with you being in his hands, while his whisper caressed your ear, swiping a wet strip along your ear lobe, drawing a sob out of you

— «Need what, hun? You need to talk properly, hm?»

the challenge in the tone of his voice makes you flinch, the desire to feel his cock deep inside of your cunt covered everything with a veil and pressure in the lower abdomen, provoking your tongue to untie enough to squeeze out embarrassedly

— «Need your c-cock.. inside, please.»

a satisfied smile stretches along the line of his lips so that he again covers her lips with his, soft and hot, weaving his fingers into strands of your hair and running between them with his fingers, while his relatively cottony legs from his own arousal lead him to a table nearby, Leon lays you on lightly cool surface before parting your lips and finally freeing himself from the stuffy layers of clothing.

Frenzy —

An extreme degree of mental arousal, a violent loss of self-control — a surge that makes him, with impatient and sharp movements, pull off his t-shirt and throw it aside, only to go down with his hand to the belt of his trousers, tangling his fingers in the buckle and deftly releasing it to lower the interfering fabric into floor, and all he needs is one quick glance at your glossy eyes that are following the movement of his hands and how he was getting close to the elastic of his boxers as if he play's with a cat, with you.

the nervous lump finds its way down your throat as you watch as Leon releases the rubber band and lets his cock slide out freely, causing him to shudder in contact with the cool air, revealing to you a view of his slightly swollen cock dripping with precum, his footsteps in your direction measured and feel like an eternity, until you feel his hands smoothly spread your legs, running his tongue over his lips at the sight of your shiny with arousal cunt, and the spine arches by itself as your hips thrust into his touch, and you hide your reddened face in your hands, suddenly feeling his lips on the skin of your neck, shuddering from his hot breath and sensual whisper

— «Don't hide your pretty face, darling»

he adjoins his sharp cheekbone to your neck and then leaves a smeared bite, leading a path of crimson hickeys and butterfly kisses to the line of your sharp collarbones and teasing them with his teeth, awakening in you an unbearable heat from the accumulated arousal that provokes you to reach down with your hand, groping for his cock and running a finger along his urethra, smearing precum all over it and getting out Leon's sharp growl, which is then covered by his deep voice

— «You want this so much, aren't you, needy thing?»

his tone of voice completely obscures your mind and ability to think concretely, so you foolishly nod your head and whine from a quivering kiss on the top of your head before he starting to act, slowly pushing his crimson head inside your cunt, marveling at the ultimate narrowness

— «F-fuckgh, sweet thing, you are so tight»

his movements are slow and measured, full of exhilarating excitement, before he picks up the pace and begins to move more boldly, pressing his hips against your buttocks, on which his large and slightly rough hands rested, as his cock plunged into your hot insides with each time faster and faster, watching with eyes covered with lust as your cunt sucks his cock into you all the way and shrinking as if refusing to let go, and his pace became almost animal, pulling out loud and hoarse moans from the depths of your throat, covering your mouth with his hand and whispering softly into your ear, while he slowly put your legs on his shoulders

— «Shh, sweetheart, don't want anyone to know what we're doing here, aren't you?»

and you nod dumbly again, feeling your legs rest on his shoulders as he rams into you from a completely different angle, hitting your kervix and enjoying your muffled moans and whimpers as you desperately try to mutter about the intense pressure in your stomach

— «Need t' cum.. pleaseleonwanttocum!»

he answers you with a deep growl before looking down at you and freeing your lips from his palm, replacing it with his lips to drown out your further cries of pleasure, whispering

— «Cum.. cum for me, let yourself go, yeah?»

and you writhing, moaning into his lips as he kisses you endlessly despite the catastrophic lack of air, while you ring his neck with your hands and let yourself arch, stretching like a string into a frenzy, while your knees convulsively trembled, and all the erratic moans driven by the wave of orgasm get taller, matching his by how much your cunt clenched around his cock.

— «S-shit, doll, not going to last m-much!»

you both moan obscenely loudly in unison, trying to drown out all sounds as much as possible, while your body convulses pleasure like an electric shock, he licks your swollen lips while your eyes roll back in ecstasy for a few moments, feeling Leon crush your thighs with rapture , feeling his orgasmic discharge approaching, he thrusts into your hot and dripping cunt one last time, and then ejaculates, staining the walls of your cunt with his hot ropes of cum before going limp and wrapping his strong arms around your body, pulling you closer.

Bliss —

A feeling of supreme pleasure, joyful and comforting — what you feel at last again in a long time, feeling him gently trace his thumb over the marks he covered your now limp body before pulling his cock out of you and kissing your cheek, hearing you whimper softly before snuggling closer to him from being so tired and wanting to stay in this trembling moment - so he gently strokes your back, lifting your chin to look at your tired sleepy eyes, which makes him mumble softly

— «How are you feeling now, hun?»

your lips curl into a warm, sleepy smile before nuzzling into his chest and muttering, hugging him as tightly as you can, clinging to your current situation

— «Good.. never felt so good before..»

those were the last words from you before you let fatigue and exhaustion get the best of you and pass out in his arms and gentle presence.

© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

[roseglass-writings]

Heartbeat

Harvey x gender neutral reader, fluff, angst

TW: swearing

Word count: 1448

Description: You come home after a long day in the mines to your husband, and have a relaxing shower and comforting evening together - where serious discussions are had.

(Was meant to be just fluff, but then I came back to it months later and it has become angsty)

I walk down the mountain path, the heaviness of my bag causing my feet to drag. The warm glow coming from my bedroom window getting closer - allowing me to push forward, one step at a time.

Finally reaching the door, I push it open - dropping my bag onto the floor with a loud thud. My shoulders sag in relief to be free from the weight, before collapsing onto the sofa, my legs screaming in agony. Laying there with my eyes shut, sinking into the soft cushions, I hear quiet footsteps head towards me.

"y/n, I am so glad your back," Harvey sighs in relief, kneeling down next to me, gently caressing my face, "are you hurt at all? Can I do anything to help you?"

I force my eyes to open, watching how he fusses over me, looking over me and noticing the dirt and slime covering my clothes, paying specific attention to any tears in my clothes. . I smile softly, his love feeling like a warm embrace in comparison to the suffocating darkness in the caverns.

"I'm okay, just a few bruises, scrapes and utter exhaustion. Luckily though, I have the materials I needed for the sprinklers and tools - and I found this large egg to try and hatch." I let out a soft chuckle, before grabbing Harvey's hand and kissing it softly, the worry in his eyes melting slightly.

"Help me get ready for bed? I think my legs might give out from how heavy that bag was," I ask forcing myself to sit up, my back aching in protest.

"Of course sweetheart," he responds, wrapping an arm around my waist before helping me stand. We walk to the bathroom, my legs feeling like lead.

Carefully, as though I was made of glass, he helps me sit on the toilet lid before turning to the shower. I begin to peel my clothes off of me, the slime causing them to stick painfully. I hiss in pain, managing to force my shirt to fall to the floor. Harvey turns around at my noise of pain, his eyes fills with concern.

"I'm okay, just didn't realise how much my arms hurt. Can you help me get out of the rest of my clothes?" I ask smiling in reassurance, knowing from experience that he will jump to the worst conclusions.

Together, with only the noise of the shower filling the air, he helps he out of the rest of my clothes and into the hot shower. I quickly dip my head under the stream of water, letting it warm me up and begin to get rid of the dirt.

Turning around, I notice Harvey hovering near the sink, watching me as though I was going to disappear before his eyes. "You going to join me? I think I might need help to properly get rid of the gross shit."

His lips quirk up slightly, before he begins to take off his own clothes, placing his glasses beside the sink and climbing in. I turn back around towards the shower, grabbing the shampoo.

"Let me," he quietly states grabbing the bottle. I nod, before letting him take the bottle from me, closing my eyes and relaxing. I pay attention to the shower stream hitting my chest, and how Harvey massages the shampoo into my hair. Taking great care, but expertise after washing my hair so frequently.

Afterwards, he places a gentle kiss against my shoulder, before reaching past me to grab the shower head. Using it, he washes out all of the shampoo, taking care to not pull on any knots or tangles. Afterwards, he places it back - making sure it doesn't spray me in the face - before grabbing the conditioner and repeating the process of massaging it in my hair.

While doing so, I grab my wash cloth, cover it in soap, and begin to scrub at my face, arms and chest. I watch the murky brown water rush down the drain. Snapping out of my daze, I feel Harvey gently take to wash cloth from my hand before washing off the rest of me. I feel his eyes analysing me as my skin becomes more visible, taking note subconsciously of every scrape and bruise.

"Hey," I soothingly murmur, barely being heard over the water. "I'm okay, love. I promise," I feel him pause, before continuing on. Once he finished, I turned around, letting the water fall against my back. I gently cupped Harvey's face, smiling softly, "I am okay."

I watch Harvey's shoulder's slump, before he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls be to his chest.

"I know, I just worry a lot. Just knowing you're alone in the mines for so an unknown amount of time. The thought that something might happen to you-" he cuts himself off, choking on his words due to the tightness in his throat. I feel his arms tighten their hold on my waist. "I'm not asking you to stop going down there though. Believe me, I know it is important. Hell, practically everyone in town has needed you do go down there for us as we need to minerals and resources. The rest of us aren't brave enough, and Marlon and Gil are getting too old to go to the deeper levels, let alone Skull Caverns. It is just terrifying, and I am always so scared you're going to get serious hurt and not be able to get back."

I soothingly rub his back, feeling my heart clench. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't realise how much it scared you."

He shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't want to worry you. I guess, just seeing you look so exhausted to caused it to all come spilling out."

I pull away from him slightly, raising my hand and caress his face, I watch as he leans into it. "You're right that I can't stop going down there. There is too many important things down there that help everyone, especially in the skull caverns. But that doesn't mean your feelings are less important. While Marlon and Gil are getting older, I am sure they know other adventurers. I am sure they might be able to find someone who will join me on the more dangerous trips, and if not I could ask Krobus. As for injuries, well I am learnt a lot from you to help with the smaller injuries - and if I do get a serious injury I push myself too much."

I watch as Harvey's eyes light up, filling with warmth at my plan.

"Really? You don't mind going with someone else?"

I shake my head, "of course not. The only reason I haven't been was because I hadn't even thought about it. I just got used to doing things by myself, much like the farm. I'm sure you remember how much it shocked me when you asked how you could help," I tease, grinning, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. "Though you are forgetting that I haven't fully been alone this whole time."

He looks at me puzzled, causing me to let out a laugh.

"You silly. No matter the injury, small or big you have always taken care of me. If it weren't for your help or advice I probably would become a lot more injured and in a worse state, especially as I had no idea what foods were the best to give me more energy."

I watch as a soft blush rises on his cheeks, his eyes glistening with tears at my words. Without saying anything he pulls me close and kisses me as though I am the most precious thing in the world.

"I love you," he states when pulling apart.

"I love you too, now help me out of the shower - I really don't think my legs will be able to hold me up for much longer," I said. Quickly, he helps me wash the conditioner out of my hair, before helping me out.

Sitting on the toilet lid and I brush my teeth, waiting for him to finish his own quick shower. Once he was finished he went to our room to grab our pyjamas before heading back, watching me finish off moisturising.

Once changed, he helped me get to our bed, climbing in to the warm, comforting embrace of my mattress and duvet. I feel the bed dipping down beside me, before Harvey comes towards me. Resting his head on my chest, I wrap my arms around him, feeling at peace for the first time in hours with my husband letting my heartbeat reassure him I am okay and send him to sleep.

[filmofhybe]

The perfect blend - YJW

part 3 of “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”

In which..

can you ever imagine in this multiverse, you having the biggest fattest crush on your best friend - Yang jungwon, however knowing he already has a “girlfriend” hurts more than just a sting from a bee.

💌 PAIRING : yjw x reader

GENRE : friends to lovers , fluff

WARNING : angst , fluff , kissing , CHAPTER 2 NOT PROOF-READ!!

🗯️ FEATURING : huh yunjin - LE SSERAFIM

word count : 2,066

MASTERLIST to “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”.

I strolled into the cozy book café, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloping me. Jungwon, my best friend and crush, was already there, immersed in a book. With a grin, he looked up and waved me over, marking the beginning of another one of our countless hangouts. “Y/n! Quick I’m on the next book already!” He cheered causing the owner to shush him up. I giggles as I quickly walked towards him ans sit beside him

As we spent hours laughing, discussing literature, and losing ourselves in the melodies of shared playlists, the warm atmosphere making his features and his personality stand out. I found my heart entwining with his in the multiverse we were building together within those walls. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken emotions, creating a bond that transcended the pages of the novels surrounding us. That was 2 weeks ago.

“Yah Jungwon why aren’t you joining my hang outs anymore?” I said with a annoyed tone, yet I was joking around. “Is nothing y/n just school okay? I’ll hangout with you soon.” And before I could reply, he hang out. I sighed, disappointedly walking towards the closet and picking out a outfit a planned out for other next reunion. I guess I’ll just wear it today to return to our sanctuary, hoping to catch him at our usual spot.

To my dismay, as I pushed open the café door, I witnessed Jungwon passionately kissing a girl in the corner we had claimed as ours. The world crumbled beneath my feet as I grappled with the realization that our connection might have existed only in my dreams. Heartache and confusion overwhelmed me. Confusion spread across my face. “Y/nnie~ your here!” My hearing was blurred in that heartbreaking moment, I felt like a character in a tragic novel, betrayed by the person I thought knew me best. The emotions were so vivid that it became unbearable. Just as the pain peaked, I snapped out of the dream, gasping for air. Tears streaming down my face.

“Y/n wait please let me explai-” pushing the café door, rain mixed with my salty tears. The café that was once filled with love and warmth, was now just a feeling of coldness and bittersweet memories. Feeling the world absolutely crumbling beneath my feet-

“Fuck omg…” i jumped, snapping out of my crazy multiverse that felt a bit too real. Realizing I’m in my boyfriend - jungwon’s arm calmed me down. “Hey baby you alright? A bad dream again?” The word “again” felt like a knife to my heart. How many times have that multiverse must torture my thoughts. As we lay there, I couldn't shake off the echoes of the dream. The emotions lingered, haunting me like shadows from an alternate reality. It made me appreciate the tangible moments with Jungwon even more, cherishing the genuine connection we had built together. His hands softly massage my hair as he tries to calm me down by whispering sweet nothings. “Is okay if you don’t want to tell me but I wish I could beat those demons and monster in your dreams.” I don’t think you want to beat yourself up… “maybe a little date to your café would work?” He asked. Not sure would I really want to go after the so called dream. I just nodded as we held each others hands, walking towards the café that’s filled with bad memories in our next universe.

The book café remained our haven, but now with an added layer of vulnerability. We continued to share laughter and music, our bond deepening with each passing day. The dream served as a reminder of the fragility of emotions, urging me to embrace the reality of our connection.

I know he knows something was off the moment I step inside the café. I didn’t bother to read our normal series nor even listen to the music we always dance to. I just sat there thinking, I know he would not do such a thing in this life. But it scares me. And for what?

jungwon’s multiverse POV

I couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt that settled in my chest every time he canceled plans with y/n. The temptation to see the mysterious girl from school, whose name I had heard whispered in hushed tones, proved to be too strong. Me and y/n’s café, tucked away in a quiet corner, became our secret haven.

I grappled with the conflict between my feelings for y/n and the magnetic pull I felt toward the enigmatic girl from school. The thrill of secret meetings with her overshadowed his sense of responsibility. Despite the guilt gnawing at him,I found himself canceling hangouts with y/n more often, weaving a web of lies to conceal his true motives.

“jungwon should we hang out again today?”

“I’m sorry I can’t y/n..”

“You never hang out with me anymore.”

“I will next time ok?”

“Fine..”

One day, I met up with the girl, at the café, sharing a stolen moment in our café, we both leaning in, her arms around my neck, pulling me closer to her as our lips connect like a perfect puzzle. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The café owner's excited voice echoed through the air, calling out a familiar name. "Y/N!" The realization hit me like a tidal wave as I turned his head towards the entrance, only to find Y/N standing there, eyes filled with tears.

In the most beautiful outfit I had ever seen her wear, she looked like a vision. Panic set in as I tried to explain, don’t know how to explain to her, why he kept canceling their hang outs, why he decided to take another person to their secret hang out spot. "No, Y/N, it's not what you think it is." But the words hung in the air, too late to catch her as she ran out, leaving me helpless in my remorse.

Desperation fueled my actions as I attempted to reach her, but before my fingertips could brush against her, I felt the world breaking down below my feet.

The bustling café faded away, and Jungwon found himself in y/n’s arms, realizing that this vivid scenario was just a cruel illusion. Relief washed over him, and he embraced the solitude, grateful that y/n was in his this reality.

The weight of the dream lingered, prompting Jungwon to reassess his priorities. The guilt he felt was a stark reminder of the potential consequences of his actions. Determined to make amends, he resolved to be honest with Y/N and prioritize their relationship.

“Hey you alright? You slept for like 45 minutes while reading the book.” She chuckled.. the girl that makes him cold Just by his laugh.”

“Yeah I’m fine baby. I’m sorry I fell asleep…” he sighed rubbing his eyes

“No is okay, maybe we should go home now.” Grabbing his hand, and pulling him out of the store. Jungwon felt lucky to be able to have his arms around his beautiful girlfriend in this universe. He made a conscious effort to be present for y/n. In this reality, y/n and Jungwon's bond strengthened, proving that sometimes, even in the face of temptation and mistakes, true love can prevail. Jungwon, grateful for the second chance, cherished every moment with her. ensuring that their story unfolded authentically, free from the shadows of secrecy that once threatened to tear them apart.

; AUTHORS NOTE : omg part 3?!? We are almost coming to the end of jungwon’s series!! (2 more to go!! I’ll be posting twice a week soon🤭)

series taglist : @enhaz1 @dubuii @in-somnias-world @ultimatestayandminoronce @yenqa @euncsace @hoondiors @yannew @mrchweeee @ariadores @oldjws @frukkoneeeeg @dimplewonie @seobstarr @asteria-wood (white = i cant tag)

[winterrrnight]

okay girlboss i know as we discussed you have lotssss of WIP's but i come to you with a request anyways;

rafe x pogue!reader based on "want you back" by maisie peters. here are some lyrics from that song that make me absolutely need this fic and i know you're gonna agree:

"so i know, that you did bad, but if one more person says it i might go mad." (like HELLO THIS IS SO RAFE CODED ARE YOU KIDDING)

"and what was cheap to you, to me was all i had" (ALSO THIS ONE YUPPPP)

bonus: "til' you caught a teacher's daughter with a dangerous text, i read it like a bible and i wore it like a bulletproof vest" (bc this is so cute)

thank you for your time and consideration bestieeee

thank you for the request bff! It definitely took me some time but here we gooo we finally have it! I hope you enjoy and it's up to your expectations <3

want you back

PAIRING: soft!rafe cameron x pogue!gn!eader

SUMMARY: Rafe finally gets to reunite with the one who made him feel happy and loved after their heartbreaking time away from each other.

WARNINGS: starts off angsty but ends fluffy, swearing, alcohol, drugs, anxiety, kissing, OBX spoilers + ignore any small grammatical/spelling mistakes!

EDITH SPEAKS: I LOVE a good angst moment! Its like venting out all the emotions that bother me. Why go to therapy when you can write angsty fics?

Some canon events of Rafe are referred to in this fic, but we still get soft Rafe as we move on in the fic :) live laugh love soft Rafe 🤭🤭

Please like and/or reblog to show your support! Feedback is highly appreciated 🌼

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You let out a little scream when you suddenly feel Rafe's arms around your waist, lifting you up from the ground. You grasp onto his neck tightly, and just keep on laughing as Rafe runs with you in his arms.

He comes to a stop just before the sand ends and the water starts. He sets you down on the ground, and both of you sit down, the water washing up to your feet occasionally.

It's midnight, the moon is out, the water is rippling softly, and you're sitting next to the person who makes you smile as bright as the stars.

Life can't get more perfect.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

"So what, you're just going to leave me now? Whatever we had, it doesn't matter to you anymore?" You yell, tears brimming in your eyes.

"It's not like we were really together you know, you didn't exactly tell people I'm your boyfriend!" Rafe says back, his eyes as teary as yours.

He's right, what you had was more of a situationship. You never labelled him as your boyfriend, heck, you were always confused on what to call him each time you introduced him to people. What you had was too deep to be labelled as 'friendship', but in the back of your mind you were always scared on how things might change if you asked him to be your boyfriend.

"Whatever it may be Rafe! Didn't you feel happy with me? I know I was the happiest with you around." You take a step closer to him, but he takes one back, keeping the distance the same between you two. "You're gonna just leave me because you think me, a pogue, can't date you, a kook? When will we grow past this? Why are you letting a stupid class label decide if you and me should be together or not?"

Tears are now streaming down your face, staining your cheeks as the went down. Your eyes are bloodshot, and your head is pounding with a headache. But you ignore it all. You just want Rafe.

"I'm, I'm sorry," Rafe whispers, as he opens the door of your house and leaves. You want to run after him, stop him from leaving you, but your feet are glued to the ground. Why aren't you moving? Why aren't you on your knees begging him to stay? You hear the engine of his car revving, and from the open door, you see him drive to the horizon.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Since Rafe left you that night, you haven't seen him even once. It's been around two months, and you returned to your regular pogue lifestyle with your best friends: nothing to lose, everything to gain.

The biggest problem you have at hand is to find El Dorado before Singh does. It's been the only thing everyone has been able to talk about, especially after the return of Big John. You've been extremely devoted to this hunt, but every now and then, your mind slips back to you and Rafe.

You aren't sure with whom you can open up about this entire situation with. You've only been digging your emotions deeper and deeper in you, and you're afraid one day you'll just pop with all your pent up emotions.

All of you are sitting around a bonfire, and JJ comes and passes all of you some drinks. You really feel like drinking today, to not feel something and set your heart free for just a while.

But how were you supposed to know that with the alcohol buzzing in your system you will feel every emotion exponentially?

You had downed a number of cups of alcohol, a lot more than everyone else. Everyone except JJ was extremely concerned for you; all JJ did was just peg you on because you don't consume alcohol very often.

"I just miss him so much!" You say, wailing. Alcohol has spread all throughout your body, and you just have this urge to let out every single emotion.

You had popped.

"It's okay," Kiara says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and trying her best to comfort you.

"It's not Kie!" You remove her arm from you and get up from you position on the sand. You just want him right now, you want him to wrap his arms around you, kiss your forehead and whisper the sweetest nothings in your ears.

"Why do you even miss him so much?" John B says. "He just ruined everything for us. Especially when he stole the cross from Pope. And he left you because he thinks you aren't the right class. Do you not see how messed up this is?"

"Can you stop saying shit about him?" You snap. "I know what he did okay? But I was the one who got to see the vulnerable side of him. The side of him which only cared for the two of us. We could've been something, you know? But this ridiculous treasure hunt of yours just got in the way."

John B starts to get riled up at your words. He knows you wouldn't say half these things if it isn't for the alcohol in your body, but he cannot help but feel angry on how you are blaming him for everything that happened.

"Oh so now it's my fault? Rafe was never supposed to stick his nose in this! The cross is Pope's family history, and it belongs to him. Rafe's just a greedy person who only cares about the money. We wanted to preserve Pope's heritage." John B snaps back at you. Sarah comes in between the two of you, fearing any more traction.

"John B, leave this matter alone okay?" She whispers to him, and tries to get him aside. Sarah looks at you sympathetically, she knows you'll regret everything you've just said when you'll get sober. She now walks up to you.

"We need to get you to bed right now okay?" She tried to look at you in your eyes, but you dodge them. Sarah motions to JJ and Pope towards you, and they both come up, taking one each of your arms and to lead you to your place.

When you three reach your house and JJ lays you down in bed, you feel tears forming in your eyes. "I really miss him J," you sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. He looks at you with a sorrowful look on his face. JJ hates Rafe's guts, especially after how horribly he treated you, but he hates to see his best friend in this situation even more.

"You'll be fine," he says softly. "You're the strongest person I know, and you'll be okay." You let his words sink in you, as your mind starts to slowly drift off to sleep.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe is nervously pacing around his room, his teeth chewing away on his nails. The anxiety is spreading around like plague in his mind, and he just cannot get to stop thinking about it.

A deal he made with someone to sell some of the melted gold of the cross headed towards a direction he was not expecting. He's tried to think out a way out of this, but nothing seems to be the right solution.

Oh, only if you were there with him. You would softly run your fingers through his head and massage his scalp. "It's all going to be okay," you would mumble to him. And each time you told him that, everything did turn out to be okay. But right now you aren't there with him. And he craves you right now more than anything.

With a sudden impulsiveness, he gets his phone and finds your contact. His finger hovers over your name, does he take the risk of calling you or just forgets about it all?

He knows no one will approve of it. After all, you're a pogue. You have no place with all the kooks with their big mansions and their Maseratis in their backyards. But he longed you, he longed for your touch.

The last thing that Rafe cared about was you being a pogue. It didn't matter to him, all he wanted was you. But everyone else got to his head and made him believe you just don't belong with him.

"Are you sure you want to be with that filthy Pogue? After all, you may end up losing all your money." They would say, referring to how you're only with him because you care about the money he has.

"You don't belong with a pogue, Rafe. Come on man you're better than this." They would say, connecting a string of bad words with your name.

"What would everyone say? Did you even think about your reputation? You are a Cameron for god's sake." They would say, deeming you unworthy.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head. He knows he needs you more than anything else right now. Letting his spontaneity take over, he clicks on your contact.

His heart beats fast as he hears the ringing through the phone. And it almost stops when you pick up.

"Hello?" You say, groggily. You were just taking a nap and getting a call right in between wasn't what you wanted. You didn't even see who called you, you just accepted the call with your eyes almost closed.

"Uh, hey," Rafe says. You immediately sit up in bed. Why is Rafe calling you?

"Rafe?" You say. At this point, Rafe almost feels like melting. He hasn't heard your voice in months, and the sweetness of your voice is something he missed a lot. Everything starts to feel so much to him, and tears start to stream their way down as he sniffles silently.

"Rafe, are you crying? Are you okay?" You're now completely awake, ready to jump off the couch if he wants you there with him.

"Yeah, uh, I'm okay." He says, wiping off his tears. But that's pretty much useless, he just keeps on melting more and more on hearing you. Oh how he missed your voice.

There is a silence between you two, and you can hear each other's soft breathing. You missed him, you missed him a lot. You hated hearing everyone say he's a horrible person; you saw a side of him he never shows anyone. He made you feel so special, and now you feel like digging yourself in a hole, because you wish you weren't so afraid to ask him to be something more when you had the chance.

"I miss you," you blurt, not expecting it to happen. Rafe, on the other end, hears those words with widened eyes.

You miss him? He thought you probably hate his guts for the way he left you.

But you couldn't hate him. How can you hate the only person who made you feel complete?

"I miss you more," Rafe whispers. The tears don't stop, they keep on coming down like two waterfalls. He doesn't want them to stop either. He's finally feeling something. It had been way too long of being numb, not knowing what feeling is striking him.

You have had enough. You get up from your couch and start to make your way out of your house. "Rafe, are you at your home?"

Rafe gets confused on those words. "Yeah, why?"

You get out of your house and close the door behind you.

"I'm coming over."

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You reach outside Tannyhill, and take in its view. You haven't seen it in so long, and you'd almost forgotten how big it is. You step up onto the porch, your heart beating very fast. Before you can ring the bell, the door opens and you see Rafe.

The world stops spinning. Rafe has buzzed all his hair off, but when you look in his eyes, all you see is emptiness. They've lost the charm which made you fall for him in the first place.

Rafe looks at you with utter shock. You've gone so pale; all the color is drained from your face. There are eyebags under your eyes, and you look extremely tired.

Without thinking anything, you run into his arms. His gentle touch, his soothing words, his relaxed breathing, all remind you of one thing: home. He's everything home is. His familiar scent immediately calms you down, and you start to sob, which becomes more and more violent with each passing second.

You drop down on your knees with Rafe still holding you. You can't believe you had almost started living a life without him in it. You had almost lost the one person who understood you without you having to say anything.

Rafe finds himself breaking inside on seeing you in this condition. He's the cause of it, if he wouldn't have given into the peer pressure of leaving you so easily, he would never have to see this day.

"I'm so so sorry bubs," he says, hugging you so tightly, his head resting in the crook of your neck. "I'm so very sorry. This happened all because of me."

"Sweets-" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Listen to me first, please." He pleads. "I never intended to do that to you. I hate to say this, but I was pressured to leave you. Everyone put this thought in my head that I don't belong with you solely because you're a pogue. They got to my head. That's the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I don't care you're a pogue. I wanted to make you mine, but before I can do that I left you, ghosted you completely. I'm so sorry, I promise to never leave you again."

You look at him with your red, rheumy eyes. The side which made you fall in love with him; his vulnerable side, is showing again and you are just breaking apart from the inside. Oh, how you missed the way he held you so close to him.

You softly hold his face in your hands and press your lips against his. You trace his lips with yours as you move closer to him, his arms snaked around your waist so tightly; he won't let you go again.

You missed the feeling of his lips on your own, the slight taste of the cigarettes he smokes lying on them. You missed your skin against his, the warmth radiating from his body to yours and making you all fuzzy on the inside.

Rafe will never leave you again. He will kill the one who says you don't deserve to be his, because no one in the world deserves you more than he does.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

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