#but also eat you from the inside out because that level of hate needed is all consuming

[bitchesgate3]

Polyhedron #159; Rise of the Githyanki, pg 6

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him. 

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus. 

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain. 

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours. 

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly. 

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth. 

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment. 

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud. 

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. 

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

[clarencethemouse]

Daydreams

requested from @hulkingharbor

note: I'm attaching this to the Bleeding Light lore because I love the character I made, and this scenario is eating me alive :))

this is a long one. Sorry not sorry

Summary: Kurt doubts his beauty and worth. Ready takes it upon themselves to prove how much he means to them. Angst and fluff (kinda spicy but also not). Gender-neutral reader.

The mansion roof was a lonely place, but good to relax one's mind. Good to let creativity flow without the judgment of coworkers and students. Good to drown out the never-ending plaguing thoughts with bird chirps and whistling wind.

But no better remedy to stress is a best friend.

You and Kurt stopped conversing on the roof a long time ago. All that was left was a stagnant, yet calm silence. You lay on the bare concrete, letting each spinal joint decompress and muscles settle. Kurt sat next to you, staring off into the horizon, which was turning into a marvelous spectacle of purples and oranges.

You turned on your side, facing him with your body and eyes. He didn't notice you, but this didn't phase you. All you needed was to see him.

"You're so beautiful."

The words barely escaped, the whisper sticking in your throat. Kurt's head whipped down to you. Those perfect golden eyes flashed with confusion. "Pardon?"

A soft smile graced your cheeks. Your eyes couldn't help but light. "I said you're beautiful."

Kurt's eyes fell from you. You watched his jaw clench and muscles agitate. Several moments passed before he spoke again, and the one-word response grated on your mind with his frustration.

"Why?"

"Why am I talking?" Your grin faltered.

"Why are you doing this?" His accent tainted his words thicker, his telltale sign of nerves. You pushed yourself up to level with his face. "Please stop lying."

"Love, I'm not lying-"

Kurt's nearest hand hit yours away as you tried to touch him. "I'm not in the mood. Stop."

"Kurt, I'm not lying!" You ducked around to peer under his insistently ducked head. "Why would I lie? Have I ever lied like that before?"

"Because... stop." He scooted away from your gaze. His tail flicked in agitation - he never used that with you. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Your lips settled in a horrified frown. "Why do you think I'm lying? Please talk to me."

Kurt did not talk to you. He disappeared without another word in a cloud of purple and black smoke.

You threw your hands up, head whipping around the perimeter of the roof. "What the fuck?" You shouted to the sky. No response. No Kurt. You shuffled together your papers and pens, throwing everything into a haphazard pile in your arms before booking it down the stairs.

Nothing tugged at your heart more than to find Kurt immediately, but you couldn't function with your supplies so loose in your arms. Shouting for him all the way, you threw open your bedroom door and let the papers and pens fall to the floor just inside. Only mere feet back down the hall, Rogue chased you down.

"Y/N! Are ya okay?" Her powerful hands landed on your shoulder, concern painted across her lovely face.

"Have you seen Kurt? He just ran away from me after we had an argument. I'm worried for him."

"Oh, nah, I'm sorry, sugah. Do ya want me to find 'im for ya?"

You huffed a strong sigh from your mouth, propping your hands on your hips. A dull lump was forming deep in your throat. "No. This is my problem."

Your next stop was his bedroom. It had to be. His only other safe place was the roof, which he would never hide on if he thought you could still be there.

Your breath quickened with every nearing step to his door. With the number of times you'd made this walk in happiness, in giddy readiness for a late-night movie or jam session to grade papers, the growing pit of fear in your stomach should not be so frightening. Never before could you fathom dreading his bedroom.

Your knuckles made a quick rhythm against the door, calling his name one more time. You hated to risk invading his privacy, but you were desperate just to see him; a fulfilling conversation aside.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing his empty bedroom. After a quick sweep of the visible areas, you backed away to retreat before a soft sniffle hit your ears. Barely, just beyond the edge of the couch, a dark spade lay pathetically on the wooden floor. As quietly as possible you closed the door, tip-toeing to the side of the couch. The side of Kurt's body revealed itself by the side coffee table.

"Please go away."

"Not until you talk to me, Love." You crept closer. The air between you fizzled. He was contemplating leaving again. Your body lurched to the floor, landing one hand on his bicep. "Please! Don't leave me!"

Kurt tossed your hand to the side. His curls hid most of his face, which you could sacrifice a finger to see fully. Anything to see him. You sighed, crossing your legs before him. "Why do you think I'm lying?" You prompted again, your voice softer with a newfound patience. "I'm here for you. What will it take for you to talk to me?"

A hand freed itself from the safety of his lap to wipe the running nose beneath the tear-soaked cheeks. "Ich weiß nicht was ich tun soll." His shoulders heaved.

"Babe, I still don't understand," you muttered pathetically.

Kurt's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Your mind flashed to inappropriate places. "I am not beautiful," he stated, his flawless curls shaking with his head.

Okay. The nub of the problem.

This scenario had run through your head a hundred times before, all in different ways. Different places. You or him being the first to initiate. But no amount of practice in your imagination could prepare you for the looming threat of destroying the best relationship in your life.

Anything for a chance to cheer him up. To see his gorgeous smile, his perfect eyes light up for only a few more minutes.

"Okay. I'm going to tell you this once and you just... need to believe me," you swallowed the bile - the fear that everything could go wrong. That you had ruined everything so perfect about your relationship with three simple words in a moment of adoration. "I do love you. You are my best friend. I cherish our friendship so much-"

"Stop..." Kurt tossed his head back. Given the context, you despised the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the way you wanted to study its perfection under a microscope.

"Just- let me get through this all. I cherish our friendship so much. You understand me better than anyone. I feel the safest around you. And I love the endless nights bonding over the silly nerd shit on the balcony with endless ice cream." This was it. No going back now. "But the amount of times I've gone to bed at night daydreaming about something as simple as going on a date with you... I mean, a proper date. And I imagine so many kisses, so many other things that friends don't do. Sometimes, I even get so desperate that I go through scenarios from that day, but I imagine I'm treating you the way I truly want to."

You couldn't look at him anymore. If so, you may see him staring back at you with such horror and disgust, that you would never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again. "And I do this just in the hope that the daydream will turn into a real dream, and I can sleep through those lovely imaginings and wake up... and... yeah. That is that."

Nothing from him. No words, no shift in position. All you could offer now was the closing line you rehearsed in your mind a hundred times since opening his door.

"I do think you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful person in this entire damn mansion. I'm not daydreaming about anyone else."

When the suspense was ready to rip your heart open, you finally peeked. Kurt was staring. Not with disgust, but with wonder. Hope.

"How do you think these things?" was all he could muster out.

"Pardon?"

His six fingers fidgeted with themselves. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, take them, and kiss each of them until all doubts were ridden from his pretty little head.

"I don't understand. The last person I gave my heart to was disgusted. Horrified by me. I don't understand how you... don't."

Impossible. The thought of him with someone else, no matter how long before you, dried your mouth and made you want to hurl right there. But even more so, the thought of anyone convincing him such horrible narratives could be true... it made your blood boil. Your skin crawl. Nothing was comprehensible to you of how anyone could think of him in such a way. Not Kurt; not the handsome, skilled, kind, and brave man in front of you.

He was too kind for the world. No matter what became of him, how the world treated him, he never faced it with hate. Never pure, genuine hate for the world. Only for himself.

Slowly, knees cracking and heart aching, you reached for him as you willed yourself to stand. Kurt watched you silently beg him for a moment before accepting the offer. You led him to the edge of his bed and simply sat. Held his hands harder when he allowed himself to settle and relax.

Apprehensively, you sucked in a deep breath and steeled your eyes with his. "Please hear me, Love. You are not horrifying, Kurt. You're not disgusting. You are not. I love you, whether or not you choose to believe it, I love you. Both as a friend and as... anything else. However you'll take me."

Your hands snaked up to his neck, cupping the lean muscles beneath your palms. Warm, soft, and true. "It's okay if you don't reciprocate. I just need you to know that someone sees you as beautiful. I would never lie to you."

As if time stopped and you were left fighting through molasses space, your lips touched his cheek. Lower to his chin. Lower to his neck.

"I think your skin is so lovely. It's my second favorite color; second only to yellow."

His throat rumbled under your lips. A firework of giddiness exploded within your stomach.

While your lips traveled onto his collarbone with delicate kisses, daring to taste the rich blue skin only twice, your hands traveled with a mind of their own to play with his three-fingered hands.

"People have three fingers all the time. I see this as no issue." You brought one of his hands to your face, planting more kisses on his palm and down each individual finger.

"I quite like your ears," you confess, dragging one finger along the edge to mess with the pointy tip. "You know folks dig the elves from Lord of the Rings. So how could this be any different?" You smile.

For the first time since you dared call him what he was, Kurt smiled back. He grinned enough to flash the brilliantly pointed canines, which evoked vivid images you would dare never tell your mother.

You were about to start the journey down his chest, something you'd been all too excited to see for months, when the other hand laid a delicate grip to your chin. Masterfully, Kurt steered your face to his, and within milliseconds your daydreams came true.

His lips were still salty from the onslaught of tears, but nothing could have tasted sweeter. Together your lips worked as one, moving and sucking as though life itself lay beyond. Your back hit the mattress, hands scattering to touch every inch of his lean torso.

And then his shirt was off.

While you admired him, finally unburdened and accepting of your words, his mischievous tail snaked to your torso. Butterflies fluttered deep into your abdomen when the strong tail wrapped partially around your waist and lifted you closer to Kurt's body. He smirked down at you, amused by your desperate squirm.

"Is this what you dream of, schatz?"

A sly giggle escaped you as one finger ran down his back, so near to the spine to send gentle shivers through his entire nervous system. "You have fur," you smiled, tilting your head curiously.

"Ja?"

"It's cute." You pulled his face down to you again. You allowed this kiss to be slower. To taste him more. When Kurt pulled back with a wider smile than ever before, there was room in his eyes for nothing more than joy and relief.

"Ich liebe dich."

You ran your lovesick fingers through that beautiful head of hair. You knew what that phrase meant.

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 7: The Cabin: Day 3

Summary: What starts out as a peaceful morning quickly turns steamy after an argument.

Word Count: 9,565

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, arguing, smut, p in v, rough sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering

A/N: Yeah, you read the warnings right. It’s time. When I tell you this chapter took days to write 😭 different parts got rewritten like four times. The final product is nothing like the drafts. Even editing it there was stuff added, and I got to the point where I just needed to stop and post it. Please enjoy!

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Bitter Allies • Part 7

The storm settled down about thirty minutes after you and Soap ate. It still continued to rain, but the thunder was moving off into the distance, and the wind had stopped completely. You were still forced to stay inside, but at least the worst of the storm had passed. You could look for the damages done tomorrow.

Soap laid down after he finished eating and just rested. You didn't say anything more to each other about his episode, and you didn't expect him to open up. It was a little different for everyone, but sometimes talking about it made it worse. With nothing better to do, you also laid down. The sound of the rain falling softly outside was eventually enough to lull you into sleep. 

The next morning, you'd gotten up super earlier. Given the fact you probably went to sleep around 1900 (or 7 pm) that made sense. Soap was still asleep when you got up. He was sleeping on his back, an opened black journal balanced on his chest, and a pencil still in his hand. His arms were bare, meaning sometime last night he'd probably stripped down to his underwear again.

Leaving him be, you got up and decide to see what the damages were from last night's storm. You moved both rocks away from the doors then went out the back door, closer to the lake.

There were tiny sticks everywhere in the back. Once they dried out, they'd be great for the wood stove inside. A few larger branches were also scattered about. The one that caused the loud scrapping noise last night had just barely missed the outhouse, and its limbs were propped right up against the side of the cabin. If it'd fallen a few inches closer, it would have hit the roof. You hate to think about what would have happened if it had.

Hopefully this was the last of the rain for a while. You weren't sure if you could take another storm, and shockingly, not because of Soap. Honestly it hadn't been the absolute worst thing to be trapped inside with the Scot. It'd mostly just been boring. But then again Soap had been out of it most of the night because of the episode he had. You had feeling things would have ended in a shouting contest if he hadn't. Regardless, you didn't want that or for him to get triggered by another thunderstorm.

Luckily, the sun was out, birds were singing, and there wasn't a raincloud in sight. It was beautiful out, and you wanted to enjoy the morning. You hadn't had the chance to go on a walk or a run yet. It would be nice to start off your morning positive for once, unlike the last few days.

To be expected after a storm, it was fairly muddy, puddles of water everywhere. The lake had also risen quite a bit with the new water level came right up to the tree where Soap had been sitting yesterday. So a walk along the shore wasn't going to be possible, but you could handle a little mud in the woods. Heading back inside to the bedroom, you make the decision to go on a nice walk around the woods.

Soap is still asleep on his cot, his brows pinched together slightly, and his book still balanced on his chest. The pencil had slipped from his hand though and now just lay beside him. You move around the room as silently as you can, grabbing the things you need and trying not to wake him in the process. He'd make a sound every now and then, but he never woke up.

Once you were ready, you pause at the bedroom door and look over to his sleeping form. You were debating if you should wake him up to let him know you were going. He hadn't given you that courtesy before. Maybe it was time for a little payback. Time for him to wake up and not know where you are. Odds are though, you'd be back before he's even up. Or he simply wouldn't care.

With that in mind, you gently shut the bedroom door, and head off for your walk.

***

For the first time since arriving to the cabin with Soap, you finally feel some of the stress melting away as you walk through nature. It smells like dirt and rain, and it's absolutely perfect. Even the tension is your shoulders seems to be easing up a bit as well.

You're not sure how long you've been gone. There was no way to keep track of time. At some point though, you decide to turn around and start head back the way you came. You didn't want to go too far from the cabin in case you got lost.

As you're stepping over a fallen tree you used as a landmark to let you know you are heading in the right direction, you hear some rustling coming from some densely packed foliage behind you. You pause for a moment, watching the now still bush. Just as you're about to brush it off as nothing, you swear you hear a growl or a grunt. Adrenaline floods your system, triggering your fight or flight instincts. In this case, you go with the ladder reflex.

Jumping off the falling tree trunk, you start to walk with a quicker pace, trying to distance yourself from whatever you heard. The thought of it being a bear or a mountain lion crossing your mind, making a new fear run down your spine. Sure, you were highly trained in stuff like hand-to-hand, but your expertise was in protecting yourself against humans and maybe dogs, not wild animals. If you had a gun, then yes, you could absolutely take on a wild animal, but you didn't even so much as have a knife on your person to defend yourself with.

As you walk, you keep looking back over your shoulder, though you never see anything. While you are distracted and not looking where you're going, you suddenly step in something squishy. Stopping and looking down, you discover you've stepped in what is probably bear poop. A big fresh pile.

You gag a bit and remove your foot, trying to desperately kick and wipe it off on the foliage and nearby trees. The shit on your shoe distracts you momentarily from the thing you'd been trying to get away from. It's when you hear more of the rustling and sniffing sounds that your blood runs cold.

You look around again, still not seeing anything. The greenery around you is far too dense to get a good view. You know you have to get away, but not knowing what the threat was is really beginning to freak you out.

Forgetting about your soiled shoe, you start to walk again, trying to fight the urge to run. Rationally, you knew that could cause whatever it is that's following you to start chasing you. You just want to be back in the safety of the cabin with Soap. Why didn't you bring one of the flares or the knife? It was just a pocket knife, but it would have been better than nothing. 

Once some distance has been made, you pause and listen to see if you're safe. You can still hear the soft low rumbles and the shuffling of leaves like something is tracking you. Soon enough, you can't help it anymore; you start to run. You've got to be almost back by now. Surely you can just outrun whatever it is.

It's hard to listen for anything chasing you while you're running, but every time you look behind you, you don't see anything. The bushes are moving, but you can't tell if it's cause you just slammed through them or if you're really being chased. Not wanting to know the answer, you don't dare to stop until you see the cabin.

Relief floods your system when you see the clearing that houses the cabin. The moment you cross the thresh hold, you expect to feel safe. However you don't. You look back towards where you just came from and watch for any signs that the mystery animal is still following you. There isn't any movement or sounds, only the labored sounds of your breath from running. Slowly, you start to back up towards the cabin, senses heightened.

When your back hits something solid, hands grabbing you, you don't process immediately that it's just Soap. Your mind is still in survival mode. You scream and start trying to fight, getting a few angry and surprised sounds out of the Scot.

"Oof-! Steaming fucking Jesus, States!"

Soap had gotten up shortly after you left. When he couldn't find you, he'd assumed you were out in the woods somewhere and just went about his morning. He also surveyed the damages and decided to pick up sticks until you came back.

When he heard a ton of rustling on one side of the cabin, he went to check it out, and there you were. Your back was to him and you were taking slow steps towards him. You'd been about to run into him, and all he did was put his hands up to stop you, and then you started attacking him.

"What the fuck has gotten into you!?" He grabs your wrists, and you're quick to stop trying to hit him once you come to your senses. You look into his eyes, then hear the sound of the leafs rustle again. Your gaze snaps back to the tree line.

"Something was following me. I-I think it was a bear. I ran all the way back." You find yourself pressing back into Soap. His hands move from your gripping your wrists to holding your sides by your ribs once you turn.

You don't notice it, but Soap stares down at you for a second as you huddle against him. His eyes are softened and filled with concern before turning hard as he scans the woods, looking for this bear. He keeps holding you, keeping your smaller frame close to him. You can feel his hold on you tighten a bit, almost protectively.

As he does, without even fully realizing it yourself, you're starting to relax into his hold. Your body is naturally pulling towards him. He's warm and feels like safety. It's when the fear in the pit of your stomach is replaced with butterflies that you notice all these feelings. You try to tell yourself it's just remnants of adrenaline.

When there's a little more rustling, Soap starts to wordlessly move. His hands drift to your hips, and he moves around you. "Stay here." He mutters to you, walking to the tree line, picking up a big stick along the way for protection.

"Soap, wait! What are you doing?" You really don't want to see him get mauled by a wild animal, but there's not much you can do to stop him aside from pick up a stick for yourself and try to help.

Soap pauses to listen carefully for any movement or signs of danger before poking the stick into the green shrubs in an attempt to startle whatever is in there. You tense up as he does, hands gripping your stick tightly, prepared to fight whatever it is he startles.

A little squeak comes from the bush, and Soap watches as a two squirrels dart back into the woods and up a tree. It causes a laugh to bubble in his chest, one he tries to stop, but soon, his hands are on his knees, and he is laughing at you. All you can do is stand there and glare at him, dropping your stick. It makes a dull thump as it hits the ground.

"It was just a few wee fucking cons! You were running from a squirrel!" He laughs, making your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. You're were not too fond of being laughed at.

"I wasn't running from a squirrel!! I heard growling and-"

Soap is still laughing at you. Any "butterflies" you might have had when he held you were crushed immediately. You hadn't been running from a squirrel. Whatever it was had been big and had a deep growl.

"It was a bear! I swear. I even stepped in its shit!" You motion down to your boot, which just looked muddy, but you knew better. "There was at least one nearby!" This just makes Soap laugh even harder.

"You stepped in bear shite too? Oh, that's too fucking good. I bet that fucking sucks." You don't feel like he's sympathizing with you at all. "Have fun cleaning that mess up. Let me know if you need me to scare off anymore angry, growling squirrels, eh lass?"

Your face is getting red with anger and embarrassment more and more by the second. "Stop laughing at me, you fucking dick! I know what I heard!" You shout at him. It had to have been a bear.

Soap sighs as he finally calms down a little, wiping his eyes like he's wiping away tears. His amused express is at restarting to grow a little irritated with your continued claims about the bear. "Oh quit your fussing! There's no bear here, so just pull that stick from out of your ass and calm down."

"How about you stop acting like I'm stupid! Like I'm making it all up, or I'm some paranoid idiot! Even if it was nothing, it still felt like I was being chased."

Soap rolls his eyes, huffing a little. "States, seriously, you're fine so let it go. Stop acting like a wee little girl and start acting like you're a grown ass woman in the military. Go inside, calm down a bit, and come help me pick up sticks."

You roll your eyes at him. You know what you heard. You know how you felt. He could say you got scared by squirrels, but you knew better.

"Go fuck yourself, Soap. I'm not helping you with shit. I'm hungry. I'm going to make food." You grumble, leaving him and stomping towards the cabin.

"Make me some too, aye?!" He calls after you. He was insufferable. You still have four more days of this. The third wasn't even close to being over.

"No!" You shout back, getting a scoff from him.

"Brat." He mutters under his breath as he watches you disappear around the side of the cabin.

You retreat to the cabin, kicking your poop covered shoe off by the door outside before you went in. You'd had enough of being in the woods for today. Outside for that matter. You were certain there was a bear out there somewhere, and you weren't looking to run into it again. If possible, you were content to stay inside and read the rest of the day.

You search around a little bit for something good to eat, eventually settling on making some eggs. Putting a log and a few sticks in the stove, you get a fire going. You set the only frying pan you had on the stove top and wait for it to heat up. Once it does, you take out the eggs and flip the carton open.

Before you can grab one, a scratching sound near the front door makes you jump. You're tense for only a few seconds before huffing and relaxing. It had to just be Soap messing with you.

"Fuck off, MacTavish!" You shout, trying to go back to your cooking, but it keeps happening. Sighing in annoyance, you storm over to the front door. "Soap, I swear, I'm going to kill you if you keep it up!" You shout angrily, pushing the door open, but not seeing any sign on the Scot.

You venture outside a little more, but you don't see him anywhere. What if he wasn't the one messing with you? What if it was the animal from earlier? An uneasy feeling settles over you.

"Soap?" You call out softly, but you get no reply. You even try to peak around the cabin to see if he was hiding by the sides. When you don't spot him, you begin to feel more on edge. Groaning in frustration, telling yourself not to worry, you head back inside.

You pick up the egg carton and try to resume your cooking, though you're still tense and on edge. You'd just managed to pop the lid on the eggs open when Soap comes bolting out of the bedroom. He's making a big scene, growling and snarling, almost like he's pretending to be a bear.

The second he does, your heart is leaping into your throat and you scream. Adrenaline surges through you as you instinctively use the thing in your hand as a weapon. Soap is pretty much right behind you by then, and your muscles react faster than your mind can process. You smash the small paper carton into his chest with all your might, the impact causing most of eggs to burst out of their shells, yolks splattering across his shirt and dripping onto the floor.

Soap stumbles back a step, a mixture of surprise, shock, and anger prominent on his features as he looks down at his shirt. As he does, the box falls to the ground. Any eggs that hadn't broken certainly did as it hit the hard wooden floor.

Your body is buzzing, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you look down at the carton, equally shocked. All of your eggs are gone. Meanwhile, Soap is standing there mirroring your expression. His jaw is dropped, and his clean shirt is splattered with a generous dose of raw eggs. You both stand in stunned silence, until all hell breaks loose.

"Jesus, States!" Soap exclaims, wiping the yolky mess off his chest and onto the floor. "Why the fuck would you do that?! Why did you toss the whole damn carton at me!? That's literally the best fucking thing we have to eat!"

You're in shock. He's really going to get mad at you?

"You're joking right now?" You inquire, raising your eyebrows at him. "Tell me you are joking! You're gonna get mad at me when you're the one who fucking just scared the shit out of me!?"

"I didn't think you'd freak the fuck out and throw all our fucking eggs at me!"

"I didn't think you'd be acting like a child and trying to pull a pathetic prank on me! You scared me for no fucking reason!"

"Oh for the love of God, woman," he growls. "Get a sense of humor! It'd do you some good. Now we have no eggs and my shirt is fucking ruined! I only brought four pairs! I don't have a washing machine or an endless supply of shirts at my disposal!"

"You'd still have a clean shirt if you weren't such a jerk!" You shout back, hands clenching into fists at your sides.

"It was a bloody joke! What about you? Thought you were supposed to be a field specialist. Couldn't hear me coming? Didn't know something was up? Are you that fucking bad at your job?" Soap was pissed at this point to be taking jabs at your line of work.

You laugh, the sound lacking any amusement. All that was there was pure rage and spite. "The hell did you say? I'm not good at my job?" You ask lowly. "I reacted like anyone would when they're scared out of their mind! Forgive me for assuming I wouldn't have to be on guard around someone who is on the same team as me!"

"Ah, don't start with that shite again." He grumbles, rolling his eyes and beginning to walk away.

"Don't you dare fucking walk away from me, MacTavish! I'm not done with you!" You follow after him, moving to block his path. He's trying to head into the bedroom.

Soap glares down at you as you stand in his way. His chest was rising and falling in heavy breaths. "I'd fucking like to get a clean shirt," he growls, gesturing to his chest, still smeared with the remnants of the eggs. "So move."

He doesn't give you a chance to move on your own. He pushes you back into the bedroom and off to the right side of the room where your cot is, simmering in anger.

God, he was so livid. He just wanted to get his shirt and get out of this cabin before he did something he'd regret. Tension had been building rapidly between you since day one. Ghost's words had been haunting him for the last three days, and it was all he'd been able to think about.

You two just need to fuck and get it out of your system.

"Don't push me!" You growl, shoving Soap's hands off you even as he's retracing them.

"Then get the fuck away from me! Leave!" Soap shouts, ripping his shirt off over his head and throwing it to the ground.

"Really? You're telling me to leave when you're the one who started this?!"

"Yeah, I am! So fuck off!" He seethes, storming over to your shared dresser and pulling out a clean shirt for himself.

He doesn't wait to put the shirt on, instead just making a break for the door. You're far too upset to just let him leave though. Moving fast, you block the doorway again, a hand on each side of the frame, trapping Soap inside. Though he could easily plow right through you if he wanted, he just glares down at you.

"Get out of the way, States."

"You know, maybe if you were a better teammate we wouldn't be in this mess! It's your fault we're in this damn cabin anyway!" You point a finger at him, poking him in the chest and adding to his annoyance.

The second you poke him, he snaps. He was so fucking done with this. His patience was hanging by a thin thread, and you just cut it with a knife. In a flash, he grabs your wrist, twisting it so that your finger is pulled away from his chest. His grip was firm, but not painful as he forces you to walk backwards into the kitchen. He glares at you, his blue eyes icy and filled with anger.

"You know what, States?!" He barks, his voice deep and filled with venom. "You think you're so bloody perfect, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, you're not! You mess up all the fucking time! Just like how you messed up in Naryn!"

He moves closer, his face inches from yours. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, see the fury burning in his eyes. Your chest as heaving as you stare up at him.

"Why do hate me so damn much! Tell me, Soap. What did I ever do, that from day one, I became the one person you're ever an asshole to?!" You shout back at him, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"I'm not doing this right now." He growls, releasing your wrist and turning to retreat, but you want answers. You follow right after him and block his exit yet again, making his fists clench as his sides.

"No! You're going to answer me!"

"States."

"Why do you hate me?!"

"Move."

"Or what?" You challenge, not aware how close Soap is to snapping. Your eyes are locked on each other, each refusing to look away.

You're both breathing heavily, and the tension in the cabin is building to a very unstable level the longer you hold eye contact. The very thin string that's been keeping you apart is slowly breaking, snapping slowly until there's just the most fragile thread holding everything together.

Then Soap looks down at your lips, his eyes the knife that makes it all come shattering apart. Before he could think twice, before he can rationalize it, he grabs your face, leans down, and captures your lips with his in a rough, angry kiss. It was spontaneous, impulsive, and probably a terrible idea. But in that moment, he didn't give a damn.

You stand there in shock.

He's kissing you.... Soap MacTavish was kissing you....

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was rough. All teeth and tongue and force.

It was confusing. It made your head spin, making you feel instantly dizzy. But you didn't want to pull away.

You hesitate only for a moment before grabbing his head in both of your hands and pulling his lips harder against yours. Your body presses right up against his as you meet each of his kisses with a fury of your own.

Soap is taken aback by your response. He fully expected you to pull back, slap him, yell at him. But instead, your hands are tangling in his short hair, pulling him in closer.

Well, fuck.

He deepens the kiss, his hands slipping down to circle your waist, pulling you flush against him, your arms circling his neck, keeping his lips on yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, your chest pressed against his, your nails digging into his scalp. It was intoxicating, maddening, and thrilling.

Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and desire. You bite down on his lip and barely register the small, primal sound of satisfaction that rumbles in Soap's throat as you do. His hands move from pressing you against him to gripping your hips. With a grunt, Soap is pushing you back against the closest wall he can find. Your lips pop apart for just a second before he's smashing his back against yours.

He pins you against the wall with his body while your hands eagerly run down his chest and torso. Every time he moves, his muscle flex under his skin. You can’t take your hands off him.

His hands can’t seem to help exploring either. They restlessly roam every inch of you he can touch. Eventually, his hands find the hem of your shirt, and he wastes no time in getting the chance to feel the soft skin of your torso.

The thin fabric of your shirt offers little resistance as he slips his hands underneath it. You feel his roughened fingertips trace up your sides, moving until he reaches your breasts. He cups both of your breasts through your bra, giving them a firm squeeze before gently kneading them. You gasp against his lips, a soft, needy whine leaving you.

Oh hell...

Soap is in deep now. He doesn't care about the consequences, about what this might mean for you both. At this moment, all he wants is you.

"States," he murmurs against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you open your eyes as your lips part a little.

He's still so close to you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against your lips and mixing with your own. His eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze darkened and pupils blown. Like he’s a starved man staring down an animal he wants to devour. It’s almost too intense. Your eyes leave his, flicking down to his lips for a second. They’re red and glossy from your intense make out. You’re sure yours look the same to him.

You don’t get to admire his swollen lips for long. The moment you break eye contact, he strikes. His lips are back on yours, a deep groan leaving him when you instantly return his kiss.

His hands have left your breasts, quickly trailing down your body to grope your plump round ass. He gives both cheeks a firm squeeze, pulling you away from the wall just a bit. One hand moves up to the curve of your spine, the other staying on your butt cheek. He then grinds his hips against you, pulling you tight against him as he does.

You moan at the friction, able to feel him through his pants. He's getting hard right against your thigh as he shamelessly squishes you into his growing erection. His hips are gently humping into you, and you want to move too, but he’s holding you far too tightly.

You didn't think you'd ever be in this position. Kissing, let alone dry humping, on Soap MacTavish. Yet here you are, locking lips with him in some kind of sick, hate filled dance.

Not able to move much, you move a hand to the back of Soap’s neck and gently, but firmly, dragging your nails from the base of his skull to the side of his neck. It pulls a shuddery moan from him and makes his hips lose their rhythm.

Soap suddenly pulls away a little, slamming you back against the wall once more. You grunt as he does, pain radiating up your back. With how much he was slamming you around, you were gonna be so bruised tomorrow.

"You fucker." You growl, hands moving to grab his hips as he presses them back into you. He starts to grind once more, a deep chuckle emitting from him.

"You deserved that one." He says, voice almost shaky with lust.

"The hell did I do?" You ask breathily as he leans back in, kissing at the side of your throat. He trails the wet sloppy kisses right up to your ear, his breath hot and voice husky as he offers up an answer.

"You've been driving me fucking mad for six months." He growls lowly, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

You moan softly, his words making the throbbing between your legs so much worse. You press them together, but it doesn’t little to stop the ache.

Soap starts to trail his kisses urgently back down your knee, teeth dragging and lips making delicate popping sounds as he sucks a few marks here and there. You moan quietly into his ear, placing a hand on the back of his head as your eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly, he bites down, rather hard, making you gasp and wince. It hurt like hell, but also ignited some hidden pleasure you hadn’t known existed.

“Ahhh, fuck!” You moan, legs buckling, nails digging into Soap’s shoulder to keep yourself from falling.

Soap grabs your hips before you can fall, slotting one of his own thighs between yours. He begins to gently rock you against him, soothing that ache with each rub against his flexed muscle. It pulls a satisfied moan from your lips as he grins at you.

"Oh, there you go, lass." He mumbles, leaning in to kiss at the spot he’d bitten. "That feel better? You like that?"

"Ass." You sigh, gripping his arms as you shamelessly start grind on his thigh to get some relief.

He chuckles at your remark, his teeth nipping at your jawline. "Such a brat. You drive me fucking mad, States, you know that?" He growls, his voice low and lustful.

"Yeah, you don't exactly make me sane either." You growl right back at him, making him laugh deeply.

He removes his thigh completely then, making you whimper at the loss. Your legs instantly buckle again, hands holding onto Soap to keep yourself upright. His hands move to your hips almost instantly, steading you and pressing you back against the wall.

"I can't wait to fuck that sense back into you." His lips collide with yours once more in a bruising kiss. It's dizzying the way he kisses you. And when he bites your lip, making you hiss, and he grins about it. Oh you hated him. Cocky bastard.

His hands move from pinning your hips to the wall, to tracing alone the hemline of your pants. As he is kissing you, he starts to unbutton your pants and yank them down. They only make it to your mid thigh before getting stuck. He growls against your lips, muttering something about you, "always being so fucking difficult."

Your mind is too fuzzy to realize what Soap is doing until he's doing it. Your body jerks, and you gasp when you hear the sound of your pants ripping. Your eyes fly open, and you give him a rough shove to view the damage he's done. The seam right between your legs has been torn almost completely in half.

Your jaw drops as you stare down at your pants in shock. You don’t even realize that his arms are snaking around behind you to finish the job. When he gives it another forcible rip, you snap.

"Oh my God! Soap! Are you serious right now?!" You shout at him, the brain fog of sex clearing up quickly. You can't believe he's just destroyed your pants.

"You ruin my shirt, I ruin your pants. Maybe you can use these as rags when you clean up those eggs."

"Like hell I'm not! You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to be the one cleaning that up. They wouldn't be there in the first place if you hadn't scared me!"

"Yeah, but you're still the one who threw them."

"I can't help it if my fucking reflexes are triggered! If I clean it up, I'm cleaning it with your clothes, you bast- ahh~" You try to threaten him, but your words are cut short when his fingers find your clit. His thumb has slipped under your panties and is rubbing quick little circled right onto the sensitive thing.

Soap laughs as your words trail off, slowly backing you against the wall as you turn to putty under his touch.

"Oh, steaming Jesus... you're already fucking soaked for me." He growls out, eyes training on where his thumb is moving in your underwear before turning his attention back to you. "You that desperate to get your hands on my clothes, sweetheart?"

You huff at his accusation. "That's not what I said, and you know it." You say through clenched teeth, mind melting. "Your clothes smell like shit anyway. Little egg wouldn't hurt."

His hand shifts slightly then, and his middle finger prodding around just slightly before finding your slick entrance. It takes nothing for his finger to push into your velvety walls. He doesn't even give you a second to adjust to the feeling of his finger inside you. He's thrusting it in and out of you, using his palm to keep a steady pressure on your clit. 

"N... nah..." you try to talk but couldn't get the words out. The pleasure is so sudden, and when Soap hits that one spot, you don't even want to try to argue with him anymore.

"This all it take to get you to shut up?" Soap growls, his free hand gripping your hips tightly to keep you from moving. "Huh, States? Just needed someone to finger you real good? To fuck some manners into you?"

"Fuck. You..."

Your nails are digging into his forearms as his hand picks up speed, palm now slapping against your clit with each thrust of his fingers. You can feel the pleasure inside you, building and building. Like a faucet dripping into a bucket where the water is beading up at the rim, so close to breaking and pouring over the edge.

And you might have let yourself come if it weren't Soap who was the one trying to make you go over the edge. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of coming so soon, so easily on his just his fingers. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a long moan, trying desperately to hold on.

"Fuck, States," Soap growls, able to see just how close you are to giving in. He slows down enough to allow his thumb to find your clit once more, rubbing it in slow, hard circles to change up the pace. He wants to hear you moan, to see you lose control.

"Still think you won't clean it up?" He asked, smirking as your glare turns into your rolling your eyes back as he presses his finger right into the place he knew had been making you squeeze down on his finger. Your hips instantly buck against his hand when he does, telling him he had the right spot.

Shifting slightly so his hip is pinning your leg, he brings his now free hand to your throat, which makes you tense a bit. Your breath hitches, expecting him to squeeze and close your airway, but he's holding it gently, not squeezing. Leaning in, he starts to kiss at your lips again, slower this time, but still just as rough and mean.

His finger has stilled now, buried as deep as he can go. He starts to slowly stroke at the spongy tissue, curling his finger against the same spot over and over. He swallows every moan that leaves your lips, pressing himself harder against you when you fight for control by bucking your hips.

"If you promise to be a good girl," he speaks against your lips between harsh slow kisses. "And clean up the mess you made, then I'll let you come." He gives you a few more kisses, not letting you answer immediately. "You gonna be a good girl for me, States? You gonna shut the fuck up, listen, and do what I tell you to?"

He's looking right into your eyes, his hand still on your neck to keep your gaze on him. You were so tired of Soap having all the control. Tired of not being able to get a word in because he had his hands all over you. You growl at him, which just makes him grin.

In an attempt to level the playing field, you reach down to the now very prominent tent in his pants and grip him hard. Needless to say, you're very happy you'd been making eye contact with him when you do. It wipes the grin right off his face.

"Ahh, fuck!" Soap lips part as he lets out a strangled groan, eyes rolling back ever so slightly. His hips buck hard against your hand as you grip him, and he curses.

He feels a lot bigger than what you'd seen when you accidentally walked in on him naked. Then again, he also hadn't been fully erect then. His cock felt hot, heavy, and throbbing now.

His hand leaves your neck to grab at your wrist, gripping it, but not moving it, as you start to rub your palm against his bulge. He watches the action for a little bit, panting heavily, before turning his focus back on you. His hand starts to move again, thrusting into you in time with your rubbing.

Not one to let Soap of all people win, you start to unbutton his pants and reach down into his underwear to pull his rock hard cock free. Soap hisses as you do, and you can tell why the second he springs free. The tip of his cock is an angry red color. It shimmers slightly from the puddle of precum it's been sitting in while in his underwear, and another bead of it was already forming on the slit, getting ready to form into a little droplet and drip down.

Wasting no time, you get to work, stoking up and down his length, working the precum down his entire shaft. Once he's more slick, you start pumping him furiously, stopping every now and then to let your thumb focus on rubbing the sensitive skin under his tip.

And Soap is fucking loving it. He groans heavily, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Oh fucking hell, lass. That's it..." He breathes, his hand now slamming back into your pussy in quick thrusts.

"I'm not cleaning up shit." You seethe, voice just above a whisper. Your disobedience earns yourself a stinging bit to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. Soap's teeth dig into the soft flesh, and you moan out, a mix of pleasure and pain, right into Soap's ear.

The moans sets something off in Soap. He has to have you. Right here, right now. Nothing else mattered. He needed to feel you clamping down on him. He wanted to rid himself of all the tension from the past three days, clear his mind from the anger, burn it off by fucking you. He wants to make you feel good, feel pain, make you scream his name. And he will.

"You don't want to play nice?" He asks, pulling his hand free from your underwear and yanking your hand away from his cock. "Don't want to take responsibility still? Well that's fucking fine, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so stupid you won't be able to form a single thought let along clean."

You have a retort, but you yelp before you can get it out. You're not sure how he does it, but in a quick movement, Soap has grabbed your legs, wrapped them around his hips, and has you up off the floor. His cock is now resting right in the crease of your ass, your back is still pinned against the wall, and your arms quickly circle his neck for support. The last thing he does is adjust his grip on you, both hands moving to support your ass.

"Doubtful." You egg him on, making him pause to look at you. "You couldn't even make me come on your fingers. What makes you think your cock will be any better?"

Soap glares at you, a snarl forming on his face. "I could've made you come on my fingers, but I'd rather feel you come around my cock."

You rolls your eyes at him. "Bet you'll come before I do."

The glare on his face morphed into a grin that spread slowly onto his face. His member twitches against your ass, and you almost wish you hadn't said what you just said. It was a challenge now, and Soap loved proving you wrong.

"Really?" He snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He shifts you around in his arms, cock dragging along your ass as he pulls his hips back. His tip leaves a cool wet trail. "Let's see if you still think that when you're coming around my cock." You feel the push of his velvety, hot tip as it drags through your folds, lining himself up. "You better brace yourself." He warns, his tone dark and dangerous.

"You better not-”

He pushes into you then. A single, quick thrust of his hips, and his thick length is splitting you in half, filling you completely. You throw your head back against the wall, your breath getting caught in your lungs. Even as slick as you are, it's by no means painless. The sudden intrusion makes your entire body tense as it tries to accommodate him.

"Breathe, States." He instructs, thumbs rubbing circles onto your thighs. At least has the decency to pause for a moment and slowly work his cock the rest of the way into you instead of just ramming you again. By simply lifting your legs a little further up on his hips, you finish sliding down onto him.

His hips are flush with yours, your clit just kissing his hair covered pelvis. You sigh and gasp when your clit meets up with him, the bud still very sensitive. Soap takes a moment to rock you against him, giving your clit a little more stimulation.

"There bonnie. That's better isn't it?" He moans, the gentle rocking feeling good for him too. "Ohh fuck.." He sighs, pressing his forehead to the side of your neck. "You’re so tight."

"That fucking hurt, you fucking ass." You curse him when your breathing finally evens out a bit. That's Soap cue you're ready for more.

"Oh, you're fine. It'll feel good." He readjusts his grip, moving his hands to your thighs, preparing for the harsh fuck he's about to give you.

He wastes no time, dragging his hips back, only leaving his tip inside you, before snapping up into you, starting a brutal pace. You groan loudly, throwing your head back as he slams into you. Each thrust creates a smacking sound as his hips collide with yours. You grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his shoulders and clenching your teeth as you wait for the drag of his cock to feel good.

Soap is already enjoying himself, moaning and panting against your neck. "I'm going to ruin you, States.." He breathes against your skin, his voice a low growl. "Feels so fucking good..."

Then it's like a switch has been flipped. The drag of his cock goes from a dull ache to feeling incredible. He's hitting something in you that's taking your breath away in the best possible way. Once the pleasure starts, there is no more holding back.

A moan tore through your vocal cords, head falling back against the wood behind you. Your walls burn as they stretch and flutter, seeming to form perfectly around his cock. The second Soap has you moaning, he goes harder. His hips piston up into you, making your back slam against the wall. It's probably going to make you so sore later, but fuck you don’t care right now.

Soap is starting to sweat already from his efforts. It's also hot in the cabin. Normally he props the doors open during the day for air flow, but he's not about to stop to do that now. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to look away from you. His eyes stay locked on your face the whole time. Your eyes are shut, your mouth hanging out as moan after moan pour from your lips.

He was out of his mind. Fuck Ghost for always being right. Fuck him for putting this idea in his head.

"Ahhh.. Soap!" You moaning his name is almost his undoing. His hips stutter, and he has to focus on not finishing right then and there. His needs to get you off. Now.

Moving his fingers back your clit, he starts to frantically rub your little nub, making you cry out. Fire is coursing through you, everything is wound too tight.

"Come on, States,” he pants, “That's it. I know you're close, lass. I can feel you fucking trying to milk me. Just let go for me. I know you want to." He coaxes, his voice a low growl.

"Fuck!" You curse, his dirty talk really starting to drive you towards the edge. Your legs are shaking as they lock around him, your clit is burning as he continues to rub it. Harsh slaps filled the cabin as Soap's hips continue to met yours, squishing sounds echoing as his cock penetrates you over and over and over again.

"Come for me lass." Soap commands, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “Come for me right now.”

"I... fucking.. hate you. So damn much." You growl, tears gathering in your eyes from the intense orgasm about your hit. And then you come, relief flooding your veins. All the tension eases up, all your stress is gone. Melting away as each pump of Soap's cock drags out the waves of pleasure.

"Yeah, scream it louder!” Soap pants, pushing harder, slamming you down on him. “There you fucking go. That's it! That's fucking.. Fuck, States!"

Soap feels your walls act like a vice around his member. One squeeze from you is all it takes to drag him towards his own finish. He needed to feel his own release, to feel himself come undone inside you.

As you start to come off your high, Soap is desperately chasing his own, ignoring how your body is starting to relax. He thrusts harder, faster, fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you up.

All you can do is grab his shoulders and hold on for dear life as he buries his face into your shoulder, his stubble ticking you. Your walls are still fluttering in aftershocks, moans and heavy breaths still pouring your lips as Soap fucks you.

Soap is close, you can tell. His breath hitches, his body tensing as he nears his own climax. His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. He could feel it building, the pleasure coiling in his stomach, ready to explode. With one last hard thrust, he comes, shooting his load deep inside you.

He groans heavily into your ear, his cock twitching as the hot ropes of his come paint your insides. He’s finished after three more thrusts, his body shuddering as he pushes into overstimulation. He keeps his forehead against your shoulder, panting heavily while he recovers. He can still feel your walls fluttering around him, could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You cling to him, his hold on you just as tight as the waves of pleasure start to fade for you both. Now that your mind is no longer foggy with lust, something heavy settles in your gut.

What the hell you've just done…

"Fuck," Soap curses, his voice raspy and hoarse.

You feel him shift his hips, allowing his softening member to slip out of you, making you wince. He all but drops your legs, letting them fall from around his waist. You wobble as you try to find your footing, and he pushes you to lean against the wall before taking a step back himself.

You cling to the wall as your shared release begins to drip out of you, running down your thighs and splattering onto the floor. You're panting, as is Soap, as you both try to rationalize what's just happened. Dread and regret settle in the pit of your stomach.

Soap tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but at you. You feel so fragile in this moment as you watch him, waiting for his next move.

"Soap?" You whisper, desperate for him to say something. To talk about what just happened, to tell you what this means. But as Soap looks at you, his eyes harden.

"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He points to the eggs and to the floor under you, his voice cold and distance. He turns to leave, shoving the cabin door open and going God knows where.

Your voice catches in your throat, hurt by his words. You want to stop him, run after him, but you can't. You're in shock, your legs are weak, and you're starting to realize just how much you fucked up.

One second you're in an intense argument with Soap, the next you're fucking each other raw. And now you’re all alone, wondering what hell you just did.

***

Soap needed air. Now. He just made the biggest mistake of his life, and you're looking at him with the most scared and confused eyes. Wondering so many things, things he doesn't have answers for.

"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He tells you. He knows there's no reason to treat you this way. Especially since he's the one who initiated sex with you, but he's so mad at himself right now. Mad for letting himself give in. And even worse, now you look hurt.

He needs air. 

Soap rushes outside, shoving the door firmly like it purposely got in his way. He stands on the porch, running his hands over his face. Trying to calm down. He just needs to breathe for a minute.

Ghost was right about one thing. The orgasm you just pulled from him did release all his tension. Like it was as simple as cutting a single thread. The thing he neglected to tell him was that after all that tension and stress was released, a different kind of tense would creep in.

Actually Soap supposed he was 100% right. Ghost never did say a thing about what it would be like after.

Fuck Ghost…

Soap wants to run. To leave and never come back. But as much as he can't stand you, Soap can't bring himself to leave. Not after your first night together, not after seeing how scared you got. No, as much as he wants to, you are still his squadmate. No man left behind. He can't leave anyone else behind...

However, he is equally aware that he needs time to himself to process everything. Work through some stuff in his head before you talks to you. He should at least help you clean up though. What kind of a guy would he be if he just fucked a girl and left her to clean up the mess. He was already planning on leaving for a few hours to clear his head, he might as well make sure you're somewhat ok before he goes. So you won’t be so stressed.

Sighing, hoping this will just blow over, that somehow you'll never to talk about it, he turns to go back into the cabin.

***

After about a minute of clinging onto the wall, you find enough strength to move. The first thing you do is wiggle out of your destroyed pants and use them to wipe between your legs. Your underwear was still on, but you want to change into a fresh pair. A lot of your arousal had stained them and some of Soap's come had gotten on them when he pulled out.

Once you're clothed again, you make your way back into the kitchen and look down at the white and clear stains on the floor. You want to clean up that stain before anything else. Wipe away the evidence of your coupling. However, you know it's not going to do much. The soreness between your legs is a constant reminder of what happened.

You kneel down, and right as you're about to grab your pants and use them to mop up the mixture of your and Soap's release, the door opens again. You're frozen as Soap walks through, his eyes on you at first. An awkward tension fills the space, and you look away from him, picking at one of the loose strings on your destroyed pants.

Soap finally moves, stepping past you to get to the bedroom and coming out a second later with his egg covered shirt. He kneels down in front of you and uses the sleeve of his shirt to start wiping up the cum stain. Once it's mostly gone, aside from the dampness causing the wood to be two different shades, he moves on to pick the eggs box up and takes it outside.

You get up and start to clean up the eggs while he's gone, knowing you're going to have to talk about what happened sooner or later. You couldn't just fuck each other and act like nothing happened. Especially with the history you and Soap had.

When Soap comes back, you find yourself tensing up once more, the awkward air returning. He pauses in the doorway, but you can't bring yourself to look up him. Eventually, he joins you on the floor, helping you mop up the eggs.

Once the area is clean, or mostly clean (the eggs left a residue), you finally look up at Soap. You open your mouth, wanting to talk to him about everything, but he speaks first.

"I'm gonna head out for a bit. Few hours." He says, moving to stand up.

You want to run after him, tell him to stay so you can talk things out, but a part of you is too ashamed to go after him. You felt like you'd already lost your dignity and running after him would just make you feel even more pathetic.

“Ok…”

You let him leave, the creak of the front door sealing the decision. The moment the door closes, a wave of anguish crashes over you. Now that he's gone, you can finally let the tears fall. The confusion, the anger at yourself, the regret, the shame—all of it eats at you until you're exhausted. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Soap is gone for hours again. It's getting dark, but you can't bring yourself to care as much as you did the first time. Having some time away from him to cry and work out the emotions was actually kind of nice. But the loneliness creeps in, wrapping around you like a cold, suffocating blanket. You curl up on your cot, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

By the time Soap does come back, you're already in your cot, eyes shut but not sleeping. You hear the front door open and close, hear his footsteps come to the bedroom door and wait outside, hear the door slowly push open, and you can image him peeking inside.

"States?" He asks in a really soft voice. You don't answer him.

He comes into the room, and you feel like he's looking at your sleeping form, but you don't dare open your eyes to check. You hear him sigh, and then he starts to quietly move about the room, getting himself ready for bed.

When he finally crawls into his cot, the silence settles heavily over the room. And once it's silent again, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying.

[mecachrome]

#i wish it weren't taboo to talk about how 814 are literally just an audhd couple... could discuss this for days. does anyone want to

actually yes i would like nothing more this is lowkey all i think about sometimes

HLSDKFHLH i was about to publish my own post but now i feel enabled to write a Longer Response 🧡 thank u guys

2 me 814 is Girl who is so classically adhd it's comical (overt hyperfixations + poor executive function + basically arfid + time blindness) coexists beautifully with Misunderstood autistic girl (too straightforward for other people + pretended to be a car as a child + sensory issues through the roof + consciously masking in every interview) while everyone loses their minds because they should Hate Each Other and be at each other's throats??! and yet they don't because their neurodivergent swag transcends petty team politics 💗

like honestly i think they interact easily because they're both weird & particular in their own ways but their priorities are ultimately the same so why would any of that matter you know? and they try to accommodate each other when they're able to even if it's little things like oscar not eating salmon around lando anymore lol 😭 (i say this as audhd guy with extreme sensory issues and many other Problems and Issues... that is in fact romanze to me. also little stuff like the No Name Drop? moment because yes it's small in the grand scheme of things but to me it's special because it's like... THEIR inside joke and oscar is proving he does enjoy it and cares about maintaining it :') and then when lando was feeling down post-race in brazil he pulled out landinho all on his own <3)

like this is so random but i was just rewatching the logan sexed bit earlier and it's so funny how oscar is just like ??? WHAT. and somewhat annoyed at being grilled about it because in his head he's thinking "it's literally just a show title why are you Willfully Misunderstanding me idg why that's so funny to you are you 5." but with lando there's so much less... idk laughing At each other as if there's some big joke one person is missing out on and more just giggling together because oscar thinks every little thing lando says is funny and because they're equally charmed by each other's particularities. like oscar doesn't mind that lando is super fidgety and respects that he has Depths (saying that lando is a mix of sarcastic/dry, excitable, and serious) while lando has joked that oscar is somewhat robotic before but obviously still revels in wheedling genuine reactions out of him :') like you can see from how they get caught up in their little world while in parc fermé or doing their f1 media duties that they're capable of just focusing on Each Other without a care in the world for other people and they aren't talking just to have content for the cameras...

and like again the whole point of f1 is that it's a media circuit that needs overextended drama to survive as a consumable product but in the end neither of them care to sustain these artificial demands because it's just antithetical to their personalities and how their brains operate... their job is literally just car 🏎

also another thing is how people talk about 814 always twinning but what adds even more dimension to it is basically oscar admitting and being conscious of his mirroring lando's expressions 😭 and the fact that he's always choosing him for interview questions/copying his answers during games! like i think it's sooo compelling that oscar unintentionally latched onto lando as a young teenager in the uk and never really strayed from that because you have a very expressive, larger-than-life lando who is prone to being misrepresented because people don't really understand the manifestation of adhd and then level-headed oscar who is also poorly read because he doesn't express himself "conventionally" taking one look at lando and being like Hmmm yes. i'll mold myself after that. and lando being so happy and open to that dynamic 🧡 does it not move u

[daydreams-after-dark]

"Stop Lift" button

NSFW // AU LEE KNOW FANFIC // female reader x Lee Minho spicy short story. Work colleagues to lovers.

You and Lee Know work together but when you find out he’s moved into the same apartment building as you things get steamy in the elevator

Approx 3.5k words

Warnings below

Warnings: elevator sex // oral sex (both rec) // unprotected vaginal sex // orgasms // dirty talk // names "slut", "whore" // nudity // masturbation // vibrators // panty fetish

You hop in the elevator of your apartment building and press the button for the 4th floor. It’s late afternoon, around 4pm, and you were able to get away from work a little earlier than usual. Well, actually you gave yourself a well deserved early mark because you had finally finished a project you'd been working on. It’d had taken you months. Months of brain energy, late nights and a shit load of coffee.

You're feeling so good that you'd decided to use the lift rather than climbing the stairs. The lift is unreliable at best. When it’s not breaking down, it’s slow and clunky and makes this weird whiny noise as it moves up and down the lift shaft. The stairs would have been quicker but hey, you have heels on, and you're wearing your new lavender knit wrap dress. It clings to all the right places. You feel like sex on legs. Someone who is sex on legs does not take the stairs. Right?

The lift doors haven’t even closed yet, it’s that fucking slow, and you catch sight of someone coming towards the lift. Damn it, it’s rare that you have to share a lift with anyone. How irritating.

Irritating until you catch sight of who is trying to get into the lift. Then it just turns horrifying. Oh my god! You almost die on the spot. It’s that Lee Minho from the accounts department at your work. Lee Minho that looked like he was going to eat you alive the first time he saw you two months ago. Lee Minho who you thought hated you and you hated him, but you ended up flirting your your ass off with at last weeks boozy karaoke night in the office.

Lee Minho that you snuck off with into a stationary storeroom and almost had sex with. “Do you like this, kitten.” He’d whispered in your ear when his hand slipped up your dress and gripped your ass. You could still feel his hands up your skirt now and you clenched at the memory. “You look so fucking tempting flirting with me like that?” He had growled low. “I could take you right now if you’ll let me, little kitten.” He’d stated as he fingered your pussy.

Who knows what would’ve happened if someone hadn’t set of a fire alarm and he was insistent that you had better evacuate.

It’s not that you wouldn’t consider going on a date with him, or fucking him in a work closet. It’s just work are gossips and you learned the hard way about the repercussions of sleeping with men at work.

But why the fuck is Lee Minho getting in the lift in your apartment building?

“Hold the lift” Minho says as he hurries inside, and you push the thoughts of him in a closet out of your head.

“You don’t need to hurry, this thing is slow. You’d be better to climb the steps.” you offer trying to be calm.

He turns to look at you and his eyes grow wide. “y/n!” He beams “I wasn’t expecting to run into you. Wow! Do you live here?”

I nod “Yep! I live in this shit hole. Wait. Why are you here?”

“I’m… we’ll,” he scratches his head “I’ve just moved in on level 3.” He smirked. “We’ll probably run into each other a lot.” He added with that eat-you-alive look all over his face.

You take in that new piece of information as he looks to the panel the floor numbers and presses the 3rd floor, and you try to sneakily check him out. Like you always do when he happens to be near you. No wonder you dry humped him in the cupboard. He is slim, but it’s obvious he is also strong and toned, and his light sandy brown hair falls around his face in quite an annoyingly attractive way.

“So… you never did answer me the other day.” He glanced at you and raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?” You are taken out of your thoughts.

“About sharing a meal with me. You never answered.”

That’s right, during the fiasco amongst the paper and paperclips he’d asked you out for a meal.

It’s only now that the doors finally close and the lift mechanisms kick into gear ready to take you up to our respective floors.

“Yes, I guess that would be okay.” It slips out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Minho suddenly turns to you and takes a step closer, giving you his full attention. Fuck he is beautiful. And deadly. His proximity is sparking arousal throughout your body, much like when you were drunk and you feel yourself getting wet.

“I…I just don’t know when would be convenient.” you say it quickly to distract yourself from the tension between your legs. The sexual energy between you is thick. He feels it too, you're sure of it. You automatically look down to his crotch to find he is hard. You can see the bulge under his navy trousers. God you'd love to let his cock free. You look back up to meet his dark gaze.

He comes closer now, like he is cornering his prey, closing in on you. The lift has only just passed level 1. Your breath hitches and your exhale is more of a shudder than anything else. You take a step back but you are now pushed against the wall, the hand rail pushing against your lower back.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Minho slams the “Stop Lift” button and the elevator grinds to a halt.

“Is this convenient, kitten?” He says bluntly, leaning in so he is merely centimeters from your face. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. You don’t want to.

“W-what do you mean?” you whisper. Your handbag falls to the carpeted floor, spilling half the contents out all over the place.

He rests his left arm on the wall beside your head and brings his right hand up to your jaw. With his index finger he traces your jawline delicately. Slowly. Dangerously. Then proceeds to trace his finger down the front of your neck towards your cleavage.

“Ah, I suppose I wasn’t entirely clear, sweetheart.” His finger reaches the top edge of the very low neckline of your dress and he rests his fingers on the top bulge of your breast. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly as your heart rate and breathing increase. He knows what he is doing to you.

“When I said share a meal with me,” he licks his lower lip hungrily and his eyes follow his hand as it slips down to the belt tie of your dress and resting there.

“I meant that you’re the meal.” He looks back up to you but his hand hasn’t moved.

“Would that be okay. Kitten?”

Sweet fucking Jesus! You try to remember to breathe.

Would it be okay? Right here in the lift?

In that moment you lost all sense of reason. A lift is much riskier than a cupboard, but this man is turning you on so much your brain is mush. Your mind flashes back to how Minho spoke to you in the cupboard, and how close you’d been to letting him fuck you while all your colleagues were merely metres away from you.

“Yes… it’s convenient.” Your voice sounds raspy.

You want to share everything you can with this sexy specimen. Right now.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here then?” Minho tugs at your dress’s tie-belt and it loosens easily. The knit fabric falling open to expose your bare skin and underwear. You hold your breath waiting for what he might do next.

“You’ve worn this for me?” He smirks, taking in the site of your lingerie and half naked body. “I saw you walking around the office today. I didn’t know what kind of slutty lingerie you had on, though. Hmm.” He resumes tracing your skin, this time skirting the hem of the top of your black satin push-up bra and then cupping your breast in his hand. Minho exhales sharply and takes both of his hands and drags them down your stomach as he sinks to his knees.

You grab the handrail that you've been pressed up against, and steady yourself. Minho’s fingers are now tracing over your teeny tiny black g-string.

“Ah, you’ve packaged this up nicely for me too. You’re such a whore. You were probably hoping I’d get to see this, huh?” His left hand reaches around to grasp your bare right cheek and begins to stroke his finger against your lips, still through the underwear. The satin fabric makes it easy to glide his finger up and down. You are sopping wet now and your body is aching to be penetrated.

You think he is going to slide your underwear down your legs, but instead he loops his finger around the underside and tugs it to the side.

With the thong out of the way, he slips a finger through your bare lips. You groan at the sensation. You are slick and slippery and it takes Minho no effort to slip a finger inside of you. You grip the handrail and throw your head back. It’s been so long since you've had a man do this to you.

“So fucking ready.” He comments. “It looks like you’ve got dinner all ready for me. Just for me. You’re whole fucking outfit, these heels,” he gestures to your shoes, “the black lingerie. It’s like you knew I would be devouring you today.” He pumps his fingers in and out of you and squeezes your ass hard. You gasp with the sudden forcefulness.

“You don’t want to let your dinner get cold then.” you challenge him, you're dying for his face to be buried in your pussy.

Minho growls. Your bold remark spurs him on and the next thing you know his face is between your legs, his tongue presses up against your clit. He is not gentle, but this is not the time for that. You are hungry and ravenous too and you want it hard and dirty. Delicate just won’t cut it.

From the way Minho is ravishing you it appears he hasn’t eaten in a month! His grunts and enthusiasm makes you feel delicious.

You continue to hold the handrail and he forces one of your thighs over his shoulder, propping you up and allowing him more access. His tongue slips inside you now.

You realise that you haven’t actually touched him at all yet. You want to suck his cock. You've decided. Even though you haven’t reached an orgasm, you unhook your leg from Minho’s shoulder and guide him back to standing.

“Wait, why did you take my dinner away? Kitten?” he demands, diving in to nip at your neck, his hands all over you. You can smell your wetness on his breath. You wonder if he is going to kiss you.

You push him off you and give him a seductive look. You bite your lip as you cast your eyes down to his jeans. You definitely want to suck his cock.

You begin to undo the button on his trousers, and ever so slowly unzip his fly. You pull his pants and boxers down just enough so that you can release his cock. It’s your turn to slink down to your knees and you're now face to face with his enormous, hard, throbbing erection. You clasp a hand around his shaft and position yourself to take him in your mouth. You begin by licking the pre-cum off the tip and his cock twitches. Minho sucks his breath through his teeth.

“That’s it kitten.” He encourages. You sink your mouth down around his cock and take it as far back as you can. You can’t get all of him in your mouth. You haven’t mastered deep throating, so you have to rely on your tongue and hand technique.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” you must be doing okay then. “You’re such a dirty slut kneeling on this filthy floor with cock in your mouth.”

Oh you like this dirty talk. You increase your pace and allow yourself to become more aggressive, needy and messy. You let saliva run down your hand as you stroke him and you moan and hum like it’s the best dick you've ever tasted. It is the best dick you've ever tasted.

Minho grabs the back of your head, tangling his fingers through your hair and forces you to hold steady as he begins to fuck your face. He grunts and moans with each thrust. Your eyes become watery and he is careful not to go any deeper than what you can handle. You dig your nails of your other hand into his ass and he growls like some sort of wild animal. His erection is so hard and swollen in your mouth that you're sure he is going to come any moment. You are about to pump him harder when suddenly he pulls out of your mouth and lifts you back off the floor pushing you hard against the wall where you started. Hooking an arm under each of your thighs he lifts you to perch on the handrail, your dress hanging open and slipping off a shoulder.

He aggressively and passionately gropes your breasts with one hand, holding you in place with his other. Finally, he grabs your face and forcefully, greedily, smashes his mouth against yours. You open your mouth for his tongue and he obliges you with a deep, erotic kiss. You can taste yourself mingled with mint, his tongue dancing with yours.

This sends your vagina crazy. Fuck me already you think.

As if reading your thoughts, Minho pulls back enough to reach down to your g-string and literally rips one side, then the other, angry that it dared to be there.

Now you're truly exposed. You hold onto his shoulders and he comes in close between your legs, and with one hand pinning you in place, he grips his cock with his other, and directs the head to push against your entrance. You need it so bad. You are on the verge of begging him to fuck you now.

His jaw hangs slack and his tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he watches the tip of his cock rub up and down your lips, which is fucking dripping now. He slides it up through your lips once, twice, and then thrusts himself all the way inside of you in one motion. You cry out as you feel like you’ve been split in two as his hips meet your body. Minho pauses for a moment to let you adjust to him being inside of you.

“You’re dying for cock aren’t you? Look how well you take me. So greedy for my dick.” He leans his forehead against yours. “Are you ready to have your brains fucked out?”

He starts to thrust in and out of you at a forceful pace.

“You know, Minho,” you pant, “I think you might be the slut. So desperate to fuck a woman in a filthy elevator”.

That was enough to tip Minho over the edge. With both arms hooked under each of your legs, he digs his fingers into your thighs and begins to slam into you at an exceptionally hard and fast pace. Your are so wet that his penis threatens to slip out, but Minho does well to thrust it back into you before that happens, until on one withdrawal it slips out entirely and you both groan in frustration and need.

He pushes his cock back in moaning in relief that it’s back inside. He pulls down the sleeves of your dress, biting and kissing your shoulder.

“You know, kitten,” he says hoarsely between breaths, “maybe we are just two needy sluts who enjoy fucking in the elevator.” He grins, and you laugh. But your laughing doesn’t last long because you are both so very close now.

You can feel the head of his cock pounding into your cervix. With every contact you scream louder and louder. He is so deep and you're living for it. His thrusts start to become a little staggered and wobbly. He is close, but so are you, and you are going to come God Damn it.

You hold tighter to his shoulders and you start to buck against him and he resumes holding your thighs and ass to support you.

“Come for me, come on my cock. That’s it kitten.” He concentrates on keeping steady so you can set the rhythm, and you come so hard your body shakes and shudders. You cry out as your climax overwhelms you.

“That’s it, good girl. You such a slut for my cock, huh?” he kisses your mouth.

“Mmm hmm.” you respond and you bite his tongue. “Now it’s your turn. Fuck me and fill me up with your cum.” you say filthily. This whole scenario is so dirty. Raw, dirty, sex. In a public place. With Minho.

You take his face in your hands “come in me.” you whisper breathlessly.

All it took was two more hard final thrusts and you could feel his semen release high up inside of you, painting your insides. Minho relaxes against your body. “Fuck that was so fucking… grrr. So good.” He growls and pulls out of you leaving you feeling empty.

You try to catch your breath and compose yourself as you redress, sans panties, and try to straighten your hair. Minho packs his cock away safely and bends down to gather all the things that had fallen out of your bag while you put a shoe back on. You didn’t even know it had fallen off!

“Here you go, kitten.” He passes you your handbag and presses the lift button so that it starts moving again. You hope no one had been waiting to use it.

“Thanks Minho.” you smile. He is so addicting.

The lift opens on level 3 and Minho steps out of the lift. Fuck, his ass is beautiful too.

Finally you reach your floor. You can feel Minho’s cum dribbling down your leg. You hurriedly hop out of the lift and rummage around your bag for your keys. While you’re searching, you realise your underwear isn’t in there! You keep rummaging. No way! You know they weren’t left on the elevator floor, you'd checked that nothing was left behind. Minho. The fucker. The kinky fucker. He’s fucking taken your underwear!

You should be angry, but you're more amused, and if you're honest very turned on.

That night, you lay in bed fantasising about your little escapade in the lift. You wonder what he is doing right now? Is he laying there with your panties wrapped around his cock while he jerks off and cums all over them? You reach into your bedside draw for your vibrator, and spend the next little while relishing in thought of Minho fucking your underwear.

——————————————————————

On the floor below, Minho takes a quick shower but his mind is still in the elevator with you. He hadn’t intended for it to go that far, he just wanted to eat you out, but you had other ideas.

He looks down at his penis “She really liked you doesn’t she?” he says to it endearingly.

Minho turns off the tap and dries off. He doesn’t dress. Living alone is convenient like that. You can do whatever you wanted. Don’t want to wear clothes? Don’t have to.

He strolls over to his bed and perches himself on the edge. He really can’t get you out of his head. He turns to his trousers that he had tossed on the bed earlier. Hmm that’s right, he thinks to himself as he reaches into the front pocket and pulls out the your torn panties. The panties he had torn off your delicious body. His cock twitches with the memory. He reaches in again and pulls out another item that he had taken when he was picking the things that had fallen out of your handbag. A lipstick.

Minho gets into bed and leans against the headboard, holding the items he stole. Is he a pervert? The black satin g-string was beyond repair, and he could see where you had been wet and leaking onto the fabric. He bites his lip. Then he takes the lipstick in his hand. He has an idea. His plan is to smear some of the lipstick around his cock to make it look like you had just sucked him off. Then he will jerk off.

But Minho is having trouble. How the hell do you get the lid off? He takes a closer look. A button. Okay let’s press that.

Buzzzzzz. It’s not a lipstick. It’s a mini bullet vibrator!

Arousal rushes to his cock. So you carry this around with you then? You are truly something!

He lays back into the mattress and places the vibrator against his balls. Mmmm! So good, especially because he knows that you have used this to pleasure yourself. Have all your juices smeared all over it. Have shaken and convulsed on it. Minho shudders and exhales a shaky breath. He takes the torn panties and places it over his face. He wants to, no needs to, smell you. Taste you. Savor you.

With his free hand he reaches for his lube that he keeps under his pillow and squirts a generous amount all over the head of his cock. He starts to stroke himself rhythmically, breathing in as much of your scent as he can.

He imagines your sitting on his face. Your heels next to his head, and that you’re the one pumping his cock. He begins to buck his hips as he fucks his own hand. Faster and harder. He licks the panties pretending he is sucking and licking your pussy. Imagining you are moaning and coming on his face.

He visualises you sinking your mouth onto his cock all the way to the hilt. He knew you couldn’t take him all in, but in his imagination you are deep throating him, and using your vibrator to bring him to orgasm. Fuck. Minho’s cum covers his hand and paints his stomach. That was quick, but intense.

He relaxes his muscles, exhausted and satisfied and basks in the feelings of pleasure as he calms his heart rate.

He decides he needs to have another shower.

@noellllslut @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @newhope8 @queen-in-the-shadows @queenmea604

[arrowfleur]

✩‧₊˚ Redacted HC’s ✩‧

Part 2: Sam and Darlin’

Sam is very rarely, if ever, at his full potential because he doesn’t do live feedings unless he literally needs to.

Big time cuddlers, Sam’s cold body and Darlin’s warmth work wonders.

Although Sam is warmer than most vampires since he eats more food than most.

Very good cook too, he has a lot of family recipes from his grandma

Darlin’ can hold their own in the kitchen they’re just not that bothered about it, or eating in general.

They’re also always dehydrated asf, they only really drink water when they’re working out, other then that, they forget.

Darlin’ has bought Sam multiple tank tops that are too small for him.

One of them had ‘garlic’ bedazzled on it and they laughed at their own joke for the rest of the night after Sam put it on

They both like to do each others hair. Brushing it, washing it, shaving beards. They can’t get their hands off each other

Darlin’ sits directly on top of Sam often, even when the whole couch is empty. He’s practically a climbing frame.

Sam is closest to David’s height out of everyone in the pack, Darlin is pretty level with Asher.

Darlin’ calls Sam ‘Collin’s’ ‘sammy’ and ‘babe’ quite often but they’ve found themself saying ‘it’s Sam’ if someone calls him anything otherwise

Sometimes they both say it in unison

Darlin has picked up quite a lot of Sam’s language but it doesn’t fit quite as neatly with their accent.

After finding out what it means, they particularly enjoy saying ‘bless your heart’ and then smirking to Sam as if it’s some sort of inside joke just between them.

They both think each other to be the funniest thing to exist. Darlin’ will keel over giggling at the most mundane comments Sam makes.

The pack was rather surprised to find out how gossipy Sam can be. Angel, Babe and Ash were DELIGHTED.

But he will not tolerate bad words being said about his loved ones. And has on multiple occasions whipped out the dead-pan face with a ‘do you hear how stupid you sound?’ to someone who thought him a safe space for slander.

They play fight in the woods a lot. Hunting each other, whilst Darlin’s shifted. Sam figured he’d have to go easy on them the first time they did it but they are surprisingly sneaky for such a large creature.

Darlin’ pounced on sam once, not realising he was next to a hill and they both ended up with twigs in their hair cradling each other at the bottom, with the loudest belly laughs ever.

Sam uses Vaseline for everything. His bathroom mainly consists of that and old spice.

The first time Darlin’ teased him about it he just laughed and graciously reminded them of his ‘soft lips’ with an off guard kiss

Timberland hates to see Sam coming, he has oh so many boots

He’s surprisingly meticulous about what he buys and he has expensive taste

‘I’d rather spend the money now and have them last than have to buy ‘em again in a couple months’

Saying that, he probably couldn’t name a single designer.

Could care less about having the latest trend or product.

He orders clothes for Darlin’ as well. Mainly basics. It took them a while to realise when their clothes started taking up more and more space in their closet.

Darlin’ is more than happy to wear the same pair of ripped black jeans over and over but they do have a fashion sense.

And if they absolutely HAVE to, they will show out.

When they were younger they had a very 2000’s aesthetic and it’s never completely left them.

The same way they will never get rid of their Ed hardy t-shirts

Sam likes marmalade

Darlin’ once surprised Sam with breakfast in bed, which he tried his best to be grateful for but all he could think about were crumbs in the bed l.

Darlin’ realised their mistake and they moved it to the couch as a compromise.

Darlin’ has a journal but it’s just filled with random sketches and funny things they thought of. They’re very private about it though

When they first met, almost all of Darlin’s socks had holes in

Darlin LOVES the Wildlife they get to see at Sam’s house. They have tried to befriend dears and foxes many, many times.

They also know a strangely large amount of bird breeds

Sam has a strange hatred for bagels

Darlin’ bought Sam the new f-zero game as soon as it came out

Sam used to have a German Shepard named Fido

Darlin’ still goes back to their old apartment every week to take their elderly neighbour grocery shopping.

Darlin’ quit smoking once they’d settled with Sam

He never asked them too, but they want a long life with him

They still have a packet for when they’re stressed but baby steps

Darlin’ uses the amount of buttons Sam’s flannels have to their ADVANTAGE when they’re making out

And God they love his lap and his thighs and his neck and his beard and his smile and nose and hands and voice and and and and

Sorry l bout that one I miss my husband

Anyways that’s all and here’s my proof I got them second, not that it really matters but anyway

[ownlittleuniverse]

Hii, how was your day?

Can you do a Hesitant Hero and A Flirty Villain? Maybe Villain Escapes from the prison and when hero chases them gets caught in a trap in the villain's lair. Hero's can't handle the proximity?

my day’s been pretty chill & good ty for asking, glad to have time to write again :) @marichika04

request #1 - the hero gets caught in the villain’s trap

warning: themes of captivity, suggestive language (not nsfw)

The hero hated admitting they looked forward to these daily checkups, which is why they wouldn’t.

With a keycard in one hand and a list of questions in the other, the hero approached the metal cell door with an intake of breath.

The villain only agreed to talk to them for some reason, adding yet another mystery the hero needed to solve.

The door opened with a beep, revealing the villain lounging casually against the wall, as if they were comfortable, as if they wanted to be there. Their untouched breakfast lay before them.

The hero sighed. “You need to eat,” they muttered, crouching down to the villain's level, glaring at the back of their head. The villain had been in the team's capture for over a week and had barely eaten.

“I’ve fed my dog better.”

The hero suspected they were starving themselves on purpose, perhaps intending to die with secrets still buried in their mind. Yet, a part of the hero also wanted them to eat for their own health, so they wouldn’t waste away.

The villain turned, eyes locking onto the clipboard in the hero’s hand. A smirk spread across their face as they met the hero's eyes. “I’ll agree to answer more boring questions if you give me something edible.”

The hero tried to maintain their courage, but they felt the villain could see through the facade, see their cracks, see how scared they really were.

“You will answer them because you’re our prisoner,” they replied, not missing how their own voice shook slightly.

The villain only smiled, tilting their head slightly, a glint in their eye that the hero recognized.

“What?” the hero gulped.

The villain shook their head, chuckling.

The hero stood, stepping away from the villain, feeling a slight relief with the added distance. Despite the bars between them, the hero felt an unsettling mix of emotions whenever they were close to the villain—an intense nervousness that they couldn’t quite categorize as liked or loathed.

They wished they could make these confusing feelings vanish and needed a distraction. They began scanning the list of questions on their clipboard, pondering when they might finally get answers to these questions from previous days, all left unanswered. The villain's stubbornness was their biggest strength.

“You heroes are so boring,” the villain groaned, standing to grip the metal bars, their fingers flexing around them. The hero glanced up, curiosity killing the cat.

“I would have answered all your questions ages ago if you weren’t so afraid to use more... creative methods, sweetheart.”

The hero tried to ignore the villain’s suggestive tone, returning to their clipboard, though they felt the villain’s gaze burning into them.

The villain didn’t miss how their face flushed. “Don’t be afraid to have a little fun,” they smiled. “If I were in your shoes, all the things I’d do to you would drag the answers right out.”

The hero’s mind flooded with images, their cheeks reddening. The villain wasn’t violent, but their interrogation methods always spiked the hero’s heartbeat in a way that was unsettling.

The hero had been trained to handle painful interrogations, and the villain knew this, which is why they always used these other methods. Their body reacted in a way their mind hated, but their body couldn’t help but adore. It was confusing. It was hell.

“Your threats mean nothing,” the hero said, barely audible, trying hard to suppress the unevenness in their voice. They still managed an erratic heartbeat in the villain’s presence, even though they couldn’t do anything from inside that cell.

“They still made your mind race,” the villain smirked. “And I’m sure—"

The hero heard a sharp intake of breath. They looked up in confusion.

Their eyes widened as they saw the villain’s hands grip the bars like their life depended on it. They slumped to the ground.

The hero dropped their clipboard and rushed over, the worst possibilities flooding their mind. Red seeped from the villain’s crumpled form. They looked like they were at death’s door.

“What—what’s going on?” the hero whispered, their hand moving to check the villain’s pulse. Their skin felt too cold.

The villain grunted, clutching their side, struggling to keep their eyes open. “Your teammates aren’t as nice as you are, darling,” they smiled, blood seeping through their teeth, making their grin more haunting.

The hero’s breathing quickened as they swore under their breath and ran from the room. They wondered if that was why the villain wasn’t eating much. Did the villain think the team had done something to their food? Maybe they had, but why? The hero’s mind raced through possibilities as they sprinted down the hallway.

Grabbing the first aid kit they spotted, they rushed back in.

But the scene that greeted them was a pool of red liquid, an open window…

And an empty cell.

That little bastard.

The hero cursed, bolting to the window just in time to see the villain sprint into oncoming traffic, kicking a poor bystander out of their car and getting in. How did they get down so fast?

The hero needed to act quickly.

Adrenaline surged as they dove out of the window, hitting the ground with a roll. Their shoulder scraped against the pavement, pain shooting down their back and arm. They hissed through their teeth.

They grunted but got back on their feet, signalling to other guards that the hero would handle the situation. The hero wasn’t even in uniform, only a tank top and pants. No weapons, just themselves.

They ran toward the sound of honking cars and panicked voices, watching the villain weave through traffic, picking up speed.

The hero jumped into a car vacated by a startled civilian, slammed on the gas, and shouted, “Sorry!”

The hero could still see the villain’s car in the distance, weaving recklessly through traffic. Sweat coated their palms, blood from their scraped shoulder seeping onto the seat. Their foot pressed harder on the gas.

They’d be in serious trouble if they didn’t return with the villain. The team would get a reputation for letting a villain escape because the hero was too gullible. Too scared. Not fit for the job.

A sharp ache filled their chest. The team already said the hero was growing soft.

Being soft wasn’t bad, but it was bad when someone used it against you.

The hero watched as the villain took a sharp left, their car’s rear slamming into a trash can on the sidewalk, sending metal shards flying. Bystanders jolted back, screams of shock echoing.

The hero followed the turn, the car screeching against the pavement, their body thrown to the side. Breathing felt like a struggle, but they pressed the gas harder, their heartbeat matching the car’s speed.

They tailed the villain’s reckless turns, watching them narrowly avoid collisions. The hero closed in, seeing the back of the villain’s head, imagining their stupid smirk. So close.

The hero slammed on the brakes.

They realized then the person who came running into the street like a maniac, the person they barely missed slamming right into and turning into roadkill, was a cop.

Shit.

The hero watched the villain take a right in the distance.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

They got out of the car without a second thought.

They managed about five steps before a bruising grip halted them.

“What do you think you're doing?” the rookie snapped, gripping the hero’s arm firmly, anger in their voice making the hero flinch.

The hero looked at the scared civilians overwhelming the street with their shaking chatter. They were just trying to go about their day. Now their eyes reflected only terror.

Breathing heavily, the hero stared into the cop’s eyes, which were seeing red.

Without their uniform, they were just another reckless civilian.

“You are going to sit in my car,” the cop gruffed, handcuffs inches from the hero’s wrist, “while I go get your friend.”

The hero didn’t have time to explain or fix this mess.

So they headbutted the cop and ran.

The hero didn’t wait for the officer to recover, sprinting with all their might.

“Stop!”

The hero took the right turn, legs burning, the cop’s shouts fading behind them. Slowing down, they saw the villain’s car parked askew in front of an old, abandoned-looking apartment building.

The graffiti-covered walls looked familiar, but they couldn’t place it. Maybe because it felt like they were dying.

They doubled over, hands on knees, trying to catch their breath. They knew the villain was near, their skin prickling with awareness.

The cop’s pounding footsteps echoed, breath heavy, just about to round the corner.

The hero quickly jumped through a broken window, ducking down.

They tried to breathe quietly, feeling their pulse in their ears. They backed up slowly, crouching, holding the weapon they snagged from the cop unnoticed.

The hero watched the cop pass by, sporting a new bloody nose.

With one finger delicately on the trigger, the hero continued to back up carefully. They needed to find the villain, and then clean up their giant mess.

Their foot caught on something uneven, causing them to stumble. They looked down.

Rope?

The rope tightened around their ankle, lifting their foot in the air.

Their body swiftly followed.

Their head smacked against the dirty pavement, their heart dropping to their stomach.

They groaned, cradling their head, feeling a bump forming as their vision blurred.

Somehow, over their heartbeat, they heard their echoed yelp bounce off the apartment’s walls.

Now the world was upside down.

“I know you’re here!” the cop shouted. “Come out!”

They must have heard the scream.

The hero held their breath, eyes wide, praying the cop wouldn’t glance their way.

They watched the cop frantically search, feeling their pulse in their feet.

Please. Please. Please. Don’t look this way.

After seconds that felt like hours, the cop swore and stomped off, muttering into their radio.

The hero would’ve sighed with relief,

but the rope still dug into their ankle bone.

They looked down—or up, given their position—and saw the cop’s weapon on the floor, just out of reach.

They stretched, arm and hand straining, fingers brushing the metal.

The hero was tired, exhausted. Their breath was uneven, their body shaking.

Their body weight pulled at their ankle, sending tingles through their feet, muscles screaming in protest.

Focusing all their energy, they pulled more, blocking everything else out.

Finally, they inched the weapon closer, feeling the cool metal on their fingertips. Slowly, they grasped the end—

A deafening crack exploded inches away.

They yelped, retracting their hand just in time to avoid a bullet hole.

Pure fear shot through their swaying body.

Hands cradling their head, they tried to block out the deafening ringing in their brain.

The hero frantically twisted, seeing nothing but the upside-down view of the apartment’s walls. No other breathing but their own.

Their vision blurred, seeing double, then quadruple. Their ankle grew numb, pins and needles dancing on the bottom of their foot as the rope dug into their skin.

They saw the cop’s weapon but didn’t dare grab it again.

“Look at you, dangling like a piece of meat.”

The villain’s voice cut through their frantic haze, making the hairs on their neck stand up.

They swung around to see the villain lounging in a chair, examining the weapon that had nearly ended the hero’s hand, holding the rope supporting the hero’s entire body weight like it was nothing.

“How the mighty have fallen,” the villain chuckled, fingers tracing the barrel.

The hero let themselves dangle, the villain’s fingers close to the trigger keeping them compliant. Their pulse pounded in their head.

“I’m not a piece of meat,” the hero managed to say, their voice betraying them with fear.

The villain looked up, eyes narrowing with interest. “I’m aware, darling, and I’m glad you aren’t,” the villain smirked. “Pieces of meat don’t let out the sounds you do.”

The hero’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and something else they refused to acknowledge. The villain knew their fear, like sharks smelling blood in the water.

The villain slowly stood, tossing the weapon back and forth, taunting the hero. The hero glanced between the villain and their still-captured ankle, trying to wiggle free, grunting and crying out.

The villain strolled toward the hero, footsteps like the ticks of a bomb before it detonates.

The hero thrashed, trying to reach the cop's weapon but pushed it away instead.

No. No.

They whined in their restraints, trying to sit up to untie their ankle, their breathing erratic as the villain closed in, the weapon swinging between their hands.

The hero gulped. It could easily annihilate anyone or at the least, leave them with a missing limb.

Desperate, they sat up, managing to get one finger under the rope, a flicker of hope—

“Ah, Ah, Ah.”

The villain yanked the rope hard.

The hero gasped, falling back to meet the villain eye to eye, smirk to scowl.

They could try to escape, but the villain’s proximity was terrifying. The hidden intentions in their eyes, their smirk—they were too afraid to move.

“You know,” the villain began, their tone mockingly casual, “it’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

The hero flinched, breath hitching at the villain’s soft hand trailing across their ankle bone, sending shivers up their leg. Their body betrayed them, a mix of dread and anticipation coursing through their veins.

“I give a cop a bloody nose, and I’m labelled the bad guy,” the villain smirked. “You do the same, and you’re still the hero. The difference, I suppose, is that I’m not someone’s good little lapdog.

The hero’s chest heaved with anger. They wanted to snap back, but the villain’s soft touch kept them at bay. They were afraid that if they opened their mouth, only sounds they didn’t want to come out would escape.

Yet they wanted to scream.

They hated the villain for making them feel this way. They had rushed to help the villain in the cell, felt bad, maybe even cared. When did they become so gullible? When were they not naive?

The villain finally released the hero’s ankle, a mix of relief and longing flooding the hero’s mind.

Then they tied the hero’s wrists together, letting them dangle above their head.

The hero tried to regulate their breathing, the rope biting into their ankle, the world still disorienting as more blood rushed to their head.

The villain knelt, eyes level with the hero’s, examining their pitiful state.

Suddenly, the hero felt their tank top crumple under gravity’s pull, exposing their midriff.

The villain didn’t glance, keeping their gaze locked on the hero’s mortified reaction, making the hero’s body tingle.

They reached out, fingers grazing the hero’s waist. The hero sucked in breath.

“Don’t worry, I won’t peek,” the villain teased, fingers lingering before slowly pulling the tank back up.

Their touch was deliberate, disguised as innocence. It sent unwanted shivers down the hero's spine.

The hero’s face flushed, mind racing. The villain leaned closer, breath warm against the hero’s ear. "You know, back when I was captured, I couldn’t help but notice how you treated me. Different from the others. You were...nice."

The hero bit their lip, refusing to respond, their emotions a tangled mess of fear, anger, betrayal, and something else.

“I liked that,” the villain continued, almost thoughtful. “I liked that you were kind, even when you didn’t have to be.”

Before the hero could process those words, the villain pulled them further off the ground. The hero’s muscles screamed, a whine escaping them.

With practiced ease, the villain tied the hero’s hands to their feet, securing the knots tightly. The hero’s heart pounded, breath coming in short bursts, utterly at the villain’s mercy.

The villain’s smirk grew as they stepped back, admiring their handiwork. “We’re going to have a lot of fun,” they said, voice low and dangerous.

The hero didn’t have time to react.

In one swift motion, they pulled the hero’s tank over their head, using it to blindfold and gag them. The hero’s vision plunged into darkness, their screams muffled.

“Shh,” the villain whispered, their voice the hero’s only focus.

The hero’s mind raced with panic and unwanted desire, their body reacting despite their better judgment. They were trapped, helpless, at the villain’s mercy. This game had just begun, and the hero knew they were in for a long, torturous ordeal.

The hero remembered why the building was too familiar for comfort.

Memories that lay in those walls they tried to block out. Not because they hated them—no, because they were deathly afraid of how much they loved them.

[swee7dream]

dreamies as manhwa characters 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

genres miscellaneous + headcanons triggers one mention of gagging (?) just to be safe . note purely for myself . i have no one to talk to about my 300+ reading list of shoujo manga/manhwa so you all get this .

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

saebom from no office romance !

is it really mark lee-coded if it’s not (childhood) friends-to-lovers? exactly.

saebom and mark are walking green flags full of reasonable expectations, goofy mannerisms, and encouraging words even if it will not result in the best outcome for them personally

everyone loves them, it’s impossible to hate them!

even when their jokes are pity laugh-worthy with their loud barfing sounds and accidentally guilt-tripping gags

they mess up as all humans do but they always do their best to fix it as soon as possible to minimize damage.

they’re considerate of others but also (rightfully) proud of their work and aren’t shy to display it when the time is right. hashtag stream fraktsiya

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

cheol from after school lessons for unripe apples !

obviously i’m not thinking physically when i consider them similar.

but on the inside. on the inside… they are one.

they aren’t too open about their feelings. sometimes it feels like they don’t understand them themselves. and so they have a thin veil of mystique around them

it’s just nerves

they’re both just nervous guys who feel the need to protect everything at all times while also trying to hold back because, why should they? that’s not their job. they’re not getting paid for this.

but it’s just such an innate action on their part they just can’t help themselves !

they are responsible individuals who are just chaos magnets.

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

zachary from a marriage of convenience !

men of little words. men of… easily misunderstandable words.

we’re not going to go into zachary’s story because if you haven’t read marriage of convenience i am on my knees begging you to

it’s easy to write them off as tsuns, especially with the way jeno treats jisung, but they’re NOT

they are such big lovers they will move heaven and earth for their loved ones and still be understanding if you ask for something else or more, even

they are well aware of their grand accomplishments, but also keep their eye fixed on their loved ones’ expectations, always making room for improvement

also… great physiques GUYS WHO SAID THAT TUMBLR BLOG SWEE7DREAM GOT HACKED GET THE NEWS REPORTERS

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

kevin from spirit fingers !

specifically, more last arc kevin.

they’re silly, they’re clingy, they love their partner !!!!!!

the banter is always next level with them yet so are the dramatics and sulking.

their confidence is just attractive whether its romantic, platonic, whatever !

they know that no matter what they wear or if they have makeup on or not, their pretty privilege will cancel out the fact that there’s toilet paper clinging to the bottom of their shoes

their positivity is like a purifying beam to the people around them. their kind words and actions are done with the purpose to uplift the people around them.

you can’t have a low self-esteem around them, they are professional cheerleaders! hypemen! supporters!

how could you not love them?

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

camute from the crow’s prince !

i was originally gonna put tamaki from ohshc but that’s like saying the sky is blue. we all know that, why beat a dead horse?

so, camute it is !

first of all, blond. they both eat up the hair color. blueprinted, invented, copywritten !

that aside, they are so open in communication it’s like you just got hit in the eyeball with a neobong with how much of a green flag they both are.

they won’t make you say anything you don’t want to say in the moment, but will make sure to get the point across that they expect to have a conversation about the subject in the near future because YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO THEM.

they’re also highly protective to the point it’s SILLAY. they’re a sulky kind of jealous not a ‘i will lock you up in a basement in an abandoned mansion on the top of a remote mountain for making eye contact with Frank From Work’ kind of jealous

jaemin on bbl… ‘my bag is heavy :(’ ‘oh ur gonna help me? WRONG ANSWER. NEVER TRUST ANY MAN.’

so true king 💯

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

kahir from i’m the tyrant’s secretary !

‘you love me? duh, of course you do.’

very positive self-perception. nothing can tear this man down. except you, even though he’ll act otherwise.

has a different standard than everyone else from clothes and technology to relationships. to them, it’s easy to act as if money is no object, instead placing more effort into the people that they care about.

their thoughtful gifts are sometimes extravagant to the eyes of anyone aside from themselves, but they really have a different standard of what is considered acceptable, especially if it is something that is going to belong to their loved ones.

don’t you realize how their gifts are also a reflection of themselves? how could they gift anything less than perfect????

quick to cut out anyone that could even be THOUGHT of as a bad influence around their people, and they’ve already warned and cut ties with the person for the simple claim of Bad Vibes (they’re right most of the time it’s actually creepy)

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

nadrika from i have fallen into a reverse harem game !

they’re just so soggy wet dog coded

jisung is a five-time loser of the modern public ridicule that is awsaz. you can tell him to do anything and he will, red-faced and sighing the entire time, but he’ll do it

there is just something so ‘aww :(’ about him that makes the people around him go ‘I WILL PROTECT YOU’ at their 5’11 height

they’re either in their own little world, thinking about what life would be like if they lived in saturn rather than earth, or staring at you like painted each star that dots the night sky as you speak

they do not think twice before sacrificing their pride and reputation for the sake of their loved ones (even if it is not asked of them), too shy to ask for but also too obvious to hide the fact they are expecting praise and affection in return

soggy wet dogs that are like 300 pounds but still want to be treated like lap dogs

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

I’m highly curious to see what everyone's reaction to seeing snow and or playing with it is like. Snow ball fights, building snow man, drinking hot coco, etc.

Sorry for taking so long to respond! Anyways, here's how all the rescued toys would react to seeing snow for the first time:

First things first! They're rescued when it's still autumn, so when snow arrives, Angel is still living with them on the small house, and not the future farm.

Catnap and Dogday were talking outside the house, during the early hours of the night, when they noticed something white falling from the sky. They were really young when they last saw snow, so they both panicked and called Angel. They came outside, holding Bunzo, and said "oh, it's the first snow of the year".

Almost all the toys tried to eat snow at first before Angel asked them to NOT do that. They watched as everyone went outside to see it.

Bunzo was fascinated. Jumping non-stop while pointing at it and going "it's raining white!". Delight explained to him what that was, but she was very distracted staring at the skies as well.

In a way, this was a sign of hope and real change for the kids, just like experiencing rain for the first time was. Delight cried a bit as the realness of the situation sunk in.

The following day, Angel took the toys outside. And, oooh, boy.

Bunzo, the mini wuggies and critters, Huggy, PJ and Boxy Boo were screaming and jumping non-stop. Other smaller toys joined them, rolling in the snow in excitement.

Dogday likes digging snow. He thinks it's relaxing, despite Kickin annoying him about it. And speaking of which, Kickin was still on his "I'm not going to show any feelings" phase, so he tried to pretend he wasn't mesmerized by the snow.

Bubba and Delight were looking at snowflakes to see if they really weren't equal to each other. Marie and Kickin ended up joining them out of curiosity.

Catnap spent some time trying to make sense of the snow, until Angel showed him how to build a snowman. Picky, Bobby and Crafty joined them, making little snow sculptures.

Poppy never actually liked snow all that much, but at this point in time she's absolutely thriving. REALLY wants to go ice skating as soon as possible, but for now she's making snow angels... And then decides to get Kissy to hit Huggy with a snowball.

Hoppy, who was watching over the younger ones, immediately saw this and, as the responsible one, threw a snowball at Poppy. The situation became an all-out war between everyone, with Hoppy being the main culprit into getting others to join them.

Somehow, no one could defeat Angel. Truly a king.

After that, Angel made everyone hot cocoa. They do NOT like the cold, mind you, but the kids seem so happy, they can't complain.

The following year, when everyone is at the farmhouse and it starts snowing, they keep on making family-wide snowball fights. No one is safe from Hoppy and Kickin. Except Angel because, again, they're pretty good at dodging things, and Long Legs, girl is a MONSTER, but outside of her NO ONE is safe.

Dogday helps Angel a lot to make sure the house is protected from the cold, but then Kickin and Hoppy drag him away so he can have "fun".

(he has so much fun hiding things in the snow for others to find)

The Prototype is also there by that point. He's indifferent to the cold, but he likes making snow sculptures. As time goes by and his relationship with the family gets better, he ends up joining the snowball fights. He always ends up on the floor while everyone swarms him.

Angel ALWAYS forces everyone to wear way more jackets than what they need. They may be from Brazil's south region but they do not TOLERATE snow-level temperatures. Unfortunately this means that two/three years post-rescue, the Prototype becomes Angel go-to guy when everyone is outside because he's surprisingly warm on his fleshy area. Angel just stays next to him trembling and is like "God I fucking hate this weather", and Proto is just "then go inside...?", only for Angel to eye him. They are NOT missing the chance to see the kids happy, okay?

[14muffinz]

2/?

C1 (and prompt) / C2 / C3 / C4

It is extremely rare in Wayne manor that someone is completely awake at breakfast. Half the time, Bruce doesn’t even show up until the rest of the house’s residents have gone off to do something else.

Duke is picking at his eggs instead of, y’know, actually eating them, and is focusing extremely hard on not focusing his vision to the point of seeing bacteria that he frankly doesn’t need to be thinking about for anything except an extremely specific kind of case.

Somehow, Damian manages to maintain his proper posture, the only indication of his exhaustion being the occasional slow blink.

They’ve both got their phones on the table, observing and not responding as Steph and Tim lose their singular shared braincell over the fact that it’s not projected to rain at all today. The level of energy involved in the conversation suggests that neither of them have actually gone to bed yet.

He doesn’t process when Cass enters the room. There are more people than usual in the manor in order to greet the new arrival, but knowing that and remembering that are two different things.

Cass pokes him in the forehead, and Duke scrambles, nearly falling out of his chair.

When he collects himself, he’s receiving a smug smile from Damian, and a mischievous smile from Cass. He weakly glares at each of them, then stabs his eggs.

Dick slides into the room on his socks, tries to turn it into a smooth wall lean that really only makes him look cringe, then asks, “Does anyone know if the new kid is up?”

“His bedroom light wasn’t on,” Damian notes, “Though he may be elsewhere in the manor.”

“Cass, did you give him the tour yesterday?” Dick checks.

Cass shakes her head. “He was tired. He wouldn’t remember if I showed him around.”

“Fair enough. I can’t tell where I am in here half the time,” Duke admits.

“You have been here a year, Thomas,” Damian remarks.

Duke crosses his arms. “Time is a lie and we all know it.”

Cass lightly taps the table to draw attention back to her. She declares, “I can go bring him here. Show him that he’s welcome.”

“Good idea,” Dick chirps.

⠀

⠀

Half the time that Jason checks his phone, he wishes that he didn’t. The other half of the time, he’s lucky enough to get a text from anyone other than his adopted siblings.

He feels nothing but disappointment and anger when he checks his phone this morning. He’s resigned to the fact that his family gets into a lot of shit, and unfortunately he’s part of that shit sometimes, but it seems like Bruce has caved and brought in another kid, and this one isn’t even connected to vigilante shit.

Jason can’t even do shit about it. Since he’s legally dead, and had an extremely public grieving period, he can’t exactly show up to the manor without raising questions that will just have to be revised over and over until the kid finally figures out that he’s living with the Bats. It’s more of an annoyance than it is a source of entertainment.

He’s gotta check in on the new kid, though, no question about it. He doesn’t trust Bruce’s parenting skills as far as he can throw the guy, and even if Jason’s a vigilante, he can’t throw people very far.

Looking at the wall of texts on his phone, he observes that getting an ally on the inside is going to be harder than usual. He and Tim are usually on the same page when it comes to Bruce’s parenting, but from the way that he and Steph are texting, he’s indisposed due to exhaustion. Dick’s a decent option, since he’s also got reason to doubt Bruce, but he’d also try to examine Jason’s thoughts from every angle and Jason doesn't need that kind of introspection for what feels like an open and shut issue. Damian’s not an option because he’d defend Bruce, and is likely trying to pretend to hate the new kid for as long as possible.

Good news is, this family is so fucking big that he’s only exhausted about half his options.

Jason calls Cass, and she answers even though she’s in the middle of applying eye liner.

“So, the new kid,” he immediately prompts. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Secretive,” she fingerspells with her free hand. “Closed. Disconnected.”

Great, so yet another extremely traumatised kid for the collection, good to know. “How’d B find him?”

Cass sets down her eye-liner and purses her lips in thought. After a few seconds of waiting, she explains, “He worried CPP. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t sign. Writes, but not to talk. Knows English, won’t use it. Won’t give name. Worried me.”

“Then he’s a case,” Jason deadpans.

She signs a sharp “no,” frowning. “Bruce wants to protect him.”

“He does that by making kids into cases,” Jason argues.

Cass glares at him through the phone screen. “We did that to ourselves.”

“Just–” Jason pinches the ever-present knot of tension between his brows, and fights to remain in control of his emotions. “Keep an eye on the kid for me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

⠀

⠀

Dick knocks on his new sibling’s door, and does not receive any indication that he’d been heard. Cass will usually knock on the wall or furniture to show that she’s aware someone’s knocking, but either their new sibling – John????? – hasn’t gotten that idea before, or he’s not up.

Right as he’s raising his fist to knock a second time, the door swings open. John – the guy doesn’t look like a John, why is the name they gave him so awkward – is wearing what looks to be the same outfit that he arrived in the day before, based on the picture Cass had snuck, though it’s not at all ruffled by sleep. There’s something dead-looking in his blue eyes that he wants to put up to exhaustion, but an instinct he’s never had a name for insists that it’s different from what he sees in his vigilante friends and family.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to meet John – he’s just going to have to give up, for now – yesterday. Dick had been waiting inside his own bedroom while texting Wally, and by the time he noticed the alert that John had arrived, the kid had already squirrelled away in his room.

That is to say that Dick isn’t at all prepared for how unsettling John really is. He stands completely still, meeting Dick’s eyes impassively, and does not speak a word. It’s only Dick’s hard-earned confidence that saves him from fumbling. “You want to come down to breakfast?”

No known allergies, Dick remembers without really meaning to. Will eat any food given to him, has not indicated any preferences or discomfort.

John blinks. Just blinks, once. He does not nod, shake his head, or do anything else. He blinks, and maybe Dick grew up with Bruce for a guardian, but he still has very little idea what to do with this new person’s nonverbal cues.

Dick takes a step back from the bedroom door, belatedly realising that he might be in John’s personal space, and then adds, “It’s a nice chance to get to know the people who are around the manor the most. A lot of our schedules don’t really line up.”

Aside from patrol, but Dick doubts that they’ll have anyone new joining them over the rooftops of Gotham for a while yet. If he can help it, John won’t get to that point at all.

John steps out of his doorway, reaching back to grab the door but not closing it. He quickly cases the hallway with a precision that turns Dick’s stomach, and then goes back to making unflinching eye contact.

He’s leaving his room, hasn’t ended the conversation, hasn’t frowned or shook his head. Dick’s not really one for physics, but he’s pretty sure that this is a net positive, and he’s clear to lead John to the dining room.

Dick gives a nod down the hall and a soft smile, and starts a mental chant of talk to Cass, talk to Cass, talk to Cass ASAP.

⠀

⠀

DW: Father’s collected yet another stray.

JK: new batkid just dropped?

DW: John.

JK: yeah yeah

JK: wait wtf did you, damian wayne, heir to the bat and the demon’s head and the superior robin, just spell my name wrong?

DW: No, John is the “name” of Father’s newest charge. He has not shared his true name, so his papers refer to him as John Doe.

DW: Also, neither of our fathers would appreciate how many secrets were just disclosed over a public channel, Jonathan.

JK: sorry

JK: so how’d your dad get another one?

DW: I’m uncertain. Likely, it was just to satiate his curiosity about John’s unique case.

JK: idk man, that doesn’t sound like b-man to me. he respects kids too much to use anyone to “satiate his curiosity”

DW: I will take that under consideration.

DW: Whatever the case, there is certainly an investigation to be had. Doe appears to be refusing to communicate for reasons unknown, despite having previously displayed an understanding of English.

JK: i think its UR curiosity that really needs to be satiated lol

JK: but there’s def cause for concern. if u need a lowkey lie detector to help out, just say the word

⠀

⠀

“I’m assembling a file, yeah,” Barbara admits without any fuss. “It’ll be helpful down the line to have everything we know in one place.”

She’s sitting at her at-home setup, nursing a cup of coffee and with a comm line open to Tim.

Tim hums in thought, and lets it drag way longer than is comfortable. Barbara knows that he and Steph have just returned from a steakout which didn’t turn out, and is slightly impressed that he hasn’t collapsed from exhaustion. There was probably caffeine involved. “Can I look at it?”

“Not ‘till you’ve met him,” Barbara insists.

“You haven’t even met him,” Tim argues.

“I’m just putting in what Bruce tells me to,” she tells him, shrugging. “It’s only been one night, anyways. There’s not much to see that wasn’t established before he showed up.”

She hears Tim. “If this has anything to do with a gang in the city—”

“Then we’ll be on top of it.”

“If this has anything to do with a player in the city,” Tim repeats insistently, “and not just the result of some fucked up form of abuse from a previous guardian, we really need to know about it. It’s been a while since I put in any research on the topic, but mutism usually stems from either some sort of brain or vocal cord injury, or is a trauma response, but from how I’ve heard him described, I’m getting a different impression of… refusing. Like in situations where an individual is being tortured, and has been taught not to give their captures anything to go off of, but in a much safer circumstance.”

Barbara purses her lips.

Tim’s not exactly wrong.

“There’s a lot left to rule out,” she replies carefully. “Knowing the Gotham system, there are probably medical examinations that were skipped for him. But I did notice something similar in the reports, yeah.”

⠀

⠀

Cass finds that yet again she does not have the words.

She’s been asked to describe the emotions she noticed in John Doe, but the problem is this: she didn’t notice anything. Nothing that she could call relaxation, surprise, tension, anything she’d expect in his current situation. She’s never met someone capable of completely masking their body language, but there’d been something undeniably wrong in the way that John Doe moved beside her.

There’s no doubt that several members of their family have warned Bruce not to turn this into a case. Yet, Cass still feels the need to watch her newest brother closely.

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about The On1y One (EP 5) : Loneliness and the importance of connection.

This series is slowly getting more interesting in each episodes. They take the time to develop the bond between the main characters. Each glance, each smile, each breath they take at each other is slowly bringing them closer. The story may have a school setting and it takes a large part of the series, but I feel like it's just an excuse to make Tian and Wang being around each other. There is a magnetic force that brings them together. I believe they both experienced the hard and cold loneliness in a different way. This is something they have in common.

Wang lost his mother when he was young and this death really affected him. He tried to find a connection with his father because Wang needs to have someone by his side. It goes down on the simple idea that we all need to have at least one person in our life who genuinely cares for us. Social connection on a physical and emotional level improve our overall well-being. Truth is Wang felt this connection was strained because his father was working more, his environment changed, but he felt more lonely than ever. Deep inside, Wang is looking for someone who will stay by his side. When Tian, did all these actions to get close to him, he felt like he was finding this connection again. However, this fragile bond is at risk because Tian may decide to go to the school accommodation. It's a huge blow for Wang. He was given up on this idea because he didn't feel the need anymore thanks to Tian's care. Since he had learned that Tian may still go to the school accommodation, we can see how deeply affected Wang is. Especially towards the end of the episode where he imagines a conversation with Tian who is not here with him. It's like he has already left. Wang was starting to open up more, but he may feel his efforts were in vain. It's something he hates. Right now, he feels lonely again and it must hurt more because he was starting to find a new connection with Tian.

I feel this is because Tian is also a very lonely person. It was confirmed again by Mr Ding when he invited Wang to eat at his place. We learned that Tian is not someone who get close to other easily. He is a very reserved person who doesn't like physical contact. He is careful and he has been alone for a very long time. His family never really cared about him. When you've been this way since childhood, it's very easy to backward to protect yourself. Tian is the type of person who can isolate himself from others without really think about it because it became a habit. Mr. Ding gave Wang a very good advice: “don't let him push you away”. Even if Tian has been very caring to Wang, he still keeps his heart to himself. He may still has the habit to withdraw into himself. That's why he may want to go to the school accommodation because he is not used to be around his mother and he is not used yet to be around Wang. After all, he still has his full suitcase ready to leave at any point. Even now, he hasn't emptied it. He may feel attached to Wang, but it's a new and fragile bond between two lonely souls. It will need more time and care to be indestructible. I feel the suitcase is still this very powerful metaphor of Tian's state of mind. The day when he will clear out his suitcase, will be the day when he will feel safe enough and ready to embrace his bond with Wang.

Wang is hurt by Tian's decision to still want to live outside of the house, but I feel it will be the time where he will have to show his care to Tian to convince him to stay. We've known Tian to be really caring to Wang. Again, in this episode, he took the time to find the two men who assaulted him. He is also again there to show moral support to Wang when they had to take this English exam / contest. There is no doubt about how much care Tian can give to those he likes. I would also like to add that Wang is also very caring. They both are attentive to each other. They don't have the same caring style, but all the small attentions Tian gave to Wang, are given back to him with the same kindness. We just have to hope that Wang won't forget Mr. Ding's advice and he will not let Tian pushing him away. He will have to fight for their connection too. This is maybe what Tian needs to see.

[dameronology]

can we get the star wars boys (or just poe or din) with moments of angsty slow burn attraction??? pls and thank you

i am a slut for angsty slow burn attraction so i did all the boys lol

din djarin

tbh any attraction with din is gonna be slow burn because he's gonna need a LOT of ✨context✨ before he ever even THINKS that you might like him romantically. angsty, though? that won't be hard to achieve, because he's gonna spend a long time trying to push you away and convince himself that he doesn't feel anything for you. he's also used to most people in his life being semi-permanent at best so in some sense, he's trying to protect himself from the hurt of losing you. but, once you prove that you're not going anywhere and that your love for him - at whatever stage it's in - is truly and wholly unconditional, he'll open up. it's sort of like a dam that breaks; he gives you absolutely nothing but once he realises he loves you, you have everything. his word, his love, his support, his protection. the angst-iness might still linger a little bit because he's super protective of you - now he's convinced you're here to stay, he's determined to make sure no-one else will take you away - but you know it all comes from a place of love.

poe dameron

any angsty slow burn with poe would stem from him catching feelings for you as his rival (did you mean: enemies to lovers?). like, this man is going to try and swallow those feelings and act like he doesn't care for you and that he isn't falling in love with you, but cracks will start to appear eventually. maybe you get injured one day in battle or come home late from a mission, and he is far more concerned that a competitive colleague should be. he'll hide behind a facade of sarcasm and flirting but you can see in his eyes that he was worried. that's the first hint for you, and it's both a blessing and a curse because it confirms what you're feeling to. once one crack has appeared in the foundations, it's only a matter of time before they collapse completely and it's obvious to everyone and their mothers and their mother's mothers that you two love each other. maybe it takes a few soft moments - a late night conversation when you catch each other getting caff at midnight, or when you're on a stakeout together that leia definitely didn't strategically plan - for you to both realise that you connect on an emotional, human level too. that probably makes you fight more - with each other, and the realisation that you love one another - but eventually, one of you will come clean and i have no doubt that poe cracks first, because when he loves he loves fucking hard and trying to keep it a secret will eat him up inside.

finn

slow burn with finn will mostly stem from the fact that he doesn't really know how to pursue you. unsurprisingly, it's not something he learnt during his time at the first order and now that he's out, it's even more confusing. he doesn't mean for it to be angsty either, but he's so bad at this whole thing that he ends up coming across as rude and because he's normally sweet and caring to everyone else, it's easy for you to assume that his coldness is because he hates you. and because that makes you act cold towards him, he then assumes that you hate him too. really, it's all a miscommunication. it would probably take you confronting him and asking why he hates you for finn to have an oh! moment and declare his love for you - or at least his developing love - and then things start to make sense again. it's definitely a quicker slow burn than the rest of the guys, simply because he's so enthusiastic and has this massive love for life that makes him want to spend it with you, so he's not gonna beat around the bush.

han solo

han is the chief executive officer of slow-burn angst. because a) it takes him about ten thousand working days to admit to himself that he has feelings for you and b) he will become immediately defensive about it. he's just not good at letting other people in and sharing his feelings so a relationship is terrifying to him but the only thing scarier than that is the idea of losing you. even though that looks like it's about to happen because he's suddenly pushing you away and acting distant, and it's not until you call him out on his bullshit that he realises. he won't tell you the truth (c'mon, it's han we're talking about) but he'll force himself to go back to normal. there will be something that makes him cave though - probably you starting to date another guy, or the realisation that such a scenario is even a possibility - and han realises he has to do something. cue a very awkward conversation that takes him at least half an hour to get to the point, but once he does, everything sort of makes sense: the sudden distance, the grouchiness, the holding you at arms length. and even though you want to hate him for being so confusing and causing you grief, it's all outweighed by the fact you obviously love him too. there's definitely a learning curve for han, especially as he adjusts to being in a relationship and being vulnerable with you, but it's one he's happy to do with you.

luke skywalker

in my mind, slow burn angst with luke would happen in a situation where you'd been in a previously established relationship before he becomes a jedi. maybe you break up because you're young and don't know what you want, or maybe it's because you want to take a step back and let him explore his newfound career options (?? weird way to describe being a jedi jazz) but either way, he promises to come back to you. and you know that luke skywalker is never one to break a promise, but waiting round is fucking tiring, man. it's probably a scenario where he's back and forth over a long period of time and every time you think you finally have him, he goes away again. then the war ends and you're at your wits end, and luke realises that this time, you're the one who's about to slip away from him and he has no choice but to re-assess his priorities. when he does, he comes back to you immediately. actually, no, he chases you across the fucking galaxy to declare his love for you, and let you know that this is it now.

obi-wan kenobi

obi-wan has no qualms in admitting his feelings for you to himself; it's just admitting them to you that takes fucking forever because of the complications with the jedi code. he tried to do it before with satine and he's quite honestly still recovering, so the idea that he's in the same scenario again is scary but even more so because his feelings this time are so much stronger. and this is no slate to satine, but the situation with satine is like a drop in the ocean compared to where he's at with you. it feels like it could drown him because he wants to be with you to the point where it physically aches but how can he be? and obviously, you've got feelings for him to but waiting around for months whilst he sorts out his own emotions is tiring. tiring to the point where you question how worth it is is, because even if he does decide to give it a shot - and the chances feel slim - it'll mean that you have to sneak around constantly and risk being stripped of your titles completely. obviously, this is something that obi-wan has thought about over and over but one day, he just sort of cracks and realises that he has no choice but to be with you. like, it literally isn't a choice. he can't know you exist and not give it a shot.

[wsknbfanaccnt]

Gurl I love your account!! Knb fandom is low-key dead so it's refreshing to see ppl who still like the show 🔥🔥

I have a request which (I think) is very diffrent from what you usually do? Basically your own headcanons about Akashi. But not NSFW or stuff like that. Just random headcanons you often think about, maybe some of his quirks, his favorite something...etc...

Anyway girl make sure you don't die cuz then who will post this delicious Akashi content ??😔

AAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH YALL I GOT A COMPLIMETN ON MY BLOG ASDHFKASJDHFLKJ HOOLY SHIT

YESSS i'd love to do that omfg

and you literally just gave me motivation to live HELL YEAH IMMA KEEP POSTING AKASHI CONTENT

i do have some already on this post that ive made so feel free to read that, but ive written more down below

i hope you like it AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

feel free to request more<3

tw! suicide and self harm at the end

(i hope this doesnt count as nsfw but i have a few strong headcanons abt this for him)

Akashi Random Headcanons

he was taught at an early age to put his pinky up when drinking or picking something up and he always gets teased by his friends for it

he plays Shogi with Bokushi in his head when he's bored (he literally plays blind chess why tf wouldnt he be able to do this?)

also argues with Bokushi a lot

he is secretly a metalhead and an ELITIST because his opinions are absolute (duh)

he talks to Shiori's grave when he's in a rough patch

he switches personality randomly throughout the day sometimes just to mess with people

he has online friends he plays chess with (NEEERRRRDDDD)

his name online is (this is more or less canon) Red Emperor

his hands are a bit calloused (from basketball, violin and stuff) and he's a lil insecure about it

when he needs to rant he takes Yukimaru out for a ride and rants to his horsey (with expletives)

his violin is a fucking Stradivarius (a brand on the same level as a Ferrari sports car)

fluent in many languages including, but not limited to, Spanish, Chinese, French, Italian, Arabic, Latin, Russian, German

he likes driving at night, it's so serene and calm for him

he HATES HATES HATES waking up in the morning and will willingly sacrifice a lecture session with Masaomi just to get 5 more minutes of sleep

sometimes he still eats popsicles from the convenience store to reminisce his time in Teiko

he is NOT a touchy person, he's gonna stay away from as much touch as possible (but he doesn't mind hugs)

he still has his first basketball that his mother gave to him as a kid and it's in his closet

he's never been to a supermarket lol and he does want to go inside one (he can and probably will buy every little flavor of everything that he sees interested)

when he does something slightly wrong he has an Internal panic attack and starts hearing Masaomi's voice yelling at him

uhhh he loves Sevonne (me) and considers her his wife <3

after everything that happened, he still keeps in touch with Midorima often and hangs out with him a lot

TW!

has thought about comitting suicide at one point in his life

not sure what point but one point

also has very faint scars on his upper thigh

[nobylu]

Long Ass Logical Lore Conclusion Of The Balor (art at the end)

Let me put you on two trains of thought that will crash together like trucks on Mythbusters in a way that will make sense when they're together.

Train 1: Healing via putting numbers back on your health bar during battle is pretty rare in Lancer. There's really only two robots in the current edition of the game that can do it - the Lancaster can heal everyone and the Balor can fix itself. In fact, I'd argue that the Balor is defined more by healing than the Lancaster - you heal on your turn, you heal more on your turn if you activate your core power, you heal immediately after battle without expending repairs IF YOU ARE A BALOR AND YOU HAVE DAMAGE YOU HEAL and your DM vows to focus all fire on you so at least you take some kind of damage that's permanent (but then you activate your core power and say fuck you DM i rolled a d6 and got a 6 so actually there's no structure damage i am fine because I am a Balor)

Train 2: We all know and love that the Balor is just nanites on some sort of structure and that it goes yum yum yum on anything standing near it via the power of Scouring Swarm and Swarm Body (2-11dmg if you're standing next to one, if you dont know), but now we gotta ask - how do the nanites know where the robot ends and where the pilot begins? WHAT IS STOPPING THE NANITES FROM GOING AUTO YUM YUM YUM ON MY PILOT BECAUSE MY PILOT IS VERY ADJACENT TO THEM. I argue that what is keeping the nanites from snacking on their pilots is that the swarm knows what a human body is supposed to look like on several different levels. If they just know to not eat the skin, then the moment the pilot gets hurt because something got them when an enemy was shooting at the quote "angry water" that is the Balor then they get eaten from the inside out and turned into a fashionable human-sized human-shaped artisan raw leather bag because all the swarm knows not to touch is the pilot's skin. They also gotta know more than "a person is a head, torso, and four limbs" because then the bees will be the Diogenes to our Plato the moment, say, a space murder tiger comes into contact with the nanites and the bees will also cease to recognize the pilot when the space murder tiger rips off a leg because you know what's gonna happen the moment the pilot becomes a head, torso, and THREE limbs you guessed it it's yum yum yum time and now the swarm is the space murder tiger's, congratulations to the lucky tiger. So they gotta know skin, muscle, bones, blood, pilot's DNA, nerves - THE WHOLE NINE YARDS and probably how they sort of go together. (also probably clothes because i'd hate to pilot my bees and come out with my whole entire dick and balls and titties in the breeze because my bees atomized my fit and won't give it back). The subsequent collision of Train 1 and Train 2:

If Balors are greedy heal bots and know how people are put together, what is keeping them from healing their pilots. NOTHING, IS WHAT I SAY. I posit that Balor nanites can, in fact, fix their pilots because bodies are just the frames for the computational core that is the brain. How well you want them to fix their pilots is up to you - for me, the answer is poorly and with balor-ification. Mechanically, it can't be instantly because that would be busted and poor sport, but you can theme your Balor Pilot's revival upon their unfortunate death likely of reactor stress (RIP my shit heat cap) as "they got fixed up by their nanites". And if you really really want, you can add nanites to your Pilot like I did with my guy, Diederik.

Nanite Infestation and the Small Balor Stability Problem

You're familiar with that part of Balor lore that says that they don't work on anything smaller than size 2 because they just need SO MUCH ENERGY, so how do I justify through lore that my pilot has these nanites while also not acting as a size 1/4 Balor. The way I've perceived it is that Diederik, my boy my man my guy, is host to a swarm that 1) does not operate in its fullest capacity and 2) subsequently cannot do mech-level combat.

Balors have specialist nanites used in specific weapons like the Hellswarm, CONSUME/HIVE, and SWARM/HIVE. Something that can damage a mech probably is super energy-hungry, so we can have those be turned off. The only activated nanites would be structural nanites, sensor nanites, greywash (the part that eats), and reconstruction nanites that take what the greywash atomizes and glues it together like a 10 year old making a clay model of a person that makes you go "oohhh, thats... nice. Great job??? It looks just like me?". Just enough nanite activity that it can be powered by the human body at the low low price of "eat more food". (For Diederik, I've gone another step and will say that the reactor of the Balor is made of reactor nanites but that running them inside a human body uuuhhhh cooks it so those are off too.)

The cool thing about having Balor nanites permanently on you is that you can flavor all sorts of things as nanite shit. My pilot melee weapon is nanite knuckle dusters. I flavor my successful pilot-level rolls as the nanites doing something or alerting of something. I'm running the Bond Magus so all my Magus powers are just nanites doing their thing - skincrawl (get a bad feeling and react fast) is just the nanites telling Diederik about the bad thing in time for him to react, Geist (touch someone and experience what they do while unobserved even when far away) is just planting a nanite bug on them, Possession (ask the dark presence inside you a question) is just asking The Maw their/its opinion, etc.

(Another tidbit to chew on is that the swarm is still going to run a little toasty, so pilots hosting Balor nanites post healing are in turn going to be a little toasty just kind of always. Hello 100 freedom degree perma-fever.)

[secretsandwritinggs]

Um, so here is part four everyone, because I need to be writing something. I’ll let you know that some of these take place before Tory and her brother had moved into the Lawrusso household. [Those will be italics!!] If you have suggestions for headcanons for anyone, a couple, a different fandom, etc let me know so I could work on that for ya 👨‍🍳

Sam and Miguel often don’t talk about Tory due to him still thinking that she hates her.

Sam has spoken to Johnny that her hatred over Tory was childish and decided to let go of it.

(only kind of wished Daniel did the same thing instead of letting it linger 30+ years. In some way, I’d like to think that Daniel always thought of Johnny over those years.)

To help with the grief, Sam gave Tory and Brandon a build-a-bear with a recorded message from their mother.

Tory tends to hang around Sam’s room, because in some way it reminds her of her mother, Brandon also.

Sam has always thought about giving Tory and Robby a room inside the house so they wouldn’t have to live in the apartments.

Amanda would drop by to Tory’s apartment to see if she ever needed anything like toiletries, groceries, medications, etc.

Anthony gave Brandon one of his older tablets before Daniel decided to buy both him and Tory their own devices.

(their “devices” being new phones and such so they could in contact with everyone.)

Sam and Tory’s style went from two separate ones to one shared one ranging what seems like what one would wear versus the other.

Every time Tory seems to be getting worse, Johnny takes her out on the mat or rage room where she can let all those frustrations out, though he’s still unsure where to take Brandon..

For her birthday one year, Sam had gifted Tory a coloring book along with a sketchbook and pencils, since she heard that she enjoys coloring / drawing things.

For her status at the dojo, Daniel had created a new type of “role” for Tory and claimed that she could be a fill-in instead full-time student at Miyagi-Do.

(this is a role that I made as I do not know if this is an actual thing in martial arts, but basically the fill-in student can have its own dojo. In Tory’s case, that means she can still be Cobra Kai if that’s what she’s wanting to do and the same with Robby.)

Their styles reflected through their academics:

Miguel, Robby, Sam, and Tory definitely have study sessions in Sam’s room.

Everyone else looks for Sam to give an answer, since she’s the only one besides Amanda to get a college level academically.

(Anthony following suit once he gets into high school as well.)

Kenny was surprised to see that everyone was civilized with each other however, he wasn’t surprised to see that they were rowdy.

Everyone eats stuff other people’s plates or drink the rest of their drink if they cannot finish their food / drink.

Eventually Sam and Tory started to sound the same so they decided to distance themselves from one another to quote, “get their voices back to normal.”

All the boys collectively hide away in the basement and claim that the girls need a “special pass” to allow themselves in.

Brandon has a hiding space in the theater room.

Johnny drunkenly bought a soda dispenser so they placed it in the theater room.

Tory and Johnny made a secret language so they can communicate with each other similarly to what Daniel and Robby has with morse code.

They all exchange Valentine’s day gifts with each other and definitely laughed at each other the first year they done it, because it was a surprise to everyone now it’s a tradition, lol.

Kyler is for sure a heated conversation in that house to put that lightly…

(Kenny still doesn’t get the hate on him UNTIL Anthony drops all their problems so now he’s like, “Wow, he’s a piece of shit ,” and they’re all like, “We’ve been telling you that”)

Both Anthony and Johnny say tum tum and tummy instead of stomach.

Robby and Sam get the most stomach aches.

(Robby because he’s constipated (poor him tbh) and Sam gets them on her period, since food doesn’t settle too well when she’s on it.)

Sometimes they all nap together after practice at first they thought it was too gross now they just do it whenever without a second thought.

That’s all I can think of for this moment for part four so there might be a part five in the future…

Parts in order: one , two , three , four , ...