#but i don’t want it to die there so here. take it

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[nitadllyss]

Waking up next to your boyfriend

-maknae line x reader -

hyung line here

Genre: Fluff, Headcanon, Very sweet

Warnings: none

---------------------------------------

Han Jisung:

• He’s a sleeping princess; he always looks so soft and fluffy that you have to hold yourself back from biting his cheeks or kissing the little pout his slightly open lips form.

• He needs to feel your warmth as close as possible and can’t sleep unless he’s holding you.

• Your head rests on his chest while his arms wrap around your waist, his legs tangled with yours (more like he has you locked up).

• He feels so warm—he’s basically a human heater.

• When the alarm goes off, he wakes up with a scared expression. It takes him a few blinks and about four seconds to process that he’s a living being. He turns off the alarm and immediately falls back asleep.

• When you wake up, you see his sweet sleeping face, which contrasts with how tightly his strong arms are holding you.

• "Sungie," you whisper as you snuggle further into his chest.

• He shows no signs of life, so you start leaving kisses on his collarbone and neck, making his skin shiver as he slowly wakes up.

• You laugh at his failed attempts to kiss your lips until he finally cups your cheeks and gives you a sweet kiss.

• "There’s no need to go to work today, did you know that?" he says with a silly, playful smile, winking at you.

• "Actually, Chan will kill you if you skip the recording today," you reply teasingly as you try to get up, but his whining stops you.

• You give in and lay back down with him for about three more minutes, waiting for him to wake up (he falls asleep again).

• Noticing this, you sigh and get up. When you turn on the light, he covers his eyes with the blanket and complains about how hard his life is (bro, you just have to go to work).

• He desperately tries to convince you to go back to sleep with him. "Babe, come back, let’s sleep a little more," he says in a whiny voice.

• After realizing his pleas aren’t working, he gives up and, still half-asleep, gets ready for work. He doesn’t even notice he put his hoodie on inside out.

Felix:

• He’s asleep on your chest, holding his game controller. The sound of the game is still faintly playing, but he’s already out cold, mouth open. He stayed up late trying to level up (he didn’t make it).

• Light starts filtering through the small gaps in the curtains, illuminating his freckles like tiny sunbeams on his soft face.

• When the alarm goes off, you stretch slightly to turn it off. Felix is so deeply asleep that he doesn’t even hear it.

• You chuckle at how exhausted he looks; he’s like a little kid. You can’t resist taking pictures.

• You kiss his cheek and notice how, unconsciously, the corner of his lips curls into a small, sweet smile.

• "Lix, baby, we need to wake up," you whisper while kissing every single one of his freckles.

• "I have to give you back each and every kiss first," he mumbles in his deep, raspy morning voice, barely opening one eye as he smiles widely.

• After kissing literally every part of your face, he gets up and, while getting ready, tells you how hard it is to level up in his game.

Seungmin:

• He’s slightly on top of you, just enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck while his hands squeeze you as if he’d die if he let go.

• He loves the scent of your body lotion and shampoo. He’s exactly where he wants to be.

• You never wake up before him; it’s way too comfortable by his side to do so.

• When the alarm goes off, he quickly turns it off, trying not to disturb you, but it’s too late—the noise already woke you up.

• "Good morning, Minnie," you say with a smile as you see his messy hair. He’s usually such a perfectionist that seeing him like this feels like a precious sight.

• He buries his face back into your neck, and you can feel his warm breath as he smiles.

• "You don’t have to wake up, go back to sleep," he mumbles in his groggy voice before giving you a soft kiss on the jawline and adjusting to look at you. God, he looks so cute.

• He stretches like a puppy, getting his body ready for the long day ahead.

• He teases you for staring at him in awe. "Hey, close your mouth, or you’re gonna start drooling," he chuckles as you quickly shut your mouth and frown.

• Eventually, he gets up to start his day. Of course, he’d love to stay with you all day, but he knows responsibilities matter.

• He shares company gossip with you while brushing his teeth (you only understand half of it). Before leaving, he asks if he looks good. He looks incredible.

I.N:

• The boys would die of jealousy if they saw this.

• He’s the big spoon, sleeping with his chest pressed against your back. He can’t help but be obsessed with the scent of your hair. His hands are intertwined with yours, and his head rests softly on top of yours.

• He woke up to the sound of the alarm, blinking a few times before turning it off. Once he does, he settles back into position, soaking in the comfort of your warmth.

• You start stretching and turn around to face him. How can he look this cute right after waking up? He looks like he just walked out of a photoshoot.

• His eyes meet yours, filled with warmth; they reflect all the love he feels for you. He’s not the best with words, so you’ve learned to read his gaze. "Did you sleep well?" he asks, smiling and showing his dimples.

• "Mhm, very comfy," you reply, kissing the corner of his eye and watching as his dimples deepen even more.

• He rolls his eyes with a fake pout, but he’s definitely melting inside.

• You laugh and make an offended face, and he responds by kissing the corner of your eye before pulling you into one last hug before getting up.

• After showering, you pass by the bathroom and see him doing his skincare routine. You can’t resist sneaking in to give him a kiss on the neck before letting him continue in peace, watching his face turn bright red.

---------------------------------------

I hope you liked the headcanons! I'll probably do these very often. 🤭

English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake, let me know.🙏🏻🫶🏻

Tag: @emilyywhyy

[pacofprunes]

KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE PRIZE

DARK CONTENT inho x reader

warnings — noncon, cockwarming, guns, squid game stuff

i’m begging you. if you don’t fuck with noncon and you hate it so much, then don’t fucking read this. 18+

a whole waterfall coming down your face, lip quivering, biting back your sobs. he said he’d make it even worse if you made a sound. so you decide to replace the sobs that you couldn’t let out with heavy breaths. you were about to start hyperventilating. legs tied to his, he was balls deep in you, forcing you to cockwarm him with your arms tied behind your back. god, you felt like you were gonna puke. you feel his cold gloves slide under your tracksuit jacket and onto your bare stomach, making you shiver.

“what’s got you so tense? are the games getting boring?”

you shake your head no, and he shifts under you. you know he did it on purpose, it wasn’t done to get comfortable, it was done to fuck with you. feeling his dick move in you and feeling yourself clench around him. you hated it. he laughs lightly before moving his head into your shoulder to get a better view of the games. he squeezed your arm with one of his hands, the other still wrapped around your stomach. you had to watch all these people die, you put your head down. this was sick. he was sick. he lets go of your arm and grabs your chin, lifting it to make you keep watching.

“keep your eyes up. this is nice of me, no? i could pick up this gun right now and shoot you just like them. it won’t hurt me. i still got what i want.”

he moves his hand from your chin and taps the gun on his table. you hadn’t even noticed it until he said something. he picks it up for a second, wiggling it at you tauntingly before putting it back down. he runs his hands through your hair and wraps his arms all around you, pulling your back right into his chest. you don’t know how, but somehow that made his dick go even deeper, and you quickly try to lift yourself up off of him, despite your legs being tied down to his own. he quickly grips your hips and pulls you back down before slapping you on the inside of your thigh, hard, causing you to flinch up and bounce on his dick, immediately you pause and suck the air through your teeth, more tears dribbling down, all while hearing a low dark laugh from behind you. an evil man you thought was your friend. a man you thought you could trust.

“yknow,”

he grabs a glass of whine from his table and presses it to his lips.

“you’d think you’d be happy.”

he moves the glass to sit on your thigh, a quiet way of telling you to stay still. wouldn’t wanna spill it on his nice suit after all.

“i mean, instead of running the risk of getting shot, now you just have to stay here and run the risk of not pleasing me.”

you swallow hard, your chest rising up and down quickly still as you try to keep your head up to watch these sick games, the whole time you’re looking for gihun and your group, hoping they’re okay. he moves the glass off your thigh and blindly presses the glass to your lips. you move your head away and the wine spills on you, painting the once green jacket completely red. it was the only safety net that you had that he allowed you to keep. that stupid jacket covered in blood and now wine. it was gross, but at least you weren’t completely bare. it didn’t stop him from touching you though, clearly, but it gave you some sort of comfort. he sighs before putting the glass back on the table and you tense more as he rubs his hands up your arms, scared of what was to come next.

“so? what’s going on in that head of yours?”

you take a deep breath before finally speaking to him.

“you’re a liar.”

he simply laughs and he moves once again, making you squeeze your eyes shut and you bite your lip.

“i want to go.”

“you’d rather play the games?”

you slowly nod your head and he hums before you hear something on his table move and something pressed against your back. you try to twist yourself to look behind at him, but he simply grips your arm, sending a threat your way to turn back around towards the tv and you obey.

“let’s play a game then.”

you hear the sound of a gun cocking and he presses it back to you and that’s when you knew what was pressing against your back, causing you to whimper.

“what? i thought you wanted to play.”

“i—”

he moves the gun away from your back and up to your neck and you choke on your words. you feel his hand shift before you hear the loud bang of the gun, causing you to scream, thinking that the bullet went through your head as you sob out, choking on your own tears. coughing everywhere and your chest heaving. he wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you into his back again cutting off some of your air flow and rests his other arm with the gun onto your exposed lap. you felt his cock twitch in you, but any other sensations were dulled out from the fear you were in. it had all felt almost numb.

“you still wanna play the games?”

he positioned the gun under your chin, lifting it up and you let out a choked up ‘no’. he decides to remove it and you finally stop holding your breath. he moves it in front of your face and waves it slightly before placing it back on the table beside him, but it didn’t comfort you in the slightest. your chest was stil heaving and the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead didn’t slow down in the slightest. you hear him sigh behind you before sitting up straighter and doing the slightest movements and the slowest thrusts in you. you immediately start moving your wrists in the restraints, straining to free them, throwing your head down and trying to squirm away and free your legs from his. he just holds the sides of your arms tightly, definitely bruising them under his gloved hands and he continues to grind under you, a small laugh coming from him as he feels you clench around him and he moves his gloved hand from your arm to the inside of your thigh, squeezing it before he sticks a gloved finger in you, lying right next to his dick, stretching you even more and finally a loud sob finds its way out of your throat and escapes your lips. he removes his finger and rubs a few circles on your clit, living for the feeling of you clenching around him before he moves his finger up the inside of your thigh, covering it in your slick. he wraps his arms around you again, pressing you against his chest as you continue to sniffle and let out small cries. he simply runs his hand through your hair and moves a hand to grope your boobs under your tracksuit. feeling that you’re so tense, he runs his hands up your sides and your waist, as if that was going to make you relax at all.

“i told you earlier that being here was better because all you had to do was run the risk of not pleasing me.”

he suddenly grips his fingers as tight as possible into your hips.

“so i’d suggest you start moving instead of trying to be so still unless you want me to pull the trigger next time i pick the gun back up.”

[hexhomos]

Maybe I’m that one oomf that’s too woke, but I have a feeling that people being weird about jayvik is a sign of Bad Things on the rise =/ I’m old as balls and I’ve been in fandom spaces since late 2000s, and I’ve never seen people act so hostile towards a fanon mlm ship. I mean precisely in women and queer dominated fandom spaces, dudebros never change, whatever. And of course there were always ship wars. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen people act so oppressed over being into het ships, crash out over their ships not being endgame and demand from fandom content creators to accommodate them. What is happening.

I think this started happening around 2023~ to be more precise bc that's when i started getting weird ass entitled comments on OTHER gay ships. IMHO the real issue here is that we are going through fandom clash with a newgen that did not experience early internet and they take the gayness in fandom spaces completely for granted. As in, they think these little niche holes we've built are the de facto 'effortless norm' and minimize the work that's been done to create these safe spaces. This is the kind of rhetoric i keep seeing pop up:

Many of them have also grown up almost exclusively interacting with art created by old fandom graduates where queerness is presented casually. They're not watching shit from the 90's or 00's. They're not adults, so they don't have a personal contrast experience seeing that 'rep' dwindling consistently over the years. They don't remember a time before this and don't know how bad it was.

OFC there are always old ass conservative weirdos riding on this wave to be even more annoying (certain infamous viktor stan accs... lol!) but #backtotradition rightwing bullshit has been on the rise worldwide, and so are the viral tiktok tradwife alphamale detransition white supremacy grifters. Its a larger cultural problem feeding into the micro stuff we see daily and it's terrible. It's also why I tune this shit out and I stand my ground. I'll draw what I WANT to draw and I'm not going to be twisting myself into pretzel shapes to appeal to anyone and everyone; go get YOUR shit elsewhere!

I *do* think people have been getting way more entitled towards fanworks, and that comes with a heightened level of apathy. You can notice this on the decreased number and quality of feedback across twitter, as an example (seeing as that place has been consumed by the conservative grifter wave) but it's also been reported by every fic writer who's consistently used AO3 for years. Tags on tumblr aren't as widely used. The focus on 'community' has been replaced by 'DOES THIS MAXIMIZE ENGAGEMENT?'. I know from personal experience that there is this one specific asshole who, for almost a year now, has been trawling the trans viktor tag and leaving insanely long transphobic critique comments on works of newer writers to discourage them from writing. (They are always on the cusp of open violent transphobia, but shittily cloaked as 'debates' on ~natural biology~ and fantasy logic so they don't get banned. If you've seen the ao3 pfp of a smirking white haired woman before you know who im talking about.)

Things have been Bad and on the Rise for a while now. Look at the current shit on the news. Look at the presidencies around the world. And it's going to get worse before it gets better, because it always does; that's what forces people to wake up. Be annoying. Be watchful. Don't waste your time platforming or debating weirdos that should be left to die on obscurity - this is how trump got a memeable platform, and look at where we are now. Protect your peace.

[beomiracles]

the way I read this two weeks ago and have yet to reblog... anyhow, cam already heard me absolutely CRASH OUT reading this on vc. but it's a lot more fun to host a public crash out too.

FIRST OFF ALL.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

second of all.

the UNIQUE concept is to fucking die for. the idea of vampires feeding off of other vampires is something I've never even thought about??! much less them becoming literally fucking soul bound after that.

You hadn't put your mouth on anyone since that night, not even when it felt as if you had been scooped out with a spoon, carved open, and laid bare from hunger. If it wasn't him you would have nobody. 

PACK IT UP PACK IT UP. "If it wasn't him you would have nobody" YES YES YES. like I'm tearing my heart open and giving it to you rn just take me as I am.

Feeding from vampires was anything but a rush, that first mouthful was a wash of exhilaration. It made one dependent on each other, one taste and it was never the same.

mother of all things holy.

next, the way they were both yearning for each other. cam was yapping this nonsense about the smut feeling weird, BUT LET ME TELL YOU. the smut in this fic is absolutely DIVINE. it portrays the longing and the yearning in such an immaculate way I'm literally out of breath writing this rn. like just opening the fic back up to find my favourite parts has me in shambles, so you can imagine the out of body experience I had reading this.

You would never feel full again unless you had him back. 

AH YES YESYYEYSYEYSYEYSWYE.

You still remember the sound his human heart made

see. i. I'M UNWELL. the way she remembers him even after DECADES passing. the longing of a vampire is so painfully beautiful I'm going to actually pass out on the floor may one of you guys come pick me up again once I've had a moment to collect myself.

AND WHEN SHE SEES HIM AGAIN --- It wasn't the butterflies of newfound love but sickening maggots wriggling in your stomach.

cam I'm going to actually bend you over.

But he was wrong, he hadn't known how full the world felt, how full he was after one drop of love from you. And now he was empty, starved clean from his own doing. “I was ashamed,”  The confession was so quiet matching your question, “And now?”  Beomgyu looked up from under his lashes, he was close enough now that your scent was suffocating him, begging him to give in and just sink his teeth right over your heart. Find the same place they had last been because no one had been able to tempt him to even pull his fangs down, not since you. “And now I'm starving,” 

AND NOW IM STARVING BITCH COME HERE IM GOING TO GIVE YOU MY BODY MIND AND SOUL FOR BREAKFAST DINNER AND LUNCH.

“Now look at this,” you can feel the pad of his thumb running over the bite mark scars he's left on your inner thigh, his grin wicked enough to make your knees twitch. “I wonder if your pretty cunt will remember me as well as your skin has,” 

im so normal about this paragraph its insane lol.

everyone shut up and read this part:

Beomgyu whines, breath quickening as he shoves in the last few inches. He lets his body fall onto yours, needing to be closer, needing to drag his lips over your neck, teeth scratching at your pulse, “say it again, tell me how much you hate me,”  But he knows you can hardly speak, your legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him down closer. “Shut up,” you gasp, his hips rolling against yours.  “then beg me,” he doesn’t even have to say for what. Not when your neck is rolling back to give him better access to your vein, his lips brushing against your skin with each word. “If you don’t hate me, beg me to taste you. I know you remember how much I love to mix the flavor of your blood with your cum still in my mouth,”

I want to declare a moment of silence. for my sanity, for my pride and the person I have become after being bestowed such an honour of a fic. I want to lick every part of cam until there's nothing left of her and I want everyone who I've never came in contact with to have read this fic at least once in their entire life to get at least some use out of it.

this fic is my favourite ever.

bitten

beomgyu x fem!reader

synopsis: it’s been a century since the last youve seen him, why come back now?

warnings: 🔞!!! vampire!beomgyu, vampire!reader, mentions of blood, blood drinking, biting, angst, mentions of a break up,mentions of bite mark scars, a bit of soulmate trope, oral (f!rec), no protection,mentions of subspace, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 3.8k (now this flung the 2k limit out the window )

an: thank you for the request! I hope that this captured the essence of the request because vamp!gyu was consuming my thoughts after I read those lines. I love vampire fics and im so sad I don't have more on my page already and this was the perfect time to add one. not proofread im so sorry my sweet angel darlings have mercy on me and forgive me of any mistakes found.

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

The bar was dark enough to keep the bruised necks and wrists of the occasional lost traveler hidden. Spots of blood dripped onto crisp white shirts scenting the air in coppery sweetness. It was a sickening smell to those who didn't need to feed, the alcohol keeping the rest of the occupants held over enough to ignore the twinge. 

You didn't come to places like this often, the back room filled with half-drunk vampires and humans, desperately grasping at each other as they took from one another. Even the drinks didn't call to you, not when he wasn't standing there behind the bar passing them to you, constantly working his eyes up your body like a desperate plea to have even a taste. He hadn't been turned then, not when you first met. The pull towards you always accounted for the fact you were tainted with blood lust. A moth to a flame, he felt that pull, your hunger enough to send him right into the fire without even glancing at him. 

It wasn't often that a human found themselves offering their bodies up to vampires. Most of them felt the hair rise on the back of their necks, the prickling of fear telling them that whoever was standing just round the corner was a wolf in perfectly tailored sheeps clothing, how tight that human look held onto you after your change. The uncanny glow seeping that poisonous warning off in waves, a trap waiting for the truly reckless to trip. 

The ones who wandered closer instead of away always found themselves in the back of bars like this, bruised and hazy eyed laying in beds done up in silk and candlelight. Beomgyu, although working behind the bar for years knew never to offer himself up to the ones who sunk his stomach, that warning to run ringing in his ears as he slid a drink across the hardwood. But you, the second the door had pushed open and your skin washed in that low down glow, tripped him up; your waiting trap snapping shut around him like a rib cage around fluttering lungs. Even the echo of fading hoof beats on stone sounded so close to the beating of his heart that he couldn't tell the difference between flight and flush. 

But that had been years ago, so many that you couldn't even remember the shade of his irises. You remember they were brown, staring up at ceilings casing empty houses trying and failing to conger up the image. Well over a century's worth of time to hate yourself for forgetting the one thing that drew you in at first glance. But it wasn't as if you didn't try to work your way through the fading memories of him, all flickering by like the passing pages of a notebook you forgot you wrote and held so dearly. All you could see was that empty bed, the sugary taste of his blood still on your tongue, your breast still tender from where he bit you over your heart, so hard the soft outline of his teeth, like a stain you desperately wanted to rid yourself of. 

You had come here, back to this bar only three times after he had left to check in. That night with tears in your eyes, heart crumbling, the second taehyun had confessed that beomgyu was gone, packed up with only a shrugged goodbye. “He said he doesn't know when he will be back,” 

You had waited ten years to return the next time, so little time when you counted decades like snowflakes, not the glass shattering hail you assumed beomgyu would have still thought of as a recently turned fledgling. But no one had seen him, heard from him, hardly even thought of him. But he plagued you, ran around your head until you could taste the blood coming from overworked joints. 

The third time was no better, not when you entered and Taehyun shook his head, apologizing for a friend he wouldn't recognize anymore. 

You had given up, moved away, and swore to never think about beomgyu and his puppy stare. That follow you everywhere look that seeped into your bones and begged you to never turn away from him. Only now you were back, sitting in the far corner you fell in love, sinking into the leather seat wishing you could have that first glance back. 

Taehyun felt pity when he saw you, knew that you had been locked away in some house countries away, only sending in orders for blood long since cold. He poured you a glass, the same drink you asked for with tears in your eyes that first night back alone, chugging so many of them back he's sure your blood tasted of fire, too sour, burning all the way down one's throat. 

“Thank you,” neither of you wanted to bring Beomgyu up but he was the first thing on both of your minds. 

“He hasn't-” 

“I don't care,” you tossed back your drink, the ripples of mixed in blood making your fangs tingle, ready to push through soft gums and piece flesh not yet provided. It's why you came. Tired of the empty flavored pints of blood brought to you by Soobin and his sorry eyes. You hadn't put your mouth on anyone since that night, not even when it felt as if you had been scooped out with a spoon, carved open, and laid bare from hunger. If it wasn't him you would have nobody. 

But that declaration was a century ago, so many cold cups later it was tiring to swallow another. “I want a girl, preferably quiet, business only,” Taehyun nodded to your order, already knowing the best pick. 

“Room 615, she can be brought back in about thirty minutes,” there was no room for judgment, not after the years of working behind this counter, sneaking into those beds just like everyone else had. But he knew what it took from someone who hated to drink from a vein, it's why they had the services, those who couldn't go out and find someone or someones to keep up a constant full belly. 

But human blood wasn't the same as drinking from a vampire, humans went out too quickly, blinking back their faintness, never able to take more than a few deep pulls before they were at capacity. Feeding from vampires was anything but a rush, that first mouthful was a wash of exhilaration. It made one dependent on each other, one taste and it was never the same. Taehyun could tell Beomgyu and you drank from each other. Could see it in the years after, the way you turned your nose up even at the bitter drink in your glass. 

You would never feel full again unless you had him back. 

Thirty minutes was enough time to go home and call soobin for a late night order. But your hunger was clawing up your throat, nails on a chalkboard begging for anything else. Having the time to think, sitting here, filled your mouth with the memory of him. Not just the taste of his blood but the faint drum of his turned heartbeat. You still remember the sound his human heart made. The way it pattered at the sight of you, that irregular beat speeding up every time you sat down in front of him, entered through the cherrywood door. 

How even after you had turned him his heart still acted as if it was tied to your presence, fluttering weakly even if it was all it could muster. 

It was that sound that made you turn, conjured up from memory only now to show up right behind you. Taehyun was frozen, face pale at the sight of his lost friend. He had only seen him once or twice after he had been turned but now he was no half human fledgling. 

Beomgyu and you were caught in a web of your own disastrous weaving, stuck in place witnessing the crumbling of love because seeing him only settled the grievances you held into stone.

He wasn't hollow like you were, empty from the time left alone, the bloodlust having fully settled over his skin making him shine in that uncanny beauty. Everything about his gentle human features has been frozen in place, the warmth in his brown eyes only enhanced in the light. How sickening to have to now face the reality of what you had done to him, what he must have run from once he realized he couldn't truly love the monster who infected him. 

It wasn't the butterflies of newfound love but sickening maggots wriggling in your stomach. You stumbled as you stood, not even worrying about the key taehyun had left for you next to your drink, not even a meal could keep you from running as far as you could. 

It had been too long for him to come back when you had given up on trying to wait for him. How many nights had been spent waiting for this exact moment? Only now for you to run away. How cruel fate could be. 

He was calling your name, that twinge of hurt mixed in with something close to pity, every syllable weaved through with the words, no, don't do this, don't make me feel sorry. Even his voice made you waver, the back and forth shake of your head confusing you as you walked down the wrong hallway. 

Even through the doors, you could smell the blood from the occupants behind them, like overripe fruit left to sit on the counter, nothing smelled the same after one drop from him. And now with Beomgyu right behind you, weak heartbeat still mimicking that first sight, it was impossible not to pinpoint the smell of him. Wrapping around you like fog; a haze you tried desperately to claw your way out of but you knew it was no use. You had never felt so hungry until then, carved clean through with the need. 

“Please, let me explain,” he tried, grasping at straws. He didn't intend to see you first, only planned on catching up with Taehyun and apologizing for leaving him behind without answers. Save this conversation for when he built up the courage. “Please,” 

His fingertips only brushed your arm, the shock of it going right down to your toes. It was instinct to turn and slap his hand away, and even in your exasperated exhale, that first acknowledgment was enough to make Beomgyu weak again, as if he had ever been anything but when attached to you. “What is there to explain? You left, you left me there, alone in our bed,” 

“I-” The words were stuck in his mouth, hanging right at the edge of his tongue and yet all that came up was a frustrated laugh, “well did you miss me?” even just hearing his own words he could tell you would fume. 

“Did I mi- you left me! You fucking left me, if anything now I just hate you,” 

It was so easy to fall back into it with you, as if you had woken up alone a few days ago not centuries, “look what you did to me. What I've become, don't act as if you're so innocent in this, don't blame me for decisions we both made,” 

The words felt like a slap in the face. That night you had turned him so clear in your mind, the way he had begged, the way he had burned. It was one of the hardest things you had ever done, most vampires went their whole lifetime without infecting anyone because of how hard it was to complete and yet you had. 

“I turned you after you asked me. Do you know how much it takes? And then like some love-sick fool, I drank from you and every day I think about how stupid I was to believe you would stay. After I left behind everything I knew just so that I could have some human boy stay with me. How pathetic,” the last word was thick, sticking to your throat and pulling your tears forward. “You should go back to wherever you ran away to, climb into some feeders bed to keep warm for all I care,” 

You turned, ready to close the door on a life you wished you had. The one you begged for after nights spent alone clinging to the sheets that still smelled of him. But Beomgyu wouldn't have it, his grip tight on your wrist as he pulled you back, “It was never about changing me, I left because I wanted to know if it was real- that intensity was so…consuming, I was scared and so I ran. I ran and I looked for some way to replicate it because I'm a fucking fool who can't see right in front of himself. You made me addicted to you, I begged you to do this to me and yet I ran. Im sorry,” 

“You can say that but you stayed away so long I'm sure you found some poor soul to swallow down by the mouthful,” he could feel your resentment coiling around him, snapping back at his desperate attempt to explain. Because there was no way for him to get the words out, even after running them around his head for the years he had lost all because of his own fear. 

That night was stuck right behind his eyelids, replaying over and over. Your body pressed to his, soundlessly sleeping as he looked up at your shared canopy bed. Your blood was still singing through his body, staining his perception of life before you. He didn't know he could be so utterly infected by someone so much so that it colored his sky differently. Your soft breathing was enough to tear him apart, he wanted countless nights spent exactly like that one, just watching you, listening to you sleep. And it scared him. He thought humans had been over-emotional, feeling things as they came, wallowing in them because they had little time to let it spread out. But he was wrong, he hadn't known how full the world felt, how full he was after one drop of love from you. And now he was empty, starved clean from his own doing. “I was ashamed,” 

The confession was so quiet matching your question, “And now?” 

Beomgyu looked up from under his lashes, he was close enough now that your scent was suffocating him, begging him to give in and just sink his teeth right over your heart. Find the same place they had last been because no one had been able to tempt him to even pull his fangs down, not since you. “And now I'm starving,” 

Even just the word from his mouth made your fangs ache. You had been getting by on so little for so long. He was the only thing your body needed and you knew he must feel the same. Your mouth was filled with saliva, that venom that numbed prey or set them ablaze. You tried to swallow but you could already taste him, the movement of your throat making his eyes zero in on your pulse. You were no better watching his adam’s apple bob, connecting the dots on long since gone trails of hickeys you’d left before. 

Neither of you knew who moved first, moaning against lips you were sure you’d never kiss again. His sweet venom singing on your tongue. His hands were heavy on your body, pulling you closer as he pushed you against the hallway wall. He wanted to melt into you, his desperation crawling up his skin, hips keeping you in place. 

You chuckled into his mouth, the sound rattling in the back of his throat like a prayer he wanted to keep to himself. “You always did get hard from kissing,” his whimper in response is followed by the grind of his bulge against you. How fast his body reacted to your touch didn’t change when he did. 

His heart was picking up speed, your fingers running through his hair, the groves of your fingertips slotting back into place amongst the strands. Beomgyu’s fangs were already elongating, nipping your bottom lip. He had always felt so good about his self-control, accounting those early days of overfeeding on you for the simple fact of being so recently changed, he should have known you were the variable that cracked the hold he had on himself. It was only worse now that he'd nicked you enough to mix blood into the kiss, his throaty moan rumbling against your body, sinking into your soul. 

You're both stumbling to find a room, twisting knobs until you find an empty one. The silk bed envelops the both of you as you fall into it, peeling off layers of clothes. Beomgyu can smell your sweet arousal between your legs the second he's pushed them apart to kneel between. 

“Now look at this,” you can feel the pad of his thumb running over the bite mark scars he's left on your inner thigh, his grin wicked enough to make your knees twitch. “I wonder if your pretty cunt will remember me as well as your skin has,” 

“You're impossible to forget,” and when you expected him to bite you, following the pattern of his usual ravishing but he skipped it, shocking you with his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking deeply. 

His mouth is on a direct line to your spine, your back arching off the bed. His tongue is hot on you, tracing the lines of your folds, and moaning into your slick. He missed these desperate whines you let slip, the perfect backtrack to the messy slurping sounds he's started. You hadn't even realized how much you had missed his mouth, your fingers twisting into his hair the second he brushed a fang against your swollen bud. He loved to tease but it had been too long since you felt your orgasm rise so fast. 

Beomgyu was eating you like he missed your pussy, your stomach tightening, hips sinking into the sheets. It only takes a few more precise sucks with his puffy lips before your toes are curling, eyes rolling back as you cum for him. His chuckle vibrates against you before he pulls away, chin shining with your wetness. “I missed the taste of you,” 

He hasn't even tried to find someone else to take care of his needs, not when he knew no other cunt could compare to the way yours perfectly molded to him, sucking him in to the hilt. The memory alone is what had him rushing to get inside of you, cock already leaking rivets of precum. 

You've never felt so needy in your life, fangs and pussy aching for him. The drag of his tip from your clit to your weeping entrance makes your knees fall open. One of his hands guides himself to push into you and the other tenderly holds your hip in place. Your mouth drops open at the stretch, slow as he lets you take in the feeling, needing you to remember how full he kept you. 

Beomgyu whines, breath quickening as he shoves in the last few inches. He lets his body fall onto yours, needing to be closer, needing to drag his lips over your neck, teeth scratching at your pulse, “say it again, tell me how much you hate me,” 

But he knows you can hardly speak, your legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him down closer. “Shut up,” you gasp, his hips rolling against yours. 

“then beg me,” he doesn’t even have to say for what. Not when your neck is rolling back to give him better access to your vein, his lips brushing against your skin with each word. “If you don’t hate me, beg me to taste you. I know you remember how much I love to mix the flavor of your blood with your cum still in my mouth,”

As many times as he's crossed your mind, thinking about his fangs in your neck was something that would never compare to the moment they finally sunk in. You had never let anyone feed from you, not until he was there in front of you pleading. You were no better, not after you had changed him, needing to drain him of almost everything. But with one nod he was biting you. 

Beomgyu’s mouth was flooded with your blood, the familiar flavor of iron mixed with the undercurrent of sweet delicacy. He’d dream about the first bite, mouth tingling, fangs brought forward on nothing but the memory of you. Now he was ravenous, so shocked by his own hunger with its pounding fists on nailed shut doors. His hips stuttered in his thrusting, caught on the ecstasy of quenched starvation. 

You felt your mind slip into that hazy space, anything he asked would be answered, every action would be taken, and all you knew was him and him alone. To have that numbing venom injected into your bloodstream was enough to break even the strongest down into puddles of simmering whimpers. 

It was hard to pull away and keep himself from overfeeding like he wished he could. But he felt his orgasm cresting, stomach flexing as his balls tightened. Beomgyu shoved his wrist to your waiting lips, your fangs stinging as they pierced his weak flesh. You drank deeply, thick swallows of the ichor you had prayed to get back on your tongue.

Everything was crashing down around you, beomgyu groaning as you clenched around him, fluttering walls sucking him in as you came, taking everything he had to give. He was a mess of moans, clinging to you as if that could keep him grounded when he felt this good. Every slow shallow thrust only pushes his cum further into you, still being pulled from him with every pulse of your greedy pussy. 

Neither of you can believe how lost you had become, falling into each other like stars crashing into nothing but pooling darkness, so full of energy the only option was to collapse. And it's just what you did, twisting into each other's hold, beomgyu’s kisses pressed over the puncture marks he's made on you, nose brushing up and down your skin trying to keep your scent close. 

Breathing evening you fought back the worry settling in. He had left before, walked right out the door without you knowing anything wrong had been on his mind, what was keeping him from doing it all over again? 

“Stop thinking,” he muttered, mouth finding yours, mixing the flavors of your blood together as he kissed you. “I don't think I could find it in myself to ever leave again,” but he was pulling away, his playful smirk lingering on his lip cleansing your worrying mind if even for a movement. “How could I ever leave again after seeing how happy and full you are after only one round?” he pulled his still hard cock from you, the gush of cum slipping out, pooling on his ready fingers only to shove them right back into your waiting cunt. “No, nothing could keep me from this sight ever again,”

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @chasingthatjjunie @no1likemybbgcharlie @beomiracles want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 32. Reunification Day

Summary: Reunification Day. A day of celebration for most of Navarre. But not for everyone. Sometimes it's best not to judge a book by its cover.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

Dahlia

Another year, another Reunification Day. A day I never enjoyed celebrating even though I should. It signified the end of the Rebellion. And yet it never sat right with me. Something always feeling off about what had happened. But maybe that was because I never trusted my father. A father who would definitely have my head if I didn’t turn up. I adjust the sash, knowing if my uniform is less than perfect I would get a talking to. Like it would matter. I was bound to get a talking to tonight regardless of what I did or how I looked.

I give myself one more glance in the mirror before pushing open my door and locking it behind me. Dain would be here any moment and I’d rather not give him the opportunity to come into my room. As I step back into the corridor I collide with someone walking behind me, both of us stumbling at the impact.

”Sorry I-” My words die in my mouth as I turn and see Garrick standing behind me.

For a brief moment he looks sad, but as his eyes travel down my body I watch them harden as he takes in my uniform. His jaw ticking with irritation.

”You ready to-” Bodhi joins us in the hallway, stopping as he notes the stare down Garrick and I are locked in.

”Of course you would be celebrating today.” He mutters to me with a shake of his head, any hint of sadness I’d seen gone.

This was the first time I’d been close to Garrick since that night. Only seeing him at a distance around the Quadrant or in Battle Brief. No longer turning up after hours at the gym like he use to, or sitting with us at meals when he could get away with not sitting with leadership. And now being this close again, I was suddenly reminded of the sting of betrayal I had felt that night. And I hated how my body responded to him. Hated how my heart rate picked up as I look into his hazel eyes. Hated how my body relaxed as his familiar smell of leather, smoke, mixed with the woodsy spice of cedar and sandalwood.

”Not that I owe you any explanation, but if I had the choice I wouldn’t be going. They might celebrate, but I do not. I unfortunately have appearances to up hold.” I hiss at him, Bodhi looking between us as if unsure he should stop what was going on.

Garrick scoffs at my words, shaking his head again at me. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit about appearances and what people thought of you.” He snarls at me.

I inwardly flinch at his words. He was right. But there was another meaning to today. One they didn’t know about and one I wouldn’t indulge in. “You’re right, I don’t. So I don’t care what you think about me right now.”

An awkward silence falls over us, Bodhi still looking torn if he should step in or let this play out. I note both of them aren’t dressed in dress uniform, both of them dressed in flight leathers instead. I don’t blame them. If I could be out flying I would join them.

”Dahlia.” Dain calls from a few doors down. Least he knew to keep his distance.

I turn and walk towards him, hearing the scoff from Garrick loud and clear as if he was standing next to me. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does way more than it should. I hear Bodhi talking to him behind me, but I block out whatever they say, not needing it to play on my mind. Not today.

”What did they want?” Dain asks as he falls into step next to me.

”Nothing important.” I tell him bluntly as we join the crowd heading to the celebrations.

Garrick

“What the hell was that?” Bodhi barks at me, shoving me in the shoulder.

I shove his hand away, turning my back on the crowd of cadets heading towards the celebration of our downfall.

”None of you damn business.” I grumble at him as we head towards the door at the other end of the first year dormitories.

”Like hell it is. I’ve watched you pinning over her for the better half of this year. I was literally pleading your case to her when you stumbled through around the corner with your tongue down some random girls throat.” He nearly yells at me.

I turn on my heel, stopping in my tracks as Bodhi walks into me, stumbling back a few steps from the impact. “I am very aware of the fact I fucked up. I’m very fucking aware that I threw any chance I had with her down the drain because I got drunk and then thought I’d never have a chance with her. And then I realise I did when I saw how broken she looked because of me. I don’t need you reminding me!”

”So what are you going to do about it?” Xaden states from behind me. I look over my shoulder to see him leaning against the archway giving me a pointed stare, though I note it’s lacking it’s usual edge. He’d been through a lot recently and today was just icing on the cake for the mood he’d been in.

I shake my head, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing I do will change what she thinks of me now.” I mutter before turning and pushing past Xaden towards the flight field.

Every time I looked at her it was a damn reminder of the stupid decision I had made that night. I had convinced myself that it didn’t matter what I’d done. That I’d actually done what she’d wanted from me to even give me a chance. Unaware that Bodhi had actually pleaded my case to her. Had actually convinced her the rumours that had spread in the Quadrant were actually true. But as I’d met her eyes that night I knew I had messed up. That I’d fucked up any chance I’d had with the girl I’d told myself time and time again I didn’t want, didn’t need. But I did. I wanted her more than anything despite everything telling me I didn’t. She was an Aetos. A daughter of our enemy. The daughter of someone who stood by and watched it all happen. And yet time and time again throughout this year she had proved that she was not. Time and time again she had proven me wrong, met me step for step and had schooled me multiple times. And each time she did she wormed herself in more and more without even knowing what she was doing.

”So what are you going to do about it?” Chradh states in my head, no teasing tone that usually comes with anything to do with her as I step into the flight field.

I look up at him from the entry to the flight field. “Like I said to Xaden there’s nothing I can do. You saw my memories. You saw how she looked at me. There’s nothing I can do to fix that.”

”I honestly didn’t think you’d give up this easily.” He challenges, narrowing his golden eyes on me.

”Then what do you think I should do?” I snap at him.

”Go show her you actually care. Open up to her and let her in.” He drawls as if now bored with the situation. “Or don’t. But don’t you dare mope around if you choose to do nothing.”

I turn around, pushing past Xaden and Bodhi who look confused at my sudden change in direction.

”Where the hell are you going?” Bodhi calls out to me.

I turn to look at them, “I’m going to prove her wrong.”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore

[honeyedfate]

kiss her you fool | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader

as if accidentally convincing both of your fans on several occasions that you two hate each other wasn’t enough, jake had to go ahead and mumble some sleepily ambiguous words on a weverse live and involve the whole internet. to salvage whatever shreds are left of the plan, you are to attend a baseball game together.

genre. fluff

a/n. the third & last part to loverboy is here!! sorry for the wait i wrote 4 different drafts until i settled on this one lol enjoy!! xx

[ › first part ] [ › second part ]

jake is a chill guy. he’s cool-headed, efficient, steady under pressure, always on the side of healthy optimism. that’s the story he sells to others—and to himself. but deep down, he knows he might be a bit of a fraud. worse, he can feel it.

his hands are drenched in sweat as they clench and unclench inside his pockets, chasing an old gum wrapper around to distract himself. the tag of his shirt pokes at his neck, making him want to barbarically tear off his clothes in front of thousands of baseball fans.

but instead, he dutifully follows you through row upon row of seats and keeps his gaze on the back of your head.

so, yes. jake is a very chill guy.

you keep glancing back at him, the lower half of your face obscured by a black mask. still, he knows you’re flashing him reassuring smiles, and he feels bad for how nervous he is. if he’s not staring at you, his eyes are darting around, scanning his surroundings like one of the baseball players warming up in the field might suddenly climb the walls and come for him.

“i think these are it,” you say, glancing at your tickets before sliding them into your back pocket.

jake wordlessly takes the seat next to you, adjusting his cap to shield as much of his face as possible. he knows it’s futile—staying hidden is the exact opposite of why he’s here, but habits die screaming, or something like that.

his shoulders tense for a split second at the touch of your hand on his thigh, and guilt gnaws at him when you pull away almost instantly. he meets your eyes and musters a smile. not that you can see it beneath his matching mask.

“we can leave any time,” you say in a soft tone, looking at him from under your lashes. “i don’t care what the plan is. if you’re uncomfortable, we can ditch this whole thing and get ramen at cu.”

jake’s heart swells, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that, but he knows it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place. well, for the most part. he can’t tell you that, though. he knows you will just dispute it until he starts believing it himself, and that would only prove to him once again that his backbone inevitably snaps in the face of a pretty girl.

no matter that it’s his pretty girl, and he’d do anything for you anyway. breaking his spine included. the fact remains—he ran his mouth on live, so now he’s got to face the consequences. 

swallowing the lump in his throat, he shakes his head and threads his fingers through yours, tucking both hands into the pocket of his jacket.

jake grins. “no, this is fun.” you send him a flat look, but he just nods towards the field. “i’ve never been to a baseball game. now we can take it off our bucket list.”

“sure,” you say, sounding wryly amused. “we don’t have a bucket list but at least now we’ve got something to cross off. i’ve also always wanted to be on the kiss cam. guess it’s our lucky day.”

“lucky us,” jake says, his lips curling as he feels your hand squeeze his. he casts a glance around, then leans forward, swiftly pulling both of your masks down with one hand. it’s a brief kiss, just a soft peck that’s a bit inconvenient since both of you are wearing hats, forcing him to tilt his head. but when he pulls back, he sees the way you’re chasing after his lips, eyes still closed, and goes just a little insane.

you look entirely too pretty to leave it at just one kiss. you deserve all the kisses in the world, actually, so he captures your lips again, tasting the cherry gloss he bought you last week because he likes it a little too much. it’s the same one you wore on your first date together.

jake’s lips brush against yours once more, deeper and a bit slower this time as if savouring the moment. you sigh into the kiss and pull back to catch your breath, your lips lingering just above his. your eyes are still closed, but jake doesn’t mind one bit, taking the moment to let his gaze wander over every single feature of yours that he knows by heart. and would you look at that? suddenly, he couldn’t care less that he’s sitting in a huge stadium.

you tear your gaze away from his lopsided grin. “let’s save some of this for later, yeah?” you say, and jake is not ashamed of the groan rumbling in the back of his throat as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder. how else is a man supposed to act when your lips look so plumb and kissable, and your voice sounds like that? hopeless.

you’re looking at him, a smile tugging at your lips when you notice an older lady a few rows down elbowing the person next to her, gesturing not-so-subtly at the two of you. under your breath, you mumble, “the ahjummas down there are looking at us.” 

jake leans back, glancing at them from the corner of his eye before lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “can you blame them? we’re not exactly hard to look at.”

“your modesty astonishes me,” you say, sounding unimpressed.

jake raises an eyebrow and leans forward on his knees, a smirk tugging at his lips. “we’d make beautiful babies, and you know it.”

you snort, shaking your head. “that’s what ni-ki said this morning. something about sacrificing himself for his future nephews and nieces because at least he knows they’ll be cute. i’m still not sure what he meant by that.”

jake cocks his head and pokes your side when you playfully mirror him. “he came down this morning when yuki was talking to us in the kitchen,” jake says, shifting in his seat.

he grimaces as he remembers the conversation with jungwon who was basically a zombie at that hour after having to stay up late as a consequence of jake’s faux pas on weverse. “ni-ki said he was going to take care of this for us. i didn’t know what he meant at first, but then sunghoon sent me a screenshot of what ni-ki posted on weverse. it was a selfie of him, facing the other way so his left side was showing.”

“wait, seriously?” your eyebrows shoot up, and jake nods, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“yep. he called himself a martyr in the group chat. said he was taking one for the team.”

you gasp dramatically, holding a hand to your chest. “a martyr? for us? what’s next, a shrine in the dorm?”

jake laughs, clearly entertained by your idea. “i mean, we could probably arrange one. heeseung’s room is big enough to fit ten.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “that’s… actually true. but did it work?”

jake bites his lip, glancing at his phone. “i haven’t checked yet, but sunoo sent me a text earlier. apparently, engenes are seeing right through it.”

“what are they saying?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“they’re saying belift gave up ni-ki for damage control,” jake chuckles.

before you can say anything in response, your phone vibrates, the sudden buzz pulling your attention away. you reach for it, ignoring jake’s whiny protests as you untangle your hand from his. “hello?”

jake pouts and scoots closer, pressing his ear against the backside of your phone. you roll your eyes and click the side button to turn the volume up, letting him hear the voice on the other end, your manager’s. “…are you in your seats?”

you hum and nod, nearly knocking jake’s hat off with the movement. “yea, we’re here. we got here a bit early, so there are still a few empty seats. but the game should be starting soon. what’s up? did something happen?”

“well,” your manager says, her tone uncertain, and jake’s heart drops. “about half an hour ago, minjun posted the dance challenge you and jake filmed for their tiktok. it…er, seemed to stir up a bit more of a reaction than we expected…again.”

you exchange a confused glance with jake. nothing about the videos seemed off—he’d double-checked, paranoid he might’ve accidentally done something ridiculous again, like giving you a lap dance or declaring his undying love on camera.

filming those two dance challenges had already been an ordeal. the pr team was relentless, adamant on pushing you and jake to drop as many microscopic hints as possible to suggest something was going on between you two, but it was so painfully awkward that you ended up with enough unusable footage to last a month.

jake had been a giggling mess the entire time, finding it all so silly, like he was on some overly scripted dating show. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop tripping over your own feet, bumping into him more times than he could count. at least you managed to do it on beat.

regardless, even though filming the final video had been a struggle, it was ready to go. jake had made sure of that.

it was just another dance challenge, he thinks to himself, trying to push aside the unease creeping up. whatever’s going on now, it’s gotta be grey sweater guy’s fault.

“what do you mean?” your voice brings him back, your curiosity clear. “we didn’t do anything…right?”

“well,” your manager says again, clearing her throat. “since we couldn’t really get any dance footage of you acting like, you know, an actual couple—” 

jake snorts.

“—minjun ended up keeping the last few seconds of a video when he posted it to the enhypen tiktok page. he didn’t give us a heads-up before doing it.”

your eyes widen as you send a quick look in jake’s way. “is he going to get in trouble?” you say into the phone, and jake pulls a funny face. is that what he was supposed to feel? concern? apparently, he likes the guy even less than he thought.

“that’s the thing,” your manager goes on. “everyone seems to like it?” she sounds quite surprised about it herself, and jake has to strain his neck to make sure he heard correctly. 

“everyone?” he echoes in disbelief, and you nudge him when he inches impossibly closer, practically climbing onto your lap.

“what do you mean everyone?” you ask as jake moves back a little. “what were we doing?”

your manager lets out a long sigh, as if hoping you wouldn’t ask. “after you left for the game, minju and some of the others decided to go through the videos again, hoping to find something a bit more exciting. they ended up finding one where you two were dancing really well—everything was clean, no one was falling or laughing, and the chemistry wasn’t too forced.”

she pauses, and you can hear her shifting slightly. “but then, right at the end, you trip over your feet and… well, you kind of just leave the frame.”

jake frowns, meeting your puzzled gaze. you had filmed so many different versions, they have all blended into a nightmarish concoction of blurred memories, making it hard to recall which one she means. “i leave the frame and then what?”

the silence stretches on for a beat, and jake feels a spark of irritation bubbling up at the theatrics. horrified, he starts to wonder if he’s accidentally flashed the whole world and didn’t even realise.

“the entire thing only lasts two seconds, but you stumble, jake rushes after you, and you both end up out of frame—but we can still see part of it because of the mirrors. jake has his arms around you as you both tumble to the floor, laughing.” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, then adds quietly, “minjun removed the music at the end, so you can hear the laughter.”

jake doesn’t even know how to respond. sure, the company can post whatever they want of him, but they usually don’t. there’s an unspoken rule of decency and respect among the team, and he’s at least asked before anything goes up. this? this is just wrong.

he doesn’t realise that you’re voicing his exact thoughts into the phone until a loud cheer ripples through the crowd. a woman he’s seen on tv before appears on the big screen over the baseball field. she’s offering some welcoming words, and jake figures the match must be starting soon.

“—he’s lucky people are receiving it well, but he has to know that it’s not okay to just post that without our knowledge or consent,” you say, your voice tinged with more disappointment than frustration.

“i know, trust me. yuki and i made sure any future genius moves from him go through us—and you two—first. i know you're not mad, just…" she sighs, papers shuffling. “look, almost 80% of the comments are positive, calling you a cute, good-looking couple and all that. the rest are either in denial or upset, but it doesn’t matter. more people are for it than against it, so just enjoy the game. you don’t have to go through with what we discussed if you don’t want to. things are looking good, y/n.”

jake doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation, having heard enough. he leans back, resting a hand on the back of your seat and absentmindedly draws circles onto your skin.

you mutter something into the phone and end the call, melting into jake’s side with a sigh. he coos, pulling you closer, and presses a kiss to the top of your hat while humming. “you know what?” he says quietly.

“what?” your voice is muffled as you rub a hand over your face, looking up at him.

he grins. "at least they’re also calling us a cute and good-looking couple. ni-ki will be a proud uncle to our gorgeous kids.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding your face in his chest and, at once, jake finds it hard to be bothered by anything happening on the internet or even outside this stadium. he has you in his arms and the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy a baseball game. what concerns could he possibly have?

soon after, the players file out onto the field, and the match begins. both of you end up having a lot more fun than expected, and jake briefly leaves to go grab some food and drinks.

he’s walking back up the stairs, looking for you and not even avoiding eye contact with people around like he did before. right now, he’s just a guy hugging two cups of soda and a pile of snacks to his chest, wandering the rows in search of his girlfriend. 

he must look as lost as he feels because someone suddenly taps him on the arm. looking down, he sees the two older women from before. they’re grinning up at him, and jake hesitantly returns the smile, realising a moment too late that they can’t see it due to his mask. 

“you’re three rows up, darling,” the woman on the left with the big, blue-framed glasses says, nodding over her shoulder and vaguely gesturing to where you’re sitting. his face lights up when your eyes meet, and you raise a hand to wave at him. he thanks them and makes to walk up the stairs when she stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

a small voice in the back of his head screams ‘stranger danger’ in capital letters at him, but he brushes it aside, trying to figure out what she could possibly want and whether that might be his kidney or one of the napkins he’s holding.

“you have a very beautiful girlfriend,” she says in that ambiguous, sage voice that the elderly have, and he’s caught off guard. not due to the voice, of course, but the mention of you. jake blinks, processing her words before nodding slowly.

“she’s not, erm, i mean, of course, she’s—”

the woman in the green cardigan laughs delightfully, eyes twinkling with amusement. “sweetie, breathe. we’re not the cia. you can talk about your girlfriend. in fact, you should. it keeps you both young.”

jake is too stunned to muster a reply. he eyes them carefully, wondering if this is a weird interaction or if he’s just never talked about you to anyone before. a second later, he realises—he really hasn’t. not to a stranger, not to anyone.

the thought repeats in his head, looping like a broken record. he’s never talked about you to anyone. and yet, it feels like praises about you live right on the tip of his tongue, like they’ve always been there, just waiting for an opening. so he tries it out. “her heart is even more beautiful,” he says shyly, testing the words, rolling them over like he’s trying to get a feel for them. “which is near impossible but she somehow makes it work.”

it feels weird, to be honest. like he’s revealing a well-buried national secret and endangering the country. the two women share a meaningful glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. his stomach twists. jake’s gaze flickers toward you, and an overwhelming wave of emotions crashes over him.

it’s more obvious now than ever. jake is stupidly in love with you. so much so that he has made an utter fool of himself time and time again in the name of keeping you a secret. like love could be something silent, something that exists in the shadows without growing restless. like it wouldn’t claw at the walls of his chest, begging to be let out.

he truly did think loving you quietly would make him feel better about everything. safer. less exposed. but now, faced with the weight of his own realisation, he sees how wrong he’d been. what was the point of all that caution if it only made him feel like this—like he���s been holding his breath for months, maybe even years?

now, he’s given the chance to do the complete opposite. and for the first time, he wants to take it. he wants to love you loudly, unapologetically. because it’s what you deserve. because it’s what he wants.

he exhales, glancing back at you. you’re focused on your phone, scrolling through something with a tiny crease between your brows. probably checking the responses to the tiktok, probably making sure minjun hasn’t ruined both your careers. always so careful, so thoughtful.

“she’s… incredible,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them. but they feel right, sitting on his tongue like they belong there. he doesn’t need to say more than that. doesn’t need to explain how you always make people feel comfortable, how you remember the smallest details about everyone you meet, how you laugh with your whole body like it’s the first time you’ve ever found something funny.

the women smile knowingly, and jake lets out a soft breath, something inside him settling.

“i’m very lucky.”

“she’s lucky, too,” the green cardigan woman says, her voice warm. “treat each other well, yes? a love like yours is rare. don’t do it the dishonour of keeping it in the shadows.”

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and amused. he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then nods—not just out of politeness, but because he hears her. really hears her.

the woman gives his arm a gentle pat before turning back to her friend, their conversation shifting elsewhere. jake exhales, then moves, crossing the distance between you in quick strides, taking the steps two at a time.

“should i be jealous?” you greet him with a teasing smile, taking the snacks from his arms.

he snorts. “they were just being nice. said you’re beautiful, by the way, and something about…” he hesitates, eyes flicking toward the field. “well, just… nice things.”

you watch him for a second, noticing the shift in his expression. but you don’t press, just shrugging it off and pulling down one side of your mask to take a bite of your corndog. your gaze drifts back to the cheer team as they work the crowd, the energy in the stadium picking up.

jake tries to focus, eyes darting to the blur of blue as cheerleaders and fans break into coordinated moves. but his mind keeps wandering back to what he’d just been told. normally, he’s not one to easily take anyone’s word as gospel, but this time, he can’t help it. it’s not just that he agrees—it’s the fact that he’s surprised by how much he does.

didn’t he spend all week trying to wrestle with this? he doesn’t want to put his relationship on display for everyone to pick apart—that’s the last thing he wants. but now, sitting here with you by his side in jamsil baseball stadium, he can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t matter.

he glances at you, completely unaware of his thoughts, and all he sees is his person. someone he never doubts. someone who loves him, and someone he loves in return. does anything else even matter?

occupied by his thoughts, jake doesn’t realise what’s happening around him until the clapping starts. he blinks, surprised, as you turn to face him, bright-eyed and joining in with the crowd. he looks around, confused for a moment, until his gaze lands on the jumbotron. instead of the game, it now shows a couple in the stands, both wearing the rival team’s merch. the man leans in and gives the woman a sweet kiss on the lips. her face turns red, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

it’s the kiss cam, jake realises, and reflexively claps with everyone else as the woman shyly hides her face behind his shoulder. the excitement echoes through the stadium, the chant growing louder.

he can’t help but smile as he watches them, their laughter infectious. “they’re adorable,” you comment, gaze still fixed ahead, oblivious to his smile. jake’s chest tightens, but the feeling isn’t quite discomfort. more like the recognition of something he hadn’t known he’d been longing for. something he now sees clearly.

your mask is hanging off your ear as you absentmindedly sip on your drink, and jake is so glad to see your lips again. it’s like running into an old friend he’s missed. sometimes, it feels like he spends more time missing them than actually getting to kiss them.

he’s about to reply when you suddenly choke, your back straightening in surprise. out of the corner of his eye, he sees people turning their heads, and even though the music is still blasting through the speakers, he’s sure he hears gasps rippling through the crowd.

without thinking, he shifts his attention away from you and glances up at the jumbotron for confirmation—and there it is. the two of you, front and centre, framed in a pink, sparkling heart.

his eyes flick to you as you glance around, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. it’s strange to see you so flustered when you’re usually the calm, collected one, especially in situations like this. but here you are, shifting awkwardly under the attention.

a voice from the crowd calls out, “kiss her, you fool!” followed by the sound of cameras clicking as everyone starts pulling out their phones. more voices join in, chanting in unison, and jake can see the tension in your body. you look uncomfortable, clearly not used to this sort of attention, and it’s hard to ignore.

he feels a wave of protectiveness, wanting to ease the situation and make you feel comfortable. seeing you out of your element like this—normally the one who knows how to handle everything—hits him differently. he’s already made up his mind, though.

this whole thing had been part of the plan from the start, and he’s not going to let it stress you out any longer. he wants to kiss you, right here, right now, because it feels right. it’s not about the spectacle, it’s about showing you how much he’s proud to have you by his side.

plus, you have quite literally already told him three times how being on the kiss cam was something you’ve always wanted to do before the game had even begun.

jake huffs a quiet laugh, his body moving on its own as he shifts in his seat. his gaze locks with yours, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of your panicked smile.

“guess we’re famous now?” you quip nervously, trying to make light of the situation. jake tries hard not to laugh, but the sound of it escapes before he can stop it.

he pulls down his mask, the crowd’s excitement swelling around you both.

he leans in, lowering his voice so only you can hear him. “what do you say?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “can i kiss you?”

he can see you thinking it over, your brows furrowing as nervousness peels away and you weigh your options. he already knows what you’ll say, but he still gives you the space to respond.

“we don’t have to do this, jake,” you whisper, the soft tone in your voice trying to make sure he’s comfortable too, even with thousands of eyes on you.

he smiles, the tenderness in your voice unfailingly melting him even more. “we don’t,” he agrees with a small shake of his head. “but i’ve never not wanted to kiss you, and i’m not starting now.”

your lips part slightly, eyes flickering up to his. the shift is almost imperceptible, but you feel it—his sudden insistence, the way he’s making this moment so much more than just a joke. the kiss cam, the crowd, all of it suddenly feels like less of a spectacle and more like something personal. something you didn’t expect but, deep down, have always wanted.

it’s strange, this feeling, and for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. the uncertainty that used to cling to you in moments like this is fading, replaced by something that feels surprisingly soft, sure. jake’s not just trying to make a spectacle of you; he’s actually trying to share this with you, to let you know that this is something he wants too.

your heart skips a beat. there’s no need for words, but you’re caught in the moment. a quiet nod is all you can muster, small but certain. “okay.”

his smile spreads before he even realises it. jake leans in, movements slow but purposeful, drawing it out just a moment longer. the kiss is tender, soft at first—he feels your breath mingle with his, the warmth of you close, the way you fit against him. it’s not rushed, not for the camera. it’s real. it’s something he’s wanted to do for so long, but this—this feels more like an act of love than just a kiss on a jumbotron.

you smile into it, and jake can’t help but grin too, the way your happiness settles deep in his chest. he knows the crowd is cheering, but all he can hear is the soft, breathy sound you make, the one that means you’re happy. the one that makes everything inside him flutter.

when he pulls away, the roar of the stadium hits him like a wave, but it feels distant, almost muted. you tuck yourself into his side, the sound of your laugh soft and light. there’s no turning back now. the world can know, and in this moment, jake couldn’t care less.

‘operation: no hate, just date’ has done its job.

he presses a quick, sneaky kiss to your temple, his grin still lingering, all warmth and love. he wraps his arm around you, pulling you just a little closer, the moment between the two of you nothing but pure joy.

alright. maybe jake is not the chill guy he thought he was. but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be.

all he’s ever wanted to be was a lover boy, and now it feels like he’s finally on the right track.

taglist: @jakeslvt @username-111222333444555 @pjselee

[allfortheslay25]

Hi!!! I love your blog and was wondering if you have any Milo and Warren hcs?

Spoilers for Milo’s Future

The first cordial conversation these two have actually happens at Eden’s (before it is ruined lol)

Like I’ve mentioned before, Milo’s goal while being with the Foxes was to improve their teamwork and help them win a game. One of their team bonding things he suggested was clubbing together so he took them to Eden’s since his family has a history there (and he could house them in the Columbia house which he bought from an old Fox when he was 15)

Wymack allowed the team to go out as long as they stayed in doors and didn’t get into too much trouble. Milo was stuck babysitting the real trouble makers and he unfortunately had a rude awakening that the bartender he met back as a kid (Roland) was not as chill as he thought he was

Warren let the cigarette burn away at the tips of his nails. Christen leaned closer to his knuckles to blow at the cherry end, smirking when he recoiled in disgust.

“You need to smoke it or it’ll die.” Christen said.

Warren stuffed his free hand into the leather confines of his jacket pocket, clenching his fist so hard his scabs split open.

“Disgusting. Let it die.”

Ash stumbled, leaning her weight into Christen as she blew a mouthful of smoke his way. “I’ve been sooooo generous. We’ve been so generous. You don’t want to let your lungs stay a virgin forever, babe, it’s embarrassing.”

The striker had been nothing but a nuisance to Warren since he moved to the states. Intoxicated and naked, she preferred to press his buttons and rob him of his anger management progress. But Ash was scum and Warren found hanging out with someone like her made him feel better about himself, as horrible as it was. He felt indebted to her after knocking her out of last year’s season. Warren looked down at the cigarette between her fingers. It was hard to tell the arm had ever been broken at all.

When her hands reached for his face, he moved his arm up, stopping her in her tracks. Christen pulled them back, far enough that Warren would be forced to take three steps forward if he so much as wished to snap their necks.

“My eyes are up here,” Ash cooed.

Warren glanced away from her long throat and scowled at the two oufs.

“Really, though, how do you expect to manage all that crazy without something to take off the edge? Smoking a cigarette is the least dangerous option we’ve offered you.”

Christen jostled her. “I don’t even know why you bothered asking the retard.”

Warren dug his thumbnail through his pointer finger and clenched his teeth so hard he’d be sure to crack his jaw.

Ash grinned and hip checked Christen. “I like him. Big scary European dog. Woof woof.”

Warren curled his lip. He didn’t know how far intoxicated she was but it couldn’t be as hard as their usual routine. He saw Milo empty their pockets before they left.

Just like that, Warren’s body sagged in content. The image of Milo’s beautiful eyes swirled through his brain like crystal waves at the beach. Sometimes, Warren got jealous of the sun, being that the evidence of its kisses freckled his skin every time he saw him. Warren would not insult God by praying for the man, but he begged his forgiveness every night for he knew who he’d see in his dreams. Such a twisted form of fate to introduce him to someone so addicting. It wasn’t right. Warren was sure you’d have to first taste something for it to control you so, yet here he stood, poisoned with no antidote for heartache. Oh, Warren wanted so deeply it burned. It will burn. The devil smirks at me now.

“Hey!”

Warren startles, his fist coming out of his pocket but then he sees the eye of the sea and stops. Milo was a sight to behold. He’d demanded everyone dress their best for this night out, as if it were a requirement for entry at this so-called ‘Eden’. Warren had allowed Ash to dress him and in turn, he’d lent Christen a few things. But Milo had surely tricked him. The man must be planning Warren’s murder, why else distract him with a flash of his gorgeous and freckled abdomen. So many freckles.

Milo stomped over to the blonde mooncalves. Christen once again pulled them away, far from where the young Minyard-Josten could smell their deceit.

“You two! Get back inside!” He shouted.

Christen and Ash moved faster than Warren thought possible, hiding the cigarette and Ash’s positively large pupils. Milo chased them to the back door of the club, a breathtaking view as the moonlight earned her turn to caress his face in her light. Warren swallowed the lump in his throat or maybe the Lord holds his tongue as punishment for his unfathomable lust.

“Don’t ruin the night for everyone! You both know Coach said to stay indoors!” Milo hisses at their backs.

He huffed, shoulders going down as he muttered something venomous under his breath. Warren’s face flushed at the intrusive idea that Milo ought to shout at him instead. Don’t waste your words on the air or the piss covered concrete. Cuss at me. Spit the poison at me, burn me with your glare. Warren vaguely recognized the heat from the cigarette threatening at the first knuckle of his finger. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his longing. Milo’s teal coat emphasized the color in his irises, but paled in comparison to the makeup he asked the Captain to frame around his eyes after Barry David called him a slur. Warren had begun to realize Milo lived to spite others. He wore makeup to spite David, sung in the locker rooms to press the men’s buttons, trimmed his hair because Ash said long hair was more attractive on him, and pressed his chest against Warren’s just because he stole the ball from him during scrimmages. And if Warren found more ways to knock over Milo’s stick, just to feel the idea of Milo’s heartbeat against his own—

“Oh, Warren…” Milo noticed him, awkwardly dropping his tensed fists behind him.

Warren was too dumbfounded to speak. He bit his tongue to prevent it from getting him in trouble. Despite what the team thought, he wasn’t slow. English wasn’t easy, he found it hard to form a sentence that wasn’t as vulgar as he learned from the Sharks back in France. They taught him all the bad words first, then worse things so he’d follow along during their threats. But English, Greek, nor French—none of their vocabularies held the words Milo deserved to hear. However, this was his chance was it not? Couldn’t he start fresh? Couldn’t he apologize? He hadn’t ruined it all just yet. Milo isn’t like the rest. He closes the distance with Warren everytime they speak, he stands too close, closer than anyone on the team had the courage to. He could close the distance. He didn’t need Milo to hold him or fall in love with him. Warren was okay watching from the sidelines, listening to his voice was enough. Let me watch as you play exy with the kind of fire that devastates our earth, let me listen to you ramble on about anything. I’ll hang on to every word like clothes on a line or a painting on a wall. Just say yes.

Milo smiled, as if he heard Warren’s thoughts.

“Having fun?” He asked.

Warren bit down harder. He shrugged in lieu of an answer.

Milo glanced down at his cigarette. Warren was about to crush the offending stick until Milo leaned closer, taking a deep breath and giving Warren a soft look. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, “the smell reminds me of simpler times. It’s nice.”

“Do you smoke?” Warren blurted.

Milo paused, maybe not expecting Warren to speak at all.

“No… I can’t. But it’s a nice reminder that things hadn’t always been so bad.” He gives the cigarette one last gentle look before shrugging off the wall. “I’d better go back inside, make sure everyone is safe.”

Warren watched him go, because it’d be cruel to force him to stay. He looked down at the cigarette still holding on between his crooked fingers and brought it to his lips.

This is what the sketches looked like from three years ago lol

I would’ve added the rest of the scene (I wrote it three years ago) but the post was getting too long. Anyways, unfortunately the night ends when Milo is really put off by Roland (who’s been flirting with him since he found out who he was) so he’s trying to get his foxes to leave. Ashely refuses and is just doing drugs and chatting up some dude. Warren, pent up from the anger Chris and Ash stacked on him all night, went to civilly bring her to the cars. Ash badmouths him and comments on his mothers and his hard on for Milo (which is a joke since no one knows he’s crushing) so Warren snaps and breaks her jaw on the counter of the bar. They’re kicked out of Eden’s and Milo has to get them to the ER

Warren ruined his development with Milo who begins to be cautious around him now, keeping Warren at arms length and worst of all, Warren watched Milo’s hands tremble as he dialed coach on the way there.

[romanreignsbae]

Bloodline dating b!tchy reader:

Roman - Roman is known for having a short temper. Your smart mouth doesn’t help your case in any shape or form. The little slick comments you tend to sneak in here or there while Roman’s talking don’t go unnoticed. If your in a family or friend setting he'll keep his cool for the moment, but the second you get home best believe there's gonna be no attitude left in you by the time he's done you. While he'd never admit it you, he absolutely loves the sass and attitude you give, he finds it extremely attractive.

"Where did all that attitude go now huh?" Roman huffed out while pounding into your cunt relentlessly. “M’ so so sorry daddy!” you pleaded. You could feel the way his balls were bruising the skin around your now puffy pussy. Shifting his angle Roman began brutally assaulting your g-spot causing you to scream out. “Please- please let me cum daddy!” you pleaded for mercy as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. His hand was brought right to you cheek slapping it lightly, not once stopping the relentless abuse on your g-spot. “Hey hey, keep those pretty eyes on me.. and then maybe I’ll let you cum like the little slut you are.” Boy, was this gonna a be a long night..

Jey - Jey is a certified hothead, everyone knows this. So being disrespected by the person he loves most? That ain’t gonna slide with him. The two of you were sharing a nice dinner until it was suddenly ruined by your waiter completely messing up your meals, you already started the day off on the wrong side of the bed and immediately stormed out of the restaurant not even waiting for dinner to be served. Of course Jey followed behind you, and told you to cut it out, but you being your petty self refused to go back inside. So he drove you home, and even on the way back stopped to pick up some fast food for you, cause he insisted he didn’t want his girl to be hungry. Bur for some reason nothing would cut it for you and you continued rolling you eyes, sighing of boredom of him speaking, and even ignoring him.

By the time you got home he was completely done with having you behaving like this. “Getcho ass over here..” You moved up the stairs in a rush attempting to get away from the furious man who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The sound of sneakers loudly moving up the stairs behind you. The heels you decided to wear weren’t helping your case in anyway. “Watch what I do with yo ass now” Jey’s voice crept up as a large hand came across your neck tightening teasingly and another hand moved across your stomach protectively. His hardened crotch pressed up against your backside causing you to let out a sigh knowing what was coming next. You were in for it now.

Jimmy - Jimmy was never ever a serious guy. He could crack a joke in the darkest moments of your lives and still evoke a laugh out of you. He was laid back, cool and collected. But when you disrespected him…that was one of the few times you’ll ever see big Jim serious or upset. In one specific instance, Jimmy had decided he would take you out for a nice meal. Fancy restaurant and everything. You appreciated the idea heavily and began getting ready for the night out. But from there on out nothing was going your way. Your hair wasn’t cooperating, your makeup didn’t look right, and you couldn’t find anything nice to wear that satisfied you. In the car you were grumpy with Jimmy but he thought it would die down when you got your food. He just assumed you were hangry.

But he was terribly wrong. The whole time you rolled your eyes at him, ignored him, and avoided eye contact with him. You knew deep down he didn’t deserve it but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Quit it with your attitude. Now.” He ordered with anger slowing masking his face. “Fuck off” you murmured while staring at the floor. “The fuck you say?” When the two of you got back into the car he wasted no time yanking you into the back seat and pulling your mini dress up, your ass exposed to the cool air in the car. Without warning he spanked you as hard as he could causing you to yelp out in pain. You could feel the burning sensation he was bringing upon you with his bare hand. “Count before I double the amount..” you counted to 15 when he finally let up on you. “Say sorry now.” he looked at your face that was covered in tears. “I’m sorry.” You said softly. He moved his hand up to your chin moving your face upward. “I’m sorry for having to do that. I love you.” He moved in to softly kiss you.

[nameless-jamie]

The Hangover Helper

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

7:32 AM – Jamie Tartt’s Flat

Y/N knew exactly what she was walking into before she even stepped inside.

The second she opened the door (thankfully, she remembered to use the spare key Jamie had given her after the fourth time he lost his own), she was hit with the overwhelming stench of tequila, regret, and expensive cologne.

The place was a disaster.

Clothes on the floor. A half-eaten kebab on the coffee table. A single sock dangling from the ceiling fan—she didn’t even wanna ask.

And then, from the depths of his bedroom, came the unmistakable sound of a dying man.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. Here we go.

With her coffee in one hand and zero patience in the other, she made her way to his room, nudging the door open with her foot.

And there he was.

Jamie Tartt. Top half covered, bottom half naked...as usual.

Premier League footballer. Richmond’s golden boy. A man so dramatic he made Shakespeare look like a realist.

Currently, he was face-down in his pillows, covered by half a blanket, groaning like he’d been personally cursed by the gods.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Close the door. It’s too loud an' bright.”

She scoffed. “Jamie, the door is silent. You’re hungover, not a vampire.”

Another groan. “I might be. Feels like I’m dyin’.”

She took a long, deliberate sip of her coffee. “Good. Serves you right.”

Jamie peeked one bloodshot eye out from his cocoon of suffering. “That’s well cruel. What happened to ‘in sickness and in health,’ eh?”

She snorted. “That’s marriage, Jamie. I’m your assistant, not your wife.”

Jamie smirked weakly. “Dunno. Feels like we’re emotionally married at this point. You've already kissed me that one time, remember?”

“I told you it was an accident, Jamie! I wasn't in the right state of mind. You said it's okay and that you won't mention it again! God, if I were your wife I'd want a divorce.”

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of "How do you even kiss someone 'on accident'" into his pillow

She ignored him and clapped her hands. “C’mon, superstar, time to get up.”

Jamie groaned louder, dramatically flopping onto his back. “Can’t. Won’t. Refuse.”

“You have training.”

“I have a headache.”

“Your fault.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re annoying.”

Jamie pouted, fully committing to his dramatics. “I thought you were supposed to take care of me.”

She crossed her arms. “I do. Every day. Which is why I know you have exactly seven minutes before I call Roy and tell him you’re too hungover to come in.”

Jamie bolted upright.

His head immediately regretted it.

“Fuck,” he winced, grabbing his temples. “Don’t be evil.”

She grinned. “Then move your fine ass.”

Jamie huffed, flopping back down. “Alright. But you gotta help me.”

“Help you what?”

He smirked that smirk, eyes half-lidded and full of mischief. “Get dressed. I’m all weak an’ vulnerable, babe.”

She rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her skull. “You literally run ten miles in a match, Jamie.”

He made grabby hands. “Too hungover. You gotta do it.”

She threw a pillow at his face.

Jamie cackled, but it quickly turned into a pained groan as his head protested the movement.

“Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Never lettin’ Jack Daniels win again.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, sighing. “How bad is it?”

Jamie dramatically collapsed onto her lap, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Swear down, I’d die without ya,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.

Her heart stuttered, but she refused to let him know that.

Instead, she poked his forehead. “You wouldn’t. You’d just be late to training and piss off Roy.”

Jamie sighed, sinking deeper into her lap, voice all sleepy and soft.

“Same thing, innit?”

She let out a small breath, barely suppressing a smile as she ran her fingers through his messy hair.

“Alright, drama queen,” she muttered, nudging his shoulder. “If I make you coffee, will you actually get up?”

Jamie peeked up at her, grinning lazily. “Only if you drink it with me in bed.”

She scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Then I ain’t movin’.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll just text Roy then.”

Jamie immediately sat up. “Fuckin’ hell, woman. You’re ruthless.”

She smirked. “And yet, you’d die without me?”

Jamie stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs. He definitely did that on purpose.

“Yeah, well,” he said, giving her a slow, sleepy grin, “at least I’d die lookin’ at somethin’ pretty.”

She rolled her eyes again, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, standing up.

Jamie flopped back onto the bed, making a dramatic show of reaching for her. “Don’t leave me, love.”

She turned around in the doorway, shaking her head. “I’ll be back with coffee. Make some room in bed for me.”

Jamie sighed. “You’re an angel.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass.”

Jamie grinned. “You love it.”

She didn’t answer.

Because, unfortunately for her, he might actually be right.

[garez19]

isekai’d! yandere x reader

I think we’ve talked about isekai’d reader already… but what do you think about a yandere who just got isekaid into a silly little world?

notes: mention of an injury (not descibed), no pronouns used for the reader, no use of y/n

when he finds himself in a completely different place, he mutters a curse word as he tries to get up.

huh?

huh?

and when he finally realizes this is the bedroom he has seen in that one webtoon, he runs to the bathroom. he takes a look in the mirror and he curses under his breath again as he sees the image of the main character. he touches his blond hair, and he looks himself with pure confusion.

“I can’t believe I just turned blonde,” he sighs. “man, fuck my life.”

but good thing he is the main character, right? well, there was no other character who were as charismatic as him apart from the protagonist, right? moreover, he quite likes the main character too, and relates to him on a deeper as the story processes. they have similar personalities and a similar way of approaching the situations. he rarely enjoys webtoons but well, good thing he found a cool one, no? however, when he figures out there are more to be upset over being blonde, he curses again. because hell, this was not a romance story.

this was a fantasy. a very descriptive and terrifying one too.

yet, he is at an advantage, he repeats, because he has read it multiple times, and very much knows about the ending.

he knows what to do, he knows who he should team up with, he knows who to stay away from, and he most certainly knows how he needs to handle anything that’ll ever happen.

he does handle it well. and he knows the ending will be priceless. he is sure it’s going to be alright. and he knows you too, the side-character with little to no role, but quite loved by the readers, he recalls. you help him out once or twice, and have your iconic moments too.

well, a shame you were going to die, huh? because you truly feel real, you make him feel like he’s not completely alone in this world. he finds you creepy in the sense that he is reminded the real world by you. he finds you relatable. and he finds your creepiness comforting in its own way, coming from the familiarity.

so he keeps you close. he doesn’t want to be all alone in a completely different world. he doesn’t want to face all this all by himself with all these puppets around them.

he asks you to join his adventures. and you accept it. you two become as close as you can, and he knows the chapter that you die in is soon to come.

and he most certainly isn’t ready.

so when you come along with him to do your duty respectfully, knowing you were going to pass away right there, he calls out your name.

“you’re not coming.” he says. you look up at him with an obvious confusion.

“why not?” you ask.

“because you aren’t needed. you just stay here.” he adds. and you frown, still confused. you definitely are needed there. everyone is needed there. and you are going to go. another thing that made you liked by the audience, brave and willing to take action.

“well, you aren’t coming, end of discussion. I can just lock you up if you want to keep talking.” he says. and although you think he just wanted to half-joke and assert some kind of dominance, he is definitely serious about it.

and you don’t need to know.

or you do. because fuck, you leave him little to no thing to do when you don’t listen and follow him around. there’s a different expression on his face, one that you hadn’t seen until now. it’s almost like he’s panicked, and you can’t understand why he panics when he sees you—considering there are way more scary things around the area.

he calls out to his best friend, and the horrifying creature they fight with seems wrathful. he needs to get you out of here. he needs to do it quickly.

“cairos will escort you, and we will talk about it once i come back, okay?” you’ve never seen him so upset, and you’re not sure why he acts so crazy about the whole situation. you look at cairos, and he seem shocked too, yet he accepts quickly and takes the lead. you’re sure if you’re supposed to do anything but obey now. and you follow him to the place.

“you’re fucked up, I must say,” cairos jokes.

“what did I even do anyway?” you huff. and to be fair, he doesn’t understand either, but there’s no way he’d get so mad if there wasn’t a reason, right?

“well, uh, beats me, but you shouldn’t do that again, you know.” he adds. and the rest of the path is quiet, with this uneasiness around you.

this was your last duty. one last one and you were going to be done and go back to your own life. at least according to what the wizard has told you anyway. and he has just messed it all up.

fuck

so what are you supposed to do know? wait for the beasts to hunt you down so you can go back? cairos tells you he needs to go back when you arrive, and that both he and you will be in big trouble if you decide to do that again.

so you wait quietly, and think of a new solution as you do so.

***

“luka’s injured, fuck,” cairos curses. and as you take him to his bed and bandage him up, you can’t help but think that none of these would happen if you were there. if things had gone as planned, maybe you’d have even waken up and drink a cup of tea in your room as you re-read the whole story once again.

“I mean, it takes two to tango,” you mock. cairos frowns.

“shut up.”

cairos has no serious injuries, but you tell him that he also needs to go and take a rest instead of waiting for him to wake up. although he tries to protest, the tiredness takes over his body, and he leaves as he keeps repeating to keep him updated.

and then you hear him shouting your name. you panic as you think he needs something, or is in pain.

“you okay?” you ask. he seems relaxed for a second.

“I really should have locked you up, right?” he smiles. after seeing him in such anger, you don’t know if you should be laughing at his “jokes”.

“it’s not my fault you can’t decide whether someone is needed or not.” you sneer.

“you are very much needed, just not there.” he says. you can see how tired he is, and you can’t help but cringe whenever you see his bandaged wound.

“I think you should rest now,” you say, “we can talk it out when you’re better.”

he nods. “but you’ll stay here, right?” he asks. “I mean, in case something happens. I have lost so much blood, you see.” he adds quickly. like he’s a silly kid ashamed of thunders and wants to sleep with his parents.

“of course.” you smiled.

***

luka truly has been enjoying the past week. the story is not supposed to go this way because well, you should be dead by now, but the author should’ve written that part better, no?

but he likes the fact that you’re always around to take care of him, as he makes it obvious you are the reason he’s got hurt when cairos had to leave him for more than half an hour.

and you truly feel guilty, not because of going there, but because of coming back. now the main character is badly injured, and you are still alive. you are still not in your own world. so you do whatever he needs, and you even treat him so nicely that he honestly considers getting injured more often.

yet, when he is finally all recovered, and the next chapters are even more dangerous for you, for him, for everyone; he decides he doesn’t give a damn about completing the story correctly, nor does he care about going back.

you can’t leave. you physically can’t.

and he’ll make sure of it.

[ashleyrosereads]

Sun Shower - Ch. 1

a Ridoc x fem reader fanfiction

I know I'm not the only one obsessed with Ridoc after Onyx Storm so I putting all my passion into a Ridoc x reader fanfiction that I hope you enjoy! also eventually this will be 18+ just be patient

The chiming of the bell announces eight o'clock, it's time.

The ringing strikes my ears and throughout my entire body as I move toward the line forming for the riders quadrant, chancing a look at the northern turret. The direction I should be heading in.

I keep my hands from fidgeting, as I wait in the long line. Fidgeting shows nerves. Shows weakness. I will not be making myself a target on day one. Heather told me everything I needed to know for the impending day. Showing nerves on day one was an easy tell of a weak cadet, she said. I trusted every word of wisdom she gave me over the summer, she has been the only girl in our village who lived to tell the tale of the riders quadrant in many years. Even if I didn't trust the information she gave me, it was the only information I had. So I clung to it with every fiber of me being.

I kept my hands on the straps of my pack as I waited, watching the world around me continue to move. There was a breeze in the air, and it was sunny for now. The darkening clouds on the horizon didn't calm any of my nerves though. I could only hope I would get across the parapet before any kind of storm hit.

A strangled sob came from my left. A mother was crying in a man's arms as her child walked into the line. Other families were scattered around clinging to their candidates. Some are sending them off with smiles while others it’s with tears hugging their cheeks. Just like her.

I couldn't help but feel utterly alone in that moment.

Of my own fault though. My dad begged to be here and see me off. But he didn’t need to see me openly defying the lifelong legacy of our healer family to become a rider. It’s better he’s in the dark, then the stress of daily life won’t become harder wondering if his daughter could die at any moment.

He would understand why, but it would still kill him knowing what I’m doing every day. Even knowing I’m doing it for mom. After her death, we'd both been inconsolable. He buried himself in the farm. And the more I thought about Basgiath, the more I couldn’t stand being in the sidelines healing. I want revenge. And I plan on getting it. So I buried myself in training.

The line continues to move and I leave my hands on the straps of my pack to hold me steady. The weight of my backpack is light, but once I get to the front of the line it feels as if I filled it with boulders as I bend over and write my name on the blank sheet before being guided into the door of the turret.

The bright light from the outside dimmed automatically in the dark column of stone. There wasn't a window in sight in the spiraling stairwell leading to the parapet above. I continued forward until I reached the cadet in front of me, about ten steps up.

He seemed to be chatting away with the guy in front of him. He wasn't the only one as there was a muttered chatter that drowned out what anyone was actually saying. I wasn't sure what I was expecting but chatter wasn't it. I assumed it would be quiet, foreboding maybe? How could anyone have light conversation at a time like this. I can’t help but keep moving forward, breathing through the nerves and closely watching each step so I don’t have to fall to a deadly fate too early.

The lack of windows mixed in with the heavy breaths of those surrounding me made for a taxing climb. The walls felt as if they were closing in, not knowing if the staircase was actually getting thinner or the anxiety of what I was doing was catching up to me.

I went to take a step, looking too closely at the stair under my foot and not in front of me. I didn't realize the line had stopped moving and walked right into the candidate in front of me. Almost causing a domino effect of tripping, if he hadn’t so smoothly caught himself on the wall of stone. The man turned toward me, his dark eyebrow lifted hiding behind his curly black hair that hung over his bronze forehead. He crossed his arms, showing off his bulging muscles.

Did all riders look like... this?

“Well hello” his sure voice purrs. “Trying to get rid of the competition early?” He says with a lilting voice.

I froze for a moment. Not sure what to say to that...Joke? “No. Just not paying attention. Sorry about that” I answer. He shrugs it off.

“No harm, good last minute balance practice” his smile hasn’t faltered, as he waited for her to do something, say something. What was I supposed to say to that? “Ridoc” he adds, holding out a hand.

“I'm not interested in making friends” I try to snap. The last thing I need is to be getting attached to anyone on the first day of death camp.

“What about the benefits?” He asks, making me scoff. What is this guy on to make him so damn lighthearted walking into the most dangerous quadrant in existence.

The line moves and he takes a step up backwards, not glancing behind him. No hand on the wall, nothing.

My confidence that he will make it across seems more sure than my own.

“You setting up your conquests already?” I ask because, well honestly, maybe the other people have a point. As the light toward the top of the turret brightens a distraction is alleviating.

“Well I’m looking to celebrate tonight, this guy here’s not interested” he gestures his head toward the blonde guy in front of him who doesn’t acknowledge the exchange.

“How unfortunate for you.” If I had this guys confidence I’d rule the world.

“Well it doesn’t have to be.” He winks. I can’t help but laugh. In the eye of death this man is cracking jokes.

I can hear the front of the line now. People giving their names before crossing and shouting outside. Is that rain too? Oh shit.

“So my room or yours tonight?” He leans against the stone wall, crossing his legs.

“We don’t get rooms until after threshing” I correct him. Heather told me that. She also told me not to get distracted by advances until after threshing, not only because then I'll have my own room but also because if someone distracts me then they can easily stab me in the back. Literally.

“Right right.” He bites his lip, contemplating “we will just have to find a nice broom cupboard then. I’m sure there’s plenty.”

“You are-“

“I know, irresistible.” I’m struck silent. Something is what I was going to say but I don’t find it in me to continue as we’re only a few people from the front. He goes to turn around but peaks back over his shoulder.

“You want to skip me in line?” He asks pointing at the spot in front of him.

“Why so you can push me off as punishment for almost getting you killed before parapet?” I ask, feeling my brow raising in question. I didn't realize it was possible for his smile to widen.

“No, there was no almost killing. You’ll have to be more inventive than tripping me on a staircase if that's your goal. I was thinking that if I follow you to the other side I’ll have more motivation to get there so I can start scoping out those cupboards.”

I let out another scoffing laugh. “Your impending death isn’t enough?”

“Not when you’re the other option” he winks.

“Name” the cadet barks from the entrance. Ridoc turns his head to the cadet. There were two there one taking names and another brooding by the opening.

And my gods they do all look like him.

“Ridoc Gamlyn” he says and the cadet scribbles the name.

“Alright. Go on.” He jerks his head to the exit of the turret. Ridoc turns one more time.

"See you on the other side Beautiful" He says before strutting out onto the parapet. The weather had worsened, there was a small spot of sun light in the dark clouds but not enough. Luckily the rain was only a slight drizzle and the wind didn't sound too relentless but making it across was still going to be a feat.

"Name" Barked the cadet, this time to me.

"Y/N Y/L/N" He scribbles it, barely looking over the parchment before waving me off.

"You're next."

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 1

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Next chapter

“Come on kids, let’s go!” Y/N shouted, filling up lunch boxes and plating breakfasts.

The pounding of feet on the stairs and the ever-present sound of raised, upset voices filled the kitchen as they all thundered in.

“Just leave me alone!” the oldest, Becca, yelled at the second, Winnie.

“All I asked was to borrow your cardigan,” Winnie scoffed, then turned to Y/N.  “Mama, why can’t I borrow her cardigan?”

“‘Cause it’s not yours,” Y/N huffed, putting down the plates on the table then turning to grab glasses for their orange juice.  “Respect the no.”

“Yeah, respect he no, butthead,” Becca smirked.

“Don’t call your sister a butthead,” Y/N said loudly, bringing over the glasses and filling them up.  

“Mama, I don’t want eggs and toast,” the youngest, James, whined as he sat at the table, scowling at the plate of food.

“Well then get up earlier to make your own breakfast next time,” Y/N sighed, turning away from the table to load their lunch boxes into their backpacks.  “Hurry up and eat, the bus will be here soon.”

“But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!” James said incredulously.  Y/N looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and he quickly started eating.  “I’ll eat fast and go do it,” he said quickly to appease her.

She shook her head as she started cleaning the kitchen, the girls continuing to fight as another set of footsteps echoed down the stairs.  “Good morning my spawn,” Bucky called out to the kids as he swept through the kitchen.

“Morning Dad!” they all chimed in unison, before going back to their previous fighting.

He rounded the island and hesitantly walked up to Y/N, who barely glanced at him as she held out a lunch box and his usual breakfast in a bag to him, his regular coffee in a canister sitting on the island.  “Thanks,” he said quietly, taking them from her.  She didn’t say anything, continuing to clean the island of the crumbs and mess from breakfast.  “Uh, I’ll be back close to six today,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation.  “Got a big presentation that might take a while.  I’ll text you if anything changes.”

“Okay, good luck,” Y/N responded, still not looking at him.  

Bucky sighed quietly, then reached a hand out to touch her arm.  Y/N stopped, slowly looking up at him.  They stared at each other for a moment, their children’s voices interrupting the tense atmosphere as Bucky gave her a small smile.  He didn’t say anything further and leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly before pulling away.  “Alright, I’m out,” he announced, walking over to the kids, kissing each of them on top of their heads quickly before heading for the door to the garage.  “Love you!”

“Love you!” they all said back.  

Bucky glanced at Y/N one more time.  She didn’t look back at him, so he left.  On the drive to work he pondered over their relationship for what felt like the millionth time.  The first few years had been perfect.  They were each other’s ride or die, always in each other’s corner as ultimate support through the finishing school-early marriage-settling down in their jobs phase.  Then Y/N got pregnant with their first, and as excited as they were, it changed the dynamics quickly.  She had to cut back hours at work, which she wasn’t happy about since she loved her job, but did it with a smile to support their growing family.  

Then came the second child, then the third.  And they made the difficult decision for her to quit her job and be a stay at home parent.  Bucky was extremely appreciative of Y/N and all she had done for him and the kids through those years.  She was a great mother, and he helped as much as he could when he was home, but having the financial load put on his shoulders was a lot of pressure, and he had worked hard at his job over the years to get to where he was at now to provide them a comfortable living.  At some point along the way they’d gotten into a routine, and life was a little boring for a while.  Bucky expected this, after years of new beginnings and survival.  But what he didn’t expect was how the boredom and monotony would distance them from each other.  Once all the kids entered the adolescent years, suddenly it felt like they were strangers sleeping in the same bed.

Their sex life came to a screeching halt with how busy they were, the kids’ schedules getting jam packed with activities and events and Bucky’s job requiring more hours with the responsibilities he took on being a lead on his team.  Y/N was withdrawing, he could see and feel it.  But he didn’t know how to fix it.  He had tried scheduling dates more often, taking on more things at home to lighten her load, initiating sex even when he was exhausted.  But she had rebuffed his efforts, getting frustrated with him rather than engaging.  He was contemplating marriage counseling, but didn’t know how to bring it up to her, instead doing some research into their insurance options and the marriage counselors available in their area.

The worst part about it all was how much he missed her, and yet she was right there.  How could you miss someone when they’re literally still in your life within arm’s reach?  He shook his head, fighting off the rush of emotions as he pulled in to work.  He couldn’t stress over it now.  This presentation, if successful, could give him a big bonus that he was hoping to use to give Y/N a redo on their honeymoon for their anniversary, since they’d been a couple of poor college kids when they got married.  Maybe some time away for the two of them would rekindle some romance.  Nineteen years was a long time to be with someone, almost twenty with their anniversary coming up in a few months.  He wasn’t willing to give up.  But was she?

“Hey punk,” Steve greeted him.  

“‘Morning, jerk,” Bucky smirked at him, giving him a quick hug.  “Are we all ready?”

“I think so,” Steve said, glancing at the materials for the presentation on the table in front of them.  “I’ve been triple checking everything.  We should be ready to go.”  He looked at Bucky for a second before a small frown darkened his features.  “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning back at him.  “Why?”

“Nothing, you just look…tired,” Steve observed, his eyes narrowing.  He looked around for any prying ears then leaned in closer.  “You and Y/N still having a hard time?”

Bucky sighed and looked away from his knowing gaze.  “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, Steve.  Let’s just focus on this, then we can talk about my marriage problems.”

“Who has marriage problems?” Peter asked.

“Jesus!  Parker, how do you just pop up out of nowhere?” Steve griped.

“I don’t,” Peter frowned.  “You just didn’t hear me come in.”

“Quit being snoopy,” Bucky chastised him.  “And it’s none of your business.”

Peter shrugged and walked around the table, looking over everything.  Steve looked back at Bucky and gave him a small, reassuring smile, then clapped his shoulder.  “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, before turning back to the table and focusing on the presentation with Peter.

Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to relax.  It would be alright.  They’d figure it out and come back together…somehow.

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

[imawholeassmood]

You're in my heart, you're in my soul

@somewillwin thank you for your adorable caitvi soulmates au.

part 1, I guess :) also on A03

As the pain radiates through her wrist up to her shoulder, the only thought in Vi’s head is she’s glad Powder’s not with her. Deckard’s cheap shot, hitting her with a bat to the head as she rounded the corner was low, even for him. Vi fought back as best she could, dazed from the headwound, but her disorientation had her missing more punches than she landed. She didn’t often stroll through the under city alone and tonight she was getting a tough reminder as to why that was.

But the headache she felt earlier and the overwhelming tension that pulled at her shoulders required her to get out and move her body. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before and, to her knowledge, completely unaccounted for. Vi didn’t get headaches and she certainly never felt her body tense the way it had earlier that day.

Another wrenching blow to the gut forces a breathy cough from Vi’s lungs as she hunches and heaves to fill her lungs. Deckard’s men are relentless with their attacks, kicking her while she’s down. This is it, she thinks as images of Powder, Mylo, and Claggor flash before her, I’m going to die.

***

“Caitlyn!” Cassandra’s voice comes out loud and strained as she rushes across the room to her unmoving daughter on the floor. “Tobias!” she shouts, dropping to the ground and grabbing Caitlyn into her arms. Caitlyn doesn’t respond to her mother’s panicked cries.

“Cassandra, what is i-“ Tobias’s calm demeanor disappears when he sees his wife and daughter. He rushes over to them on the floor and starts looking Caitlyn over. Blood gushes from an open wound on her head, bruises mar other parts of her face, and her wrist is twisted unnaturally. “I’ll call the hospital and let them know we’re on our way. Hold this here.” Tobias presses a handkerchief to Caitlyn’s head and waits for Cassandra to take over before rushing out of the room.

***

Claggor kicks the door to The Last Drop open and Mylo calls out for Vander. They’re holding Vi’s limp body between them.

“The sofa,” Vander says, pointing to the worn down and stained piece of furniture. Mylo and Claggor carry Vi across the room and ease her onto the torn fabric. “Keep Powder out of here,” Vander says, looking over Vi’s swollen and bruised face, her features unrecognizable. His fingers tremble only slightly as he slowly moves them to Vi’s throat, pressing two fingers against the skin under her jaw. He nearly bursts into tears when he finds a faint pulse.

Powder’s cries behind him sting in his chest as he hears his sons try their best to keep her away. She shouldn’t see her sister like this. None of them should. “I’m gonna get you help, kid,” he says, standing.

“I want to see Vi!” Powder says in a cry-yell when Vander slips into the back room with her and her brothers. Vander takes a deep breath to keep his emotions in check.

“I’m taking your sister to the hospital,” he says, “I need you all to stay here and look after each other. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“I want to see her,” Powder says, face stained with tears.

“Powder,” Vander says, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you know these two can’t take care of themselves. Even though she’d never admit it, Vi would hate to see anything happen to them.” Powder sniffs and wipes her hand under her nose. “I know you want to see your sister,” Vander continues, “but right now I need you to take care of her brothers so I can take care of her. Ok?”

Powder gives a reluctant head nod. “That’s my girl. And you two,” Vander says, looking at Claggor and Mylo. He doesn’t have the words to thank them. They seem to understand his meaning as they each give him a nod of recognition. Before he slips out the door, he turns back to his kids. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to come get you all.”

***

“I don’t care what it costs, you save my daughter.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Kiramman,” the hospital administrator says in a neutral tone, “Caitlyn is receiving the best care. We’ve called in our specialists to tend to her.”

Tobias squeezes his arm around his wife’s waist. “Caitlyn’s doctors are the best in the hospital,” he reassures Cassandra.

Cool air from the night breezes around them as the hospital’s main doors open and a booming voice calls out. “My daughter needs help.”

Tobias and Cassandra turn to see the hulking figure and the unconscious girl in his arms. She looks so small against his large frame. Tobias sees them first, the wounds on the girl’s face and body. He moves over the man.

“What happened to her?” he asks, looking over Vi’s form.

“She was mugged. Are you a doctor?”

“I am, but I’m not on duty.”

“Then you’re no help to us.” Vander pushes past Tobias, stepping up to the administrator. “Please, she needs a doctor.”

The man eyes Vander and Vi, scanning them from head to toe, looking put-out by their presence. Vander, covered in sweat from the journey, and Vi in her torn clothes covered in blood and dirt certainly stand out next to buttoned up waistcoats and matching silk nightgowns of the Kirammans. Vander knew it would be a risk bringing Vi all the way to Piltover, but the hospitals are far superior to the ones in the under city. “I think you may be in the wrong hospital.”

“I’ll see her,” Tobias says.

“Dr. Kiramman, I don’t-“

“I insist.”

“Tobias, what are you?” Cassandra says, stepping up to her husband. He nods his head in Vi’s direction, just enough to get his wife to look. She scans the girl whose limbs dangle loosely in the large man’s arms, stopping at the familiar headwound. She turns back to her husband and says in a hushed voice, “I’ll make sure Caitlyn receives the best care. You take care of her.”

Tobias presses a kiss to Cassandra’s forehead before turning back to Vander.

“Follow me, Mister?”

“Vander.”

“Vander. I’m Tobias,” he says, pressing a palm to his chest. “Let’s get your daughter patched up.”

***

Vander sits in the lumpy hospital chair next to Vi’s bed as Tobias makes some checks of the machines. “Not that I’m not grateful for what you’ve done,” Vander says, “it just doesn’t seem like it’s enough for her wounds.”

Tobias turns to him with a soft smile on his lips. “I assure you, Vander,” he says, “your daughter’s received the best care in this hospital. She’s going to be ok.”

At that, Vander rises from his seat. “A few bandages and a breathing machine,” he says pointing to Vi and the tubes running from her mouth, “are hardly the best care. When did these specialists see her?”

Tobias, aiming to assuage the man twice his size, holds up his hands in surrender. “I apologize, allow me to explain. Shortly before you arrived, my wife, Cassandra, and I brought in our daughter, Caitlyn, after finding her unconscious on her bedroom floor. She looked like she’d been hit by a bus. We, understandably, had no idea what happened and brought her here where we have quite a bit of influence.” He keeps talking as Vander looks at him with a mix of confusion and impatience on his face. “Then you arrived with Vi here who shares remarkably similar injuries to Caitlyn’s. Now, I don’t know what you believe, but, um.”

“You think my Vi and your Caitlyn are?”

“I do,” Tobias said in earnest. “And if that’s the case, then Vi has been treated by the best doctors in this hospital, my wife has made sure of it.”

Vander scratches at his jaw, a playful smile toying at his lips. “Oh, Vi is gonna get a kick out of this.”

***

“Excuse me, Mister,” Cassandra pauses, unsure of herself with such casualty, “Vander?”

Vander rises from the chair to greet the woman still dressed in her silk nightgown who looks like she’s slept as much as Vander has over the past eighteen hours. He’s glad to know he’s not the only one this is taking a toll on, though he’s surprised to find the woman hasn’t managed to get ahold of a change of clothes, given her dress. Seeming to read Vanders mind, she tugs at the belt around her waistcoat to tighten the knot.

“I’m Cassandra, my husband has been treating your daughter.”

“Yes, come in. I, thank you. Both of you for what you’ve done for Vi.”

Cassandra stands in the doorway, looking uncertain about whether or not she should enter the room, despite Vander’s offer. She glances at Vi before ducking her head and bringing her attention back to Vander.

“I wanted to apologize for the way you and your daughter were treated when you first arrived. I’ve never been a fan of the administration here, but now I have something I can work with, and I assure you, I will be doing something about it.”

Vander isn’t sure what to make of that statement or what to say in response. “Ok,” is all he manages to get out in the awkward silence.

“I believe Tobias has made you aware of our suspicions about our girls?” Cassandra says, breaking the silence. Vander is relieved at the change of topic.

“Yes.”

“Yes. Well, I was thinking they might heal faster if they were nearer to each other,” Cassandra says. “I’d like to have Vi moved, if you’re ok with it.”

Vander looks at Vi who continues to lay in bed without any signs of regaining consciousness. The bruising and swelling of her face are in full effect and he’s not even sure she could open her eyes if she wanted. The air tube covering her nose and mouth, the saline drip attached to the back of her hand, and a slew of other wires running from her fragile body to various machines chokes Vander with the emotions he’s been holding back since Mylo and Claggor first dragged her into their home. At this point, he’d do anything for her to wake up.

“I don’t know much about how any of this works,” he says, turning back to Cassandra, “so I’ll follow your lead if you think it’ll help.”

***

Vi comes to with a pounding in her head and the inability to fully open her eyes. That’s probably a good thing if the brightness behind her swollen eyelids is any indicator to how brights the lights of the space she’s in are. Regardless, she tries to open her eyes anyway.

“Hey, kiddo,” she hears Vander’s rough voice say and feels his calloused hands cover one of her own. She doesn’t have enough strength or energy to adjust to his touch and when she tries to speak, she discovers her very dry mouth is covered by something that stops her. “I’ll get the doc,” Vander speaks again, his voice hiding a slight tremor. “See what we can do about that breather.”

Vi’s not sure how much time passes before she’s jostled awake again, this time her mouth free of the plastic contraption. Her eyes don’t seem to be working any better, but she makes out a blurry figure standing next to where she lays.

“Hi, Vi. I’m Dr. Kiramman.” The man’s voice is soft and surprisingly comforting. “It’s really great to see you awake.”

If Vi didn’t know any better, she’d say his voice shared the slight tremor she heard in Vander’s earlier.

“I’ve got some water here, if you’d like,” he continues. She nods, or at least, thinks she does. When the soft touch of a straw taps against her lips, she parts them and tries her best to get some of the liquid her parched mouth craves. It’s not as easy a task as it used to be and water dribbles down her chin.

“I’ll let Cassandra know.” Vander speaks again. She didn’t even know he was still in the room.

“Actually, Vander,” the man, Dr. Kiramman, says more casually than Vi would expect, “I think we should wait on that. Give Caitlyn a little more time.”

***

Vi wake again, she assumes some time later if her eyesight is anything to go by. She looks around with more ease than the first time she’d tried and her vision isn’t as blurry.

“Hello, again, Vi,” a soothing voice says. She turns to the man in the white coat, stepping up to her bedside. “It’s Dr. Kiramman. How are you feeling?”

“Like I fell off a bridge.”

The man chuckles. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Vander?”

“Vander’s gone to check on your siblings. I told him I’d stay here with you until he got back.”

A million thoughts race through Vi’s head and she doesn’t know which question she wants to ask first. How long has she been here? How long has Vander been away from Powder? Why would the doctor offer to stay with her?

Her breaths quicken with the growing panic rising in her chest. It’s all a little too much for her right now.

“It’s ok, Vi,” Dr. Kiramman says, his voice calm. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes dart around the room, landing on a figure laying in a bed next to her, wires and machines matching her own.

Vi’s panic subsides, draining out of her as she looks at the girl. Dark hair is all she can make out around the bruising and breathing machine on her face, but she looks to be about Vi’s age.

“This is my daughter,” the man Vi’d forgotten was in the room with her says. “Caitlyn.” Vi turns back to him to see his eyes have glossed over as he tries to hold back tears. He clears his throat. “I do wish you’d have met under different circumstances.”

“What happened to her?” Vi rasps out, her throat suddenly dry as she turns back to look at Caitlyn’s unconscious form.

Dr. Kiramman is quiet for a long while. Vi hardly notices the silence as she takes in as much of Caitlyn’s features as she can. Vi is sure she’s the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen.

“What do you know about soulmates?” Dr. Kiramman finally says.

[waterfire1848]

Au: zuko and azula both raised by dragons

Hello @hersheysmcboom !!

1. During a family trip to Ember Island, the family is hit by a massive storm. The storm causes their ship to be destroyed and Zuko and Azula are believed to have died at sea as they were never found by their parents or any search parties. However, they did not die. The four and two year old actually washed up on Sun Warrior Island where they were discovered by a giant blue dragon. Shaw, understanding that these are incredibly young humans, took them both back to her and Ran’s cave. Thankfully, the Sun Warriors also found them when they heard the two crying. Shaw was not happy to have the humans steal her newfound babies but eventually came to the agreement that the Sun Warriors would help with some things (like keeping them clean, providing them with milk and clean water and education) while Shaw handled mostly everything else. (Sun Warrior: She thinks they’re her babies. Chief: Yes, she does. And as long as she’s not eating them or leaving them to die, I see no reason why we shouldn’t let her keep them. Sun Warrior: Chief, she’s a dragon. She and Ran can’t take care of two humans children, especially at their age. Chief: That’s what we’re for. Trust me. These kids will be okay.) (Yeah there’s no way to write that where the chief doesn’t sound crazy.)

2. Time goes by and Zuko and Azula grow up believing Ran and Shaw to be their mom and dad (not biologically but adopted parents). Azula has no memory of Ursa or Ozai but Zuko does. Sometimes he remembers his parents but it always ends with remembering the storm too and that keeps him from wanting to push himself. Additionally, the two train with the Sun Warriors when their firebending presents itself. As per canon, Azula is still a prodigy but she’s not pushed to her limit since Ozai isn’t around and there isn’t as much competition between her and Zuko (still some because they’re siblings but not much). (Azula: Mom! Mom! Mom!!! Zuko: She’s out hunting. What’s going on? Azula: I made blue fire! Blue fire! Not even an Avatar can do that! Where’s dad?! Zuko: You made blue fire?! Azula: Look! *shows him her flame* Ran: *Growl* Azula: Dad! Dad! Look what I did! I made blue fire like you and mom! *Shows him her fire* Ran: *Soft purring and licking Azula*)

3. More time passes, Zuko is 16 and Azula is 14. They don’t remember much of anything outside of Sun Warrior Island but, thanks to the teachings of the sun warriors, they know about the war and the outside world. One day, the family is fast asleep when Ran and Shaw wake up and fly around the island. Zuko and Azula are confused and frightened and ask what’s going on. The Chief tells them that the Avatar has returned. Feeling like they have to do something, Azula convinces Zuko to join her and find the Avatar to teach him firebending. The Sun Warriors allow them to leave as long as they don’t reveal the island which, of course, they promise not to do. Their cover story is that they’re kids from a FN colony in the EK. (Shaw: *Sad growl* Zuko: We’ll be back, mom. I promise. Shaw: *Huffs air into Zuko’s hair* Zuko: Mom! Azula: Come on, mama’s boy! We got a long ride to get to the Earth Kingdom. Ran: *Growl* Azula: Dad, no. You and mom have to stay here. Dragon hunting is still going on and if you’re spotted…..you just have to stay here. Zuko: We’ll be back in a few months. A year tops.)

4. Zuko and Azula have never been in the outside the world when they finally arrive in the Earth Kingdom. They know how to steer a ship because of the Sun Warriors teachings but they're utterly confused by everything else. (They don't know what money is, they don't know that people can steal from them, they don't know why the other kids their age find them so weird, everything about the outside world is so strange to them). By the time they find the Gaang, the group has just met Bato. The siblings were at the Fire Nation town where the group would go before meeting Jeong Jeong, only this time Zuko and Azula confronted them and out loud said that they wanted to fight the Fire Lord and teach Aang firebending. Needless to say, Jeong Jeong still isn't happy and scolds Zuko and Azula and tells Aang he isn't ready. Jeong Jeong still eventually agrees and while he's teaching Aang, he notes that Zuko and Azula have golden eyes. (Zuko: So? Jeong Jeong: Only members of the Royal Family have eyes like yours. Where are you two from? Azula: We're from the colonies. Jeong Jeong: Which one? Azula: The-The one in Omashu. Jeong Jeong: Ah, yes. That famous colony. I suppose I was mistaken.)

5. The Gaang and siblings travel to the North Pole where the fire and water siblings friendship really starts to pick up. Aang has been the most enthusiastic about their presence so far while Katara and Sokka have mostly been tolerating them. It's in the North Pole that they really start to connect and become friends. While in the North Pole, Zuko grows sick due to his weaker flame and, while Sokka and Yue are watching over him (because Katara and Azula are busy fighting the patriarchy), he mentions Ran and Shaw. When Yue asks who they are, Zuko slips up and admits that they're his adopted parents and that they're dragons. Sokka and Yue, not sure if he's being serious or hallucinating, agree to keep their mouths shut. When Zhao attacks, he doesn't recognize Azula and Zuko but he does know that they're firebenders and, for some reason, helping the Avatar and they are recognized as traitors. The North Pole ends the same way, but it's what happens after it that changes. First, the survivors report to Fire Lord Ozai that two teenager firebending masters are helping the Avatar. Second, Iroh, hiding in the EK, receives word that two teenagers--who look like they're from the Royal Family and are the same age that Zuko and Azula would be if they were alive--are traveling with the Avatar and trying to help him with the war.