#but what if he just keeps going back to the same place like just keeps doubling back because oooooo that’s an interesting smell or whatever

[reilemon]

🌹Surrender❄️

♡︎ synopsis: Sylus and Zayne show you that you can't get away with lying.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader x Zayne

♡︎ tags: barely any plot, mfm dynamic, oral (both male and female receiving), orgasm denial, dvp

♡︎ word count: 5.5k

♡︎ a/n: this fic is part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange event made by @nanamiscocksleeve and I wrote for @laddelulu30 . It was challenging ngl, but I had fun and I hope you'll like it!

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping. divider by @anitalenia

The car hums softly, the tension inside it palpable. Zayne’s hands grip the wheel, his hazel green eyes fixed on the road ahead, occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Sylus sits with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You sit beside him, looking out the window, twisting the damp hem of your shirt as you can feel Sylus’ glare on you.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Zayne’s calm voice breaks the silence.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It wasn’t planned,” you mumble. “My friend called last minute... I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

Sylus shifts beside you, leaning closer. “You didn’t think lying about being at a coffee shop might be a big deal? Or leaving your location on so I’d find out anyway?”

You stiffen, guilt tightening your throat. “I thought both of you were busy and it was just easier that way.”

Sylus scoffs. “Easier? For who? You, sneaking out? Or us, finding out you’re not in your apartment like we thought?”

“Sylus,” Zayne interjects, his eyes flick to the mirror, catching yours. “This isn’t about the coffee shop, or even going out. It’s about trust. We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know where you are.”

The word trust stings more than Sylus’ sharper tone. Your fingers clench tighter around your sleeve, twisting the fabric until it wrinkles under your grip. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” you say with a lump in your throat. “My friend needed me tonight. She just got out of a bad relationship, and wanted to go out.”

Sylus presses further. “And when it got dangerous? What then? You knew enough to text me—why not just tell me the truth from the start?”

Zayne’s grip on the wheel tightens. “Do you know what went through my head when Sylus told me you weren’t home?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “When I saw where you were? You’re lucky we got there in time.”

Your throat tightens, and you glance out the window as you mumble, “I didn’t think it’d turn into such a mess.”

Zayne exhales slowly, and you can see Sylus in the corner of your eye shaking his head. You know you’re in the wrong and that you made a few stupid decisions tonight, but your pride is not letting you admit it.

The car slows to a stop at a drive-thru, and you hear Sylus grumbling under his breath.

“This place again?”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips when you catch Zayne roll his eyes before answering. “Yes, it’s the only nearby place that works at this hour.”

Sylus sighs dramatically but complies, rattling off an order as though it’s beneath him.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The apartment greets you with its familiar scent and warmth. What also greets you is pieces of clothing and makeup scattered around the living room. You’re sure your boyfriends noticed the mess, but you’re surprised no one made a single comment as they made their way to the kitchen. You take off your shoes and join them. 

Sylus places the bag of food onto the table, his gaze flicking toward you. “Are those the new jeans?” he asks. 

Caught off guard, you glance down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the denim. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Told you they’d look good,” he says, leaning back against the table, his arms crossing over his chest. The way he says it makes your cheeks warm. 

Before you can respond, Zayne’s voice cuts in, giving you the same compliment. He steps closer, his eyes softening as they glance over you. Tonight, their attention makes you more flustered than usual, so you thank them, your cheeks burning, and you busy yourself with helping Zayne unpack the food.

The three of you engage in small talk as you eat the late-night meal, the earlier tension from the car ride dissipating with each bite. Despite his complaints, Sylus cleans his plate with the efficiency of someone who secretly enjoyed it.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Remnants of the day washed away after the shower, the three of you settle on the sofa to watch a movie. Zayne and you slipped into pajamas while Sylus put on a shirt and sweatpants he kept in your apartment. As you sink into the sofa, the warmth of their presence surrounds you. You cover yourself with a blanket, nestling into the space between them. Sylus leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to send a small shiver through you. “Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

You nod, your cheeks warming as Zayne reaches for your hand. His touch is light as he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It’s been a long night,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “You should try to relax.”

The tenderness of each gesture dissolves a little more of the tension lingering from the car ride. For a moment, it feels like the night’s events have been smoothed over.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The blanket draped across your legs is warm, wrapping you in comfort as the faint scent of soap and shampoo lingers from the showers. You stretch out slowly, eyes still on the tv as you move to rest your head on Sylus’ lap. His hand rests on your head, the light touch of his fingers soothing. Your legs find their place on Zayne’s lap, his strong hands moving to cradle your feet. When his fingers press gently into your arches, eliciting a soft sigh from your lips. The way his thumbs knead into your soles sends tiny ripples of relief through your body. Sylus’ fingers gently massage your temple, while Zayne’s hands work slowly over your calves. For a moment, you’re content to lie there, letting their attention wash over you.

But your hand starts to wander.

It traces along the fabric of his sweatpants as you brush over the firm muscle of his thigh before your palm settles over his crotch. Sylus chuckles, and you feel his body tense slightly under your touch. His hand stills as he glances down at you. “You sure you’re not tired?”

You nuzzle against his thigh, “I’m sure,” you say softly.

Sylus’ gaze flicks past you, meeting Zayne’s over your head, the exchange passing in an instant.

You shift onto your back, blissfully clueless, the warmth of the blanket replaced by the cool air of the room as Zayne slides it away, folding it neatly onto the backrest. His hands move to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin, sending faint shivers along your body as he pulls off the piece of clothing. You draw a sharp breath as Zayne’s long fingers trace the sensitive spot between your legs, the barrier of your underwear doing little to dull the sensation. His thumb presses gently, testing your reaction.

Above you, Sylus watches your face as you’re still resting your head on his lap. His hand threads through yours, his grip steady as he lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

Zayne’s eyes flicker down, his full attention locked on the slow movements of his fingers. The pads of his ring and middle finger press firmly against the soaked fabric of your panties, sliding back and forth at a slow pace. The pressure builds as he alternates his rhythm—pushing his fingers harder against you, dragging them in slow strokes, then pulling back just enough to make you whimper. The dampness of your arousal soaks through the thin barrier, your panties clinging to your folds.

“Fuck,” Zayne murmurs. “You’re so wet, my sweet girl. You like this that much? Being teased like the needy little brat you are?”

Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but before you can respond—his thumb circles your clit, pressing firmly enough to draw a gasp from your pretty lips. Your hips shift against his touch instinctively, desperate for more, but his movements remain infuriatingly measured.

Zayne shifts, his hands pressing against your thighs, keeping you open as his head hovers just between your legs. Your legs tremble in his hold when you feel it - the slow swipe of his tongue over the fabric. A quiet moan escapes your lips as he does it again, his tongue dragging across the sensitive spot, his saliva mixed with your slick making the fabric cling to you. Your free hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding into Zayne’s dark hair, urging him closer, urging him to give you more. His eyes flick up briefly, and then you hear Sylus’ sharp tut from above.

“Tsk, tsk. You’re not in charge here, sweetie.” Sylus’ voice is rich with mock disapproval. He reaches down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls your hand away from Zayne’s head with. He presses your hand above your head, holding both of your wrists in place with one hand, while Zayne’s grip on your hips tightens, making it impossible to move. His fingers press into your skin, holding you down as his tongue flicks out again, swirling slow, maddening circles over your clit. Your head tilts back against Sylus’ thigh, a frustrated sound escaping your lips as you try to shift against Zayne’s hold.

“Look at her,” Sylus muses as he watches you squirm. “So fucking needy. Isn’t that cute?”

Zayne chuckles against you, the vibrations making your toes curl. But, after a few more frustratingly dragged out swipes, he finally relents. His hold on your hips loosening just enough to slide your soaked panties to the side, the cool air kissing your exposed skin, spreading goosebumps all over your skin. His thumb brushes lightly along your folds, spreading the slickness, before his tongue is finally on you, dragging slow swipes from your entrance to your clit. Relief courses through you, your thighs trembling as the ache that’s been building finally begins to ease. His tongue moves with precision, parting your folds and swirling around your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Above you, Sylus’ ruby gaze flickers down, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt. The fabric bunches in his hand as he lifts it higher, revealing the soft curves of your breasts, the cool air making your nipples pebble instantly. His free hand traces slow circles around one hardened peak, his thumb brushing lightly over it, teasing, before he pinches just enough to make your back arch off the sofa. Then, slowly, his hand trails up, over the side of your neck, before settling on your bottom lip. The gentle pressure makes your lips part instinctively, your tongue swirling around his finger. Sylus adds another finger, the digits sliding deeper as your lips tighten around them, coating them in saliva. Then he pulls them free and drags them down, swirling over the hardened peaks, the added slickness making you moan.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Sylus asks, his smirk widening as his fingers press harder, rolling your nipples between them.

Zayne’s lips seal around your clit with just enough suction to make you cry out. Each stroke and suck builds the pressure inside you to a breaking point, your toes curling as the pleasure coils tight in your core, threatening to snap. You’re so close—so close you can feel yourself teetering on the edge—

And then Zayne pulls back.

The loss of contact draws a frustrated, broken whimper from your lips, your hips jerking against nothing.

Zayne looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t look so surprised,” his voice calm and infuriatingly composed. “Brats don’t get to finish so easily.” His hands stay firm on your hips, keeping you still as you try to move.

Your lips part in protest, but Sylus cuts you off with a smug tut. “Ah, ah,” he smirks. “You’ll have to earn it first.” His fingers slide down, gliding over your soaked folds before delivering a sharp tap to your swollen pussy, the sudden jolt making you flinch with a yelp.

“Look at this mess,” he mutters, his voice dripping with mockery as he taps again, watching you flinch. “Needy little thing.”

His fingers glide through, your body arching into his touch in desperate need of more. But then he pulls away, leaving you trembling in frustration. His glistening fingers rise to his lips, his eyes locking onto yours as his tongue flicks out, savoring the blend of your juices and Zayne’s lingering taste. He chuckles, “You know we don’t let bad behavior slide.”

Before you can protest, Zayne’s hand slides along your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His hazel eyes meet yours, “You know we’re not angry,” Zayne says softly, as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “But we will take our time making sure you understand.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body trembling under the weight of their attention. Frustration wells up, but so does the thrill of knowing exactly what they’re doing. Of course, they wouldn’t let you off so easily—it’s Sylus and Zayne.

Sylus releases your wrists, and before you can process the absence of his touch, Zayne reaches for your hands, pulling you upward with ease until you’re sitting on the sofa. Sylus stands up, stepping beside you as his hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants. He tugs them down just enough to free his cock - thick, flushed with a bead of precum at the tip. Your breath catches as he strokes himself lazily, his eyes glinting when he notices your gaze drop to his length.

“Come here,” Sylus commands as he plants one foot on the floor, the other on the sofa, your mouth watering at the sight. He strokes one last time before dragging the head of his cock toward your parted lips. The salty bead of precum hits your tongue, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes as you take him in. Sylus growls, his hand resting on the back of your head, holding you steady.

Beside you, Zayne stands up, mirroring Sylus’ stance, as he slides his pajama pants down and frees himself. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand to him, curling it around his cock. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, twitching as his hand envelopes yours, his grip firm as he helps you stroke him. “Slow,” he murmurs softly. “Feel how hard you’ve made me.”

Sylus’ hips begin to move, his thrusts shallow at first, as the thick head of his cock pushes deeper past your parted lips. You hollow your cheeks, your tongue flattening beneath him, and the sharp hiss that escapes his lips goes straight to your core.

“Deeper,” Sylus growls, “I know you can take it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust—his grip keeps you firmly in place as his hips roll forward, forcing his cock further down your throat. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you struggle to keep up, swallowing around the thick length stretching your throat. Spit drips from the corners of your mouth as he moves, hitting the back of your throat, making you choke with each thrust. Sylus’ movements falter for a moment, his thrusts growing erratic and then, abruptly, he pulls back. The sudden loss leaves you breathless and you look up to see his jaw clenched, his hand squeezing the flushed tip.

“Fuck,” he mutters in a shaky voice. “Almost made me finish down your throat.”

Before you can catch your breath, Zayne’s hand tilts your chin, guiding your mouth toward him, your lips parting instinctively as the head of his cock brushes against them. He presses forward, filling your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours as your tongue swirls around the tip, savoring the salty taste. A low groan escapes him, his hand resting on the back of your head as he sets a languid pace. Your jaw aches from the stretch, but the weight of him—hot and heavy against your tongue—makes you moan softly, the sound vibrating against him. Your hand finds Sylus, wrapping around his slick length as you stroke him in rhythm with Zayne’s thrusts. Sylus hisses through his teeth, his cock twitching in your grasp as he watches.

The ache between your legs becomes unbearable, your thighs pressing together in the desperate need for release. Unfortunately for you, Zayne’s sharp eyes catch the motion. Abruptly, he pulls back, his cock slipping free with a wet pop.

“No,” he says firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His grip on your chin forces your gaze upward. “Spread your legs.”

You almost whimper at the tone. “But—”

“Spread them,” Zayne repeats. The authority in his voice makes your thighs part, the frustration growing as Sylus chuckles above you.

Zayne’s hand shifts, guiding your mouth back to him. His cock slides past your lips again, and this time his thrusts are faster, each movement pushing deeper until the tip hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes again, the sound of your gagging pulling a guttural growl from him.

“Just like that,” Zayne murmurs, his voice rough. “Take all of it.”

Beside him, Sylus’ breaths become rough and uneven as his hand tightens over yours, his hips snapping forward, drawing Zayne’s attention.

Zayne’s hand slides to the back of Sylus’ neck, pulling him forward until their faces are almost touching. His voice drops low, quiet enough that you can’t make out the words. Their whispers drip with intent, and the thought of them planning your undoing makes your pussy clench desperately, slick spilling over as your body begs to be used exactly the way they want.

Sylus’ eyes flick to Zayne’s, hazy with arousal, with a faint smirk on his lips. Zayne’s lips press to the sharp line of Sylus’ jaw, followed by teeth dragging over his skin before he bites down, rough enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting rips a guttural, feral sound from Sylus’ throat, his cock twitching in your hand, precum spilling along your fingers.

“Good,” Zayne mutters against Sylus’ jaw before he pulls back, releasing Sylus’ neck. Their eyes meet for a moment, before their full attention is back on you.

Zayne’s thrusts grow erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat one last time before he pulls out, leaving you gasping. You barely have time to recover before Sylus’ hand grips your jaw, tilting your face toward him, but his other hand grabs at the hem of your pajama top, tugging it upward in one swift motion, leaving you bare before him.

“Open,” Sylus commands, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue slipping out. The flushed tip of his cock presses against it, dragging across it as he smears the salty slick, before his release spills suddenly, the first hot spurt hitting your tongue. The rest paints your cheeks, dripping down your chest, and clings to your skin in messy streaks. Zayne watches, his hand gripping your wrist as you stroke him. His cock twitches violently in your grasp, and when your fingers tighten, slick with his precum, it pushes him over the edge. A sharp, choked groan escapes his lips as his hips snap forward, his release spilling over your face and breasts, mingling with Sylus’ mess.

You’re trembling, every inch of your body aching with unfulfilled need. Sylus tilts your face up with two fingers under your jaw, making you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fucking perfect.”

Zayne’s fingers brush the corners of your tear-streaked eyes. “She is,” he agrees with a smirk.

You bite your lip as your gaze flicks between them - they’re both still hard, their cocks twitching and glistening.

Zayne moves first – he sits back on the sofa and grabs a large pillow and positions it behind him. Reclining slightly, he leans back against the cushion, his legs spreading as his cock juts upward. His hands reach for you, pulling you toward him, guiding you onto his lap and helping you recline against him. Your back presses against his chest, his warmth melting some of the tension from your muscles. His arms wrap around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Just relax,” His voice is calm and soothing as his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

Sylus steps closer, his sharp gaze raking over your trembling form, smirk widening as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. He drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters, his eyes burning as he spreads your legs, his grip firm.

Zayne’s hands glide upward, smearing the mess of their release over your chest before his fingers close around your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp. Then, his fingers trail downward, leaving a sticky path until they stop just above your needy core. You grab onto his veiny forearms at the first stroke of his fingers over your clit, before his fingers dip lower, gathering your slick before gripping his cock. He presses the tip to your entrance, dragging the length of his shaft through your folds, catching your clit in the motion, making your pussy flutter.

Zayne shifts beneath you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before nudging inside. The stretch is immediate, the delicious ache making your breath hitch as he pushes deeper, steadying your hips with firm hands. A raw, breathless moan escapes as he fills you, your head tilting back against his shoulder.

“That’s it.” Zayne whispers in your ear, his grip tightening as he holds you in place.

Every slow thrust presses against your most sensitive spots, each movement tightening the coil in your belly. Sylus watches as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly to match the roll of Zayne’s hips.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters. “Look at her—dripping down to the base, and you’ve barely started.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his lips brushing your ear as his thrusts grow deeper, each one sinking to the hilt. The intensity builds with each roll of his hips, his cock filling you completely. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound making Sylus’ hand quicken as he strokes himself.

“Are you ready to take me too?” Sylus asks, his voice low and teasing.

Your body freezes momentarily at the question, your pussy clenching around Zayne’s length.

“You… both?” your voice trembles. The idea intrigues you, but you’re hesitant. “I don’t know if I can - I mean – I’m not sure it’ll fit -”

Sylus’ smirk widens. “Oh, it’ll fit,” his voice is almost mocking, “You’ve been so needy tonight. This is what you’ve been begging for, isn’t it?”

Zayne nuzzles against your ear, his lips brushing your skin. “But only if you want it.”

You fall silent, your breath shallow as you process their words.  Sylus’ expression softens, his hand smoothing over your thigh as his gaze meets yours. “You can say no, darling.” he says softly.

Zayne presses a kiss just below your ear. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. You don’t have to take this any further.”

The sudden shift in their demeanor makes your chest tighten and their patience reassures you. You take a second to think. They’d never tried this before—never pushed to see if you could take them both at once. With how thick and long they both are, the idea had always seemed impossible. But tonight, the need is unbearable. You need to feel them—both of them—stretching you, breaking you, until there’s nothing left but the overwhelming sensation of them taking you completely.

You take in a shaky breath, “I want to. I’m ready.”

Zayne’s hands tighten gently around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll take care of you.”

Sylus’ teasing smirk returns. His hand grips his cock, the flushed head pressing against your stuffed entrance. Sylus’ cock nudges forward, catching your clit one, two times as he struggles to push inside. “Relax, sweetheart.” he whispers. Your legs tremble as Sylus presses forward again, the thick head of his cock pushing at your entrance again. A high-pitched whimper escapes you, as Sylus’ cock slips over your clit once more before the head finally begins to ease inside. Sylus moves slowly each inch forcing your body to adjust to the impossible fullness. The tip finally slips fully inside, your walls clamping down tightly around both of them. The sensation is almost too much, your gasps and desperate moans filling the air as your body struggles to adjust to the impossible fullness.

“Shh,” Zayne soothes, as he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re doing perfectly. Just breathe, my darling.”

Sylus growls, his hand gripping your thighs as he stills. “So tight. Goddamn, Zayne, you’re not leaving much room.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his voice calm but you can feel his muscles tensing. Sylus shifts his hips, his tip stretching you impossibly as he inches deeper. The new fullness is overwhelming, every nerve inside you screaming for more.

“So fucking sensitive,” Zayne teases. “I bet she’ll cum before you’re even halfway there.”

The words make you whimper, your cheeks burning as Sylus pushes further. His hands tighten on your thighs as he finally bottoms out, holding still to let you feel every throbbing inch buried inside you. The maddening stretch of having both of them makes your pussy fluttering around them, pain and pleasure blurring together. Your breath comes in ragged, broken gasps as the tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter, impossibly close to snapping. You try to roll your hips, desperate to chase the climax that is right there, but their strong hands hold you still, denying you the friction you need

“I’m so close - !” you whimper, the desperation spilling from your lips as your head tilts back against Zayne’s shoulder. “I’m gonna—please, I need to—”

Sylus smirks down at you, “Close already?” he taunts. “I haven’t even fucking started yet.”

His hips shift slightly and that is all you need to fall apart, your orgasm crashing over you with devastating force. The tightness of your walls pulls guttural groans from both men, Zayne’s breath hitching against your neck as Sylus growls above you. They hold you steady while your body trembles in the aftermath, shallow gasps leaving your lips.

Sylus’ hand digs into your thigh, the grip bruising as his other hand braces on the backrest. His cock moves with shallow thrusts, the friction making your eyes roll back.

“You’re so sensitive,” Zayne murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “I can feel you clenching every time he moves.” Sylus’ pace quickens slightly, your moans growing louder as the coil in your belly tightens impossibly fast.

“Already?” Sylus teases, as he watches you writhe.

You don’t even register the question as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench tightly around them both, the overwhelming tightness pulling a groan from Sylus, his hips stuttering briefly, while Zayne sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on your waist.

But Sylus doesn’t stop. His thrusts deepen, slamming into you, the drag along your oversensitive walls pulling pathetic whimpers as your pussy tightens around him. The slick, maddening friction of their cocks sliding together, every thrust dragging a raw moan from your lips as the stretch pushes you closer to the edge. Your breath catches, your back arching as the coil snaps. Pleasure rips through you, blinding and raw, tears streaking your face. You clench around them tighter, milking them both as the aftershocks crash through you.

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his chest heaving against your back as his cock throbs inside you. The tight clamp of your walls around him has him on the brink, but he holds on as his hand moves downwards from your waist.

“You’ve got one more in you, I can feel it.” he rasps.

His fingers find your swollen clit, the first touch sending a shock through your body, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Easy,” Zayne soothes, as he presses his fingers firmly against the sensitive spot.

Sylus’ grip on your thigh is bruising as he rams deeper, his eyes locked on yours – watery and heavy-lidded. “You’re milking me—gonna pull me apart.”

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his fingers merciless on your clit, rubbing slick circles that make your hips jerk wildly. “Cum,” he rasps. “Now. Let us feel you, my love.”

Your body obeys - your walls clamp down hard, as you completely lose your voice from the overstimulation. Sylus curses, as your fluttering walls drag him deeper. His cock throbs hard before he cums, his release, hot and thick, floods you as his hips stammer. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his voice breaking. In your fucked out daze you hear Zayne moan in the crook of your neck, as his hips still, burying himself to the hilt, his release hitting in heavy hot waves, mixing with Sylus’, leaving you completely full, dripping, and ruined.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your head lolling back against Zayne’s shoulder. His lips press softly against your temple, his hands stroking your waist gently as Sylus leans over, his breaths heavy and uneven. Every inch of you feels hypersensitive, your skin slick with sweat and cum. You’re pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat, the fullness lingering even as the men stay still, both of them still buried deep inside you.

Sylus’ hand moves from your thigh, his gaze scanning your face. “Breathe for me.” he says, still breathless. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that streaked down your face. You nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak, and you focus on steadying your breath. Sylus smiles softly. “You did so good.”

Zayne’s lips press against your temple again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “She handled it perfectly. Didn’t you, darling?”

The praise makes your cheeks flush, though you’re still too dazed to say anything. Sylus shifts first, pulling out slowly, the movement making you wince. His hand stays steady on your thigh, stroking softly for a moment before he walks away. Zayne follows a moment later, his withdrawal careful and deliberate. The sudden emptiness pulls a small whimper from your lips before Zayne’s arms tighten around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. His hands rub soothing circles over your sides, grounding you as he shifts to sit upright, cradling you in his lap.

Sylus returns quickly with two warm damp cloths. Zayne takes one to clean your face, while Sylus kneels in front of you as he gently wipes away the mess from your thighs and belly.

Zayne murmurs against your temple. “Do you need water? Anything else?”

Your voice is faint, barely above a whisper, as you manage to say, “Just stay… both of you.”

Sylus chuckles softly. “Like we’d go anywhere,” He tosses the cloth aside and sits down on the sofa beside you, while Zayne adjusts his hold, setting you gently to sit in between them and covers your lap with the blanket. The warmth of their bodies, every soothing stroke of their hands, their quiet breaths, soothe you. Though, you can’t relax.

Their care, their unwavering attention, makes the guilt bubble up. Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the blanket as you glance between them.

You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For lying to you. For sneaking out.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your shoulder, his voice calm as he replies. “I’m glad you admit your mistake. We need to know where you are to keep you safe.”

Sylus’ nods as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “Exactly. We weren’t mad because you went out. We were upset because you didn’t tell us.”

Tears prick your eyes again, but this time they’re from relief. “I won’t do it again… I promise.”

Zayne smiles softly. “We’ll hold you to that promise.”

You nod, the exhaustion catching up to you as your body sinks further into the sofa, your eyelids heavy. But Sylus doesn’t let you rest – he stands up and takes you hand in his. “We need to wash up.”

You whine. “I don’t want too - I’m too tired.”

Sylus grumbles something before he leans down, grips your waist, and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp as you’re suddenly upside down, your protests turning into a mix of laughter and annoyance as you squirm in his hold.

“Sylus!” you laugh, your fists half-heartedly thudding against his back. “Put me down!”

“Not happening,” he replies smugly, his palm landing a playful smack against your bare ass.

Behind you, Zayne shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he stands up, going around you two and towards the bathroom. “Take it easy, Sylus. She’s had enough for tonight.”

By the time you’re back in bed, wrapped snugly in fresh blankets, sleep takes you almost instantly, nestled between Sylus and Zayne, with your heart light.

[koalayoo]

Men who talk a certain way.

They carry themselves with elegance, talk with a poised cadence unique to them. They hold themselves upright and have an air of superiority. A cunning look, signature smirk, firm hand; these are staples of their character, they know how to strike a deal. Whether for their people or their own gain, they intimidate those to gain an advantage no matter how many exploits gone through or people exploited.

People either love or fear them.

They’re important.

It’s no surprise that they sit at the centre of the table at a meeting, commanding attention. All eyes are on them, gripping their every word. Prompt nods and murmurs of agreements follow. They’re smart too. Incredible wit and perceptiveness as they continuously glance at everyone, especially you.

Fuck, and they’re hot too.

It makes your blood run hot. Jolts shoot throughout your body and you avert your gaze. It was stupid to you to be losing your cool for a man who felt indifferent about your existence. Maybe that isn’t the right word. 

Sometimes, you would question whether he hated you. Whenever you needed a pen, your hands brushed against one another for a second and he would quickly pull back as if being stung by a bee with a slight scowl forming on his face. If the piles of paper you needed to finish took too long, he would be adamant you finish for the night, which is all fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking for help from others to complete your work. He even reprimanded you, talked to you in that familiar stern tone once for not having your priorities in place when a stranger came up to you in a flirtatious manner as if you could control that. 

He pissed you off. 

Why couldn’t he care about you like a normal person?

However, you were wrong about all of it. He cared too much.

When your fingers grazed him he was ridden with guilt, these were the same hands he would think about at night. Imagine tracing the sharp edges of his skin. He would shut his eyes and throw his head back, replacing his hands with your own. Try to commit the soft feel of yours to his. Would you go slow or fast? He wondered. How would you hold him? Would you let him make a mess? His thoughts would trail on and on questioning your grip, your face, what you would say.

So, it was no surprise when he saw you working yourself to exhaustion that he wanted you to rest. That was his duty after all. Only he could do that. The eyes that he desperately wanted to see glazed over with a lust filled haze needed to be well rested first. That way, he could slowly see them become drunk for him, turning red, bloodshot from just how well he would treat you.

And it was especially no surprise that when another person had the audacity to want you too, he had to stop them. Sure, you didn’t deserve the scolding but he would make you feel so much better later on. He just had to be patient.

Had to keep his tone steady and tame. Pretend to treat you just like everyone else. Even if you thought he hated you. He could fuck you like that too if you wanted. He would give you anything you wanted. However, you didn’t deserve to know how depraved he truly was.

There was a thought that lingered at the forefront of his mind. If you found out just how he imagined you, would you leave? He figured you might feel disgusted, a man of his caliber, his power, wanting to succumb to you. And so he continued to talk. Continued to keep his tone steady. Keep his tone tame. 

He would keep himself in line; refined. Because if you found out how he was imagining you, perhaps then this man would truly feel fear.

fantasising about...

Sylus, NEUVILLETTE, Jing Yuan, Welt, Sunday, DAN HENG, Artem, Zhongli!, Gepard, Alhaitham?, Cyno ...and anyone else you're thinking of

Hope you liked this! Inspired by the song 'Talk' by Hozier. Specifically the line, "So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you." Please give it a listen! It was in my Spotify Top 5 it's so good and captures the vibe I was trying to go for with this. Sorry for the yap. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo was not convinced. He was worried about so many things at once that it was easiest to focus on Violet. She was the entity that was technically out of place. The monster mutant too of course but was Violet not the bigger anomaly? At least she was on their side and while he would try to focus on the mission his 'duty' to Delta Green was still going to gnaw away at him all the same. In some ways he felt terrible for hoping she never did come back to their timeline, it would eliminate the moral dilemma he was facing that night. Samantha had tried though and he was sure to offer her a short nod of acceptance. "You're more important tonight anyway." He pointed out.

Samantha had a point about the crossbow though, it wasn't like it would be easy to hide in the trailer! She couldn't know about that detail but it did help him to revaluate in any case. "Well, you can't hide it in your room either," he countered a little defensively nonetheless but he also didn't have a car to hide it in and even if he did he would have no chance of explaining it if he was caught with it.

"I have many uniforms to use but I do not always keep them just in a box," Sloane laughed, "some are better than others though." Some were more complex, like the astronaut outfit! "I do enjoy Halloween though," he confirmed, "I go big in my house for the occasion. Cardboard ghosts, black cats and pumpkins are hardly scary after doing this job for a while." It was almost a treat to see people were scared of the mundane though he would admit that some props were starting to get more convincing.

She answered about Samantha and Sloane felt a weight lifting from his chest. He hadn't realised just how worried he had been until the worry was gone. He smiled a genuine smile to himself that they were still close and that she had found a new career. "Is she really?" He hummed with obvious pride that Samantha had got herself a HR role in Delta Green, having no idea what that would actually look like. "That suits her very much. And I am glad they are still close, I can't really imagine them not being so."

He stopped outside of the door for the admin's office, checked no one was about and then looked to her, "Remind me of your pretend name?" He checked with her, "I am professor Parry, remember but I suppose 'Dad' if needs be in there or elsewhere on campus."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"It's an unusual situation," she admitted, "but it doesn't mean it's going to be bad. No matter how she arrived here, we know her intentions are good." She would have put her hand on his shoulder if they weren't carrying a heavy net. "I know it's not easy, and I can tell you like her. She likes you too. I think all we can do for now is focus on the plan, and not worry too much about the rest. She might go back to her timeline tonight, she might never come back here."

Samantha chuckled when Killian confirmed that Violet would have never agreed to stay behind -perhaps because the two of them were so similar. "Yes, she seems to be a bit reckless. I bet her dad worries about her a lot." She looked at him with a little smile.

"Do you, now?" She laughed again. "You can have the crossbow. But Odyssey and I were thinking that it might be easier to store it in my car. It'll be yours to use whenever we're on a mission! But I don't think your parents will let you keep a crossbow in your room." And if he refused, she could always tell him about the bears.

Violet attempted a smile and failed. Luckily Sloane was looking around the office, and wouldn't notice it. "Yes, they are," she confirmed, before taking the key he was handing her -and thanking him for it.

"You must have a big disguise box," she said, managing a smile this time, "is Halloween your favorite holiday?" It was the perfect holiday for disguises, after all.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by the question. "I've met her. I met her in my timeline, and I met her as a cowboy, too. But I guess I've only seen her twice in my timeline." Unlike Sloane, she didn't try to kidnap her every few months! Not that could tell him that. "She lives in a different town, and... well, she doesn't work on the field anymore. She's an HR representative for Delta Green. But my dad and her as still really close."

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

THIRD TRIMESTER

Word Count: 1.1K

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe 

Warnings: Stress and anxiety during pregnancy

Summary: Rafe defends you, pregnancy stress causes emotional pain

The third trimester had come faster than you anticipated, and with it came a series of emotions, both overwhelming and beautiful. You were now heavily pregnant, your body changing in ways that made you feel like you were barely holding onto yourself, but all the while, Rafe was there, supporting you through every step. The two of you had recently moved into a new house, a small but cozy place where you could begin your life together as a family. It was everything you’d dreamed of—well, almost everything.

-

There was still the issue of Rafe’s father, who hadn’t made it easy on you. From the moment you found out you were pregnant, he’d been openly critical of your decision to start a family so young.

“I don’t know why you’d want to keep the baby. You’re barely out of high school,” his voice echoed in your mind as you sat on the couch in your new home, wrapping your arms around your belly. “And you think you’re ready to raise a child? Wait until you see what comes out of her, Rafe. She won’t even look the same, and it’s not like she’ll go back to being skinny after all that. You really want to deal with that?”

You could still feel the sting of his words, even now. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something hurtful about your pregnancy, but it always hit hard. Rafe had defended you every time, but it never seemed to be enough to quiet the doubts you had. His dad’s comments made you second-guess everything, even your own self-worth, even when you knew deep down it wasn’t true.

Rafe had been there, as always, but that didn’t stop the growing anxiety within you. Every time his father would make a comment, it would take everything inside you not to cry or snap back. But today, something inside you broke. You had been unpacking boxes when you overheard another comment from Rafe’s dad, and it sent you spiraling. You knew Rafe wasn’t home, so you found yourself collapsing on the couch in tears, holding your belly as your emotions threatened to take over.

Just as the pain of the words sank deeper, the door to the living room opened, and Rafe stepped in, looking concerned. His eyes softened as soon as he saw your face, tears streaking down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach in distress.

“Baby?” he whispered, kneeling down in front of you. “What happened?”

Through shaky breaths, you tried to explain. “I just... I just can’t take it anymore. He keeps saying I’m too young, and it’s like he doesn’t believe I can do this. He’s always saying that things are going to change after labor, that you won’t even look at me the same way... I feel like I’m not good enough for this baby.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched with anger, but his face softened as he gently cupped your face in his hands. “Listen to me, okay? You are everything I could ever need. You’re the mother of my child, and nothing—nothing—will change that. Not the way you look, not what happens after labor. You could go through the toughest thing in the world, and I would still love you with everything I have. Don’t let him get in your head.”

You looked into Rafe’s eyes, your heart aching at his words, but the anxiety and emotional turmoil didn’t subside. You couldn’t stop crying. You wanted to be strong, but everything just felt so heavy. The emotional strain was overwhelming, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get a grip on yourself.

Rafe’s protective instincts kicked in. His voice was steady but urgent as he pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back soothingly. “It’s okay, baby. Take a few deep breaths. We’re okay. I’m here. The baby’s okay.”

But as you tried to steady your breathing, it felt impossible. You couldn’t calm down. The tears kept coming, and your chest tightened painfully. The stress had taken its toll, and you could feel it radiating through your body. Your heartbeat was erratic, and your baby seemed to be reacting too. The panic only deepened.

“I can’t breathe,” you gasped, clutching your chest, the pain intensifying. You were hyperventilating, tears streaming down your face. “Rafe, it hurts. I don’t know what to do.”

Rafe’s eyes widened in fear as he frantically grabbed his phone. “I’m calling an ambulance. It’s going to be okay, just stay with me.”

Within minutes, the paramedics arrived and rushed into the house. They assessed the situation quickly, asking questions and checking on both you and the baby. Rafe was by your side the whole time, holding your hand tightly, his face pale with worry.

Once you were in the ambulance, the pain started to subside, but your body still felt weak and shaky. The journey to the hospital felt long and suffocating, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep fear of what might be happening to you and the baby.

At the hospital, the doctors quickly ran tests, checking the baby’s heartbeat and your vitals. They explained that what you were experiencing was likely a panic attack, brought on by stress and the emotional pressure you had been under. It wasn’t something to be alarmed about, but they strongly advised you to stay calm in the coming weeks to prevent any further stress on the baby.

“You need to take care of yourself, both physically and emotionally,” the doctor said gently. “The next few weeks are crucial for both you and the baby. Stress can affect your health and the baby’s development. You need to avoid any situations that could increase that anxiety.”

Rafe was at your side, holding your hand tightly as the doctor finished speaking. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make sure she’s calm. I’ll keep her safe.”

You felt the sincerity in his voice, and although you still felt a little shaken, hearing him promise to be there for you made everything feel a bit more manageable.

As you were discharged and brought back to your new home, Rafe stayed close, making sure to comfort you and help you get settled back on the couch. He insisted that you rest, assuring you that everything would be okay. You couldn’t help but smile faintly at his care, feeling more grateful than ever that he was by your side.

“Don’t worry about anything else, baby,” Rafe said softly as he kissed the top of your head. “We’re in this together. I won’t let anything happen to you or our little one.”

[the-boy-meets-evil]

where you belong | kmg

(where the holidays bring you back to the person and place you need to be.)

pairing: mingyu x fem!reader genre: exes to lovers (lite) | fluff & smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~1.2k warnings: kissing, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this, they're in love), that's really it

note: SURPRISE EM! 💕🫶🏻 this is for my baby @gyuswhore for the secret santa event hosted by @camandemstudios. i was so happy to get you and i hope you're surprised that it was me. this was a lot of fun!

tag list: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harrythepottypus, @okiedokrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @tusswrites, @kaepjjangiya

There’s something about the holidays that always has you reflecting on the last year. It’s kind of a way for you to figure out what works and what doesn’t before starting fresh in the new year. The past year has been a blur of keeping busy and projects for work. It feels incredibly fulfilling in so many ways. All things considered, it’s been a really good year for you. 

Yet, you can’t keep your mind off the start of the year when you and your boyfriend broke things off. It isn’t some sad story of heartbreak or someone doing something horrible. You both just realized, as you spent New Year’s Eve apart because of work, that maybe it was a sign to give yourselves a chance at something different. Both of you agreed that it made the most sense. Life was pulling you in different directions and it felt like the time to really push forward in your separate work lives. 

If it’s meant to be, it’ll always find a way. You genuinely believe that. So, when your ex walks into the tiny little coffee shop two days before Christmas, you take it as something of a sign. You shouldn’t even still be in the city and this isn’t a coffee shop you’ve ever been to before. But, your travel plans got delayed and you’ve been meaning to try this place for months. His eyes land on you from his position by the counter and he doesn’t seem surprised either. Your heart constricts a little at that shy smile and the way his shaggy hair bounces as he shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe my luck,” Mingyu says when he approaches. “I figured you’d be gone.” 

“I had something come up last minute. I was supposed to leave last night,” you say and he smiles. 

“I’m not sure I want to leave at all now,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

“Yeah, same,” you admit. 

“I just moved and I actually live around the corner. Do you want to catch up?” he asks.

“Let me just get my coat.” 

Catching up goes from filling each other in on the last year to Mingyu cooking the best meal you’ve had in ages to lounging on the couch and laughing over silly shows. It’s easy to fall back into such a sense of comfort with him. Every part of you still seems to know every part of him. Some things you would have to explain to anyone else just instantly make sense to him. But, it feels different too. It feels like the last year has allowed you both to realize what’s actually important. Maybe it taught you how to better prioritize your time. 

Something else is easy, too. You fall back into bed with him without a second thought. This is different now, too. Sex wasn’t ever an issue, but he wants you to show him exactly what you want now. Wants it to be perfect for you. The kind of thing that you can’t ever get over. You’re not really sure you ever got over him the first time and you want to tell him you don’t plan to let go of him this time.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to know,” you tell him. 

“Teach me how to be good for you,” he answers, breathless. 

And you do. Mingyu is a giver, always has been. This is more than that, though. This Mingyu wants to map your reactions to every little thing he does. He wants to watch the way you squirm when his tongue flicks against your clit just right. Wants to memorize the way your thighs squeeze his head when he licks into you. Even if it’s always been good, it’s never been like this. It’s never felt like he’s worshipping your body in quite this way. 

With a moan, your back arches against this bed and your hands scramble to find purchase on something. Anything. You try to keep up a stream of instructions like you said you would, but Mingyu’s also a very fast learner. It doesn’t take him long until his mouth is moving in the perfect way between your legs. Only take one comment for him to add a finger. Doesn’t need to be told how to hit you just right with those fingers. You’re a writhing mess and you’re not even sure that you can think straight anymore. He’s got you seeing stars as you come hard on his tongue and his fingers. 

“I’m not sure you need me to teach you anything,” you say after catching your breath for a second. 

Mingyu’s got a bit of a smirk on his mouth, still glistening a little. “Maybe I just like hearing you talk me through things when you’re coming undone.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” you joke back. 

“We can see if you need to teach me anything else,” he says with that sparkle still in his eyes. 

“You’re not done with me?” you ask and try not to sound too hopeful.

“No,” he says and kisses you before you can respond in any way. 

It always seemed crazy to you to think that someone could kiss you stupid. Until Mingyu kisses you like that after nearly a year apart. Until you remember all the kisses for every different occasion. Now it just seems crazy to think there’s anyone out there for you other than him. He keeps kissing you as he settles his body between your legs, hovering his body just over yours so that he doesn’t put too much weight on you. Keeps kissing you as he uses a hand to line himself up at your entrance. Keeps kissing you as he slowly presses into you. The pace is slower than you want, filled with all the things you’re feeling. All the affection and reverence that he’s always shown you. 

“Mingyu, please, I need more,” you finally moan out. 

And it happens like that again. He lets you teach him just the pace that you want. He lets you set the rhythm alternating between slow, languid strokes and hard, fast snaps of his hips. Everything else around you disappears. All you see is the love in his eyes as he takes you in. Everything about this moment is perfect. The absolute best way that you can imagine to end the year. Almost as good as him pushing you to a second orgasm just before he follows right after you.

It seems too early to be awake if the light coming in through the cracks in Mingyu’s curtains is any indication, but the smell of coffee wafts tantalizingly into the bedroom. You’re incredibly thankful that you changed all of your holiday plans to stay with Mingyu. It clearly isn’t just the post-sex haze that has you wanting to stay. Your heart is full to bursting with warmth. He’s always been it for you and you’re thankful that you get to spend another holiday with him. 

So, you pull on a baggy shirt Mingyu has lying by the side of the bed and slide out of bed. You walk over to the window to see what’s making it seem a little brighter outside. Amazingly, snow falls gently in beautiful, swirling patterns. The whole world is quiet and you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

[antimonyandthyme]

WHAT IF CARCAR REALLY HAD MAGNETS BETWEEN THEM

/or a stuck together au

“It’s like Eat Pray Love,” Carlos says.

“I’ll be honest,” Guanyu says. “Neither of you remind me of Julia Roberts much.”

“Please just,” Oscar massages the bridge of his nose, “point to a place on the map. Any place.”

“Why China,” Guanyu presses. Of course he’s curious. “Why not Spain or Australia?”

“Neutral ground,” Oscar says quickly.

“Ah I see,” Guanyu says. “You can’t agree on a spot, right?”

“I keep telling him,” Carlos says, always with the over-the-top gesticulating. He tries it with both hands first, then realizes Oscar’s being all sorts of petty and weighing his left arm down on purpose where they’re joined, so he continues gesturing eagerly with his right. “Come to Madrid!” He nearly smacks Oscar in the nose with his hand. Oscar scowls. “We have so much good food. I can show you all the things, but no! Piastri will only agree to get sunburned on Australian sand. We have beaches in Spain, too!”

“Guanyu,” Oscar urges, “a place, now.”

“Here,” Guanyu says, index finger plopping down. Like some cartoon scene, both Oscar and Carlos automatically lean in to squint at the map, and bump their heads against each other.

“I hate you.”

“Hard same.”

“Lijiang is actually a famous honeymoon destination,” Guanyu says.

“I hate you,” Carlos says.

“Hard same,” Oscar says.

“Hey.” Guanyu grins like this entire situation is wildly hilarious. Maybe it is, for everyone else. Oscar kinda wants to jump into the sea, but Carlos will only drag him down, their uncoordinated conjoined limbs tangled and thrashing. “You guys asked me to choose. Look, don’t you want to see pandas?”

Carlos makes some sort of shocked noise. Oh, for the love of—Oscar groans. He knows when someone’s just bought something.

“Carlos wants to see pandas,” Guanyu says, sounding far too delighted. “Chengdu’s like a fourteen-hour drive from Lijiang, that’s totally doable.”

They stare at him blankly.

“Oh my god. Chengdu, you know? Research base for giant panda breeding? Panda capital of China?”

Twiddle-Dum and Twiddle-Dee: “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah, now you got it. In between, you can hit a dozen other places and never grow bored.” Guanyu taps his finger along the map, tick, tick, tick. “So why not? Complete the journey. Transform into Julia Roberts.”

“And break the curse,” Carlos says solemnly.

“Break the curse,” Oscar repeats miserably, but with his left hand, goes to look up flight tickets on his phone.

--

They discover that the only way they can pull on extra layers is if they yank themselves apart with all their might, creating just a sliver of space between their elbows. It’s painful. Oscar never wants to have to do this again.

“Now,” Carlos yells, and in a flurry of movement Oscar gets his coat on before their elbows snap back together.

Ow, ow. Oscar’s eyes are watering. He suspects Carlos’s is doing just the same.

“Okay, okay,” Oscar says. “Now your turn.”

Carlos waves him off. “I’m not cold.”

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos is already dragging them off toward a sign with a car on it. The rental cars are left-hand steering, and it dawns on both of them at the exact time that Oscar will be doing all the driving, with the way they’re stuck to each other.

“No fair,” Carlos moans, as Oscar fist pumps the air. It would be too childish to stick his tongue out at Carlos. So he doesn’t.

A part of Oscar’s a spectator to all of this. Watching with his mouth hanging wide open, some disembodied shade looking from outside in, as his own body purchased tickets, packed a luggage (with Carlos in the same room), and boarded a plane. None of this makes sense. Getting into a car with Carlos, firstly. Then with the added condition that both of them have to clamber in from one side, before Carlos can climb over the middle console into the passenger seat. Fourteen hours of this, huh? He’s going to give Guanyu hell when they get back.

If, they make it back. Oscar guesses it’ll be two hours before they attempt to murder each other. You don’t go road tripping with people you can’t stand. It’s the one and only sacred rule of road tripping.

“I think I saw this in Final Destination.”

Oscar, zoned out staring at the road, manages a stupid, “What?”

“You know that pileup where everyone dies?”

“Everyone always dies in Final Destination.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, shakes their joined elbows for emphasis. “The scene where the logs fall off? A lot of screaming? A lot of swerving? All because they were stuck behind a logging truck?”

“Carlos.” Oscar takes one deep, deep calming breath. “Are you asking me to overtake?”

“If you can, yes,” Carlos says, like Oscar’s the one being thick. “Go on. I’ll help you hold the wheel steady.”

Oscar cranes his neck and glances around the side of the truck. The opposing lane seems clear, not a headlight in sight. What the heck. You can take the driver off a track, but he’ll still want to race.

“Woo!” Carlos yells, as Oscar zooms around the steadily plodding truck. A little clumsy, with Carlos almost overcompensating the steer as they merge back into the right lane, but successful, nonetheless. No one dies.

Mismatched hands on the wheel. Adrenaline spiking for just a few seconds of speed. Oscar finds himself wearing a grin to match Carlos’s. Maybe they’ll cut it down to thirteen and a half hours like this.

--

“Guanyu was right,” Carlos says thoughtfully.

Oscar’s got his nose buried in a helpful English guide. A sense of ambitious adventure appears to have overtaken them. He wants to hit at least three lookout points today. “About?”

“Look,” Carlos points in some vague direction. “All the couples.”

“Huh,” Oscar says. “That is a lot of couples.”

No one pays them any mind. They haven’t been recognized since they stepped foot here. For all intents and purposes, they could just be another one of those peaceful couples, milling about.

Well. Peaceful, would be a bit of a pipe dream.

“YOU CAN PLAY GOLF AT JADE DRAGON SNOW MOUNTAIN.”

“Carlos,” Oscar hisses. “Quiet.”

“You can play golf,” Carlos repeats, softer but no less excited, eyes larger than two sparkling coins, “at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain!”

Oscar snatches the guide back from Carlos’s hand. “I’m pretty sure I just read that the mountain’s considered holy.”

“They let people play golf on a holy mountain,” Carlos says for the third damn time. “I love it here.”

“We’re not playing golf,” Oscar says.

“Oscar,” Carlos says, dismayed.

“You have one hand, remember?” Oscar wriggles their stuck arms, a reminder he didn’t even know Carlos would have needed.

“Riiight,” Carlos says, shoulders drooping.

“We can still see the mountain though,” Oscar says, is alarmed at the tiny skip-hop going on in his chest when Carlos brightens again. Doesn’t take a lot to keep this guy happy. That’s, good for him. That’s good.

They decide the cable cars up are too much hassle, with the queues already stretching out for hours. The mountain’s basically viewable from anywhere, so Oscar steers Carlos toward Old Town. Where he discovers that Carlos is terrible at haggling. Absolute nightmare. He hands over money to anyone who so much as gestures him over. The singular tote bag Oscar brings starts to get filled with random trinkets, from fans to calligraphy pens.

“What’s this,” Oscar says, when Carlos shakes his head as Oscar prepares to pack away two wooden charms in the shape of a very rotund cat.

“Not for keeping,” Carlos explains. “They’re for wishes. We hang them up in the temple.”

“Oh,” Oscar says. Carlos had gotten one for him too. “I didn’t think you believed in these things.”

“I don’t,” Carlos says quickly, before looking away, like he’s afraid Oscar will laugh at him.

Oscar chews at his lip. He didn’t mean to suggest it was silly. It’s a little unfair for Carlos to think so lowly of him. If they could, this is where they’d walk their separate ways and browse different shops, long enough for the awkward tension to diffuse. Come back refreshed and recharged for more time spent in each other’s company. No such grace, here.

The stream whispers as it flows by the stone-paved path. The wooden house clusters look as if they’re linked, hand to hand, a never-ending line all the way to the top. Everything here’s older than Oscar, older by years and years and years.

“I keep an amulet in my helmet,” Carlos says. His eyes wander around like he’s sightseeing. “I don’t know why I lied.”

“A little belief can’t hurt,” Oscar blurts out, just so Carlos would stop looking so wounded. “That’s what I always say.”

Carlos nudges him. “You never say that.”

Above them, a thousand colorful prayer flags blow gently in the wind. Wooden charms as numerous as the birds adorn the roof of the temple. Wishes for health, prosperity, family. Oscar tries to peek at what Carlos is writing, only for Carlos to shove him away so violently that they both fall over.

Oscar laughs as Carlos strains to keep his charm out of prying reach. No easy task, both of them being joined and all.

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For my family and friends, good health always. For myself—

Oscar wrenches his gaze away. Some things aren’t for anyone else to know.

He watches Carlos hang his charm up carefully. And then Carlos waits, back turned as much as he can, for Oscar to write his own wish. It’s simple. Fast car, many wins. Happiness. Oscar ties his somewhere near Carlos’s. Closes his eyes and listens to them jangle together.

--

For myself, patience.

--

Oscar’s pretty sure he’s dying. He’s pretty sure this is what dying feels like.

“I thought,” he gasps, in between gulps of warm tea that only makes things infinitely worse, “I told her not spicy?”

Carlos is cackling like the unhelpful asshole he is. “This is not spicy.”

When you explore some place new, local recommendations for food are a must. Oscar’s seriously reconsidering Travel Tip 101 when he gets fed hotpot that turns his tongue worryingly numb.

“Well, it is a little spicy,” Carlos concedes. “But nothing I can’t take.”

“Isn’t Spanish food not spicy?”

“It’s not,” Carlos says. “Actually, I wasn’t good at taking spice until after I started driving.” He fans exaggeratedly at Oscar’s overheated mouth, like that could even help an iota. It’s so Carlos it’s endearing. Shit. “I only started putting hot sauce on all my trainer’s meals because everything tasted so bland.”

Oscar coughs, wiping at his leaking nose. “It burns,” he moans.

“There, there,” Carlos says, mock sympathetic. “Don’t cry.”

“Seriously.” Oscar blinks rapidly, is it affecting his eyeballs too? His pulse thuds like the hoofbeat of a runaway horse. “How are you not even sweating?”

Carlos winks at him. “They don’t call me chili for nothing.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Aw,” Carlos says, and finally puts himself to some use by waving down a server, and sweettalking her into bringing a pitcher of iced water over.

Oscar calls first dibs on the shower, claiming the need to wash the spice out of his pores. Carlos rolls his eyes but acquiesces, gallant about it for once. They force themselves not to make it awkward. Pull apart for just long enough to slip their clothes off, eyes everywhere but on each other. Carlos stands outside the curtain as Oscar tries to shampoo and soap himself down in the narrow tub with one hand.

When it's Carlos's turn: “Oh my god,” Oscar says. “Carlos, are you using soap for your hair?”

“I’m trying to be quick,” Carlos says, voice disembodied even though he’s right next to Oscar. Separated by the thinnest sheet of translucent nylon. The shadow of Carlos is unmistakable in the light. The broadness of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. “So you do not stand outside for forty-five minutes like I did.”

“I didn’t take forty-five minutes!”

Carlos laughs, the cackle now almost familiar. “And how are you knowing I’m using soap? Are you peeking?”

“I hate you,” Oscar says, waits for Carlos to return with a Hard same like they’re in on the same joke. Waits and waits until Carlos emerges from behind the curtain, not fifteen minutes later, lips still sealed together like withholding some secret.

--

As designated shotgunner, with no say in the matter, Carlos is in charge of the GPS and the AUX cord. After the second album of Enrique Iglesias, Oscar relegates him to Captain of Pointing Out Exit Signs Only. Carlos pretends to pout about it, but he reclines his seat, as far back as their joined elbows will allow. Closes his eyes, limbs loose, all relaxed. He looks so good like that, when he’s as easy as easy can be.

Oscar swallows the click in his throat back down.

“I feel bad,” Carlos murmurs, sounding like he’s close to drifting off. “You’re doing all the work.”

“I don’t mind,” Oscar says. He’s getting real good at one-handed maneuvers now. Hah, maybe this will be beneficial on the track. “I hate getting driven. I rather do it myself.”

“Control freak,” Carlos says.

“Yeah,” Oscar admits. “A little bit.”

When Oscar dares to look over at Carlos, there’s a smile curving his lips gently up. They didn’t magically learn how to talk to each other. But it’s a start, trading little morsels of information like passing notes in school.

One of Guanyu’s other suggestions had been Emei Mountain, boasting an altitude of over three-thousand meters and some ridiculous number of stairs.

(Sixty thousand, to be precise. Oscar had opened his mouth to complain, but Guanyu had responded with a report of the monkeys that lived in the mountain. There came that dazed, excited noise from Carlos again, and Oscar knew it was a lost cause.)

Jet-lag’s working in their favour, and they’ve arrived before the tour buses can deposit too many people for them to stomach. Ambitions are dampened when they realize climbing’s harder when surgically joined by some unknown force at the elbow. When Oscar lifts his left leg, his right arm wants to go, which means Carlos’s left arm needs to go, which means Carlos’s right leg needs to lift. They clunk around clumsily for the first chunk of steps, griping and critiquing each other’s technique. The fog rolls in and laps at their ears, and for a while, there’s nothing much to see.

An elderly lady pressures them into an early lunch, and Carlos gives in effortlessly, like always. It ends up being the best thing Oscar’s eaten since coming here. They fight over the last slice of barbecue pork, and Oscar wins, by virtue of being slightly better at using chopsticks.

By the time they’re halfway up, they’ve got climbing down to an art, limbs moving like clockwork around the constriction. Carlos takes advantage of their newfound skill to increase their pace to a march.

“Carlos,” Oscar’s not ashamed to beg. “Please, won’t you stop and look at the monkeys.”

Carlos laughs at him and calls him slow. Because Carlos is crazy, he’s taken off his light sweater even in this weather, and the threadbare white shirt he’s wearing leaves little to imagination. Chest hair, nipples. Oscar looks away before he can be caught staring. The fog’s given way to some amazing views. Rich vegetation, more trees than Oscar’s brain knows what to do with. Beautiful things all around.

Carlos’s face swims into view. “Come on.” The tugging at the elbow doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. “To the top! There are giant golden statues!”

The statues are indeed golden. And they are indeed giant. The largest one weighs six hundred and sixty metric tons, according to the pamphlet. Larger, surely, than the feeling expanding in his lungs.

“Look, Oscar!” Carlos points with their joined arms, all delight.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. Quickened pulse from the strenuous activity, and he wills it to settle. Control freak. “I’m looking.”

--

Designated phone time on the bed is an hour long. Oscar uses it to text his mum, sift through photos from the day. With how close they’re forced to be, it’s hard to get a picture without a body part of Carlos making its way in. Oscar finds he doesn’t quite mind. He’s got one of the cloudless, blue sky, the backdrop for the Leidongping cable car station. Carlos is pointing at something again, his finger situated artistically right in the middle of the lidless eye of the sun.

Guanyu’s the one who got them into this mess, so he probably deserves a photo update. Oscar sends it over WhatsApp and receives an O-M-G!!! in return, along with nine panda emojis.

No pandas, we’re not at Chengdu yet, Oscar types.

Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it this far, Guanyu says.

Wow, thanks

Oscar squints, rereads Guanyu’s message.

Wait, you were the one who gave us this itinerary!

Hahaha, is all Guanyu says, followed by multiple peace sign emojis.

加油!

Oscar has to google translate that, learn that it means to add oil. To go for it. Go for what?

“Teto says he wishes he was here too,” Carlos says sleepily, looking up from his phone.

“Teto’s out of luck,” Oscar says, ignoring the flash of something hot and possessive down his spine.

He plucks Carlos’s phone out of his willing fingers. Reaches over Carlos for the pull chain of the lamp. Beneath him for just a second, Carlos shifts, comfortable, cozy. Oscar gets the ludicrous notion that if he were to collapse down, right now, Carlos’s body would welcome him.

Shit. How long until they come apart?

Click, off go the lights. Meekly, Oscar makes his way back to his designated side of the bed. Carlos mumbles a soft Good night. More intimate than he could ever mean. Oscar mumbles something back, and satisfied, Carlos closes his eyes. He likes sleeping on his side. Coincidences of coincidences, so does Oscar. Carlos falls asleep faster though, and it gives Oscar a lot of time to stare without accusation. Trace the planes and slopes of Carlos’s face before he drifts off himself.

--

At long last. Chengdu panda base.

After jostling with the crowds to watch the pandas tumble around for their food, then tumble around to play, then tumble around to sleep, Oscar turns to Carlos.

“Well?”

“Eh,” Carlos makes a see-saw motion with his hands. “It’s a little anti-climatic.”

Oscar barks out a laugh. A joined body part, three shared showers, thirteen and a half hours in a car together later, and Carlos still surprises him. He really doesn’t do Oscar well on a neurochemical level.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

“I thought it was,” Carlos says. It’s no longer only their elbows touching. Now it’s bicep to little pinky, pressed up against each other like puzzle pieces which fit slightly crooked. One long, unbroken line of heat. “I thought—”

Carlos tapers off. Oscar waits.

“Well, it’s the journey that counts, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“They’re very cute, too.”

“Uh huh,” Oscar says. “Pictures or Guanyu’s never going to believe we made it here.”

Oscar takes one of Carlos with a sleeping mama panda in the background. He’s halfway through checking if it’s any good when Carlos grabs the phone.

“Come here,” he says.

It’s not easy arranging themselves together and catching a panda as well, but heck, didn’t they climb sixty-thousand stairs with some careful coordination? Carlos holds out the phone with his right hand, smooshes their cheeks together. The scrap of Carlos’s stubble against his skin—that’s, there’s a new sensation, in every way possible.

“Say panda,” Carlos says.

“Panda,” Oscar says, the same way he would say, Alert, or Danger, or Abort. His cheeks are going to show up pink in the photo. And Carlos will notice and say something completely asinine—

“Hee hee,” Carlos says. “Your eyes are closed, Oscar.”

--

Once they get enough panda souvenirs to shower the grid, the rest of the day passes in the laziest of fashions. They’ve hit their goal now, so there’s no need to rush. Oscar actually bothers to look through Yelp for restaurant options, and after all his hard work, gets yanked by Carlos into some random alleyway with plastic stools to eat hand-pulled noodles.

Meandering like leaves on an easy stream down the folk and culture street, the promise of a hot shower eventually calls to them. Oscar, gentleman that he is, lets Carlos go first.

Oscar stares unblinkingly at a water spot on a tile as Carlos hums and soap himself, as easy and as relaxed as if he weren’t stuck with Oscar listening to the way the water hits his skin. The first time in the shower, when Oscar had unwittingly brushed his hands over his dick, he’d jumped, then stood still for a whole minute, waiting for Carlos to call him out on it. It’d felt forbidden, with Carlos standing not two inches away.

To Carlos’s credit, he doesn’t punch Oscar when the curtain is pulled back, with a force that can only be described as resolution. He only yelps like a little pup, clapping his free hand over his chest, before the hand trails self-consciously down.

“I’ll help you shampoo,” Oscar says. “It’s faster this way.”

“Well,” Carlos says, “if it’s faster.”

They’re staying at the Shang this time, and there’s fancy shampoo smelling like bergamot and orange. Oscar douses Carlos with half a bottle, squeezing too much out by accident. He keeps bumping his hand into Carlos’s while they attempt to scrub. The lather gets into Carlos’s eyes, and Oscar has to try and hide his smile while Carlos whines piteously. It’s not actually faster in any way.

“There, there,” Oscar says, in a similar tone as to when Carlos had observed Oscar leaking copious fluids over hotpot. “Baby.”

Carlos makes a face and pretends to start crying again, and something terribly fond constricts the entirety of Oscar’s ribcage.

Towelling each other dry is a whole new learning curve, just like putting clothes on, and driving one-handed, and climbing stairs. They’re looking at each other this time, too. That’s also new. Huh. Carlos is very, very gentle as he dries the back of Oscar’s ears. The kind of gentle that speaks of someone having done this for him before, resulting in an insistence in getting this right. Oscar gets all warm, even with the water cooling rapidly on his skin.

“Phone time?”

“No need,” Carlos yawns.

It’s Carlos that leans over this time for the light switch, even though Shang’s posh enough to have light switches at both sides for easy access. Carlos hovers over Oscar for a suspended moment, and Oscar sucks in a breath, straining with anticipation. The head pat is unexpected, but enough for now.

Satisfied, Oscar closes his eyes.

--

“Hey!” Carlos exclaims. “Oscar, we’re free!”

“Whuh,” Oscar says blearily. He’ll never acquire Carlos’s habit of waking up at eight.

“Look, look,” Carlos says, all childish delight. He waves his arms in front of Oscar’s face. Both his arms.

“Hey!” Oscar says, shooting up, suddenly awake.

“Yeah!”

“So all we needed was a shower?”

“Oscar,” Carlos says disapprovingly. “It wasn’t just a shower. We wrote this on prayer cards.” Oscar doesn’t point out neither of them wrote this on a prayer card. “We climbed a mountain. We saw pandas!”

“And took a shower,” Oscar says.

Carlos sniffs. “Have it your way.”

“Fine, fine,” Oscar says. It’s too early to be feeling all warm and crumbly, like the center of a freshly baked pie. “It was the journey that counts, yes?”

“Yes,” Carlos nods. “Maybe. Maybe it was something I—we had to learn. In preparation for. For—”

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For myself, patience.

Their hands are no longer joined, but Oscar takes Carlos’s, and presses a quick, dry kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Carlos is so surprised he lets him.

“Ah,” Carlos says, voice trembly and a little hopeful. “What happens now?”

Oscar looks down at their hands. Going through all of this to separate, only to choose to stay touching. There’s something about a journey being full circle, but Oscar doesn’t want to finish that thought for fear of actually transforming into Julia Roberts. And anyway—

“Now we drive back.”

They’re not near done, yet.

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

I just suddenly had a memory and had to share. Usually I'm one of those stick to the tags people, but I think this explains the disconnect some people experience entirely.

Once upon a time, I was an elementary school teacher. (I only made it one year before I switched to being a TA instead, and parents like these were part of the reason.) I'm gonna put it under a thingy bc idk how to be concise.

So at the beginning of the year, parents get supply lists. They try to keep them mostly the same throughout grade level, your standard box of #2 pencils, 2 pens, 2 boxes of crayons (bc kids break crayons like crazy) an eraser, 2 glue sticks and some sort pencil box/pouch to keep their stuff in.

First day, kids come in and start unloading their stuff. I start taking up glue sticks to put in the clear container on the counter/cubby. This one dad gets mad, saying that he didn't buy glue sticks for every kid in the class to use. (I'm doing the same thing with the 2nd box of crayons, but I am telling kids to write their names on them using their pens, bc some kids got Crayola and some kids got Rose-Art and that's something parents might get mad over.) I try to very politely explain to him that it's easier to keep them all in one place as the kids tend to lose them, or forget to roll down the glue or put the cap back on, and this way I can check behind them and make sure none of the glue sticks are wasted.

This guy is sure that his precious little princess of a daughter would never forget to put her cap back on her glue stick, despite being like, seven. Mind you, we are in the "waiting area" between three classrooms. It has the bathrooms, and the tables where the kids can be pulled for one on one or small group work. We can't step into the hall bc I have to monitor my students. TAs all have morning duties.

And also, what if she never uses two whole glue sticks? Am I just going to keep it instead of sending it home with her? This man is nearly having a full on tantrum over glue sticks. This was over a decade ago, when you could still buy a pack of 2 for a dollar and change.

I am nervous, bc there is a man who is raising his voice at me, but I am also pissed off, bc there is a man raising his voice in front of my students. So I laugh it off and walk away, telling him most of us don't mind sharing with our friends, "do we?" I get a tiny little chorus of voices that say 'no'. I add that by the time winter break comes, I'll have to go out and buy more myself anyway, like I did with all the other supplies that were already in the classroom. But that donations are always appreciated. Then I just started talking to my students and ignoring him and he left. And I'm really glad bc I may have started crying if he kept being mean to me.

Oh, and his daughter ended up being my student who would threaten to hold her breath until she passed out if she didn't get her way. I think I rocked her entire world when I told her to go ahead; as soon as she passed out her body would start breathing again on its own.

my dad, trying to explain the concept of money to me: say you have a sandwich, and i need your sandwich. but i don't have anything to give you. you're not just gonna give it to me.

me: i would just give it to you.

my dad:

[writingsbytee]

SEXUAL HEALING

TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

WARNING / TRIGGERS: Reader is DEPRESSED, no thoughts of self harm or un-aliving herself. Babygirl is just having a depressive episode. Depressed themes, Sexual themes, explicit sexual content; dirty talk; soft Dom,

SUMMARY: Reader is depressed and Terry fucks her out of it

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minora please don’t interact!*

 *Also, this is complete fiction. I'm writing about the reader’s depression simply based on my experiences and knowledge of depression. I’m in NO WAY saying that this is what depression is for every individual. This is a safe space. If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health please reach out to your local crisis center so that they can provide resources. Read with care. Love you guys <3*

This hasn’t been proofread

You groaned as your phone rang yet again, reaching out from under your blankets, your hand blindly slapping your bedside table in search of the device. Checking to see who called, a pained sigh leaves your lips. Terry, your boyfriend called you 4 times in the past hour. Deciding to put him out of his misery you answer the call.

“Hello?��, you say, not even bothering to hide the quiver in your voice.

“Babygirl? What’s wrong?,” Terry asked, his voice sounding frantic. 

A watery sigh leaves your lips, “I’m having a moment Terry, I’ll be ok. It’s just taking a little bit longer for me to come out of it.” 

I hear Terry’s door shut on the other line, “I’m on my way sweet girl, Daddy’s coming”

A muffled sob leaves your mouth at Terry’s words. Always willing to stop whatever he’s doing to help you fight the demons constantly plaguing your mind. Religious therapy and an antidepressant regimen seemed to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Every now and then the debilitating thoughts would come back rendering you useless. Your apartment desperately needed a deep clean as well as your room. Your bed becoming a cesspool, you slept, ate, and cried in the same spot for a little over a week now. 

Rolling onto your back you let out a deep sigh, wanting to be normal and not a basket case full of emotions. 

45 MINUTES LATER

You could hear your front door open and close, signaling that Terry arrived. You heard him set bags down in your kitchen before his light footfalls made his way to your room. He knocked twice before peeking his head in. Terry’s small smile dropped when he saw the state of you and your room. It broke his heart to see you this way.

“Aww honey, I’m here,” Terry said walking toward you. Tear tracks making their way down your face and silent sobs wracked your body.

“I’m so sorry, Terry. I didn’t mean to make you come all the way down here,” You said, covering your face with your hands. Terry gently grabbed your hands, removing them from your face. 

“Sweet girl, never apologize because the air gets a little too heavy for you. That’s why I’m here to take some of the load off,” Terry said with a small smile. Your  gentle green-eyed giant, you  grabbed your glasses, putting them on.

You brought a hand up to his cheek, “You’re too good for this world Terry Richmond. Thank you, for being what I never knew I needed,” you say with all the sincerity you can muster. 

Terry’s eyes shine with unshed tears, “you’ll never have to go through these feelings alone again. Baby when I said I wasn’t going anywhere I meant that. You’re stuck with me sweetheart,” Terry finishes, with a watery smile of his own. He gently raises me into a sitting position.

“Here’s what I want you to do. I brought you your favorite body wash shampoo, conditioner and those wax things you like so much. Go take a shower, wash your hair,pamper yourself. I’m going to get started on your sheets. Okay babygirl?”, he asked. Your eyes practically turned into hearts looking at Terry. 

A small smile formed on your lips as you said a gentle, “Okay, Daddy.”

His smile widened, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “There’s my girl. Now go get cleaned up, I’ll take care of everything else.” You nodded, rising slowly, and made your way into the bathroom. You didn’t dare glance at yourself in the mirror. Not in the mood for the thoughts to take hold again. Turning on the shower as hot as it would get you stepped in, ready to wash the bad thoughts away. 

Meanwhile, Terry was in your room replacing your dirty sheets, putting them in the wash, and tidying up around your apartment. He hated that he couldn’t save you from your thoughts, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. He understood that everyone’s trauma affected them differently. His put him in attack mode, while yours forced you to shut down. 

As you washed your hair, you could feel your sense of self slowly returning. You found peace in taking care of yourself. Detangling your curls felt as if you were brushing away all the bad thoughts. Exfoliating was like scrubbing away your impurities, leaving you shiny and new. You don’t know why you couldn’t muster up the strength to take the 15 foot walk to your bathroom. But that’s depression in a nutshell, making the most mundane tasks feel like climbing mount everest. You spent at least an hour in the bathroom, when you emerged you felt like a different person. Your heart warmed at the sight of your room, new sheets adorned your bed with a new hello kitty plushie and pajama set.

Exiting your room, you start searching for your boyfriend. Finding him in your living room playing your favorite vinyl and watering your plants. You will yourself not to cry at Terry’s selflessness, you just run up behind him wrapping his torso in a hug. 

“Hey, baby. Feeling better?”he asks, turning to face you. You place a kiss right above his heart, looking up at him you nod.

“Yeah honey, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you” you say, staring up at him adoringly.  

Terry pet your head lovingly, “Let’s hope you never have to find out. Now go make yourself comfortable, I ordered your favorite vietnamese take-out and I’m going to rub your feet until it gets here.”

A warm gooey feeling spreads from your head to your toes. A slow grin taking over your face at your adonis of a boyfriend takes care of your body, mind, and soul. Settling into your sectional, you wiggle your toes playfully urging him closer. Terry chuckles through his nose, making his way toward you. Sliding down beside you , he grabbed both of your legs, placing them on his lap.

“Relax baby, Daddy’s here now and I’m going to take care of you,” Terry said, running his hands up your bare calves. His touch warms your skin instantly. A content sigh leaves your lips as you rest your head on the arm of your sofa.

“Good girl,” Terry said, grabbing your right foot. He began slowly, just caressing your feet adding a tickle here and there pulling small giggles from your lips. Terry started to work on your foot starting slowly on your instep, applying light pressure. Then he moved to your arch applying pressure that was almost painful, causing a gasp to leave your lips.

“You’ve got a knot here, be patient I’ll work it out,” Terry said, digging in deeper. An involuntary moan leaves your lips, the release of the tenson expelling through your lips. Terry smirked, his plan was working. This kept going for a while, Terry expertly massaging your feet, and you moaning like he was massaging somewhere else. You're getting wetter by the minute. 

The doorbell interrupts your massage as a groan leaves your lips, “I was just starting to relax,” you whined.  Terry lets out a chuckle before getting up. Leaning to kiss your forehead, “You’ll have plenty of time to relax later, trust me.” And with that, he heads toward the door to grab the food. Terry doesn’t let you lift a finger while he plates the food for you two. Just advising you to find something “good to watch.” With a smirk, you put on your favorite show at the moment, ‘True Blood.’ Terry liked the show surprisingly, being the first of your boyfriends to take an interest in YOUR interests. What he didn’t like was how googly-eyed you got over Alcide. As trivial as it was, he wasn't going to sit and watch you drool over another man. 

Plating your food,

Terry brought it to you. Plopping down next to you on the couch with a plan in mind, Terry just sat back and watched you enjoy your food. A small satisfied sigh leaves your lips at the first bite. 

“Mmm, it’s so good! Thank you baby” you say, leaning in to kiss Terry’s cheek. He could feel his cheeks warm at your gratitude, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing. Your breath hitched when Terry’s hand refused to leave your thigh. Instead tracing small circles while you ate. 

After finishing your food you and Terry cuddled up on your sofa with a blanket. Rubbing his chest you say, “Thank you for everything Terry, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Terry looks down at you grasping your chin forcing your brown eyes to meet his mossy green ones. “I’m just doing my job baby. What kind of man would I be if I let my woman suffer alone? I’m here for you, I love you, and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of.” Terry’s hand migrated to the back of your neck, pulling you in excruciatingly slow. He watched your face change. Eyes become low, lips parting, and your breathing turns shallow. 

Terry inches impossibly closer, your lips a hair’s width apart, “What do you want, pretty girl?”

“Kiss me, please?” you ask, fingers coming up to grip his t-shirt. A small devious smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face as he leans down, lips brushing against yours. The anticipation is killing you. You two were practically sharing the same breath, yet Terry wouldn’t close the gap and lay one on you. 

“Please, Daddy? Let me thank you, I’ve been good haven't I?” you ask, looking up at Terry with the doe eyes that he loves so much. 

A groan leaves his lips as Terry places your bowl on the coffee table “You know what that look does to me, baby. C’mere,” and then his lips are on you. A surprised moan leaves your lips as you pull Terry closer, sucking his lips between yours. He grabs your hips positioning you on his lap, right atop his growing bulge. 

“How are you feeling honey, still sad? What can Daddy do?” Terry asks, his hand grasping and pulling at the fat of your ass. Grinding you against thick dick. 

“Touch me, please Daddy”, you whine. You could feel yourself soaking through the seat of your sleep shorts, having forgone underwear. Terry smiles against your lips, “I am touching you pretty girl”. Pulling back for air, you move your attention to his thick neck. Placing wet open mouthed kisses there migrating up to his ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe. You hear Terry’s breath stutter drawing a smile from your lips. Terry pulls back in time to see the bright dopey smile on your face and he places a kiss on your nose.

Pulling your shirt over your head, Terry's eyes lock on plump mahogany breasts and chocolate nipples. 

“Fuck, pretty girl. You’re not playing fair,” Terry says, head dropping onto the back of the sofa. A soft giggle leaves your lips. You slither up Terry’s body like a cat in heat, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“C’mon Daddy don’t you wanna feel how wet I am for you? Just for you,” you whisper into Terry’s ear, finishing with a lick. A small ‘fuck’ leaves Terry’s lips as his hand comes cracking down on your ass forcing a small yelp to leave your lips. 

“Keep that up baby and I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for,” Terry said, playing with your shorts. Pulling them halfway down to jiggle your ass or tugging them high up your ass giving your clit the much needed friction you craved. You two were making out like porn stars, sloppily, lips glistening with spit. You pulled back to look at Terry, his eyes half mast filled with need and desire for you. You’re positive your face looks the same. Terry picks you up off his lap, setting you next to him on the sofa as he gets up. Turning on your sunset lamp and turning off the lights to create an ethereal glow around your living room. Then he moves pieces of your sectional together making it a day bed of some sort. 

“Strip babygirl, I want you naked by the time I get back,” Terry commands, then picks up your leftovers, and heads back to the kitchen. It was embarrassing how fast you threw the sticky shorts off. Your pussy was talking and Terry hadn’t even touched you yet. As you wait for Terry, you start massaging your tits. Nipples forming tight peaks, tugging and pulling creates a throb you feel straight down to your clit.  Small moans started leaving your lips. The ache between your thighs growing almost painful as you whined, waiting for your man to return and fuck you stupid. After five minutes you almost debate finding him.

“Terrrrryyyy,” you cry out. When you get no response you peek over your shoulder, when you don’t see him you decide to start on your own. Sliding your hands down your body, you’re about to reach your pussy when Terry’s hand grabs yours, pulling a gasp from you. 

“I said strip, when did I tell you to touch my pussy?”Terry's looking down his nose at you. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy I need you please!” You whine, sitting up. Terry makes his way around the sofa looking like a lion stalking his prey. He stands in front of you crossing his arms, a cup in one hand. 

“Spread those legs for me mama,let me see my pussy,” Terry said. Your legs fell open immediately the quiet ‘schlick’ heard between the two of you. Terry’s eyes darken, the color of a stormy sea and he takes a step toward you. 

“Hands behind your back sweetheart, you know the drill,” Terry purrs, crawling on the sofa. Taking a long sip from his cup before setting it down. Like an obedient little slut you put your hands behind your back with a small smile on your face, “Like this papa?” you asked. 

Terry dropped his head and groaned, “I’m trying to make you wait babygirl, I’m two seconds away from burying my face in that sweet pussy,” Terry said, his voice sounding like he was in pain. 

“C’mon papa look at how ready she is for you, she couldn’t wait for you to get your hands on her,” you scooched your ass further down the sofa, practically planting your pussy on his chin. With a growl, Terry was on top of you, hand clutching your cunt. 

Terry started massaging your clit with his fingers releasing a relieved moan from your lips. 

“Unh Terry, it feels good!” you said, head thrown back, and your back arched. 

A devilish smile formed on Terry’s lips. He loved the sounds you made when he played with you. 

“Make that sound again baby,” Terry said, tonguing your nipple. 

“Unh! Daddy!Take your pants off please. I want to feel you” you moan, gripping Terry’s neck. Pulling him down to lock your lips. Terry explored your pussy like it was his first time. Experimenting with how wet he could make you. Sliding his pants and boxers down he freed his monster of a dick. 

“I’m going to fuck you baby,but first tell me how bad you want it” Terry said, his finger picking up the pace on your clit.

“I want you so bad Terry,” you say leaning up to peck his lips over and over. 

A small chuckle leaves his lips, “Yeah? How bad? Let Daddy know sweetheart.” Terry’s working your clit between his fingers, the slick sounds permeating through your home. 

“Fuck Daddy I want you to take care of me like you always do . You’re such a good provider, always making sure I have what I need! Ouuu! Baby, right there! Yes! You’re going to make me cum, fuck!,” You moan out, your voice rising in pitch letting Terry know you were close. 

“Then come on my tongue sweet girl,” Terry leans down and takes your clit in his mouth. Your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your breath staccatos

“You look so pretty, baby. I love how wet this pussy gets for me. You ganna let Daddy fuck the bad thoughts away. Want me to make it feel better sweetie. Because I can, you know Daddy can help,” Terry slips two fingers into, causing your soul to leave your body. 

Combined with his suction on your clit, you stood no chance against the orgasm that rocked your body. “Oouuu Terry! Yesssss!”, you moaned as Terry worked your orgasm out of you.

“That’s right pretty girl, give me that orgasm,” Terry said, adding another finger. You were beyond seeing stars at this point. There was a full milky way galaxy dancing behind your eyes. Terry had a dark smirk on his face, loving the effect he had on you. He loved making you come, how you gave yourself over to him completely. He was surprised when you forced his fingers out of your pussy, a harsh stream of liquid following. A high pitched moan left your lips as your body shook.

“Yes Honey! That’s it!” Terry moaned, slapping your clit a few times. Your body shook and shuddered in the aftermath of your orgasm. Vision hazy as you tried to center yourself. Terry stripped off the rest of his clothes and hovered over you, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

“Hey, look at me baby,”Terry brought his finger to your face caressing you. Your eyes refocused on Terry’s soft ones, a small smile forming on your lips. Terry mirrored your expression, leaning down to press his lips against yours in a passionate sloppy kiss. Teeth and tongues clashing in a frantic meet of mouths. Both of you are trying to convey your love for one another. 

“Papa, I need you inside me” you wine against Terry’s lips. Terry doesn’t need to be told twice, he positions himself at your entrance and eases in. Both your lips part, needy moans releasing from your lips.

“Terry, Terry, Terry! Oh my god!” You moan as he sets a punishing rhythm. Punching your cervix with the fat mushroom head of his dick. You lose yourself in the feeling of being fucked by him. 

“How’s that feel baby, can you feel how much Daddy loves his sweet girl?” Terry asked. How he could ask you questions while digging your shit out like this is beyond you. You just moan and nod, his thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Words baby. I need to hear you say it. You’ll do that for daddy won’t you?” Terry asks, bringing his hand up to your throat applying slight pressure. The delicious feeling pulling a needy whine from your lips. Terry was hitting all your spots and you couldn’t think.

“Yes daddy, I feel it. I love it. I love you,” you moan your eyes slowly making their descent to the back of your skull. Terry loved when you started babbling on his dick, saying any and everything to please him. And please him it did. 

Terry felt like a man possessed, your pleasure the only thing on his mind determined to coax as many orgasms out of you as possible. He was going at you like a man on a mission. The push and pull, the slick sounds of him going in and out of your pussy driving him insane.  

“I love you more baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you with the dark thoughts, but I’m here now Daddy’s ganna fuck the depression out of you,” Terry said raising one of your knees so he could hit you even deeper.

You bring your hands up, grabbing Terry’s ass pulling him deeper inside you. “Baby you’re going to make me cummm!,” you moan out. Terry moans in your ear, pulling you in for another sloppy kiss. Terry releases your lips, leaning back to look at you. 

“Open your eyes pretty girl, I love the way you look when you come for me,” Terry was long past close. He wanted to cum so bad, but he wouldn’t, not until he felt your velvet walls pulse around his thick dick. 

“Cum with me Daddy! I need to feel you fill me up!,” You say reaching for Terry’s ears, rubbing them softly. Terry’s eyes start to roll in the back of his head. He loves it when you play with his ears.

“You’re so good to me Daddy, always taking care of me. You’re making me feel so good, thank you Daddy! Thank you for fucking the depression out of…” you never got to finnish your sentence. Orgasm hitting you like a bus. Terry was ejected from your pussy with the force, you squirted so hard your vision went white as a high pitched moan left your lips. Terry started in awe. He stood above you jerking his dick.

“Fuck that was so sexy baby I’m about to come,” Terry said. That all too familiar ache forming in his abdomen. Balls heavy and tight with the need to release. Your eyes regained their focus in just enough time to watch Terry erupt all over you. Painting you with his cum, a small smile formed on your face as his warm release landed on your breasts, tummy and legs. 

“Mm that was a big one daddy, thank you,” you moan, collecting his essence to taste. A moan leaves your lips as the salty, earthy musk hits your taste buds. Terry leans down, placing another kiss to your lips. 

“How do you feel now babygirl?” Terry asks, using the spare napkins to clean you up. 

You place a kiss on Terry’s cheek, “Much better Daddy, but I think I’m still a little sad” you said, smirking up at him. Terry shakes his head at you with a playful smile on his lips.

“Well you better go grab us some waters babygirl, I’m not done with you yet,” Terry said before lifting you over his shoulders to carry you to your room.

THE END <3

I think this might be the fastest I’ve ever written anything. I just really wanted to create a vulnerable piece, and I LOVE how this piece turned out. This is supposed to be a one shot but that’s TBD as of now. As always constructive criticism is encouraged but please take it easy on me, I’m sensitive.

TAGLIST: 

@blackgurlnhermoods @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @kianaleani @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @shallipii @greatpandagladiator @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theereina @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @diaries-of-me @simplyzeeka @kumkaniudaku

[solxamber]

Hello!! Can I get Octavinelle 7 fluff?

Always, For You. || Jade Leech

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

You weren’t blind to who Jade Leech was. A man who thrived in chaos, stirred the pot just because he could, and smiled politely while doing it. People avoided asking for his help because, with Jade, everything came at a cost—whether you realized it or not.

Except when it came to you.

The first time it happened, it seemed insignificant. Grim had accidentally knocked over one of Crewel’s more volatile potions, the sparkling liquid oozing across the table, heading straight for your bag. You froze, unsure whether to grab your things or call for help, but before you could move, Jade stepped in.

“Careful,” he murmured, swiping your bag out of harm’s way with his gloved hands. His movements were graceful, calm, as if he were plucking a rare mushroom in one of his favorite forests. You stared at him in shock as he casually placed your bag on a safe countertop, not even glancing at the bubbling mess behind him.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, unsure what just happened.

Jade turned to you, that polite, unreadable smile firmly in place. “Think nothing of it.” Then, as he walked away, he added over his shoulder, “For you, anything.”

You were left blinking, your heart doing an awkward little flip.

The second time was more dramatic. Floyd had you in a headlock, cackling about how you had to play some ridiculous game with him during lunch. You were already half-resigned to your fate when Jade appeared out of nowhere.

“Floyd,” he said smoothly, his tone calm but firm. “Let go.”

“C’mon, Jade, I’m just having fun!” Floyd whined but loosened his grip anyway.

Jade’s hand rested on his twin’s shoulder, his smile never faltering. “And I’m sure they appreciate your enthusiasm, but I believe their schedule is rather full today.”

Before you knew it, Floyd had been swept away, leaving you standing there dumbfounded.

“Uh… thanks again?” you called after Jade.

He paused, glanced back, and gave you that same polite smile, though this time his gaze lingered a moment too long. “Anything for you.”

It wasn’t fair, you thought later, as you mulled it over for the hundredth time. Jade didn’t help people out of the goodness of his heart. He liked to meddle, to twist situations to his advantage. And yet… he kept stepping in for you, expecting nothing in return.

The third time, you couldn’t take it anymore. After another ridiculous incident—this time involving him steering you away from an overly enthusiastic Ruggie and a “totally harmless” prank—you confronted him.

“Why do you keep helping me?” you blurted, cornering him in the Mostro Lounge after his shift.

Jade didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he looked amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because!” you said, flustered. “You don’t… you don’t just help people! There’s always something in it for you. But with me, you just…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely as your thoughts tangled.

Jade stepped closer, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Ah, but you’re special.” His voice softened, and you felt your heart stutter as he leaned in, close enough that his words were just for you. “For you, anything. Always.”

His smile wasn’t sharp this time—it was soft, genuine. And it was so much worse because it left you reeling, your cheeks heating as your chest filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

Jade didn’t wait for your response, just straightened and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to earn his favor, but one thing was clear: Jade Leech had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room.

Masterlist

[awoogayanderes]

after the breakup with your boyfriend, you invested yourself more into making money. you worked at a small restaurant, it was peaceful enough to remain calm but busy enough to keep the bad thoughts away.

your ex boyfriend who was once a regular at said restaurant doesn’t come anymore. you’re glad that you ruined the place enough for him, especially after all the shit he put you through.

that is until one day, you pull up to a table, it’s him…and a girl. were you delusional or did she look similar to you ? same hair…same eyes…same skin tone…it’s barely been a month and he has someone new ?

someone who looks just like you ? pushing back the anger, you put on a charming smile and act as if the man sitting down was a complete stranger to you. did he really not tell her that his ex worked here ?

the girl is kind using her manners as she orders, sweet even, you’re not mad at her because from what it looks like, she doesn’t know who you are and who you were to her now boyfriend.

she points to an item on the menu, ah. the same thing you always ordered when you were on your lunch break. you can’t help but breakout into a smile, oh my god he really did just another copy of you.

“that’s what i order too ! my ex boyfriend used to come here-“ you’re cut off by your ex, he clears his throat before mean mugging you. “we just want our food, please and thanks,” he scoffs out as he looks down at his phone.

the girl gives him a look of annoyance before softly apologizing to you. “of course sir,” you fake smile at the couple before walking away, you wonder if you have the chance to spit in his food without anyone noticing.

the rest of their date goes like every date goes, romance blah blah food is good blah blah ready to go blah blah. you hand them the check and as you walk away, you glance back, she took out her cash to pay, you smile.

you come back to collect the money, no change for them. when you come back, they’re already gone. they left no tip for you. your eye twitches, he replaced you with a copy of yourself and can’t even give you five dollars. so much for a peaceful shift.

( a/n : this is based on true story from literally a few weeks ago, had to write about it )

oikawa | atsumu | dazai | scaramouche | modern-day eren | my recent ex | your fav <3

[fullflowerking]

A. Removing my name because some of you can't behave 😁

B. I don't remember my wings that well, but definitely closer to a lighter shade. Perhaps bronze or sandy brown

C. I was a lower ranking angel, tasked with observing humanity. Not intervening

D. See above

E. I didn't fall, I reincarnated to earth as a human being and I still consider my species to be an angel

F. I remember being in a beautiful garden at some point. My mind felt light and airy, and I "felt" things around me with spatial awareness instead of objectively viewing it. If you asked me to describe a single plant or creature in this garden I wouldn't be able to.

G. I resonate with the element fire because I was born in December. My dad was sick with cancer when I was born, and they told him he might not live. After I was born, he got better. I always attach this to the transformative power of fire, and my angelic abilities are still attached to me in utero.

H. I'm a biblical angel, so I guess more likely the Christian god. I don't remember him though, just a faint memory of Him being present.

I. I feel I became confined to earth after observing humans for so long. I think at some point I wanted to be involved more than I was, so I decided to join.

K. The advantage of being an angel on earth really depends on your definition of an advantage. My definition is having more freedom, being able to touch, see and experience the world like a proper mammal rather than like a divine being. You miss out on a lot when you lack the 5 senses.

L. A disadvantage. There are many. When you're an angel, you don't get tired, you don't need to go to the bathroom, you don't need to eat. Suddenly all these things that make you human become an exhausting task that you have to be involved in, all the time. There are more, but I want to keep this short.

M. I was around during the holy war. The crusade before crusades. I remember a few angels starting to feel less angelic over time, and it was like a ripple effect amongst the loyal. Suddenly, the side I was on with my brother Michael felt less and less like the winning side, and more like the side you pick when there's no better option. I desired the same freedoms as the other side but I suppose I was too cowardly to take it.

N. No one around me knows my identity. I feel like it's unnecessary to tell anyone. I can never go back to what I was. The best thing I can do is live my life as heavenly as I can in my current life.

O. Funnily enough, I started suspecting i was something more at a very young age. I didn't know quite what. I remember having mental shifts in the church growing up, and having visions about winged creatures when I was around 10. I discovered angels outside of the Bible and for the first time I felt like these things were the best thing I could use to describe myself.

P. Lol. I was hoping this question would come up. O fortuna is at the top of my list. It always gives me chills. Any songs in Latin or slavic-based languages always makes me go into mental shifts.

Q. To feel angelic, I watch movies with angels in them, read books with angels in them, exercise and ride my bike to just feel the wind against my face. I go to the park with a long black coat on and listen to music, and just watch people. Sometimes I talk to them, but not often because I can be quite introverted.

R. See above. I also veil on occasion, especially when I'm around religious buildings or graveyards or when meditating. (I do not pray to the Christian god)

S. I'm not repelled by religious buildings. I'm also not attracted to them. But when I step inside a place that has been cleansed, anointed or used for worship, I can get mental shifts and my vibration raises to the point that I believe that religious figures and children can feel.

T. Good question. Unfortunately I don't know what my halo looked like. I'm assuming it was closer to light than a physical object, maybe light that my divinity gave off. Like a rainbow spectrum or pure white. 🤷‍♀️ no clue.

U. If I did, I don't remember.

V. Not prophetic dreams, but I've had vivid dreams and nightmares about snakes, naked human beings, violence, starvation and fire. I have had many dreams of what I believe to be pre-flood events on earth, where animosity & disbelief became more rampant between Him and humans.

W. Nope

X. Anywhere that has a beautiful garden. I also like fountains, aquariums, the forest and jungle

Y. Nope

X. I remember being in Europe at some point. I don't know exactly where, I just remember hearing some francophone language being spoken, and there was a lot of political unrest. Unfortunately, the details were never that important to anyone, and as I've mentioned before, I didn't see things the same way as an angel as I do now. My best guess would be middle ages or less. They seemed to be very complicated with the Catholic church back then.

I hope you enjoyed my answers as much as i enjoyed answering them

Angelic Ask Meme

I’ve been meaning to make one of these for a while…send some to my ask, and feel free to reblog!

A-what is your angelic name? B-what did your wings look like? C-what are you an angel of? D-what order or rank of angel are you? E-did you fall? If so, why? F-describe a random angelic memory G-what element/s do you align with? H-do you remember or follow any gods? I-do you know or suspect why you are earthbound? J-what other angels were you close to? K-an advantage to being an angel on earth? L-a disadvantage to being an angel on earth? M-were you around during the war? If so, what side were you on? N-does anyone irl know you’re an angel? O-how long have you known you’re Angelic? P-what is a song that reminds you of being angelic, or of an angelic memory? Q-what is something you do to feel angelic? R-have anything you wear that makes you feel like your angelic self? S-are you attracted to places of worship, or repelled by them? T-what did your halo look like? U-any angels you had a rivalry with? V-ever have any prophetic dreams, or things like that? W-are you an empath/psychic/medium/etc? X-any places on earth that remind you of home? Y-ever had irl contact with other divines in this life? Z-have any past earthbound life memories?

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 nightgown

synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.

cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.

a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE

"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gang—Chuki—picked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.

"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."

Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.

Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.

'Not again...'

Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred times—which he had—effortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.

"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."

You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."

"HA!"

The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.

"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."

"Hey!"

"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"

"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.

Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.

But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.

Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.

Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.

The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloud—animal language, included.

So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.

Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.

"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"

"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."

Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.

'Shit!'

And just as you were trying to prove a point...

"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."

Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.

"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."

"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.

Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.

"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."

You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.

You studied his facial features up close—for about the fifty-millionth time—taking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.

The slight pink of his tanned lips...

The strength of his jaw...

The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.

"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.

Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassed—and slightly scared for the swordsman.

Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.

He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.

He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.

A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.

Still, what was he supposed to expect?

You were a woman now—no matter how difficult it was for him to accept—and women had... needs.

Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.

Not under his roof...

"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.

"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"

Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.

'Adorable...'

"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.

"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."

Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.

He barely believed his eyes as he drank you in—your appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.

Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.

You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.

The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.

Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.

God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...

He had never felt this way before.

So distracted.

So obsessed.

You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.

Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.

'Christ...'

He tried not to think of you like that.

You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...

You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.

Not a jaded pirate like himself.

But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.

"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.

"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.

You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.

You knew you couldn't chicken out now.

Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.

"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"

You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.

"What are you trying to do?"

You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.

"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.

"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."

With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.

"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."

Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.

It caught his attention immediately.

"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."

His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.

"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."

You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.

"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.

"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.

This had to be a trick.

You were just doing this to piss off your dad...

Right?

You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.

"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

The floodgates were opened.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."

He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.

"You gonna be okay with that?"

Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.

"Alright, then... no holding back."

And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.

The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.

The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.

The third and last time—because your virgin self simply couldn't take anymore—was when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.

His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.

Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

Because, to him, there wasn't.

"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"

He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"

"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"

He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.

"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"

SMACK!

The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.

"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.

Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.

"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."

"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunna—!"

"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"

You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.

"So greedy..."

But so was he.

He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.

"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"

It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.

His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.

A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.

Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.

Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.

When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.

The sight nearly made him hard all over again.

'Fuuuuck...'

"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.

Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.

With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.

"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"

Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.

As much as he loved this—your company, your touch, you—he knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.

He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.

He couldn't just abandon that.

His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.

"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."

Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.

"Really?" you asked, adorably.

With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.

"Really."

BONUS!!

"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"

The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.

The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.

"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"

At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.

"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.

This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.

"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"

Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.

"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."

Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.

Even harsher than Mihawk's.

"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"

Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.

With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.

"Good... I'll see you guys around."

[stxrslutrestored]

DIDN'T GIVE UP

pairing; postrehab!rafe x sweetie reader

summary; after getting out of rehab, rafe is desperate to be intimate with you, so it feels like his whole world falls apart when he’s unable to arouse himself. but with plenty of commitment and a promise not to give up, he finally manages to succeed, even if it’s not in the way that you’d both wished for 

content; talk of addiction and rehab, brief mention of overdose, erectile dysfunction, masturbation, handjob

authors note; re upload!

you hold rafe’s hand as you both walk inside. tonight has been so special, your first date since rafe got out of rehab. it had been intimate and quiet and comfortable. a lovely meal at the local gourmet restaurant filled with gentle loving touches had left you both wanting more, a more that neither of you had had for a while.

even before rehab, rafe had just stopped having sex with you. you’d thought you might get somewhere but then the od happened and he’d needed to go to rehab which meant you didn’t even see him for months. 

you’re both so touch starved, no words need to be spoken before you’re both making your way up to the bedroom, kissing and fumbling with each other’s clothes, quickly and desperately.

“god— missed you so much,” he murmurs, hands on your hips as he backs through the bedroom door, turning and kicking it shut like he always used to when you first started sneaking around together.

you moan softly “me too. missed you rafe.” one of your hands wraps around his neck and the other comes down to palm at him through his pants, his bulge is noticeable but he’s not hard yet. you undo his zipper and touch him through his boxers.

you both move back towards the bed and you pull his dick out, taking it in your hand and starting to jerk him off, but you both notice something. that something being nothing, nothing is happening. his dick isn’t doing anything. 

rafe frowns and you do the same, both of you look down as your hand keeps moving for no reaction. after about thirty seconds rafe steps away, “shit I– I didn’t know that would happen.” he rubs the back of his neck, “shit… shit.” 

you step forward and place a hand on his arm, “oh rafe… hey I’m sure its normal.. you did just get outta rehab,” you try to pull him to look at you but he doesn’t, he stares straight at the floor and shrugs you off.

“no… I.. this happens when I’m high not– I’ve been sober for two months.” he exaggerates, you can hear his voice beginning to break. you had considered that this might be an obstacle but you weren’t expecting him to react like this, surely all it’s going to take is a bit of trial and error until he can get it up with as much ease as he used to.

though you suppose this must be hard for him. finally getting some normality back and he can’t even properly enjoy it. and you know how much he hates to feel emasculated. maybe it is a big deal for him. even though it’s not guaranteed to happen yet, the imminent possibility must have shocked him into a panic. 

that’s fine, you’ve dealt with rafe under much more serious circumstances.

you step forward, more confident now that you have an idea of what the problem is and how you can solve it. “rafe, sweetie don’t panic,” you speak gently, “we’re gonna sort this out okay?” 

rafe looks down at you, “sorry– sorry I’m.. just wasn’t expectin’ it..” he scratches the back of his neck, looking down at his uncovered self. you nod, understanding his distress.

“that’s okay, it was a surprise huh?” you stroke his arm gently, “you wanna try again?” you ask gently and he nods shakily, taking a calming breath before letting you guide him to the bed. he sits down first and then you climb on after him, straddling his lap and quickly managing to retain the mood you were in before.

you grind down a little and his hands come to your hips to help your movements like he normally would but he’s quickly letting out an agitated noise and pushing you off. “it’s not working,” he groans in frustration. 

you pull yourself up to sit next to him. your hand comes to his chest, “oh baby,” you coo as you notice the tears welling in his eyes that he’s so obviously trying to hold back. in his mind not being able to get aroused is bad enough, crying would just make him pathetic. 

“what do you wanna do huh?” you pry, stroking his chest now and coming up to kiss his shoulder. “I’m sure that there are things we can try… it’s only been a couple of minutes.” you try to reassure him but you’re pretty sure he’s going to be inconsolable until he can feel confident in himself again. in his mind, a couple of minutes should mean you’re already halfway through round two.

“I– I don’t understand,” he sniffles pitifully, not daring to make eye contact with you as he instead stares down at his completely motionless dick. “this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.. I- I got sober.” 

you kiss him again, “you did baby, you got sober,” you smile sympathetically, “and this is normal, its normal to have erectile dysfunction after stuff like this.” though that reassurance sets him off more.

“don’t– don’t call it that,” he snaps ever so slightly, shoulders tensing and momentarily shrugging your hand away, “I don’t– I can’t have a dysfunction, okay it’s– it’s gotta work.” his voice breaks just a little.

you nod, “okay… okay then we’ll make it work, okay?” you move your body so that you can look him in the eyes, you bring your hand up to cup his face. “you just tell me what you need, okay? we can do whatever you want, whatevers gonna help you.” 

he thinks for a moment, you can see the cogs in his brain turning behind his eyes as he tries to find something that he thinks may help him. his lips are parted and his cheeks are slightly pink. he eventually seems to come to a conclusion, he hesitates for a moment before speaking tentatively, “can uh.. can I try doin’ it myself?”

you nod, “yeah, course baby.” you smile, proud of him for being able to articulate his need, “where do you want me? should I give you some privacy or–” 

rafe shakes his head, “can you stay,” he asks, “please… just.. I really need you to be here.” he tries to avert his eyes, he’s embarrassed, you can tell, he reeks of humiliation and you wish that you could just take it away from him. after all that he’s been through in the past few months you feel this is the last thing he deserves. 

“I’ll stay here,” you affirm, “I’ll stay here as long as you need okay? you just do whatever you need to do.” you move with him as his hand comes to grasp yours whilst the other supports him while he shakily manoeuvres himself to half sit half lay against the headboard. 

you stay on the edge of the bed, keeping a hold of his hand as that is evidently what he wants you to do. his chest rises and falls slowly as he pushes his pants further down and then gently grasps his soft dick. 

he begins to move tentatively, doing his best to throw his head back and not think about it. you stay quiet, just letting him figure it out for himself. 

he manages to get it up, a little, you notice a look of clear relief on his face as he relishes in the sensation he’d worried that he wouldn’t get back. his movement quickens and then his face falls as he loses it.

you stroke his thumb with your own, “it’s okay baby, just take your time.” you murmur softly as his face scrunches up in annoyance. but he perseveres, hand going back down to try once again.

he tries, he really tries. he tries so many times, over and over again, and to both of your increasing dismay he keeps losing it over and over again too. 

poor rafe, tears slip down his cheeks and he groans from sadness and surely a little pain at the fact that he’s basically rubbed himself raw down there. his tip is pink and angry, you have half a mind to tell him to stop but you fear he may hurt himself more if he can’t manage or stop on his own terms. 

he huffs sadly. he knows he needs to stop too, “just– just one more try.” he says, “one more.” he nods decisively before looking up to you, almost as if to ask for your blessing to just try one more time. 

of course you nod, “yeah, one more time. you’ve got this rafe,” you tell him, squeezing his hand reassuringly with a loving smile, hoping to encourage him to finally get it. 

rafe starts again, slowly at first and then he builds up his movements, it takes a long few minutes but he manages to get himself hard, fully hard. he grunts and groans and you have to stop yourself from slipping a hand under your own underwear so as not to distract him from his moment. 

after another long few minutes he practically cries out, then whimpers and then tears of relief fall down his cheeks as he finally cums. it’s not a lot, and it doesn’t last long, but it does him good. the feeling simply overwhelms him and he finally feels reassured that he can be normal again.

once he’s ridden it out you wipe the tears from his cheek with your free hand, “hey.” you smile down at him, “well done, you did so good.” you speak gently, “I’m so proud of you, you didn’t give up.” 

rafe smiles, his previous humiliation replaced with pure bliss and relief, “yeah,” he nods, sighing breaths of relief, “didn’t give up.” maybe this evening didn’t go exactly as expected, but you think, with the circumstances, it turned out okay.

[blxxdsex]

"The genius, Michael Gavey." - Michael Gavey x Reader.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, foul language, loss of virginity, cum control.

English is not my first language, so I hope you will forgive me if there are any mistakes.

It’s not as if anyone’s queuing up to see what’s behind those smudged glasses or that same red sweater he pulls on every Monday. And that's fine. Honestly, it is. He's made peace with it. It’s their loss, isn’t it? That's the mantra he clings to, the thread keeping his fragile ego intact: They're the ones missing out. And God, doesn’t he need to believe it.

Michael’s good at a lot of things, and he knows it. Brilliant, really. Genius, if we're being honest. Maths? Please—he’s never even touched a calculator. Numbers are his domain, his sanctuary, the one place where he feels entirely at ease. Books too—though never fantasy; he’d rather lose himself in something real, something concrete. But everything else? Social skills? A complete disaster, really. Painful to watch.

When you arrived in Oxford, it hit him hard. Why? Because even when he was buried in the silence of the library, there you were, watching him. Always watching. Maybe intending to read a book—upside down, no less—or lounging with your legs thrown over a table, headphones blaring as if you couldn't care less about the world around you.

Michael Gavey isn't used to being seen. For fuck’s sake, he’s Michael Gavey. Nobody. Invisible, as he’s always preferred. But then you came along, and suddenly, invisibility wasn't an option. You became something else entirely: a problem, a distraction, a bloody nuisance he couldn’t seem to get rid of. And maybe, deep down, that’s what scared him most.

So, naturally, his response was to start staring back. Maybe if he leaned into being a proper weirdo, you’d back off. But no, of course not. You didn't flinch. You just stared right back, unwavering, unbothered. It didn't take long for one of the teachers to step in, warning him, of all people, to knock it off. And you? You just smiled. Smiled like you'd won some secret, twisted game, baring all your teeth like a predator who'd just cornered its prey.

When he squinted at you, furrowing his eyebrows in some attempt to decode whatever the hell was going on, you simply glanced at the table, still grinning like you had a secret you were dying to keep.

What was your problem? Were you planning something? Was there a game being played here, something sinister he couldn’t quite see? The questions clawed at him, gnawed at his focus, and yet, no answers came. Only that smile. God, he hated it.

Things weren't improving, no, they were deteriorating rather quickly. And it all took a turn for the bizarre when, in the dead of night, he awoke still half hard, with his shorts drenched in cum and his mind? Cluttered with vivid memories of a particular dream from the previous night. Never had he scrubbed a piece of clothing with such fury in his life; this treacherous body was doing him in. And the most egregious part? His cock was a bloody jest, because even after such mortification, he had to wank off once more just to make the torment subside.

That day, the Oxford corridors felt like they were smoldering beneath him, each step fueling the inferno inside his chest. His sneakers might as well have been on fire for how much he burned with rage. And then he saw you, loitering by your locker, looking infuriatingly calm as always. It was like you wanted to drive him insane.

He stormed over, slamming your locker shut with a single hand, his nostrils flaring like he was ready to tear you apart—not literally, of course. Well, maybe a little. He was unraveled, utterly tormented, and you? You were only making it worse.

“Stop.” The word came out flat, almost pitiful, his voice cracking under the weight of his irritation. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded and bloodshot, as if they’d been scorched by his fury.

“With what?” you asked, tilting an eyebrow, that insufferable smirk tugging at your lips. Carefree. Effortless. It made his teeth grind in pure frustration. He didn’t even understand why he felt so unhinged—just that he did.

“What the hell do you want?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridor. Heads turned, a few people pausing to glance at the scene, but you didn't so much as flinch. No fear, no embarrassment. You just leaned lazily against your locker, staring at him down like you had all the time in the world.

“Your number, to start with, would be great.” The words hit him like a physical blow. His pupils dilated so fast it felt like the world had tilted. If darkness swallowed everything right then and there, he was convinced he’d still see you.

And that’s when everything shifted. You weren’t messing with him—not in the way he’d thought. No, you were interested in him. The realisation hit Michael like a slap, and even then, his perpetually self-loathing brain struggled to piece it all together. For once, his stupid mind was just that: stupid.

But then the messages started, tentative at first, and something clicked. You actually got on—really got on. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much you seemed to have in common. You liked some of the same nerdy things as him, and he found himself listening to bands he’d previously written off because you mentioned them. Slowly, the conversations moved out of his phone and into the library, where you started sitting at the same table.

People noticed, of course. Curious glances trailed after the two of you, some even daring to linger when Michael—Michael Gavey, of all people—was caught smiling. Not a smirk or a grimace, but an actual smile, albeit half-hidden behind his hand. But it was there, and for once, he didn’t mind. Not entirely.

And then, on a Friday night when everything seemed eerily serene, the text message arrived. 'Do you want to come to my dorm?' Panic ensued. Perhaps it's a tad presumptuous to assume you want to fuck him, isn't it? Yet, he was presuming precisely that. But the truth is, Michael has only kissed one girl in his entire life; otherwise, his knowledge comes from pornography, books about the human anatomy, and the hushed conversations in the men's locker room. And it's not that he didn't want to; in fact, he wanted to, desperately so, but the truth was that no one seemed sufficiently captivated to offer him the chance. But you, you were offering. Maybe. What does one do with that?

He took a shower, donned his usual jeans and a white shirt, slipped on his sneakers, and even spent time before the mirror wrestling with his blond hair, to little avail, of course. He decided he wouldn't be a coward; he had this chance, maybe, and he wouldn't squander it with timidity. He made his way to the girls' dorm on campus, garnering more than a few disdainful looks from the passing girls. It was just because it was him; if it were Felix sneaking in, they'd be all smiles. But who cares? There was only one person he hoped would truly appreciate his presence. He reached your door, his breath caught in his throat, and knocked so feebly that perhaps he thought you wouldn't even hear. Pathetic, honestly.

But you heard him, and when you opened the door, he froze for a moment. You'd just taken a shower; your skin was still slightly flushed from the hot water, wearing an oversized shirt, once black but now faded to grey, and some pajama shorts that honestly looked more like his underwear than actual shorts. He swallowed hard, managing a crooked smile. You leaned against the doorframe, your smile much more genuine.

"You came." The words slipped from your lips with such ease, rolling off your tongue with a genuine satisfaction that straightened his crooked smile.

"Yeah, well. It's not like I have anything better to do, of course." His reply lacked the sharpness he'd rehearsed in his mind, accompanied by a glance at the floor and a stupid, silly smile.

"Yeah, of course." You laughed, rolling your eyes, and turned your body to give him space to enter, if he wanted to, though he looked as if he might bolt at any second.

But he didn't run away; no, he actually stepped inside. The room was like most others, yet he was struck by how orderly it was. Like any typical dorm, there was the TV, the two single beds, a small table, and in the corner of an adjacent smaller room, the bathroom. The scent of cleaning products lingered, indicating you'd taken the time to tidy up before inviting him over. This shouldn't have pleased him as much as it did, but it did.

"Just take off your sneakers before you lay on the bed," you said with that nonchalant tone of yours, picking up the TV remote from the table.

He glanced at the paused movie on the screen before turning his attention to the bed. His mind wasn't exactly racing as he sat down, beginning to untie his sneakers, but his focus soon shifted to the side of your face. He was transfixed by how your hair framed your features, how your lips were so perfectly shaped, and how your eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. He had to run a hand over his face, nearly knocking off his glasses, to bring himself back to reality, blinking several times to refocus on removing his sneakers.

"I chose 'Evil Dead,' but they didn't have the classics." Your voice drew his gaze upward again. You casually made your way to the bed beside him, practically throwing yourself down, causing the mattress to bounce. "Is that a problem for you?" you asked, turning to look at him, your eyes locking with his.

His throat visibly tightened as he swallowed, while you didn't even blink. For a moment, he found it a rather amusing jest. What could a girl like you, with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, with lips that curved into the brightest smile he could imagine, possibly want with him? He was either the luckiest bastard in the world or the biggest delusional of the year. But that was fine, at least for now.

"No, it's not a problem at all," Michael mumbled, unsure if he was referring to the movie choice or something else entirely. But it would suffice either way.

He saw you smile widely, and you felt you should, noticing his blue eyes dilate behind his glasses. Looking down where you had crossed your legs beneath you, you tried to focus and simply pressed play on the movie. The low noise from the TV soon filled the room, the colors of the film painting your faces and reflecting in Michael's glasses. The silence was comfortable, as always. The sounds of calm breathing filled the space, but well, his eyes weren't really on the TV; they were on you. To the point where he had to rest his hand on his face, just to appreciate it, perhaps.

"You know, watching a movie works better when you're looking at the screen," you commented, your eyes still fixed on the screen, though you felt the heat from his gaze on your cheek.

"I prefer to watch you." His words were barely above a whisper, but they reached you, making your smile widen even more.

Your eyes flicked to him, while his remained steady, though he felt his palms sweating against his cheek. He was nervous, and his attempt at an impassive expression wasn't fooling you. The words that left his lips were just truths, and seeing you smile, it was good to see you smile, it brought a subtle curve to his own lips. Sighing, you drew your knees up to your chest, resting your chin there, unsure of what to make of his words or of him. Just as he was unsure of what to make of you or how much you unsettled him.

"I hate almost everyone here except you." Your words mirrored his in tone, quiet, perhaps too intimate to slip out.

They made him pause, just looking at you, wondering. Time seemed to stand still, the screams from the movie not reaching your ears; things were quiet, almost silent. And that's when his hand rose, wrapping around the back of your neck, perhaps with the most courage he'd ever mustered in his life. Your lips parted slightly when you noticed him shifting on the bed to get closer, and you responded in kind, leaning towards him, your hand hesitating before also reaching up to the back of his neck, slipping between the golden strands to hold him firmly. Bringing your faces close, your breaths began to mingle, and soon all that was reflected in his glasses were your lips, all his attention focused solely on them.

"You're trouble, and you want to know why?" Michael whispered, your gaze falling to his lips as they formed the words. They were thrown at your face, raw and direct. "Because it seems like after I met you, there's been something wrong with my brain." He lifted his thumb to trace your bottom lip, as if to commit it to memory.

"Yeah?" Your response lacked strength, not truly. "That's good, because it seems like after you I'll never be the same." Whispering another confession, now it seemed more than fitting, even with your breathing too rapid to say much more, or what you truly wanted to.

A faint smile touched Michael's lips, perhaps an attempt at composure before he leaned in closer. Tilting your heads in opposite directions, your noses brushed against each other, the taste of each other's breath mingling on your lips, shared. His lips were the first to part, capturing your lower one slowly, almost tentatively, until yours responded, capturing his upper lip. The kiss started slowly, your lips moving together with an unhurried grace, despite your quickening breaths at the contact. His free hand found your waist, attempting to pull you closer, while your hand tangled in his hair, gripping it almost in a fist.

But it wasn't enough, far from it. Leaning forward, Michael guided you both down onto the bed, supporting himself with each hand on either side of your head, positioning his body between your legs, which parted to welcome him. One of his hands slid down to your thigh, lifting it and pressing it against his side, your hips naturally seeking each other, and his already hardened cock brushed against your increasingly aroused intimacy. Sounds escaped between kisses, your hands sliding to grip his back, when Michael pressed your bodies together again, rolling his hips and drawing out a sly moan from his own lips, making it difficult to continue kissing you.

Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt, attempting to pull it up, but his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head, fingers intertwining there, as he pulled back just enough to look you squarely in the eye. His heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall, sweat causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

"I..." the words seemed reluctant to escape as he gazed down at you, your lips flushed and your chest heaving. He didn't want to dissuade you, but he had to say it. "I've never done that."

Your only response was to lift your head from the bed, seeking his lips and succeeding in a gentle capture, with him lowering himself to return the kiss. Though not deep, your teeth nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, perhaps trying to draw him closer. Your fingers pressed against his above your head, yearning to be free, you just wanted to touch him, feel him, it didn't matter if he was inexperienced, if you had to guide him step by step, or if this was all you would have, feeling him like this above you.

"Just touch me, I don't care," you murmured against his lip, without the strength for more words, which in response prompted him to roll his hips against yours again, closing his eyes with a moan, just as your head tilted back, lifting your hips to meet his movement.

His hands released yours, and you quickly grabbed his shirt, pulling it up and off him, and he reciprocated, lifting yours inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. Without a bra, your breasts were bared to him, making him pause. His lips went dry as he took in the sight of your hardened nipples, ready for attention, despite his momentary hesitation. You saw it in his eyes, in how they flickered to meet yours, and your hand reached to caress his cheek before grabbing the back of his neck, gently guiding him toward your chest, arching off the bed to ensure he understood your consent.

And he understood more than clearly, leaning down to kiss the space between your breasts before moving to one, enveloping it with his mouth entirely, using his hand to squeeze it firmly. The sensation of your skin against his mouth elicited a low sound from him that vibrated through your body, prompting you to grind your hips against his already hard cock. His tongue followed, swirling around your nipple, sucking as if his life depended on it. His mouth salivated, saliva running down your chest, glistening your skin with his essence. His free hand went to your other breast, squeezing it tightly, his lips trailing kisses to the other side, his tongue sliding along until it reached your other nipple, circling it with fervent enthusiasm.

"Fuck," you murmured, your intimacy throbbing, squeezing as you leaned on the bed to create friction against his erection, making him to bite the nipple in his mouth to stifle a loud moan.

His lips left your chest, observing the glistening, swollen flesh from his attentions. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, going straight to his core. He looked down to where his hardness met your shorts, stopping himself from climaxing right there, taking deep breaths.

"Tell me..." his words trailed off, his lips struggling to draw in breaths. "Tell me how to be good for you." His whisper was broken, he was too far gone to really care about it.

You smiled, even in the throes of your overwhelming need for him. One of your hands took one of his, slowly guiding it to your core, and he watched intently as you slipped it inside your shorts and soaked panties, biting his lip as his expression contorted with pleasure. Slowly, you positioned his fingers perfectly over your clit, starting to move them in circles, making your breathing quicken further. Fortunately, Michael was a quick learner, or perhaps just desperate enough. Your fingers left his as he took over, moving them faster, circling over your soaked clit. You tried to reach for his hardness in his pants, but with his free hand, he caught yours and pinned it to the bed.

"Don't." The words came out swiftly, a desperate command because he knew well that if you touched him, he would cum right then and there.

You accepted it, not attempting to touch him again. Feeling his fingers slide over and over your most sensitive spot, the sounds began to fill the room, the wetness so intense it seeped through your pajama shorts, and he could hardly believe his incredible luck. His eyes moved to your face, noticing your parted lips, your cheeks flushed red, and your breasts, still glistening from his saliva, seeming to beckon him. One of your hands gripped his wrist, and he could see from your expression how close you were. The hand that had been holding yours to the bed released it, moving to the back of your neck, lifting your head to make you look down.

"Watch," he murmured, sliding his thumb perfectly over your clit, and you felt like stars were bursting behind your eyes even as you complied and stared.

You saw his hand moving inside your shorts, the veins in his forearm pulsing with the effort, the muscles there flexing. His hand held you tightly, almost encompassing your neck. And when his fingers started moving side to side, you knew you were finished. Your lips parted completely, a groan trapped in your throat escaped, you tried to throw your head back but his grip prevented it, and then, your walls clenched, he could feel the pulsing around his fingers, your belly flexing as you reached your climax, clamping your legs around his forearm.

Your body goes limp on the bed, your thighs still trembling as his hands slide from your neck down to your thighs, smearing his taste there. He grips the hem of your shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. When his eyes meet your pulsing, glistening pussy, a sigh escapes him, eyes closing momentarily to regain control. You hear the sound of his pants being unzipped, him kicking them off along with his underwear. Your eyes open just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, bringing the head to your sensitive clit, eliciting a tight, desperate moan from you.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, dragging the precum-slick tip of his cock across your clit, making your walls clench as he watches. His free hand runs down the inside of your thighs, ensuring they're coated in your own wetness.

He squeezes his eyes shut in pure ecstasy, rubbing his cock from your clit to your entrance, gripping the base tightly to stave off his climax. Your thighs tremble, your hands gripping the sheets, but nothing seems to alleviate the intensity, there's no escape. You're consumed, completely. Your hips start to move desperately for contact, even as your body protests, your fingers threatening to tear the sheets apart. He rubs once more, the almost sinful sounds echoing off the walls, mingling with his low moans and the contractions of his stomach. You can tell he's doing everything in his power not to cum.

"Can I?" He opens his eyes to whisper, looking directly into yours, and with no strength left to speak, you simply nod.

He sighs deeply before positioning himself at your entrance and pushing inside, feeling your walls resist yet yield as he presses in until fully seated, your groins meeting. A drawn-out moan escapes your lips as his head falls back, a soft groan leaving his throat followed by a sequence of breaths that made his entire body tremble. Michael pauses, trying and failing to calm his racing heart and the overwhelming sensation of your hot, tight insides. Leaning forward, he rests one hand on the bed while the other removes his glasses, setting them aside. Your hands rise to the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to yours, holding it there as he makes the first thrust. Both of your lips part, your moans and breaths mingling.

His thrusts were deep, yet slow. He would withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, each time making your eyes squeeze shut tighter and your head press against his. The sweat on your foreheads seemed to meld you together, turning you into one entity. His eyes opened, burning into your face, and you met his gaze, your eyes filling with tears of pure pleasure as he thrust even deeper.

"I like you," he murmurs, cupping your cheek as his other hand grips the headboard, making the wood creak. A smile graces your lips, almost cut off by his cock sliding in deeper.

"I like you too," you manage to reply between ragged breaths, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck as if it's your lifeline.

He brings his lips to your forehead, giving you a long, lingering kiss, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he brings his hand to your mouth, and with that signal, he starts thrusting with all he has, making you scream into his hand, which hopefully muffles the sound. He rests his own mouth there to also muffle his moans, feeling sweat run down every part of his body, mixing with yours. The bed bangs against the wall, your eyes roll back when he hits that sweet spot inside you, your hands lifting to dig your nails into his back. As your walls clench around him, he feels your climax spill out, soaking the sheets and his lower abdomen. With a louder moan, he quickly pulls out, his cock spilling his cum over your belly.

He releases your mouth and the headboard, letting his full weight rest on you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck. Your arms encircle his neck, keeping him close as your entire body trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure. Both of you are exhausted, both satisfied. Michael's thoughts drift back to the early weeks of knowing you, how he wished you would vanish, and now, how he dreads the thought of you leaving, like everyone else. The irony might have drawn a bitter laugh from him if he weren't so physically spent.

"I wasn't bluffing," you hear him murmur into your neck, capturing your attention amidst the sensations still coursing through your body. You slowly turn your head towards him.

"What?" you whisper, perhaps fearful that even a slight increase in volume might make this moment slip away, just as much as he is. His eyes, those blues that most people overlook, capture your senses.

"I really like you." Hearing those words again, this time not in the heat of the moment, did something different to you stomach, perhaps quickened your heart more than the entire act itself, burned your skin more than anything else.

Drawing him closer with your hand, you adjust his position so he lies on your chest, where he places a gentle kiss. Your fingers delve into his hair, and you cast a brief glance to the side where his glasses still rest. A smile graces your lips because the truth is, you are utterly and hopelessly in love with the genius Michael Gavey. The irony is that he doesn't seem genius enough to realize it.

[somerandomcockroach]

PLEASE WHEEEEEEEEZEEEEEEE

*DYING BIRD SOUNDS*

YES. YES IT'S SWERVE GODDAM I CAN DIE PEACEFULLY

I am dead. I am so dead.

I LITERALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN THE LEVELS OF JOY THIS WHOLE THING IS GIVING ME RIGHT NOW

YES. YES THIS NERD IS VERY GOOD AT IT PRAISE HIM Had a whole new full life on the other planet - "I got carried away"

PLEASE HE RIGHT AWAY KNEW WHAT TO ASK PFFFHT. Get all transformers to pass exams. I bet 60/40 not pass

WHEEEEEEEEEZEEEE OH MY GOD I LITERALLY. THEY. IT'S. THEY WORTH EACH OTHER WHEEEEZEEE

PLEASE SWERVE. TRUE HUMAN IS HORRIFIED AT THE IDEA OF THEIR BROWSER HISTORY, YOU PASSED THE TEST PFFHTTT .... OF COURSE AHHASGAH UM. HE IS ALIVE! I'M HAPPY HE IS AT LEAST ALIVE! *Nods* Onslaught is a genius indeed AH here comes plot

I continues reaching new levels of dead

Please it's.... how the hell... why... he almost burned to death, he needs a rest or at least to properly look after his skin... not this....

*looks in the distance* Pilots need a fricking tiktok or whatever to show their life to become a new group face

*inhale-exhale* THIS GUY OVER HERE ISN'T A SPOILER BRAT AT ALL. AT ALL. I DON'T KNOW FROM WHICH SIDE SPOILED BRAT WOULD DO IT ALL.

*Looks at Jazz* You need to talk Next phrase is him talking to Prowl and Jazz *Sitting back*

*incoherent sounds*

*EVEN WORSE INCOHERENT SOUNDS*

*goes out of the room*IT'S TOO GORGEOUS TO NOT POINT IT OUT BUT ALSO SO HORRIBLE Blurr... my sweet... ahh I love people under painkillers but I have a feeling the same would happen anyway pfffht. Imagine all of problems and now the thoughts of someone dying because of you ahah... great.... P[OFPGOFPIGOIPSEIES JAZZ YOU ARE TOO FRICKING GOOD AT READING PEOPLE, I'm sure he didn't change the mind about Swerve's reason of absence XDDD

DANG IT. DANG. DANGG. FEHJGEDWJHGBJMCW I'M 'BOUT TO PULL YOUR "GHOST" ASS IN FRONT OF HIS FACE FOREVER BEFORE HE ACCIDENTALLY DIES OR SOMETHING. FOR THE GOD'S SAKE *ROLLS ON THE FLOOR FLORRS WALLS LIKE A ROTATED 980 DEGREE SPIDER* HE SAVES HIM, HE GOT OUT TO SAVE HIM HERE. TAKE IT. TALK HIM DOWN. SHOW WHO IS THE TALKY BOSS HERE WITH THE LIBRARY OF A NERD

HMEWDBNBMCHMNBCHMHMHDSHSSHS *SLAMS ON THE KEYBOARD WITH THE HEAD* NO DON'T SHUT UP, BLABBERS, NEVER SHUT UP HELPA DHJGA Don't you love it when two characters blend it and play a bullshit game of no context to get attention out? You better love it because personally I am dying for one more reason It's so IRONIC even to use NORMAN name *BREAKS THE TABLE* HE IS REAL!!!! YEAH!!! MY NERD KNOW MORE ABOUT HUMANS THAN HUMANS DO. PHARMA, GET OUT OF HERE, BLURR HAS A PERSONAL DOCTOR ....Wellllll I mean TECHNICALLY you already failed at keeping all possible secrets, Swerve.....

I'M SORRY I JUST KEFERON, KISSING YOU IN EVERY POSSIBLE KISSABLE PLACE I NEVER THOUGHT I CAN GO THAT CRAZY OVER THIS SPECIFIC PART GOING ON AND HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ALL THIS I AM IN SHAMBLES AND SHAKING I LOVE IT TO DEATH AND WANNA PRINT IT

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[oimitocat]

IT’S YOU | HC/DB

myung jaehyun x m!reader

fluff + idol!au + established relationship + sfw (wow) + 7th!member reader

a/n; i saw him once and spiraled down the bnd hole. why is he just so shufjfdhshhd.

dating him means having no self restraint

he doesn’t make it easy either, he likes to mess with you

playfully makes you jealous

he doesn’t order you around because he’s the leader: he orders you around because you’re so wrapped around his finger you’ll do it with no hesitation

”i need you guys to copy my move today, no backing out,” jaehyun announces with a mischievous grin.

“oh what will you make us do now?” leehan groans.

you simply smile, because fulfilling whatever your dear leader wants is something you’re willing to fulfill every time. seeing his adorable smile is everything you need to survive. he’s just so-

“y/n you’re squeezing too hard!” he whines as you pinch his cheeks.

“mm well who’s fault is it for being so cute?”

“ew,” dongmin gags playfully.

“jealous prick,” you playfully hit dongmin’s arm as he walks past.

having taken advantage of you going to hit dongmin, jaehyun runs off complaining about how he’ll look puffier after your pinching.

he’s not insecure but he does show signs of discomfort in his own skin sometimes but you always make him feel better without being told how he feels

he always seeks you out just how he is with woonhak

he LOVES physical touch, could you not tell?

always holding your hand or hooking his arm with yours when walking next to you

LOVES IT when you give him piggy back rides

sometimes while all of you are getting touch ups, he’d be sitting on your lap and both your stylist and his have to deal with it

he didn’t like to be all over you like that before

you make him NERVOUS most of the time despite how shameless he is

will STARE YOU DOWN for a kiss because he literally gets gushy to ask for it

the two of you would be laying down on his bed, him cuddled into you. your phone is somewhere in the bedsheets, your cheek is rested on his head and your eyes stare at his phone as he scrolls through social media apps. one of your arms is under him, wrapped around to where your hand is above his hip.

he seems like he’s scrolling mindlessly, but he’s hyper focused on the way your fingers mess with the hem of his hoodie, raising it a bit and your fingertips grazing his skin.

“you’re zoning out,” you accuse when the same video repeats a third time.

“i am not, i was just trying to understand the video.” he argues, moving his head to look up at you.

“what is there to understand?” you chuckle, tilting your head to look at his pout, “the guy gets hit with a water ballon.”

“shut up,” he huffs, glaring at you, but you know better.

“yah, just say you want something,” you tease, leaning in to touch the tip of his nose with yours.

jaehyun makes a face before looking down at your lips. the tips of his ears are reddened, you grin.

“want a kiss?”

he nods, still not looking at you. you bring your hand out from the back of your head, shifting to a different position to lean in well. your free hand grabs his chin and tilts it up. your lips capture his in a soft kiss, you smile when he relaxes.

“next time don’t even ask baby,” you tease as you peck his lips again.

jaehyun huffs, trying to scoot away but your hand grips his waist and keeps him in place.

constant sleepovers

the two of you have different dorms but he still comes into your room and stays the night

that’s IF he’s not in the studio

“i brought you food,” you announce as you go inside the room he’s been cooped up in for the past five hours.

“i already ate-“

“when?” you huff, setting the food on the table behind him, “in the morning? it’s five pm.”

he makes a face, “i was thinking of doing a diet-“

“for what?” you cross your arms.

he stares at you before looking at the food.”i can start tomorrow-“

“or never.” you take out the food and assort it over the table, “come on, let’s eat.”

jaehyun makes a small noise of complaint before getting out of his chair and coming over to you. he sits next to you and patiently waits as you take out the utensils from their packaging. there’s an innocent look on his face, one you recognize very well the second you look at him. he tilts his head and smiles.

“fine, i’ll feed you,” you sigh as you pick up meat from his bowl and guide it to his mouth.

you can’t help but attack him with kisses while he munches down his food. he gives you cuteness aggression so bad, especially when he does his little dance when taking the first bite of food.

both of you work out so good because both your love languages include kisses

when he gets really excited or happy around you he does the same thing he does to the group— pauses and admires you

you catch him looking at you a lot more often than him catching you

he loves it when you pull him by the waist

AND IF YOU KISS HIM ONCE HE’S AGAINST YOU? he’s get all gushy

super sassy with you

doesn’t really like it when you worry over him but he gives you REASONS

normally that’s a cause for arguments but you genuinely show him you just want to care for him the way he cares for everyone

your big baby, always getting all soft and mushy and ends up crying if you two randomly get into a deep talk

literally bby girl

your bby girl