#collapse into you. even if they're trying not to show it. but you try and hold them together. i think it's about trying

[blitzwhore]

Do you think that the fact Stolas didn't took his pills for weeks contribuited to cause his "what a fucking idiot I am" breakdown and to give him the strenght to beat Andrealphus?

I definitely think so, yeah! Not that you can't have that kind of breakdown while being medicated—you definitely can—but Stolas has never expressed his emotions like this before, not even as his previous lowest points in the show, not even while drunk. The whole hitting his face against the desk, insulting himself out loud, and becoming violent is very unlike the Stolas we know, the Stolas who goes quiet and retreats and cries silently and sings his sorrows away. And I do think the pills have everything to do with that, considering how much importance they're given throughout the episode.

After all, they get brought up over and over again. First, when Stolas keeps trying to reach out for them every morning as his mental health slowly worsens (his energy levels depleting, his expression growing more and more vacant and tired, until all he can do is just collapse on the couch on Sinsmas morning). And then when Via finds them, reflects upon what they must mean, goes out of her way to bring them to Stolas, and then asks if it was her fault that he needed them. We even get a close-up shot of them in Stolas' hands as he cries.

We, the audience, are consistently shown just how vital Stolas' medication is, and just how much being off it affects him. So yes, I do believe his breakdown at the office is just a culmination of weeks of trying to exist in a new body, in a new environment, and away from his daughter without them. The call about the extended warranty is the final straw, and he just snaps and goes full self-deprecating and self-destructing. (The fact he goes back to the palace knowing he's defenceless against Andrealphus is also a sign that he's not thinking clearly about his life anymore, not caring if he lives or dies—another symptom of depression).

I really love how this episode didn't shy away from just how messy depression can be!

[blushspatula]

Foreign Words

Reader, a young adult, is tired of their monotonous, stressful and depressive life. One day, they absurdly appears in the world of the famous Chinese play called "Journey to the West", but, surprise, they don't know Chinese!

Characters:

Reader.

Aka "little one" or "foreign".

They are a modern, ordinary human who accidentally appears in the ancient world of the Chinese play called "Journey to the West."

A human without magic, but that don't stop them. They are a boundless workaholic, probably managing money even in the middle of an ambush. When they're not trying to work on something (or everything), they can be found playing their beloved guitar, which they carries around like it's they best friend.

As an insomniac musician, Reader possesses the surprising (and worrying) ability to survive on an amount of sleep that would make any normal human collapse. While others are sleeping peacefully, they are awake, making up songs about their misfortunes (as a way of coping) and singing them. They are likely to solve problems faster, although sometimes their ideas are meaningless when sleep deprivation takes its toll. They also have a short-term memory most of the time.

"Who needs sleep when you can put your problems to music?"

They really misses sleeping in a normal bed. Please, someone have mercy on them.

Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong is small, but his power knows no bounds. Impulsive, he always acts first and asks questions later (if he asks anything at all). He doesn't have much patience for following orders, and if someone tells him what to do, he'll almost certainly do the opposite just for the fun of it. A rebel at heart, he's never been a fan of authority, especially if it comes from someone bigger or more important than him (which is almost everyone, given his size). Wukong doesn't have time to think before he acts. Plan? Nah! Better to jump headfirst into danger and see what happens. He's cunning like few others, always finding the quickest way out, or at least the most entertaining one.

However, despite his wild nature, Wukong knows how to get out of any mess he gets himself into (which happens more often than he'd like to admit). And when you earn his respect, he's loyal to the end. He defends his friends with an intensity that shows that, even though he has a hard time admitting it, he has a big heart. He may be mischievous and a bit chaotic, but he's always there when you really need him… Although sometimes you wonder if he does it for you or because he's just bored.

Tang Sanzang.

Tang Sanzang is the kind of person who firmly believes that peace and understanding can solve almost any problem… Even if he’s surrounded by hungry demons who want to eat him. Wise in many things, he always has profound and instructive advice to offer, though sometimes his innocence leads him to underestimate how dangerous situations are (such as when he insists on dialoguing with monsters who would clearly rather devour him than listen to his profound words).

His compassion is so great that he feels bad even when he steps on an ant, making him a pacifist at heart. While his peers prefer the “hit first, ask questions later” approach, Sanzang always advocates dialogue and non-violence, though sometimes that tests the patience of his more impulsive protectors. Despite his apparent fragility, he has an inner strength that drives him forward, convinced that kindness can conquer even the most terrible evil. He'll probably ask you to put the staff away and try to talk him through it, though… Even if the monster looks like he wants to use it as an appetizer.

A pacifist by nature, he'd rather sit down and have tea with a demon than fight, which sometimes makes his companions wonder if he's a little overly optimistic… Or if he just doesn't realize how dangerous the situation is.

Zhu Bajie.

Zhu Bajie is the kind of fellow who is always looking for two things: food and a nap. A top-notch glutton, he seems to have a bottomless stomach, and if there's food nearby, it's sure to be on his plate… Or in his mouth. His personal motto is something along the lines of "work as little as possible and eat as much as possible." In fact, if he can avoid a fight and resolve the situation with a feast instead of a battle, he'll do so without hesitation.

Besides being a slacker, Bajie is a born comedian, always cracking jokes (sometimes too inappropriate) even at the worst of times, making him the comic relief of the group, though not always intentionally. Despite his good humor, he has one very clear weak spot: women. An incorrigible womanizer, Bajie always has his head (and eyes) set on any lady who crosses his path, which usually gets him into more trouble than he can handle. Although he sometimes gives the impression that he doesn't take anything seriously, deep down he's a loyal friend who cares deeply… As long as you don't ask him to make a stale joke about Sun Wukong.

Sha Wujing

Sha Wujing is the rock of the group, the kind of person who always remains calm, even when chaos is unleashed around him (and traveling with Wukong and Bajie, that happens quite often). With his cool demeanor and calm voice, he's the one who manages to bring some sanity to the craziest of arguments, though he rarely butts in directly. He prefers to observe in silence and speak only when he has something important to say, making him a comforting presence for his companions at times.

He's incredibly loyal, the first to offer to shoulder the group's burdens, literally and metaphorically. If there's something heavy to carry, a thankless task to accomplish, or simply someone who needs support, Wujing will be there without a complaint. His resilience has seen him overcome trials that would have broken others, but you'll never hear him brag about it. Humble to the core, he seeks no recognition or glory; he just wants to do his duty and protect his friends along the way.

Despite his serious and chilling appearance, Wujing has a warm heart and endless patience, making him an anchor for the group. In a team full of chaotic personalities, he's the one who remembers that it doesn't always take magic, humor, or impulsiveness to face challenges: sometimes, it just takes someone who won't give up and keeps going, one step at a time.

Bai Long Ma.

Bai Long Ma, once a dragon prince, lived a life of luxury and pride… Until one bad decision led to his banishment. Now, in his white horse form, he accompanies pilgrims with unwavering loyalty. Although he can speak, he rarely does, preferring to let his actions speak for him.

He is altruistic in nature, always willing to bear the burdens of the group without complaint. His presence is calm and pleasant, as if he carries with him a little bit of the majesty he once had as a dragon. Silent but noble, Bai Long Ma is the companion who is always there, strong and reliable, even when no one else notices.

PD: This character reference sheet may change. In any case, notice of any changes will be given.

[sapsolais]

<3

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[callahanisms]

all you need is more radaway

save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)

anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(

perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol

character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul

it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.

and building up endurance, of course.

you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.

to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.

thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.

"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"

you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.

"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.

"now i don't know if you should do that."

"and why not?"

a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.

but you weren't afraid.

"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."

"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.

"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."

"if you believe so."

your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.

of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.

in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?

"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"

more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.

"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"

"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.

"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."

"we'll see about that."

your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.

surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.

and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.

unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.

"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.

"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.

you chuckle a little.

"something funny?" the ghoul asks.

"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."

"very funny."

"let me guess. your answer is no?"

"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."

"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."

you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."

"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.

"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.

the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.

as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.

the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.

"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"

"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."

the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.

it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.

and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.

undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.

"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."

"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."

"from watching my movies?"

"yes!"

"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.

"that also makes you over 200 years old."

"that it does. something wrong with that?"

"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."

"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.

"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."

"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."

"i have a name, you know."

"what is it?"

"(y/n)."

getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.

"guess we're even now."

the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."

cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"

"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.

"i think you might die."

"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.

"i can also swim, you know."

"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."

you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.

you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.

"fuck!"

he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.

suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.

there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.

"something happen down there?"

"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."

while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?

"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."

"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.

"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."

"i don't."

"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.

dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.

cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.

though how does this work exactly?

"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.

cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.

it's so cute when he smirks.

you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.

"i absolutely can."

[ylangelegy]

After MAMA awards I'M VERY PROUD OF MY BOYS and seeing Woozi crying, nooooo my mannnnn

So can I request Woozi or anyone after awards, all members celebrating with their partners hehe LOVE YOUUU!!!

PLEASE PLEASE 🛐🛐

🍑 i will really live the rest of my life repaying you.

you don't see seungcheol until the next day. such is the life of the general leader, it seems— the never-ending heralding, the non-stop worrying. he deals with his boys, first, then the fans, then the staff. but once that's all done, he's at your front door, collapsing into your arms before he's even past through the entryway. it doesn't matter how many awards its been. he is still overwhelmed by it every single time, and you are a soft place to land. he comes home to you and whispers the sweetest nothings in your hair. i'm so proud of them and they did so well and they're so happy. as he holds you tight— like you're the only thing keeping him upright— it's your turn to let him hear those words. i'm so proud of you. you did so well. you get to be happy, too.

the jeonghan on the other end of the video call has been quiet for the most part of the past half-hour. you'd be more worried if you hadn't already predicted where his solemness was coming from. "hannie? still with me?" you prompt gently, and he finally tears his gaze away from the ceiling to look back at you. "yeah. yeah, i'm with you," he answers. a beat. there are some things you no longer have to say out loud. how he wishes he was there. how he misses them and tries not to let it show. instead, you give him a reminder that's quiet and firm. "this is yours, too," you say. this award. this moment. these boys. all still his. there's a ghost of a smile on his face as he mumbles, "right. of course. how could i forget."

joshua likes keeping lists. a running one he has with you is that of gratitude, where the two of you try to end each day with acknowledgements of what you're grateful for. you're expecting a whole essay for him after tonight. he surprises you by keeping it short, sweet, and straight to the point. in no particular order, he types out into your shared note. music, the boys, you. hours later, he adds a footnote like it'd occurred to him as an afterthought: i'm always grateful for those three, but especially so today.

"look at them!" jun shrieks. his video call pixelates, either from spotty connection or his sudden burst of enthusiasm. you have half a mind to warn him that he may get a noise complaint again, but this time it'd be completely warranted. he's positively vibrating with excitement, his eyes glued to the livestream of his twelve brothers ascending the stage for their second award of the night. "look at them," he repeats, and this time his voice is more reverent than anything. you could comply, could do as he's asking, but your eyes are trained elsewhere. and look at you, too, you want to say. look at you and all that you've done to get this far.

even though it's been an exceptionally long day, soonyoung comes home brimming with adrenaline. he does dance routines in your living room. he jogs around your block until you beg him to just come back. he sings in the shower before collapsing onto the bed next to you, where he suddenly becomes boneless. the glow of pride stays even as the exhaustion hits. he pulls you against him and cuddles right into you. to soonyoung, this is as good as any trophy: the peace that comes with falling asleep next to you.

wonwoo has no destination in mind. he has a car with a full tank, and a playlist of all his favorite songs, and you in the passenger seat. that's more than enough. you pass through tunnels with warm lighting; expressways where he keeps the windows down so the wind will whip at your hair. occasionally, you'll stop to grab a snack or take a photo of something interesting on the side of the street. after hours of just going in circles, he'll ask, "should we keep driving?" even though he knows you'd never deny him this. this. his little celebration in the form of getting 'lost' with you.

nobody hears from jihoon for the next couple of days. the managers are worried, but the boys all just shake their heads and say that he's in good hands. which means: he's wherever you are. the two of you don't talk about his speech, about his public breakdown, because both things make him want to hide forever. instead— he sleeps in. he watches movies from months ago that he promised he'd get to. the two of you go on walks at night, and have breakfast at lunch time. the vicious cycle will soon have to begin again. jihoon knows that. but for a few, precious moments, his heart is not a heavy burden because it's safe and sound in your capable hands.

seokmin takes you on the textbook definition of your perfect date. a shopping spree? here's his black card. an amusement park? he'll rent out lotte world for the day, if he must. you're understandably baffled. he's the one who just won big, and yet you're the one being treated like royalty. try to resist and he'll only push back on you. seokmin already spoils you enough as is, but this is just a little more over-the-top than the day-to-day stuff. at the end of it all, his rationale is as sweet as it gets. "you keep me going," he tells you. "and so you deserve just as much credit as i do."

mingyu has always liked to celebrate with a meal. you'd expected his usual fare of some swanky restaurant or high-end café, but, this time, he asks for only free reign of your kitchen. he props his phone up against the salt shaker and pulls up a youtube video before flashing you his best 'just-trust-me' grin. your trust is not misplaced; the two of you do manage to bake the celebratory cake, though whether it's any good is an entirely different story. the end result doesn't matter as much as the process. mingyu is happiest about the flour marks on your cheeks, about the kisses he steals while you whisk eggs. it's not a birthday cake, but you light up a candle for him anyway. just for the hell of it. "make a wish," you tease. he's looking straight at you as he blows at the flame.

minghao asks for a beach day. the two of you set out for the nearest one. maybe the sand is a bit rocky; the shore, lacking in shells. he doesn't care. he only seeks out the sun beating on his back, the saltwater clinging to his skin, the first punch of air after emerging from the water. as the stolen weekend winds to a close, the two of you sit at the point where the water lap at your toes. neither of you have to speak. here, minghao lets the tide wash away the ache of homesickness. here, minghao redefines 'home' as a future with the boys of his youth, with the music that is as constant as the waves— and with you, of course.

the ferry ride to jeju is about four or so hours long, but seungkwan doesn't mind. there's just something so right about getting on the first vessel that will take him back where he has family waiting with a homecooked meal and a play-by-play of the award show. besides, the ferry means having four hours of uninterrupted leisure time with you. the pair of you literally have nowhere else to be except this boat and this point in time, which seungkwan is a little guilty to be so happy about. he's a glutton for your time and attention, and these ferry rides— these trips home— remind him just how much he likes taking the scenic route.

vernon treats it almost like it's just another day. almost. you're thrown off by his initial nonchalance, by the lack of utter fanfare in the way he asks you out to lunch and the two of you barely discuss the recent accolades. when you prompt him about it, you realize it's not because of arrogance or ignorance. "we're just doing what we always do," he says with an expression of mild confusion. winning?, you almost inquire half-jokingly, but that's only part of it. he elaborates, "we were just ourselves, y'know?"

when chan suggests a rage room, you're understandably confused. the wrath-based activity doesn't seem like the most optimal celebration, but you're not about to cramp his style. the two of you queue the angriest songs known to man before smashing some defunct appliances and throwing empty bottles against a wall. once your time is up, chan looks at you with that familiar spark of fire in his eyes. that dedication you fell in love with, that passion that has always burned bright. "again?" he asks, and you know it's not just the rage room that he's asking for.

[marvelfilth]

The mustache

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Natasha crashes your date

Masterlist

You let a fake laugh bubble out of your mouth for what feels like a hundredth time this evening. Your date looks smug, her eyes trailing over your form, almost leering. She takes a sip of her wine and licks her lips slowly, daring you to look.

You don't.

You can almost hear Natasha say I told you so.

You clear your throat and take another bite of a perfectly made steak - the only saving grace of this disastrous date.

You mentally cringe, closing your eyes briefly. Objectively, the date is going well - she showed up on time, held the door for you, helped you to your seat and made perfect small talk, occasionally throwing in a joke or two. You can excuse her wandering eyes, knowing you've been throwing mixed signals all evening.

You nod along to whatever story she's telling, smiling and chuckling when it's appropriate. You barely resist the urge to excuse yourself. You chew on your lower lip, wondering how you allowed yourself to get in such a mess.

Your phone chimes once, screen lightning up with a new notification.

Natasha.

Yep. Here's your answer.

You look at your date, hating how different her smile is from your best friends. It's too large, too open and not even half as genuine. Natasha's smiles are small, barely noticeable, but they're enough to make your breath come short.

You sigh. You need to stop comparing your every date to Natasha.

“Do you mind if I take a look? It might be important,” you ask, reaching for your phone. She nods happily, waving the waiter over for another glass of wine.

How bad is it?

You snort, coughing immediately to cover up the sound and reaching for your glass.

Another message appears right in front of your eyes.

That bad?

You choke on your wine, discreetly looking around, but coming up short.

Six o'clock, dumbass.

You wait a moment and look right behind you, mouth falling open when you finally see her.

She's sitting three tables down, wearing your favorite hoodie and a black cap. With sunglasses covering her eyes. In a dimly lit restaurant. What makes you let out a strangled laugh, though, is a perfect old fashioned mustache glued right under her nose. She twirls both ends around her fingers, curling them up, before lowering her glasses and sending you an exaggerated wink.

The best spy in the world, the woman who made entire governments collapse, is sitting right behind you, looking like a child playing dress up.

You whip around, your face red, and wave off your date's concerned look. “I'm alright.”

She nods, all too happy to continue talking about all of the famous people she's met through her job.

You hide your phone under the table and shoot your best friend a text.

You're ridiculous

Her reply comes instantly.

And yet you love me.

Her words hit a little too close to home.

You are hopelessly in love with your best friend.

Another message comes through.

What's wrong?

You frown, eyes darting around. You didn't even do anything to warrant the question.

And don't even try to lie. I can tell something's wrong.

You sigh, tell Natasha everything is fine, and place your phone face down on the table, your date still recounting a story of how she met some actress.

The next half an hour is tense. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you. You can hear her plotting a way to get you out of here, but you know you have to at least try to make it work, if not with… Connie? Courtney? Then with someone else, before you go completely mad.

Your phone rings. You can't stop yourself from picking it up.

“Sorry, it’s an emergency.” Your excuse sounds bad even to your own ears, and you wince when your date pointedly looks away with pursed lips.

“Do you want me to throw her out of the window?” She starts without a preamble. “If not, I have a knife in my boot and you know how good I am with knives.”

“Can't you handle it without me?” You ask, knowing Natasha will play along. Your date reaches for her purse, dejected. Guilt swirls in your chest, and you contemplate your next words. Maybe you should stay and-

“Don't feel bad, she's been looking at the blonde to your right since she came in,” Natasha drawls, “and no, I can't handle it without you. I need you back home.”

You blush, biting on your lower lip.

“I'm sorry, but there's been an-”

“Just go,” your date cuts you off, “I'll handle the bill.” Her eyes are on the blonde girl before she's done speaking, and you leave with your conscience clear.

Natasha catches up to you outside and leads you to her corvette - her sunglasses and cap are gone, but that ridiculous mustache is still in place.

“What do you think?” She asks as she opens the door for you before going around the car and taking a seat behind the wheel. “I like the look.”

You snort and shake your head, amused with your best friend's antics. “It's… something.”

She rolls her eyes, starting the engine. “I know you love it.”

You hum, relaxing against the soft leather, your worries stoved away by Natasha's calming presence.

“Why do you keep going on dates if you hate it so much?” She asks when you reach Compound gates.

You sigh, think of an answer that would get her off your back without making her suspicious.

“I just… I-” you stutter, wincing.

Great.

She raises an eyebrow, looking absolutely ridiculous, but so, so beautiful, it makes your entire chest ache.

The car comes to a stop, and Natasha focuses all of her attention on you.

“I need to get over someone.”

There, you've said it.

“Who?” She asks, and for the first time in all the years you've known her you can't read her at all.

“You don't know them.”

She looks ahead, her jaw clenched tight. “How long?”

You blink away the tears. “A few years.”

She looks down at her lap, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “Who?” She asks again.

“Natasha…”

“Is it Carol?” Her voice is tight, her eyes dart around the street.

“God no,” you chuckle, thinking about your blond friend. Valkyrie would kill you on the spot if you even looked at her the wrong way, not that you're interested anyway. They need to get over themselves and finally admit their feelings to each other. Anyone can see their pining from a mile away.

“Kate?”

You shake your head. “You don't know them.”

“Then tell me. What would it matter?”

“Nat, can we just-”

“Tell me.”

You groan, and turn to open the door, but Natasha’s hand landing on your thigh stops you. You swallow, freezing on the spot.

“Please.”

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the inevitable. “It's you,” you whisper.

The hand on your thigh clumps tight. “What?”

���It's you,” you repeat, feeling braver after the admission. “Always you.”

She lets out a deep, shaky breath, before reaching for your face with her other hand. “Look at me, please.”

You face her, eyes still closed, a few tears sliding down your cheeks. They're wiped away a moment later, and your face gets enveloped in the softest warmth.

“Open your eyes.”

You swallow, and do as she asked. She looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, lips falling open. “What?”

She smiles, her thumb tracing patterns on your wet cheek. “I love you.”

You look at her for a long moment, taking in her features - her forest green eyes, tender and soft, the slope of her nose, so kissable. Your eyes trail lower and then suddenly a loud laugh makes its way out of your chest. You bend, clutching your stomach, happy tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

Natasha looks delightfully confused.

“I'm sorry, it's just…” you giggle, pointing at her face, “the mustache.”

She groans, tearing it away. “I've been going crazy all this time, you know.”

“Yeah?” You grin, head spinning.

“Yeah,” she says before claiming your lips. She's soft, so soft it makes your toes curl and your chest get warm and fuzzy. The kiss is gentle, loving. You mewl against her, opening your mouth and welcoming her tongue.

The kiss grows heated.

“I,” you gasp between the kisses, “I love you. So much.”

You can feel her blinding smile in the next kiss, and the one that comes after.

[otto-s-alskling]

TF141 X Hardworker!Reader

"Their Sleepyhead"

You're a hard worker, everyone knows that. God, even Price had to carry you a few times to bring you to bed (and not in *that* way, get your mind out the gutter!) But your insistent attitude of working till you collapse is a trait that the 141 is aware that will never go away, not when they've seen you do it for over three years.

Price

You have your office close to his, connected with an adjoining door which was lucky because you bought your own coffee machine. Majority of the time, you're brewing him a fresh cup of coffee, black with a hint of sugar to cut the full bitterness.

He loves listening to you shuffling and singing next door, sometimes singing back to your songs when duets are playing from your phone but he'd be damn and hide in a hole before he'd let you know that he sings along to you and your velvety voice with his gruff one.

But this also includes him actually hearing you when your head finally thuds down on the desk when you refused to stop working from 5AM till wee hours of the night. He'd peek through the adjoining door first before sighing and picking you up, cradling you close before carrying you out the offices, ignoring looks from the other soldiers still awake late at night. Gaz would immediately walk up to help, opening the doors for Price so he can tuck you into bed, removing your boots before turning off the lamp light. He'd sneak a forehead kiss before closing the door and walking back to the offices, ignoring his racing heartbeat.

Soap

Our Scot is a freaking sweetheart (this is the hill I'll die on.) If he knows Cap isn't in office or in a mission or conference somewhere, you bet your ass he'd delegate himself into keeping company, literally. He'd play on his phone in your office couch, nothing too loud but just enough to be there.

Talks will be nonstop and he'd teach you some Scottish slangs too, much to a certain Skull masked teammate. He'd even teach you traditions and if he had the time and the energy, he'd do your hair into some Scottish Braids. (Look em up, they're GORGEOUS.)

He'd pause from time to time, get a snack or something and he'd come back with something for you too! And if you fell asleep, you bet he'd transfer you over to the couch and find your emergency blanket and tuck you in.

He'd brush your hair out of your face and plant a kiss on your cheek before sitting on the floor next to the couch, just playing on his phone till he fall asleep himself or if he gets hungry and get another snack. He'd wait till you wake up, and not even Ghost can drag him out the room. Someone had to guard the team's Bonnie after all.

Gaz

If you think he wouldn't help out with the paperwork, you'd be fucking wrong. Being the youngest meant you two are the closest, age wise anyways. Would pause halfway on working to show you something in TikTok or play some random playlist on YouTube or Spotify just to break the silence in the room.

He'd being his own snacks, which also includes a big bar of Cadbury. Sometimes Lindt if he got to visit in the nearby city. Work goes faster so he always try to help out on hell week so you wouldn't handle the full brunt of the workload.

If you fall asleep, he'd switch the music to a lullaby or a soft classical music, keeping you asleep as long as he can anyways. Like Soap, he'd transfer you to the couch but he'd push an armchair flush against the couch to block you in from falling like a pseudo bed (or fort or crib. Do people still do this?)

Tucks you in gently and continues his half of the paperwork before joining you on the couch and cuddling you to sleep. He's not one to pass up in getting to sleep in your arms after all.

Ghost

This man trusts with his life. (He'd never say it out loud.) He wasn't really warm with the idea of having a support member in the team, especially one who's specialty ranges from medic to sniper to assistant. Like how is that even possible? So when he realized that you're one of the most hardworking person he'd ever met, respect was earned... And affection.

It was around halfway the second year when he showed his face to you, the heat surge in the office making it annoying to have the mask. He didn't make a fuss so you didn't as well, just working along with him and Price in the Captain's office and hope to survive the heatwave enough. Door was locked so he was confident enough to do it even if Price did raise an eyebrow for a moment before shrugging it off.

By the third year, he already made it a habit to remove his mask once he got you to your room, finally dragging you to bed even before you fall asleep on the desk. You'd grumble and complain but when he glares you down, you relent anyways, not like you can fight him back easily when he's the largest amongst your teammates. So against your unnecessary complaints, he'd spoon you till you fall asleep, much thanks for your exhausted body and mind. Once asleep, he'd sneak a nap for an hour or two himself before letting you be, heading back to his own room, but not after sneaking a kiss to the hair and hand. For him, you're his hardworking lovie, not that he'd let it slip out to everyone else.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. She had some sort of trouble breathing but didn't want to alarm Toto or anyone else. Because they're busy preparing for the races. Even other drivers & WAGs ask her if she's alright. Ask me if you want more insight. Thanks!! :)) With prompts :

1)"My chest really... hurts..."

2)"I can't really breathe -"

3)"Don't you dare pass out on me."

4)"Careful you don't fall - gotcha!"

You can choose how many you want to use.

You can choose how many you want to use

Ps : from p✌🏻

“Breathless”

i will always write p’s requests first! hope you like it p

The sun had barely risen over the Silverstone circuit, casting a golden glow across the track as cars roared to life in the distance. It was race day, the culmination of months of tireless effort, strategies, and sacrifices. Every member of the Mercedes team, from the engineers to the drivers to the WAGs, was on edge. But it was a different kind of nervousness for you, the wife of Toto Wolff.

Toto was deep in his preparations, leading the team as always, focused and composed. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders as the team’s success and his drivers’ performance depended on the decisions made in those crucial final moments before the race. But you… you were struggling, and he had no idea.

As the day progressed, the increasing pressure of the crowd and the weight of the upcoming race only made it harder for you to breathe. It started off small—just a bit of tightness in your chest—but over time it became harder to ignore. The subtle discomfort bloomed into something much worse, sharp pangs slicing through your ribcage, leaving you gasping for air. You found it harder to breathe, each inhale feeling like you were suffocating, but you refused to let it show. You couldn’t. Not now. Not when Toto had so much to focus on. He couldn’t know.

You sat quietly in the hospitality area, surrounded by the other wives and girlfriends of the drivers, but you barely heard their chatter over the pounding in your ears. You could feel their concerned glances on you, but you forced a smile, clutching your chest and taking slow, shallow breaths, praying it would pass. The last thing you wanted was to be a distraction.

As you sipped your water, Jack, your young son, came over to you, his little face full of concern.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Jack asked, his innocent voice bringing warmth to your heart, even though your chest burned with every passing second.

You forced a smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Jack seemed to buy it, but the others weren’t so easily fooled.

One of the other drivers’ wives, Sophie, leaned in, her face etched with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “You don’t look well.”

You nodded quickly, trying to mask the pain behind a veil of reassurance. “I’m fine, just… just a bit lightheaded. Nothing to worry about.”

But Sophie didn’t seem convinced. She glanced at you, and you could tell she wanted to say more, but she was interrupted by the loud rumble of an engine firing up on the track.

The tightness in your chest worsened, and you pressed a hand to your ribs, trying to steady your breathing. But it felt impossible. You were suffocating, and the air just wasn’t enough.

You stood up abruptly, trying to mask your discomfort by pretending to stretch. But it only made things worse. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world fading as you tried to push through it. Your breaths became shallow, faster, more frantic. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you stumbled forward, nearly collapsing into the arms of another WAG, who immediately caught you.

“Okay, that’s it,” Sophie said, her voice now filled with urgency. “You’re not fine. Let me get help.”

You shook your head weakly, panic rising in your chest, but you couldn’t argue anymore. Everything was spiraling out of control.

Meanwhile, Toto was deep in a team meeting, his mind on the race, on the strategy, on the stakes ahead. He was so close to achieving his dream for the season, but in the back of his mind, he always made sure to check in on you. Even now, he felt a strange unease tug at him, but he brushed it off. The day was too important.

But then, the call came.

“Toto, it’s your wife. You need to come now,” Sophie said, her voice thick with panic.

His heart stopped, a sinking feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach. He bolted from the room, his legs carrying him faster than he ever thought possible. He had no idea what was happening, but the tone in Sophie’s voice was enough to make his blood run cold.

When he arrived at the hospitality suite, the sight of you, pale and struggling for air, made his chest tighten in an instant. You were leaning against a table, breathing erratically, your hand clutching at your ribs as though you were trying to hold yourself together.

“Toto,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to worry you…”

Toto’s face went ashen, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t you dare pass out on me,” he growled, kneeling beside you, gripping your shoulders with a desperation you’d never seen from him before. “Please… just breathe, breathe with me.”

You gasped for air, but it was no use. Your chest constricted even more, the pain unbearable. A cold sweat drenched your skin, and you felt like you were slipping away. You couldn’t breathe.

Toto’s voice broke through the fog of panic, his hands shaking as he pressed you against his chest. “Stay with me, love. Stay with me. I can’t lose you.”

The next few moments were a blur. Paramedics rushed in, lifting you onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, Toto never leaving your side. He was frantic now, a man out of control, his mind racing with fear as he clutched your hand, whispering reassurances he didn’t believe himself. He was terrified.

In the ambulance, the oxygen mask was placed over your face, but the damage had been done. Your heart, strained under the pressure, had given out. You had suffered a heart attack—an event that felt so sudden, so unexpected. The pain, the tightness, the feeling of being trapped in your own body—it all made sense now. But the fear in Toto’s eyes, the way he cried quietly while holding your hand, that was something you couldn’t have prepared for.

“I need you, please,” Toto muttered, his voice raw with emotion. “I can’t do this without you.”

You fought for consciousness, focusing on the steady rise and fall of the oxygen as it filled your lungs. Slowly, the tightness eased, and you managed to open your eyes. The first thing you saw was Toto, his face streaked with tears, his expression torn apart with anguish. And then you saw Jack, standing beside him, his little hands clutching his father’s pant leg, looking up at you with eyes wide in fear.

You squeezed Toto’s hand weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay… I’m here.”

Toto’s entire body shuddered as he breathed in, the relief on his face immediate, but his hands remained tight around yours. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, tears welling up in your own eyes now. “I didn’t want you to worry. I just… I didn’t want to be a distraction. Not today.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice low and full of emotion. “You are my world, you are my priority. Everything else can wait. Don’t you ever try to protect me from your pain again. I can’t lose you.”

Toto’s words, raw and vulnerable, tore through you. You had been so determined to stay strong for him, for Jack, for the team. But now, in this moment, you realized that the only thing that mattered was the people you loved.

And you were going to fight for them.

Fight for your life. Because Toto Wolff couldn’t lose his family.

And neither could you.

@pear-1206

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal.��But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you. Masterlists

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[elfiewhore]

You meet an angel. They're the most beautiful creature you've ever seen with porcelain skin and wings with feathers as soft as clouds. Above their head is a gorgeous halo of radiant light. You are immediately enraptured by them.

The angel is curious about the mortal world so you show them all around your street and take them home. You feel embarrassed by all of the kinky shit you have lying around but they simply ask what it is all for.

You explain in much detail as shame wells in your chest and your cheeks burn about how some people enjoy being collared like dogs and others like being struck. You show them your collection of cocks, embarrassingly describing how your people enjoy not only the cocks of humans but those shaped like animals and creatures of myth.

They ask if there are angel dildos, you reply no. They seem disappointed so you offer to let them wear one of your straps to see what it feels like. With some trepidation they accept and soon have a massive silicon dick hanging from their hips.

They ask what they are used for, and you explain. You even offer to let them try, climbing onto the bed and offering up your holes to them. It takes only gentle encouragement before they're slamming into you over and over, stretching you wide as you moan and writhe. They enjoy when you scream "oh god" (it makes the act feel holy) and their unnatural strength makes their thrusts so hard your eyes almost roll back in your head as you cum.

The angel then asks what happened and you explain. The concept seems foreign to them. Angels do not experience such things. At least, they whisper, not in their mortal body. They indicate their halo. That beautiful ring that seems to be glowing even brighter now. You reach up and touch it, and the angel shivers and smiles. Gently you run your fingers around the circle and they let out a whimper that almost sounds pained. You're touching the essence of their being. The body is a projection, the halo is their true self. Your fingers slowly wrap around the halo and their eyes widen and they push you away.

The angel apologizes, to hold them like that would almost be too much. It would feel like controlling them, and they only serve the almighty. You nod along as your mind turns. You spend some time running your fingers along the halo, even pressing a vibrating wand against it which makes them whimper and even let out the most beautiful moan that nearly drives you to tears. Every pose they make is a work of art. Truly they are divine.

You need them. Whether to free them from the control of an uncaring deity or just because you can't bear to lose such a precious creature. You need them.

You continue to edge the angel with toys and fingers and even lapping your drooling tongue along the circle. It tastes like fire and comfort and hope. Your drool turns to gold as it drops onto their face. Eventually you try again, curling just a finger around the rim. They whimper but at this point you had given them so much pleasure they don't, or can't, stop you. You tug on the halo a little and it moves weightlessly, their body following inexorably.

Previously you couldn't get the thing to budge if you tried. But the moment you fully wrap around it, it is yours. The perfect tool of control. And what's more the angel is staring at you now not with confusion or fear but with utter adoring lust. Their tongue is out like a dog. You pull the halo again, yanking hard this time. They fall to the floor beneath it with a yelp of depraved pain. The kind of sound only a pure being could make. The essence of corruption made audible.

You take a leash from your desk. Pulling the angel closer you open the clip and hold it to the ring. You close it.

The angel collapses onto the ground, grasping at their halo in utter and complete ecstasy. Their body convulsing as they moan and whimper and whine and beg and plead and lustfully demand. The whole time the leash held in your hand slowly turning from a simple chain of stainless steel into solid gold inlaid with the most beautiful designs. The leather handle turns pure white. The clip at the end is gone now, the chain is permanently fused to the ring about their head.

The angel relaxes, staring up at you now. Their face the picture of absolute adoration. Worship. Love. Lust. Subservience. You pull on the chain, bringing them closer to you. You grasp their halo and shove it against your crotch, grinding against it lewdly. Utterly claiming it. And then you shove them to the floor and tell them to open their mouth, before riding their face while holding that ring like handlebars.

Angels aren't like you or I. We stole our free will and made our own destiny. We are our own rulers. But an angel? They were made only to serve. They know nothing else.

So why not make them serve you? You'll never find a better fuckdoll.

[cremebrewlee]

7.

Sylus Myth spoilers

You don't bother calling him. Your phone is clutched hard in your hand, but you can't bring yourself to do it. You need to hear his voice in person, see him in the flesh, and feel him beneath your hands.

Your dragon. The other half of your soul.

A single girl running wildly through the N109 zone is a loud and easy target. It catches the attention of unwanted stares and halfway interrupted attempts at robbery. But such a noisy display quickly catches the attention of a crow even if you didn't know it. You didn't care though.

There's a tugging deep inside you, telling you which direction to go. Tears prickle your eyes and your lungs and limbs burn as you continue sprinting through street after street, dodging the N109's inhabitants, light and shadow passing you by in a blur until you find yourself at Onychinus' base.

Coincidentally--or perhaps it's due to the detestable hand of fate--Sylus opens the door in that instance.

"Kitten? I didn't expect to see yo--"

Sylus freezes when practically collapse into his arms. He's solid, unyielding, and most importantly, he's whole. There's alarm and numerous questions in his gaze. He slowly raises a hand, thumbing the corners of your eyes where they're still raw and ready to spill tears. The tender caress is almost enough to break you--it is soft, so very soft.

So very human.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he whispers. "Did someone hurt you?"

You shake your head, take a bracing breath, heart and emotions slamming against your ribs in an attempt to leap out. Instead, your hands tremble with effort as they grasp his face and your eyes are heavy with unshed tears, but you refuse to look away from him.

Your jaw quivers as it tries to force the words, "I remember," out of your mouth. But nothing comes. The only thing that escapes you are little gasps as you try to restrain your the sobs welling up inside you.

Where words fail you, your actions will speak for you.

You lean in meaningfully, tightening your grip on his face so he can't run or misunderstand or laugh this off. However, a thumb against your lips stop you.

Sylus levels you with a look. His crimson eyes are dripping with worry even as they flick between you and your lips.

"Are you feeling all right? This isn't like you. You..."

You bite his thumb and Sylus flinches, pulling it away just enough for you to speak.

Mustering all the feelings you have regained, all the memories you have seen, you press it into your voice, into one word and utter, "Sylus."

Sylus' breath hitches and then his breath stops. His gaze meets yours more clearly now, and you can see him searching for something in your eyes. You see yourself reflected in his--yourself as you are now, and yourself as the sorceress he had once known. There's a tension in the air, a strange silence unbefitting the N109 zone as though the whole world was waiting for the conclusion to this story.

You whisper his name--your name for him--once more and draw him in. This time, he does not stop you as your lips meet. It's a gentle touch, barely enough to be called a kiss, but it is the human way of showing love that you never ever got a chance to share.

A kiss a lifetime in the making. There are no flowers or wide open fields here, but this kiss makes your heart want to burst. You keep it light and Sylus' lips remain slack against yours despite twitching like he wants something more.

You pull back, a smile on your face. Sylus looks at you, dazed, but cautious. In his eyes, eyes that no one else had dared to try to gaze into or understand, you can see the fragile sliver of hope tucked away and wanting to unfurl. The smile on your face grows bigger and tears begin to fall.

Your brave, young dragon with a façade of a monster but the heart of a lover.

"Sylus. My dragon."

Those simple words seem to spur him back to reality. "You...remember?"

You barely have to nod before you're pulled into another kiss--deeper and more desperate than the last. Your teeth clack together with each kiss, but he doesn't seem to care and neither do you, both of you making up for lost time. No words are exchanged between you both. Whether this is one of your dreams shared between souls or reality, you couldn't be sure after a while. All you know is that your breath is stolen from you, again and again by a greedy dragon who lures you into his chambers.

In this life, neither of you have tails to wrap around each other or horns to caress. You're tangled up in each other's limbs, holding each other close. His lips constantly press themselves into your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can touch.

His hand never leaves yours as if to answer your promise from so long ago.

---

i just need to get this out of my system. will probably rewrite it or something at some point but i'm bouncing between xavier angst and sylus angst and zayne angst.

[fourmoony]

heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!

thanks for requesting, angel!

cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances

1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James

The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.

James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.

"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"

He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."

You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.

"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.

You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."

Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."

"Anytime, handsome."

"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.

You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.

"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.

"You worked alone?"

"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.

James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"

"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."

James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."

"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.

You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."

"Right."

It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"

James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"

"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.

"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.

You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.

James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.

"Why?"

Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."

"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.

"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.

It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.

"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."

And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.

James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.

Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."

"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.

[kuro-is-doodlin]

Sometimes, you have to become a hero.

(blood/death warning)

You're walking to work, as usual. It's foggy today, so you keep your eyes peeled and hope no idiot will speed by you with their electric scooter. You're already almost late.

That's when you hear a scream... No. Two. You press onwards and finally see a lady with poofy hair protecting a little kid, grabbing her bag tight. It doesn't take you long to notice the figure in front on them, armed with a knife. Some people really are desperate enough to hurt even kids for a bit of money huh... You sigh. This is your way to work, can't go around. And you don't want to leave them to their fate anyway, that would be a bit too cowardly even for you. So you speed up, and land a punch right on the figure's face, placing yourself between them and the two youngest.

"Oh no you don't... Back off, I already called the police."

You didn't. You forgot. But bluff can be a powerful weapon!

You hear mumbling, and a move. You can't see what happened very well. Wait.. you can't.. see...

"AAARGH!!"

IT HURTS!! Your eye.. hurts! You stumble, the kid is looking at you with terror, the lady is trying to protect them from the view. A warm liquid flow down your face from your eye, your blood... Well shit. You grab one of your hair pin as a weapon. The figure approaches once more, but you stop it's move with a good stab in their arm. They did cut your arm a little, but they take a step back. They don't talk much, maybe to avoid people hearing their voice ?

Oh Woah, okay, you're feeling woozy now, it's getting blurry. You have to end it quickly.

"Hey, poofy one, call someone, I don't know how long I'll last."

°Ah! Ah, yes! Yes I'll- Oh change...°

You move your hand in front of the kid's view, getting ready. But it's.. a bit hard to see, you can't stop blinking and it clearly doesn't help. But you try your best, keeping them at a distance. Getting a cut or two, and.. a sharp pain at your side. Shit, you're about to fall, you have to...

Your arm move, almost on it's own, and it lands.. in something hard. It goes through. Your hair pins are that pointy, they're made to be cute AND to be good for defending yourself. you never know when something like that could happen. You see the figure slowly collapse, a little hole at the side of their head. You... Wait you didn't mean to-.. They're...

You force the kid to turn around, don't want them to see, can't let them see. You give a look to the lady, she's as shocked as you. But you try to calm down. You breathe in.. and out.. in.. out... And you feel your phone go crazy in your pocket. You put the pins back in your hair, you don't really care if they're filthy, you're already a mess. And you pick up your phone.

"Urgh... Angry boss.."

Customers are piling up apparently, and they can't do it without you... Oh well.

"Don't let the kid see.. Wait for help to get here, explain it all, there should be cameras around so you're gonna be fine. Sorry about.. the body..."

You start waddling away, if your boss don't want to hear excuses, you'll show him.

°WAIT!! You can't leave, you're injuried! Come back !!°

She tries to follow you, but the kid seems a bit too shocked to move, and you're already too far. You'll get to rest a bit later anyway.

The weather makes it easier to stay hidden. As your make your way to the coffee shop. You get in, waddle some more as you start to hear some panic, and collapse in front of the counter.

Urgh, loud noises... People touching you... Your boss's voice.. panicked. Now he has to believe you.

Then everything goes black.

[ghouljams]

Currently laughing at the thought of Nikto dealing with the Shining AU, but all it is is the ghosts trying to convince him to kill his partner and Nikto completely ignoring them because he already lives with the voices in his head saying much crazier shit and is entirely unfazed.

Ghosts: Kill your wife! Do it!!

Nikto, thinking he's suddenly developed another voice in his head:

Omg shining au Nikto who is having the most normal time is actually so fucking funny.

The Overlook tries, dear God does it try, but the man's already lost his mind. The ghosts can't shatter it any further. He doesn't even bat an eye when they try to talk to him. He just keeps going about his day, ignoring their attempts to lure him to the bar, and spending evenings with his family.

It's a welcome break, caretaker. Nikto didn't expect to find a job so perfect. No people for miles, no loud noises, no flashing lights or gunshots, just you and his boy and the snow. It's been wonderful. The noise has quieted down, the nightmares are slow, and you're here.

"Moya milaya?" Nikto's voice feels rough as he claws at the empty space beside him. He sits up in his bed, and stares through the kitchen to the open door of his son's room. It's only as the bile is rising in his through that he hears the clatter of cart wheels, the sing-song sound of his son asking questions as quickly as you can answer them. You peak around the archway into the room with a smile and shoo the boy out of the way to show off the stack of pancakes you've both created.

"Papa!" The boy rushes to clambor onto the bed, tugging at the quilt to aid his climb until Nikto takes pity on the little thing and hauls him up against his side. "We made breakfast." His son tells him in soft Russian.

"We see." Nikto hums. He turns this feeling over in his chest, feels the stings that bind it, unfamiliar and yet so deeply known. Worries flow as estuaries of care. He settles a hand on the boy's head. "Are you still seeing the little girls?" He asks.

The boys brows draw together, his lips pout as he hangs his head under Nikto's heavy hand. He gives a short nod and Nikto feels his pulling at his heart. He sees the pain on your face, an expression of concern you try so hard to hide. There isn't anything to be done about it but mamage it. Nikto knows that all too well.

"We will investigate." He assures his son.

His own voices have gotten more aggressive since the move up here. He'd almost think they'd gotten worse if this didn't happen periodically. They get loud before shrinking back into their grumbling. He thought it was from Zakhaev, but perhaps it was genetic.

"They're not mean," the boy tells him quietly, "you said they were only bad if they were mean."

Nikto stiffens. "We did say that." He agrees. This boy... so much gentler than he ever had the chance to be. That's your doing. Your loving hands that hold the boy's face and tell him things will be alright. Nikto has only ever wiped tears with an awkwardness that felt alien to his bones. Somehow it's never stopped the way his son hugs his leg, jumps to grab his hand, or kisses the side of his mask the same as you do.

"Papa only wants to keep you safe baby," you coo at your son, scooping him into your arms and collapsing back onto the bed, onto Nikto, again, "he won't hurt the little girls."

Nikto wraps his arms around you and the boy, watches the way his son puffs up in outrage. It's almost funny.

"Papa wouldn't hurt them!" The boy tells you, almost chastising. You blink at the child in surprise. Nikto joins your staring.

Even you know he is a dangerous man, he'd thought the child might at least fear- and yet-

Well, he's never had someone defend him so vehemently before.