#dunno how to hide it under a cut

[spotlightstudios]

"ABNORMAL ENTITY BEHAVIOR"(Prologue)

->Word Count: 9,011

->Warnings: Mild Injury? A Few Deaths. (Nothing Graphic, Promise)

->Eclipse × Reader (Space/Deep Sea AU)

->Part 1 Here

.....☆••••☆.....

He had never seen you up close. No, he'd never seen you since that first day. When the ship had found him by the surface and knocked his suit out of commission.

He'd seen you after he'd been hoisted into the space cruiser. Laying paralyzed in the cargo bay, you had been part of the team who'd approached him. Part of the team that quickly ran to find him a tank big enough to hold him so he wouldn't dehydrate.

At the time, he was too mad to realize it was you who'd insisted on the tank rather than a regular containment block. He didn't need the water to function, but it was kind of you to be cautious.

He hadn't been capable of fighting then, when your ship had worked against his wishes to place him in a large glass cylinder and seal him away. He was confined, barely enough room to stretch his arms. The crew of the ship didn't seem to care, and he was moved further into the complex.

He didn't regain control of his body for quite a while. Along with that, he had noticed that of all the people swarming his tank and running tests, he didn't see you again. Sure, you'd had your face haphazardly uncovered by your contamination suit, but at the same time, you also had an energy about you.

Eclipse wasn't a stranger to reading body language. Back home, when someone would change their shell, Eclipse could read instantly who they were based on the gait of their steps or a twitch of their hands.

He'd noticed the way you had never stopped moving, if even for a second. You'd been shifting from foot to foot, pacing, looking at him, away, and back to him. It wasn't possible that you'd returned to the room with your face covered, because none of these people moved nearly as much as you. One tapped their foot to the floor often, and Eclipse noticed that one really liked running their hand along the glass, despite the scolding from others. They weren't you though.

He wasn't quite sure why he cared. He had to return to the colony. His brothers, their people, they could've been in danger!

When Eclipse's shell was given a charge once again, he wasn't himself. He took every chance he had to swirl in the tank and try every section of it, seeing if it would fracture under the pressure of his large fists.

No communication was successful, and it seemed to the research cruiser that he was a misplaced species. Invasive, even. So, they set a course back to orbit, and a few weeks after that with no change, they set out for another destination.

~▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Sometime along the way, you ended up weaseling your way into the team in charge of the beast's care. You'd begun to research the scans others had done of its main body, and decided to try you shot at a bit of bioengineering.

You spent most of your days in a room just barely separated from the creature by a thin pane of glass and a door to the catwalks above its tank.

It was a workshop, one where you were constantly working to put the team's research to good use. Your focus happened to be on the unique form of the creature. It seemed, the way they'd explained it to you at least, that the creature wasn't actually made of that hard metal-adjacent material that made its shape humanoid. The jellyfish-esque shape that protruded like a tail was actually the true form of the creature. Its goop (as you were inclined to dub it) continued into the hollow portion of its false body and manipulated it from within.

Along with that, the team was more inclined to call it a carapace or exoskeleton than a body. You, on the other hand, thought of it like a suit. It protected the shapeless creature inside, and allowed it to face creatures more dangerous than itself without getting eaten up like jello. And you'd never admit it, but you had found yourself spacing off as you worked, wondering if the sunset-colored substance tasted anything like a jello shot. When you heard from the team that what they'd found in their tests was that it was poisonous, those thoughts slipped away a bit.

Besides the point. You had made yourself a home up in that observation room, often opting to sleep there to work on your project at odd hours without disturbing the curfew in the crew quarters.

You, and you were quite proud of this, had figured out a compound quite similar to that of the beast's suit, and started to construct one for yourself.

It was only a prototype, something meant to withstand deep pressures, and maybe make expeditions into ocean planets more achievable. The bulky suits they had for the job just wouldn't allow for samples to be taken, and barely any species they brought back would survive the pressure changes in-tact. You'd always been a bit fascinated with the ocean, and the head of the team said that, if you could make a proper suit, then you'd be signed on their trip to return to that planet where they'd found the beast. It was a dream offer.

You'd been happy to focus all of your effort into the project, custom fitting and testing it.

Along the way, You'd also found yourself watching out the little window a bit more. As you needed shaping, materials, and movement observations that the team just hadn't bothered to connect, you had stared through that glass for hours, trying to catch sight of what information you needed.

It just never seemed to arrive. The poor thing could barely shift in the tank. Granted, it was their largest one, but they justified it under the beast only being jelly, and not actually needing to move. Something about that seemed wrong, but you weren't about to tell them how to do their jobs. You just waited patiently, deciding to make temporary parts to replace later, just until you could get a closer look.

That closer look did arrive, but far closer than you'd expected. The moment you told the head of research that you'd completed a prototype, he'd seemed pleased. You'd then told him the drawbacks. You hadn't gotten any data from the beast's joints or the limbs, because unless it was banging on the glass, it barely moved.

He had seemed to think, before he offered you a solution. The tank was big enough, and they needed data too, so he offered to allow you to test your suit, and get your data, in the beast's tank.

You... hadn't thought it over. Not really. It only occurred to you when you were already suited up and equipped with cameras that your co-workers had complained about the big buy destroying probes they sent in for information. He'd squish them in his large palms. He never let them near his tail. You were way easier to smush than a probe. It was too late now, though. The big guy was watching you as you'd started pacing up on the catwalks, and now the small portion to let researchers in and out had been unsealed.

Moving forward felt like a feat all its own, but you needed this information. They'd pull you out via tether tied to your back if they really thought you were in danger, and it wouldn't be long. You just needed a few close-up scans that weren't muddled by the glass.

You sat on the edge and dipped the feet of your suit into the water carefully. No response. The moment of truth. You shoved off the edge of the port and felt yourself sink downwards very quickly. You just barely avoided stepping on the big guy's jellyfish tail as your feet clunked to the base of the tank. Your limbs felt heavy, something about the water in here was different. Unlike your test runs, you weren't floating.

That was the least of your worries, though. Upon taking two moments outside your thoughts, it occurred to you that the beast had propped itself away from you. Its tail was towards the top of the tank now, and its upper half was twisted upright towards you, like a contortionist. Two of his large hands were planted alarmingly on either side of you, palms flat to the glass, while his similar two limbs on his side were pressed towards the center. It looked like he was stabilizing himself.

You trailed your gaze from his arms to his big, round, face. This was actually the first hint that had alerted the team to this portion being non-organic. The neck, out of your view at the moment, was far too dense and thin to have contained enough organic material to swivel the head and move the eyes and mouth as it did.

Said eyes felt like they were burrowing into your soul, and the mouth was twisted into the visage of a snarl, despite the fact that it had never opened in the lab thus far. It was unknown if it would.

You and the beast seemed at a standstill like this for a while, until you finally got tired of how heavy your arms felt hanging motionless at your sides. It was a workout just to stand in place. "Hey, buddy. Don't mind me," You muttered, not daring to break eye-contact. You extended your arm, until the palm of your suit gently rested upon its large arm to your left. It didn't react, so you took a tentative step forward. Still no reaction, even as you trailed your hand uneasily up its arm, closer to where an elbow might sit. "I'm just trying to get a look at this suit of yours." You said aloud again, pausing as your hand slipped from the solid material of the forearm onto a softer material. The upper arm.

You waited. Still no reaction. You deemed it safe enough to look away and examine the arm. Nothing killed you in the five seconds you held your breath, so you began to actually take in notes.

The substance reminded you a bit of canvas, but fibers woven this tightly tended to be more stiff. Retracting your hand, you realized a thin coat of goop seemed to cover it. It was slick on the metal of your suit, only flaking off in a matter of moments as though it didn't want to be away from the material. You made a quick scan, and hummed at the results.

The arm retracted from you. With such a speed that you yelped and stumbled back in surprise. You half-expected your tether to catch you, but you ended up flat on your back, staring up at where the beast was now looking down at you. It had moved itself away from the floor of the tank entirely, and now its face hovered just above you, one set of palms pressed at the corners of the tank, while the other two hovered at the ready.

You wanted to get up, but god, your suit was just too heavy. Being trapped on your back gave you no leverage to move, and you nearly wanted to yell at it to back the fuck off. But you didn't. It wasn't getting any closer. It was like it was waiting to see what you would do first.

You took a deep breath, and calmed yourself first and foremost. Then, with a bit of a struggle, you did sit yourself upright.

The beast tilted his head so he was still upside down to your perspective, but he'd given you distance again in the enclosed space. You actually kind of wanted to laugh at how silly you felt. Your arms, despite working on this ship with no shortage of physical chores, felt like they might give out under the weight of the suit alone. Yet the beast before you propped himself up with ease, despite being made of literal jelly.

You grinned despite yourself. "Sorry, I must've spooked you." You started, before speaking up again. "I wish I knew how you're moving around so easily. My arms feel like led." You gave a weak, breathy laugh at that one.

The beast shifted, and you waited, entirely still, as he did something you hadn't expected. He lowered himself, his two free hands cupped at both of your sides, and with a bit of panic on your end, you were lifted from the floor of the tank. Instead, he flipped so his back was against the floor, and you were trapped in his two large palms.

The thing was, his snarl was gone. Instead he was watching you like a cat watches fish in a tank. His expression was curious.

You nearly yelled when he released you, and your balance sent you spinning head-over-heels, until you landed stomach-first on his chestplate. He stared at you, and you gazed back at him. That was, until a puff of bubbles escaped the Crack in his chest just beneath you, and you flinched in surprise.

It happened again, and this time, you didn't react as much. As you looked from the chest plate back to the beast's face, you almost would've sworn there was a hint of humor, the edges of his eyes creasing. Tauntingly.

You were lifted again, and this time he hovered you above his large, round face. You weren't nearly as scared as you may have been a few moments ago.

He let you fall again, and this time his face acted like a platform for you to sprawl on relatively easily. His eyes seemed to cross as he stared at where you sat. You took a moment to process that, while his face was certainly made of that hard material like the rest of his upper half, it felt soft and malleable. Again, it seemed to have a thin coating of that goop. What was in that stuff?

You actually, genuinely, laughed this time. He took that as a good sign, and started to tilt his head, you tumbling off, still laughing a bit, back into his palms.

That was when you realized, staring at him, sprawled out in his grasp. This wasn't a creature playing with its food. He was genuinely just playing. He wasn't a beast, he was intelligent.

Before this idea could permeate in your mind anymore, a warning blared across the internal audio in your suit. The beast hissed, and nearly fumbled you, while you covered your ears to no avail. It was the one audio cue you'd installed. A blaring horn to signify critically low oxygen. You shouted this through your com, and almost immediately the tether on your back dragged you up and towards the exit. To your dismay, the beast lunged after you, but you exited the tank just in time.

Back on the catwalk, still alone, the hatch sealed behind you, and you quickly popped off the helmet. The sound stopped as air flooded back inside.

You noticed your suit was back to normal in the open air, no longer heavy and restrictive. You were able to breathe easy for just a moment, before slamming could be heard on the other side of the hatch. Leaning over the catwalk a bit you could see that the beast, you'd have to find a better term for him, was ramming into the roof from which you'd just exited. He looked mad. You wanted to go and comfort him somehow, explain you needed to breathe, but to no avail. The research team's expedition men were already moving down the catwalk so you could hand over the evidence and findings you'd uncovered.

Decidedly, before they made it all the way to you, you let your hand slip from the railing, the 'weight' of your bulky limb swinging into the little filming module they'd placed on your side with a sharp crack. You jolted in surprise as pieces of the device went skittering off the catwalk to the floor below.

When they made it to you, and asked for it? Well, you said the man-handling in the tank must've broken it. You didn't get any meaningful samples either. Besides the information about his joints. You were no professional in the field, they knew that. It's why they sent you back without even checking to see if you'd lied. After all, they could get into deep trouble if anyone found out they'd let an engineer into the tank with a bio-species.

Back in your design room, you'd shucked off your suit. As you expected, you found quite a lot of that clear goop coating the space between your chest plate and wet-suit beneath. You only could assume it'd gotten in there in bubble form when you'd been on his chest.

It only confirmed your suspicion as to intelligence being involved. You'd asked a question, and he'd provided you with an answer to study. Now, why he'd helped you rather than professional researchers you weren't sure yet, but you figured he had reasons. When you splayed it all out on the work stations, you mused that, just maybe, your designs impressed him. Maybe he wanted to help you get it right! Yeah, you'd go with that.

A quick glance out your window secured you another glimpse of the big guy. It seemed he'd settled towards the ground, maybe accepting you'd gone for now. Maybe turning in for the night as the rest of the research team finalized their work. His lower half, the large jellyfish shaped mass, really did glow like a sunset. At there was something special about it that you just couldn't place yet. Something that let him lift his big bulky limbs with such precision and delicacy. He hadn't ever fumbled you, despite the fact you were almost as big as one of his palms. You needed to know how he managed that. You pointedly chose to ignore the fact that the memory of just a few minutes prior had you longing to interact with him again. You'd just have to finish this prototype even sooner, then.

You moved out of habit, quickly grabbing hold of vials and your audio-logs. The vials easily scooped up some of that clear, thin goop from inside your suit. You'd look at it yourself later. For now you dumped the entire thing into a sink at the far end of your lab station and set the water to run. You'd hand-wash it after a good soak, just to see if the goop was water-resistant like you expected. In the meantime, you spoke aloud into something vaguely resembling a human tape recorder. It held the same purpose, at least. It was one of the few personal items you'd brought from your home colony.

"Log Entry 001 of the, uh..." You paused, before resuming, "The personal reports on what I'll refer to as, the Entity." A few short steps placed you at your door as you sealed it off from outside entry. "The Entity seems to be a species of alien we recovered on Exo-Planet Karthos. Thought to be an invasive species, it was taken on by our research team on Vessel 817-B." You paced as your spoke, often finding yourself glancing between the water still filling the basin you'd discarded your suit into, and the window that showed a partial view of the resting entity. "I made first contact, I believe, with it less than an hour ago. It was a bit finicky, but non-hostile. I was forcefully removed from the environment due to lack of oxygen, but gathered valuable information during this time."

You paused, lifting your finger from the recording button as you noticed a lonely researcher wander out onto the lower deck from your window, but resumed a moment later when they passed. "It seems my attempts in replicating the suit encasing the entity for humanoid use was only partially complete." The water drew your attention again. "While the materials I used were synthesized perfectly to that of the entity, there was another component missing. It was too heavy to move while in the water." You shut the flowing water off, looking down now at the chunks of useless metal submerged. "I'm inclined to believe that the Entity wanted to help me, as I was continuously lifted from my position on the ground, into higher waters. Along with that, there is a clear, uhm..." A pause as you considered your words. "A clear gel, coating the inside of my suit, which might have come as a gift from the entity. A secret as to how easily it moves underwater? I'll study it further at a later date."

Your attention stayed, for just a moment. "I'm hoping to finish the next model in two weeks time, and schedule another up-close interaction with the entity. I..." A sigh escaped you. "I think it may find my curiosity amusing, and I'd like to learn more about it. End Log." You clicked the recording off, setting it with a clank to the workbench near the sink. It was off-putting in the quiet of your design room.

As much as you wanted to think you could eventually become friends with the entity somehow, you knew it would be childish to voice aloud the desire. Instead, you set to work, dragging the first piece of the suit out of the basin. Grabbing a regular wash cloth hanging nearby, you got to work.

It had taken you another hour to clean the remaining goop from your suit, and even longer to ensure you could get it off your wetsuit without detection. Something about the method it had been given to you made you hesitant to share it.

You'd even researched the goop on your own time over the next several days rather than sending it to the lab for testing. Usually, you never got those samples back. There was a feeling deep in your gut that told you to hold onto all of it that you could. So, it took longer to manually make changes and collect all the supplies.

Taking your time. It was a matter of will that controlled your pace, knowing that significant improvements would be needed to get back into the entity's presence.

Apparently, the big guy had attacked a researcher that they'd lowered in to take samples. He broke their leg, apparently. Crushed it against the rim of the port with his arm. This news, along with the fact that they'd found corrosive goop all over the wound, had initially really concerned you. Yet, the team assured you that they believed he favored you. That he wouldn't attack because you appeared similar to him with the suit. An ally.

You just went along with that. You only knew that you'd have to work smarter, and harder, and ensure you could move when you need to. Not be entirely under the entity's mercy.

It was quite the accomplishment that, in three short weeks, you'd managed to reconfigure nearly everything in your suit to match your new hypothesis. You were cleared for another visit, and suited up in the afternoon yet again.

The journey over the catwalk felt longer this time. Your tether was already hooked to the wench on the ceiling, and your limbs felt heavier than they had last time.

Unbeknownst to the research team, the changes weren't only cosmetic. You'd found that the clear goop could be placed like insulation throughout the suit's various locations. It was like a layer of buoy that would, in theory, make the user less of a stone in the water. It did make moving outside the water a bit more bothersome, though.

Your mood improved, only a hint of nerves peeking through, as you saw a glimpse of the Entity in the tank. It seemed stationary, and you were ready to reunite a second time.

When the port opened, the first thing you did was look down through the water. The entity was staring up at you from its position at the base of the tank. It still took up majority of the space, but there was still enough area to maneuver around him if allowed.

So, you gave a small wave, dipping your hand below the surface of the water. No reaction. It was good enough for you. You swung your legs over the edge of the port, and plopped in as gently as you possibly could. The water swallowed your sides, but you noticed you didn't sink nearly as fast. It felt like being in a swimming pool, and you could now tread in the clear waters. It was a big improvement from your last visit.

You grinned, redirecting your attention back towards the entity. Though, he'd already moved. You found his face much closer than you'd expected, seeing as he propped himself up. One hand hovered, palm-up, beneath your kicking feet as you hovered in the water. His gaze was entirely focused on you. "Hey, buddy," You said aloud, still only hoping he actually heard and/or understood you, "Thanks for your help, I think I'm getting the hang of this!" Your tone was a bit more chipper than it had been in a few weeks.

The entity seemed to scan your form, before he rotated himself around you, as though unwilling to try and make you turn yourself. When he'd made the rotation around to your back, you felt a nudge against your whole back, and you were shoved forward by what you assumed had been his flat face.

You yelped and flailed a bit, but ultimately remained upright, managing to turn towards him in the process. "What was that for, bud?" You questioned, a bit offended at the action. He tilted his head a few degrees, before one of his big palms moved to hover beneath you again.

This time, he lifted his palm upwards, and you decided to let your feet settle on the platform we provided. Again, you stared at each other. "Hey, big guy. What ideas are you getting over there?" You questioned him again, no response on the way.

In less than a moment, it felt like there was the thump of a deep bass sound. It vibrated through the water around you. In the same breath, the entity's head swiveled a full 180° to look at the space outside the glass tank. You hadn't thought to look outside before, but it seemed the glass was only 1-way. You could see the silhouettes of the research team outside, but nothing more. You assumed the entity could see more though, as he was fixated on something outside the chamber.

One of his free fists slammed into the glass just in front of one of those silhouettes, and both the person on the other side and you jumped from the force of the action. You lost balance and ended up floating to sit on his large palm. Meanwhile the person outside didn't have nearly as nice a cushion. The entity turned back towards you, his expression visibly morphing from that aggressive scowl you'd seen before, to something far more docile. It was like he was only showing this to you. What the hell got you on his good side?

Almost inclined to ask, you'd wanted to speak up. Yet, you nearly screamed when the palm you were sat on clenched around you a bit tightly, and you could hear, through the water, the snap of your tether. The entity had broken it clean off your suit, and pulled you down towards the bottom of the tank. You did grunt in pain when you collided harshly with the metal ground, and the pressure from his palm above you was heavy.

Back flat to the metal floor, you freed an arm from beneath his hand and stared up. It looked like he was covering the opened hatch with one of his palms, and the rest of his form was lowering towards you. For a split second, your heart caught in your throat. Was he gonna smush you? You had so many more projects to work on, you couldn't die yet!

You stared up at his round face, the one that looked over you, and you felt that bass-like rumble in the water pause. All at once, he released the pressure from your chest, and placed two of his arms behind you, leaning at an odd angle just before you. Another rumble traveled through the water, but this one wasn't threatening. "Hey now. It's... alright." The wobble of nerves in your voice was working against you. The thing was, you had a feeling about why he'd done that. "If... if you were worried about me leaving, I have more air this time. I can stay longer." This head tilted to the side again, before another rumble set out. That, you assumed, meant you'd been right.

His free hand moved forward, and you held your breath as it paused just before you. It retracted just as quickly, but you followed its movements. To your shock, you could see something you hadn't noticed before.

Without thinking, you shoved yourself upwards and hovered in the water. One less-than-graceful doggy paddle forward to the other end of the cylinder revealed the entity's jelly portion.

You'd been trying to avoid it. Apparently it was poisonous, and it wasn't your department. Besides, he seemed protective of it. Now, as you were just a few feet off from it, he was allowing you to look at a section of his jelly that looked like it'd been torn open. Some of the sunset-colored center was even trailing upwards from out of the clear outer coating. You grimaced, turning back to his face where he was watching you intently. "What happened?" The quiet question seemed to echo in the near complete silence.

He responded with that deep sound, that you had chosen to equate to a growl. A growl of danger, maybe. The research team?

You whispered the question, and he nudged you closer to his tail again. As though encouraging you to do... something. You had no idea what. You looked nervously between him and his tail, before he let bubbles escape his chestplate like a sigh, and he instead guided you back towards his upper half. Like, a gentle drag through the water. You were disappointed you hadn't been able to help him, but you were brought out of your thoughts when there was tapping on the glass outside.

The entity abandoned his hold on you, bubbles rippling through the air as he slammed a fist into the glass again, right where the noise had been directly behind you.

The air, you assumed, would still last about five minutes. However, without your tether, you realized you might have to convince the big guy to let you leave. So, you reached out tentatively and patted his nearest arm. He growled in response, still focused on the people behind you outside the glass. "Buddy, hey." You started, gently. "I'll have to leave again soon. I can't breathe underwater like you can, and my air is running low." The words seemed like they fell of deaf ears, only for the entity to turn back towards you a bit.

Bubbles escaped his chestplate in a blast, bubbles rising around his form towards the top of the tank. "Yeah, like that. I need a lot of it though..." You paused. You had a great, horrible idea. "How about this? I'll come back tonight after the crew finishes up." The words were said so quietly. You didn't think anyone would be listening, but you couldn't be sure.

In response, the Entity shoved his face towards you, until you were back to back was the glass, and his face was only a few inches from you. He made that furious sound again, staring right at you. It occurred to you that, maybe if he could see through the glass, then he'd also seen your face this entire time too. "Yeah, I can do that. Only if you let me go right now though, okay?" He stared at you, and you tried for a slight smile.

Slowly but surely, he backed away. He uncovered the latch last, and hovered in the center of the tank, waiting for you. Watching.

You nodded in thanks before slipping upwards. Just a few short kicks later, you were up at the top of the hatch. You hoisted your top half through, and arms immediately gripped either of your upper arms to drag you completely out. You nearly wanted to smack the guys, but instead you shrugged them off once you'd gotten your balance.

Releasing the mask on your helmet was the next step, letting the open air hit your skin.

It seemed like a party had formed up on the catwalk. The two guys who'd pulled you out, and at least three other researchers were all stood there, staring at you like you were the alien creature and not the literal alien.

After a minute of confused silence, you spoke up. "I uhh, definitely got more data for the project guys, thanks." You glanced away. "Gonna need better mobility. Maybe more oxygen storage." Your thoughts were interrupted when one of the women researchers stepped forward, and placed her hand on your shoulder. You both recoiled, you from the contact, her seemingly disgusted by the cold-wetness on your suit. Nonetheless she spoke. "How did you get out of there? We thought you were going to die." The concern in her voice was laced with something you didn't care to pick out at this time.

You shrugged, waving a hand out in front of you. "I'm not sure. Just gave it a stern talking to," your hand moved into a playful point as though scolding someone, "And it just let me go. I think it could tell I'm stronger than I look." You thought your humor was top notch, but when the silence persisted, your brow furrowed and you turned back to look at the team. They were all still staring, though some were centered on the woman who still stood before you. You had no idea what her name was. Was she a higher-up?

Well, either way, she looked pissed. "You're the reason we lost him." She then said. You wanted to ask who. Didn't get the chance. At the same time someone seemed to reach out to her worriedly, she stormed forward and shoved you back against the railing of the catwalk. Now she was stronger than she looked.

You wished you weren't gaping in shock like a fish, but the rage on her face stopped you in your tracks. "Because of your friendly little meet-and-greet with that thing, they decided to let more people in the tank." You tried to steady yourself against the rails, but the large hands of your suit could find no purchase. The woman kept ranting, "He was so sure he'd be okay, and that thing killed him. Yet, here you are, perfectly unscathed. Mocking it." Your eyes shot wide. You knew the big guy was dangerous, but he'd killed someone?

The protests you had died on your tongue. You knew he was dangerous, and there was something about you that humored him. He was still immensely hostile to anyone besides you. Instead, you muttered something. "I'm... sorry. No one told me." Yeah, it was pretty shitty that you'd just made jokes. Even if you hadn't known. These people aren't your friends. You were an outsider to their department. You didn't blame her for being so upset.

"You should be." She replied, and with absolutely no hesitation, the hands that had been planted on your chest shoved just a bit harder. Her entire weight went into the action, and you processed that people were lunging, and probably yelling in surprise. You were stumbling backwards. The railing gave way under the weight of your suit, and as the woman used her momentum to land safely against someone's chest on the walkway, your limbs were too heavy to move fast enough. There was nothing to grab.

You fell. Wind rushed in your ears as you gained momentum, and at least one person from above shouted your name, but you were convinced you were going to be a splatter on the hard tile below. For some reason, you worried about what the big guy would do if he saw that. Your suit probably wouldn't break, but-

The thoughts were cut short when your shoulder collided painfully with metal, and you definitely shouted in pain when the rest of your body followed suit. For a solid minute, you lay flat on your back with your eyes closed until the pain became somewhat bearable. Adrenaline must've kicked in, or something of the sort, because you managed to prop yourself against the railing beside you. Railing? It looked like you'd fallen from the set of catwalks that connected to the observatories to the ones a floor down that connected to the labs.

The railing felt dented under your side, and your ears were ringing. Still, you hoisted yourself to your feet. You were shaky, and didn't think you could walk. "Hey!" The voice shouted your name. You tried to look up at the catwalk above you, but your neck refused to move at that angle. "Are you alright?" It was that voice that had shouted your name when you were pushed. You grimaced. "Fucking great, thanks for asking!" Your shouted back, not bothering to hide your frustration. "Just leave me the hell alone!" You attempted to take a step forward. To get away from your audience on the upper catwalk. To get back to your room. Your legs faltered and you gripped the railing for dear life before you could slip again.

A door, just down the catwalk from you, slid open with a hiss. It was some workers from the bio-lab. You realized their observation window was right in view of where you'd just fallen. They probably all saw your epic fall. Something about that made you think of Icarus. No, you were just getting loopy. That had to have been at least a twenty foot fall into solid metal.

Normally you might've shooed them away, but the two that made the walk out to you seemed so concerned, and you couldn't bear to deny their offers when you knew damn well you couldn't walk.

You let them help you walk. To your mild dismay, they guided you to the infirmary rather than your room. They were bio scientists though, and a fall that far could be fatal. Apparently they wanted to make sure you didn't have any broken bones.

They helped you to take off your armor, seemingly neither of them acknowledged just how slime-covered your wetsuit was, and they sent one of the delivery druids back towards your room with the suit pieces while they kept you for scans.

You, miraculously, hadn't broken anything. They thought you might've had a fractured rib, and quite a lot of bruising, but all they recommended for that was to refrain from heavy lifting. The thing that was bothering you though, was that they claimed you might've had a concussion. You were still having trouble balancing at least an hour after, and more than once you'd spaced out. You refused to tell them that you didn't even remember trying to stand.

After at least an hour and a half, one of them helped you back to your design room, and personally stuck around to make sure you changed out of your wetsuit and laid down, to sleep and recover. It was sweet of them, but also very counter-productive.

Almost a full minute after the bio-scientist had left, you stood right back up and changed back into your suit. The Droid had done as you asked, placing your suit in the basin for a soak, and rinsing it. You just had to scrub each piece now.

After all, you had 5 hours until the shifts for the night were all finished and you had a meeting with the entity. Even if he had killed someone....who was it again? Eh, they must not have mentioned a name.

It was the simulated midnight when you returned to the tank. You had taken a 3 hour nap, and woke up sore as hell. However, that wouldn't stop you. You'd donned your suit and made your way to the hatch. Apparently, they'd repaired the catwalk already. You wondered if someone would get in trouble for that.

The hatch, unbeknownst to you, actually didn't have a lock code. Therefore, when you just hit the unlock button, it spun open to reveal the water below. It seemed pitch-black from above.

You sealed your mask, and eased yourself into the murky darkness before letting yourself sink.

You didn't kick your legs, rather sliding the edge of the glass until you collided gently with the floor. You wanted to hover, a lot, but the kicking motion jostled you too much. So instead you sat in the darkness for a few seconds, holding your breath worriedly.

Then the tank lit up with color. It seemed like the entity had been waiting up for you. His tail was glowing brightly like a lava lamp now, and he stared down at you from a higher vantage point. You gave him a soft wave in greeting, and one of his hands followed the motion. He chimed curiously, the ripple in the water making you shiver slightly. "It means to say hello, big guy." You told him, and he seemed to be waiting for you. As though he wanted you to swim to him.

You shifted and really did make an attempt, but two kicks in you ended up grunting in pain and sinking to the bottom again.

This time, he trilled in a higher pitch than you'd heard. It was like he was worried. He flipped his positioning, now with his tail above him, his four arms stabilizing him on the ground. Two of his hands hovered at your sides, like he was trying to hold you without doing so. You chuckled slightly. "Sorry, bud. I took a fall earlier and it took a lot out of me. Can't swim right now." His head tilted in question, and he was careful as his hands scooped beneath your back and lifted you from your feet. You only grimaced a bit, trying to ignore the pain shooting across your spine.

He tilted himself, and you almost found it silly that it looked like he was sitting like a person, his jelly tail acting as his legs or lap, and his back propped against the glass.

He tilted his palms, and your pain finally won out when he dumped you from one pair of hands to the other, the jolt of lightning up your back making your head throb. You gasped, sucking in as much breath as you could bear. "Okay, okay! Let's stop doing that for now!" You insisted quietly, and he let out the high-pitched trill. You were considering calling it a whine, honestly.

That was when he brought you a bit closer to him, and stared intently at you. This was weird. He'd been man-handling you since the first visit, but now he was acting significantly less feral. His pupils were bigger, and his expression was soft. More intelligent, even. "You've understood me, right? You're not just a creature." The words escaped before you could think, but to your surprise, he nodded. Then you were right. "Do you... do you want to be here?" Immediately he shook his head no. He was here against his will, just like you thought. No wonder he was so hostile. "I... you must've had a home back on that planet. And family." The look in his eyes, he seemed upset, but he just blinked it away and nodded.

This... he must've not wanted these people to know this. For some reason. Yet he told you.

Something was telling you he was important. You wished there was a way to petition for his re-release, but without another proven member of his species back on the planet, they'd keep him in captivity. Part of you wanted to stage an escape, but that wouldn't work....

Despite your doubts, you sighed. "You've been a big help to me. If I can find a way out of here for you, I'll get you back to your planet." He didn't react. No nod or shake of his head. He actually looked away from you. He didn't believe you.

You slumped a bit forward, but a moment later one of his digits pushed you back upright by the chest, supporting your weight. Confusion engulfed your expression. Then cold engulfed your back.

"What the- hey!" You yelped, grappling with the digit in front of you that was now preventing your escape from the cold substance that was somehow seeping into your airtight suit. "Dude, what are you-" "Shh." That, along with the stinging ache in your neck, put you into a full stop. Did he just say something, or were you going crazy? "Helping." Yep, that was definitely the entity.

His mouth didn't move, but the water rippled the same way it did when he growled. The voice itself was smooth and deep, the pronunciation of the words vaguely reminded you of when someone's nose was clogged. There was a low static too, as though it were a Droid voice box... actually, it might've been.

"O-oh. Alright." You muttered, deciding yet again to trust the entity. It honestly felt like the pressure at your back was a giant gel ice-pack, but it almost dragged itself down your back and across your shoulders like a slug. It was painfully slow, and their expression couldn't have been very pleasant. Still, by the time the cold substance cradled the base of your head as well, your upper back felt better. It reminded you of aloe for sunburns, but, internal pain rather than external.

When he shifted his digit that was holding you up, you propped yourself up with one of your hands, and took just a moment to soak in the cool relief before craning your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Now, for the first time you'd seen, he was smiling. It wasn't very wide, but it was enough to tell that he was pleased. With himself or you, you weren't sure. Still, you grinned back at him. "Geez, you're a walking, er, swimming box of surprises. What was that?" His head tilted, and he raised one of his palms. In it, a small orb of his goop floated, the jelly shape remaining a moment, before he shoved it against his tail. It was reabsorbed in just under a second.

You squinted at it, then back at him, before you paled slightly. "Isn't that, like... corrosive?" He only shrugged. "Not always. Help now." His reply was short.

You were still amazed that you were getting answers from him verbally, and it must've been obvious, because he smiled a bit wider. He was definitely proud of himself now. You thanked him, and he only traded you from hand to hand, lifting you closer to his large face. You knew there was something you meant to ask him... "Hey. Why did you-" a pause, "Why did you kill someone?" You wrung your hands as he looked at you, then back to his tail. You then remembered his tail had been injured earlier. "They... hurt you. I'll guess you didn't mean to." He nodded, and you sighed a slight breath of relief. He didn't mean it.

That... that was enough of that for now. You only had about another hour before the morning shift patrols would come through. Enough of the heavy topics, it was time to just relax. You'd hope you could befriend the entity, and here you are.

Log Entry 026: The Entity.

"It seems that my nightly visits are proving useful to both my recovery, and my project. The substance that he coats over my wounds has accelerated recovery time. The bruises are almost entirely healed, and I can now resume my normal duties."... "I'm avoiding going to the medical wing for another month, so they won't suspect anything." ... "On the other hand, I have installed a set of propulsion poets on the base of the feet, as well as in the palms and back. They use the same formula as the entity to create bubbles from unusable insulation slime." ... "The goal is to begin planning once I'm allowed another public test of the suit."

Log Entry 054: The Entity.

"After thorough research, it looks like the Entity is actually a species of alien that was entirely poached from their planet, almost 25 years ago. Little is known, besides the information about their jelly forms." ... "The jelly can either corrode, or repair damages. It seems that the Entity is a rare case in which the gel does both, depending on the intent of the user. It is uncommon for members of the species to have a shell like he does " ... "They are critically endangered. It says that unless the specimen is of higher ranking, there is nothing to be done, but I think I will approach the research team about it anyways. He's getting restless."

Log Entry 63: The Entity.

"I am beyond livid. I brought up my concerns with the team's head, and was told they planned to harvest the entity's jelly. All of it. I moved those claims up as far in the chain of command as I could, but they refused." ... "They said I was to finish my research on the suit, as they suspect the entity was only a guardian, and that there may be an entire colony of the species hidden in the depths." ... "No one I've spoken to agrees with me, and I've realized I'm planning alone." ... A loud buzzing starts up in the background, and there is a sudden screeching of metal being bent... "I am destroying all prototypes besides my own, along with my research when we leave. This place won't get anything else from me."

Log Entry 102: The Entity.

"I had to delay the escape date, solely because we were informed of a mission back to the planet. The entity and I have agreed that our plan is set for two days from now while we orbit the planet." ... " I have yet to inform anyone that the suits I have built are frauds. I have, however, volunteered to join the team going down in order to be sure the suits 'don't malfunction'. We'll be taking a research vessel down with a portable lab, and..." ...The tape switches off suddenly....

Log Entry 107: The Entity.

"Our escape worked a little too well. The entity escaped containment mere minutes after I'd set off the explosives I'd left in my work area. All of my documents should have been the first to go, and I'd planned to contain the burn to my room. However, the radio says the entity broke the glass, and the corrosive fire has spread, forcing the ship to make an emergency landing." ...There are voices in the background, they sound angry. You ignore them... "The recon team and I are in the research vessel, but the entity has just escaped. I need to get them out, but I just. I can're remember the plAN-"... The recording cuts off just after the start of a loud sound and screaming.

What is this thing? A tape recorder?

"I uh... I'm not sure what's going on." ... "I'm on a research vessel, it seems like a wide oceanic planet, and there seems to be debris from a crash nearby. Did our cruiser crash?" ... "I'm... not sure what's going on, but I'm going to try and figure it out. Maybe I can get the radio working and call for help."

Oh God. Oh no.

"I got through to someone on the radio two days ago. They said that they would be by to pick me up, but they attacked me. Said I was wanted for the destruction of my cruiser. For hundreds of deaths. That didn't sound right, but they still tried to take me." ...There's shaky breathing... "There's something I'm missing. I... I know what they do to interstellar criminals, there are no fair trials. I'm guilty until sentenced to death." ... "I'm forgetting something. A chunk of my life is gone, and I can't figure out what I did. So... I didn't have a choice." ...A choked sob echoes into the audio recorder... "I- I killed them. I sunk their ship. N-no one can know I'm here until I figure this out. Figure out how to avoid giving up whatever important stuff I forgot."

There was no more storage left on the recorder. It was discarded into a junk drawer, repurposed into various other gadgets later down the line. You stayed on the planet, rations on the ship lasted you just long enough to figure out how to fish. You remembered most of your life, your training. You certainly remembered the way you were doing research.

At some point, you managed to re-engineer your suit, write the components and plans out. The suit was something new that you didn't remember from before. You figured whatever it was you were hiding, the suit was part of it.

And, that was how you stayed. You uncovered more and more about yourself, dodged the law when you could, and when you couldn't, you took care of them. You began to research creatures on the planet, finding it to be something that kept you sane in your time alone. Right up until the day you were alerted of an entire cruiser coming to apprehend you.

By then you'd known you'd committed too many crimes, undeniably. You had to go out on your own terms, so you'd put your plan into action soon enough.

[jilixthinker]

gross freak

͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warning: sub!jisung, dom!reader, kinda gross jisung, established relationship, masturbation (m rec), cock/balls slapping, jisung is gross but they are so in love

=͟͟͞♡ please consider reblogging if you like my works!

“Honey, I'm home!"

Jisung is kicking off his white sneakers in front of the door. They're a bit stained with mud on the sides, and he knows he’s not allowed to step inside the house wearing those unless he wants to hear your voice reverberating through the apartment. He's still wearing his soccer gear, tiny red shorts with a white stripe down the side, cut just above the knee, and a white tank top that you're sure he wore for the training as well. It's 10 p.m., but it's still warm outside, and the white fabric sticks uncomfortably to Jisung's slim body, a few yellow sweat stains under his armpits. 

His hair is still damp from the running, tied in a bun. A red hairband is pulling back his greasy locks from his forehead. He hasn't changed that in at least two weeks.

"Idiot," you chuckle in response, "how was it?"

"Uh, fine I guess" Jisung answers while kicking off his grayish, damp socks along with his shoes, "Changbin-hyung fell and ate a bunch of soil, I laughed so hard I peed my pants" he snorts.

"You all act just like children," you reply with a giggle, "I'm glad you had a good time. Are you hungry? Have you had dinner yet?"

"I ate a burger with the boys . It was huuuuge, baby. Can still feel it moving in my stomach," he replies as he finally enters in the living room delivering his signature goofy smile. 

You smile as you see him patting his tummy. Jisung is very thin, almost borderline unhealthy, but a small layer of fat sits stubbornly below his belly button, and it doesn’t go away despite all of the physical exercise. Jisung says it’s okay, that he doesn't mind. But you, you love it.

"Good. You didn’t take a shower there, did you?" you ask stretching your legs on the couch and pausing the show you were watching. 

"Nah, I didn't feel like it. I'll do it in a while." Jisung answers while opening the refrigerator and fishing out a can of sprite. He opens it with gnarled fingers and brings it to his lips, chugging half of it in one big gulp. 

"Ew, Sungie" 

Jisung widens his eyes in fake shock and leans against the peninsula of the kitchen. "Ew? To the love of your life? Your boyfriend, your future husband, the apple of your ey-"

"Enough of this," you laugh as you come closer him, leaning across the peninsula. "I could count the grease stains on your hands if I wanted to. You're dirty."

"Mean," Jisung whispers drinking the other half of the sprite and hiding a burp with one fist. "I thought I'd come home and get a better treatment than this."

You burst out laughing at his words. "Uh, did you have plans? What did you expect big boy, tell me." 

Jisung chuckles again and you can see a bit of burger sauce pooled at the corner of his lips. 

"Uhh, dunno. A massage, maybe? Showing your baby you love him?”

You laugh, "You want a massage? Come here, that can be arranged." You take a couple of steps back and sit on the couch, on the peninsula side, so you can stretch your legs. Jisung looks at you with a lopsided smile and brings a hand to his head, scratching behind his ear. You can see from a distance the oily strands of hair slipping through his fingers. You should find it disgusting. You really should.

You open your arms and offer him a big smile, "Come on, baby. You must be dead tired, hmm? The boys destroyed you. Come to mama, I'll give you what you need."

Jisung gulps and giggles, wobbling closer to you and letting himself fall into the space between your thighs, abandoning his back against your chest. Then he lets himself slide forward a little, pressing the nape of his neck against the softness of your breasts under the shirt you're wearing.

"Uh, uh. That feels nice already," he murmurs adjusting himself against your chest.

"Have you had some drinks?" you ask, bringing your hands to his shoulders and pinching them lightly. The fabric is damp and smells of sweat and the spray deodorant Jisung always puts on when he doesn't feel like showering.

"Just a couple of beers with Chan-hyung," Jisung sobs as soon as your fingers sink lightly into his muscles, "that man needs to get laid."

"Don't be cocky, Sungie," you reply with a grin as your hands descend to work on the muscles in his arms, "if it wasn’t for me, you'd be jerking off to one of your tacky porns as well. Be grateful I picked you up on the streets and decided you would be mine."

Your words are light, he knows you are joking. Even though, to tell the truth, Jisung was a virgin before meeting you, and the first time you had sex he was so nervous he came before he even managed to put the tip in. Adorable.

Jisung laughs and then he lets out a breathy moan when you run your fingers up between his shoulder blades, focusing on a knot. "That’s true. But now he’s the one jacking off to a shower wall. While me, I have a beautiful girlfriend who decided I was good enough to be adopted. I still am thankful for your bad taste in men." 

"My taste in men is great, excuse you," you retort as your chin rests on his head, near the band that pulls back his hair. "I pulled the nastiest hottest boy around. I regret nothing."

Jisung laughs. "You literally call me your rat." 

"Rats are cute," you answer back piquantly. Your fingers continue to work on the knot in Jisung's back with a little more insistence. Jisung writhes softly. "You just call me that because I'm a little gross."

You lower your head to rest a kiss on his greasy hair. There's gel residue on the strands, and it's a bit crusty.

"You know how much I love that you're a little gross. Makes me feral."

"You're a freak." Jisung laughs as your hands finish massaging his shoulder blades and descend to the front, down to his chest, to caress his sore pecs.

"Maybe," you admit. "Tell me how many beers you've had again. Just the truth this time, hmm?" 

"Five. Or six. Maybe six. Ah-" Jisung gulps when you brush your thumb on his pec, grazing his nipple. "Feelin' a bit tipsy." 

"I know, my love," you whisper as you continue massaging his chest with your fingers. Jisung's head is nestled perfectly between your breasts and you feel his ribcage swell and deflate quickly, like a baby bird. "You're all wriggly. You just can't sit still when you feel good, hmm?"

Jisung laughs embarrassed before letting a faint moan out when your fingers pinch his nipple again, more insistently. “Not fair though, you're t-teasing."

You nod a few times as your face descends to his ear, kissing the skin behind it, where you know that acrid, powerful smell typical of Jisung accumulates. “As if you didn't have a different kind of massage in mind from the beginning. Don't lie to mama, Sungie."

Jisung shakes his head tentatively, “I wasn’t trying to imply any of that”.

You chuckle at his words, bringing your mouth to his earlobe and nibbling at it. “Now say it again without drooling over yourself, mh?”

Jisung hiccups and goes limp against you, giving you enough space to keep nosing at his neck. A little bit of saliva is bubbling out of his parted lips, forming a shiny coat on his skin and you just wanna suck it off.

“Well, maybe. M-maybe just a little,” he grunts while the tip of your tongue brushes on the shell of his ear. “You’re mean for real.”

“Don’t call me mean when I’m about to jack you off, Sungie. That’s just ungrateful, don’t you think?” you whisper on his skin, breathing the sweet smell of his body in. Even his sweat kinda smells like beer. That’s disgusting and hot at the same time. Maybe you’re a freak after all.

“Oh. Oh. We’re… we’re doing that? Fuck, yeah. Suuuure, cool.” And then he lets out the nervous squeak he does everytime you’re about to touch him. It doesn’t matter it’s been years, he never gets used to you been enough attracted to him to give him pleasure even if he’s dirty. But, to be fair, Jisung is always kind of dirty.

You smile against his skin and your fingers find his nipple again, rolling it between your pointer and thumb over the fabric of his top. Jisung keens at that and you can feel the goosebumps forming on his arms under you.

“Wanna kiss. Give Sungie kiss first? Can you? Please?” He blubbers while your other hand is caressing just above his navel. He turns his face to look at you, and the angle is weird because he needs to force himself in this position, but his cheeks are flushed and cute, and his eyes so big you can almost see your own reflection in them.

The first kiss on his lips is just a peck, nothing else, and you can feel that Jisung tries, he tries so hard not to be affected too much this early, but as soon as you place your mouth on him and start to nibble lightly at his bottom lip, he lets out a broken whimper. He tastes like alcohol and ketchup, and his teeth are all sticky for the sprite he just chugged. You find yourself forcing his mouth open just after a few seconds just to be able to lick at them, feeling the sugar on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re so filthy, Sungie. You’re delicious.” You tease him a bit while sucking his own wet muscle into your mouth and slowly pulling it between your teeth.

Jisung lets out the quietest yet painful moan, "Ah- please, I just...", and he starts parting his thighs just a little bit, the tiniest movement showing how he is growing hard under his pants.

You look down and he is just the prettiest, all spread out for you.

“Never denied you anything,” you mutter as you scoot forward on the sofa to place a last peck on his lips. They’re a bit chapped, and a drop of blood stains your mouth.

Jisung’s head falls back on your chest, nuzzling between the comfort of your breasts, and he looks wrecked already. His eyes are teary and his vision fuzzy while his lips pucker, as if he was trying to suck on the air.

“Fuck, you’re so cute. Wish you had something on your mouth, uh?” you ask him as your left hand puts and end to the lazy massage on his lower stomach and finally cups him through his pants.

Jisung is fully hard already but, to an untrained eye, the two inches tent his erection is struggling to maintain makes him look like he’s just sporting half of a chub.

“Uh, uh - yeah, w-wanna suck please,” he manages while your hands goes a bit lower to graze his balls. “Please, mama- gimme anything.”

“Oh, Sungie, don’t beg,” you whisper kissing the tender skin of his ear one more time. Jisung’s soft sobs always make you feel lightheaded and needy, but you cannot show him. Not now. “Mama’s gonna give you fingers, mhkay?”

Jisung nods and parts his lips as a pavlovian response to your words, his tongue lolling out diligently out of his mouth. Your pointer and middle finger pinch the fat of his bottom lip and he moans softly at the teasing. When you finally ease your fingers inside of the heath of his mouth, Jisung lets out a weak cry. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” he gurgles around your digits as an indecent amount of spit oozes out and coat your palm.

When you look over his shoulder, you can see the shape of Jisung’s tiny cock angrily pointing at you, still covered by his shorts. The red fabric is somehow already wet because Jisung is always eager and leaky, and what he lacks in size he makes up in liquids.

“How many minutes today, Sungie? How much can you last for mama?” you ask, tone sticky and sweet while you thrust your fingers deeper inside his mouth and brush at the base of his tongue.

Jisung chokes on the pressure and a single tear escapes from his eyes. His cock twitches and you pat it condescendingly. “Aw, poor thing. How much? Two minutes?”

“Uh- mhhf sowy” he hiccups, mouth full of fingers and saliva, “sorry, I’m not..”

You smile and you finally wrap your free hand around his balls, squeezing it. “Don’t worry, baby. Mama gets it. Wanna come already uh?”

Your face finds its way against the crook of his neck and you lick a fat portion of skin, sucking it into your mouth. He tastes like soil, dirt and sweat. But most importantly, it tastes like Jisung. Like fried food and soda, mint cigarettes to cover the smell of unwashed teeth, ingrown hair and blemishes, acne and cum.

You bite on that sensitive spot and he sobs the most pathetic whimper out as your hand slaps his clothed cock once, twice, thrice, and your fingers go deeper and deeper, almost brushing his uvula and making him drown on his own spit.

“So-oh-sorry” he cries as his cock spasms one more time under the constriction of two layers of clothes. His knees shake and he lets out the most loud and sinful noise his voice lets him. His hips tremble with the force of his orgasm and he goes completely limp against you while spurting warm ropes of cum inside of his sweaty underwear. His eyes are glassy and full of tears while he empties himself for what it seems to be a full minute. He always cums more than he lasts anyway.

You hold him close through it as his high washes over him, arm tight around his waist, and you kiss his cheek, savoring the salt on his skin.

After a minute, Jisung turns his head in search of your reassurance, and he finds you already looking at him, your fingers falling out of his mouth to let him breathe properly.

“Well, that was a record” you chuckle at the sight of his goofy smile.

Jisung huffs and rolls his eyes at you. “I said- I said I had a few beers. That’s why.” He tries to justify himself.

You wink at him and you blow a raspberry on his nose. He always try to be the bigger man, but it never works.

“Whatever you say,” you concede. “Go change your underwear now. And take a shower.”

Jisung lazily shakes his head. “Nah. Too tired. Imma do it later.”

“You’re gross, Jisung.”

“And you’re a freak.”

©️jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[spicy-apple-pie]

I WANNA HEAR ABOUT THE COMIC >:))))))

I did warn you…

Okay so idk if a lot of people know this, but Damian was originally given up for adoption right after he was born before his story was reconned.

So in this comic, Damian is 9 years old and in the foster system in Gotham, unknowing who his parents are. He’s never stays long in a home because he’s very aggressive. He’s smart though, so he orders a DNA testing kit to hopefully find a relative to take him. Imagine his shock when he finds out his father is Bruce Wayne.

So this 9 year old walks into WE by himself, toddles up to the secretary, and asks to see Bruce Wayne. The secretary is like “haha okay, let me help you find your parents.” And Damian is like “you can. My dad is Bruce Wayne.”

And then Tim shows up!! And he’s like, “who’s your dad?”

And Damian is suddenly really nervous and shyly passes Tim the DNA test results. Tim looks them over, and Damian thinks he’s going to get turned away. But then Tim smiles at him and asks him if he has time for a drink.

Damian basically explains his life story over a cup of hot chocolate to Tim. Tim listens and tells him that he’ll make sure Bruce sees it and gives him his number if he has any questions (Damian doesn’t have a phone). Damian gets up to throw out his cup but Tim is like “oh I can throw that out for you. Talk to you soon!”

Cut to the BatCave where Bruce is staring at the DNA test results. Showing him and Talia as the parents. Tim stands behind him. “I doubled and tripled checked.” He says. “Not to mention he’s the spitting image of you.” He mumbles under his breath, knowing that Bruce isn’t in the mood for jokes right now. Alfred places some Tylenol beside Bruce using his butler powers to sense his on coming headache.

“And you said he walked into the lobby by self?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, he said he took the bus.”

“Oh dear,” Alfred comments, “that is certainly not safe for a boy his age in Gotham. I wonder if his social worker knows about that…”

So the next morning, Damian finds that he’s out of custody from his foster parents. And he’s like “but I didn’t do anything this time!” And his social workers like “no, they’re getting charged with child endangerment. We already have a place lined up for you.”

Lo and behold, his new foster home is Wayne Manor. And he meets Bruce for the first time and he’s really nervous. And Bruce has to turn away because he almost starts crying. And Damian asks Alfred if he did something wrong and Alfred’s like “no, he’s just very happy to see you.”

And that’s basically it. But I also have this idea of how he discovers his Dad is Batman.

He comes downstairs in the early morning for a snack before going back to sleep to find Red Hood raiding their fridge. He runs to Bruce and he’s freaking because fucking RED HOOD broke into their house.

And Bruce groans and is mildly annoyed about and Damian is like “???? Does this happen often????” Bruce brings him downstairs and Red Hood is still there, but making a grilled cheese with his helmet off.

“Jay, how many times do we need to tell you know masks in the house?”

“I dunno. How many fucking children are you going to adopt?” He gestures to Damian hiding behind Bruce.

“He doesn’t know yet, Jay. I was going to wait until he was more comfortable.”

Jason is a little sheepish because he did give the kid a bit of a fright, so he turns around to apologize and introduce himself. And instantly is like “holy shit, that’s a bio kid.”

“Language, Jay…”

“Don’t language me, where the fuck did he come from???”

“What is happening??!!” Damian finally yells.

And then Bruce shows him the BatCave.

I did warn you I’d talk your ear off. I came up with this circa. 2018 - 2019 but I feel like I finally have the skill to draw it. And I honestly fell in love with it again, so I might lol.

Edit: I did it

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ Intruders

➳ Summary: Getting moments to yourselves is hard when you have pets (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, anytime during 6 year timeskip or after

➳ Word count: 1.6k

➳ C/W: Half-assed oral (f!receiving) & p in v

➳ A/N: I just wanted regular casual sex smut (I'm lazy) (By lazy I mean I have like 40 drafts but I'm so busy for the next two weeks I'm going crazy) (I had to take a picture of my own damn socks for this ☠️)

Daryl's hands dragged roughly over your clothed waist, you giggling some against his lips then cheek as he hastily stumbled down the hall with you towards your bedroom, kisses moving down to your jawline as his groping descended to your ass.

“God, sunshine… yer so damn sexy,” He mused, shoving open the door and hitting his heel back against it in an attempt to get it to shut, too focused on peeling your shirt away to take note of any success: closely followed by his own. “Make me need ya so bad.”

Just as he pushed you down, landing you on your back with your legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, a brown blur bounded into the room and up onto the bed.

“Nah-, Dog-.. stop tha’!” Daryl grunted, waving his hand while the shepherd was basically stepping all over you, excitedly wagging his tail and mouth hanging open as he tried to lick your face.

“Hey buddyyy,” You purred, bringing hands to both sides of his head and rapidly scratching the fluffy fur beneath his ears, forcing him back a little so he wasn't directly in your space.

“Don’ indulge him. Want ‘em outta ‘ere!”

“You didn't close the door.” You couldn't hide your playful grin as you sat up, ruffling the dog's scruff and laughing as Daryl scoffed, clapping his hands to try and redirect Dog’s focus from you.

“I tried. Now c'mon … Dog, c'mon. Out.” He patted his back a couple times, earning a look and light cocking of his head. The man raised his eyebrows, snapping his fingers and aggressively pointing towards the exit. “Out.”

Dog turned, nearly hitting you in the face with his tail and jumping from the bed, trotting out of the room as Daryl immediately shut the door behind him. He spun back on his heels, undoing his belt as he'd been intending to before and dropping his jeans to pool on the floor.

He loomed over you, finding your lips in another kiss as he worked the button on yours and helped you wriggle out, hoisting you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows. “See? Got fur all over yer tits. Gon’ have'ah hairball lickin’ it all away.”

“I dunno, maybe you'll be a hot dry-heaver, archin’ yer back ‘n all.”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head, pressing a wet kiss to your neck that cut off your taunting giggle by drawing out a moan. His palms smoothed up the curves of your figure, reaching under and undoing the clasp of your bra before tossing it aside.

“M'tha only one who should be all over these like tha,” Daryl murmured, cupping both breasts and smothering his face between them before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling the other between calloused fingertips.

“Mmm, mhm? They all yours Dixon?” You trilled, to which he gave an affirming grunt and sucked a bit harder, sliding a hand down under the hem of your panties and beginning to circle your clit.

As he was starting to set his rhythm, there was an odd scratching at the door and the sound of metal clicking, before it burst open and Dog came running right back into the room, shoving his maw into Daryl's face and driving him back as he tried to pounce on him.

“How tha hell ya-? Dog, stop.”

You were snickering at this point, propping up on your elbows to watch, Daryl leaning up and straddling you as he tried to ward the canine off. “Did you lock the door?”

He bowed his head a little, failing at obscuring his embarrassment with his hair. “Thought I did…. He'sa dog anyway! Shouldn't be openin’ damn doors..”

“He's a smart dog, baby. Don't know whatcha expect from him.”

“I expect him tah not break in ‘ere like ‘es rabid or sum'thin’,” He huffed, slouching for a moment in defeat before grabbing the dog and gently pushing him off the bed, a little harder when he resisted. “Dog. S'aint gon kill ya tah be outta tha room fer thirty minutes.”

“That's cause he knows ‘thirty minutes’ turns into two hours.” Daryl gave you a look, and you traded back an innocent but knowing smile. He begrudgingly swung his leg to have them on one side, sliding off the bed and forcing Dog with him: placing hands on either side of his chest and literally walking him out of the room, once again closing the door, and putting emphasis on the little ‘clink’ when he set the lock.

He let out an exasperated sigh, resuming his position but skipping ahead on his ministrations, having grown impatient. He hooked fingers around the band of your panties, groaning a little at the way you wiggled while he brought them down, flirtatiously biting your lip and covering your breasts.

“Don’ be actin’ like'ah tease.” He parted your legs, hands feeling over your hips and thighs while he lowered his head and drew a slow lick up your center to spread your folds, openly moaning at the taste.

“Fine. Only now cause Dog's been doin’ it for me,” You chuckled, and the archer just narrowed his brows, grasping harder at your flesh as he traced circles around your clit before lapping again and sucking it into his mouth.

“Ya always so fuckin’ wet for me, always gon’ love tha’,” Daryl hummed, tugging you flush against his mouth and delving into your enterace for a quick moment with the thrust of his tongue. Your fingers wove through the roots of his locks, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You gon’ tell me how good it feels tah have me eat'cher perfect pussy?”

You opened to respond, but were interrupted by an obnoxiously loud whimper outside the door, left saying his name for the wrong reason: “Dar…”

“I know, jus’ ignore it,” He said, voice muffled against you, trying to hone both your attentions only on the feeling of his tongue working your core. But the malinois grew noisier, scratching at the hardwood floor and struggling to shove his nose beneath the small gap in the doorframe.

“Daryl.”

He groaned deeply, placing another kiss to your cunt before releasing his hold and unwinding his arms, going to deal with it. “Ts'aint tha kinda whinin’ I wanna be hearin’.”

Turning the handle just slightly to shoo him, Dog barged right back in again, leaped onto the bed again, and just twirled around with a clueless grin to look back at Daryl, confused with how displeased he appeared. He took steps towards the shepherd, hands out, and Dog growled just a little when he moved to rid you of him.

“Ay! Ts'ma woman! Not yers. Get tha hell outta here ‘nd quit buggin’ me,” The man snapped, Dog completely unphased as if the frustration in his tone didn't resonate at all. Daryl gave up and grumbled something under his breath, going to the top drawer of your shared dresser and retrieving a pair of his socks.

He dangled it in the air, the pup immediately locking in on it like he was hypnotized. He barked once, excitedly following as Daryl walked down the hall and threw the bundle down the stairs, which was essentially throwing them into the pits of Hell. Far too many pairs of his socks had met grim fates when Dog would steal them from the laundry, either of you finding him later surrounded by shreds of fabric. But the sacrifice was necessary.

“Lemme have sum damn privacy when Ah'm with yer ma!” He shouted down the steps as that brown flash scurried to descend them. He scoffed again and how simply Dog'd abandoned his efforts, then returned to you, closing the door and locking it once more.

“You finally get him gone?” You taunted as Daryl discarded his boxers and settled over top of you and between your legs once more, silencing your amused remarks as his mouth found yours. You latched your arms around his neck, bringing him close to deepen the kiss as he slicked the tip of his near weeping cock between your folds, edged by all the disturbances.

He waited for a few seconds, like he expected something more, then thrusted into you, head falling to your chest with a pleasure-filled exhale. He maintained the stillness, another beat passing.

“Jus’ go, angel. He's distracted,” You reassured him with a kiss to his hairline, and slowly he pulled back before rocking in again. Daryl kept a steady hand on your hip, the other propping him up by your shoulder as he began to relax, garnering speed and listening to every filthy noise your bodies made when you connected, his grunts reverberating against your collarbone.

“That's the kinda gruntin’ I wanna be hearin’.” Daryl chucked at your comment, palm leaving your curve so the pad of his thumb could press against your clit, massaging it in pace with his movements and drawing out a whine from you.

He threw his head back to clear the strands of hair from his face, looking down to watch you for a moment; watch himself disappear in and out of your walls then came near again. “Shit, ya feel so fuckin’ good…”

But then another something hopped onto the opposite side of the bed, much lighter and more sophisticated. Door was still shut, still locked.

“Sweetheart… you forgot the cat.”

Daryl didn't even glance back, rolling his eyes and muttering another curse. “Ion even care anymore.” And he just found you in another kiss.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[dotster001]

Hello! I really liked your fanfic about mistletoe and I would like to submit my application. Can you write what type of girl the characters in the twisted wonderland like?

What Kind of Girl they Like

Summary: Fem! Reader What girl the twisted wonderland boys say they will fall for, versus who they will be attracted to.

CW: Fem! Reader, some of the boys are assholes with their answers, it's explained away in the who they end up with section, so take it with a grain of salt, also these are just my opinions. If you don't agree that's ok!

A/n:it is truly humbling how few of these I actually fit the description of 😭 also, feel free to send in an ask if you want the staff and non nrc boys, or a masc. Reader version (there are some differences for some of them for a male lover)

Masc Version gn! Version

Heartslaybul 

Ace Trappola

What he says

"I dunno, she'd have a great bod and make me sandwiches. Kidding! Sevens, don't glare at me like that, I was just messing with ya! She's probably smart, and sweet as sugar, and let's me get into trouble. And a great bod wouldn't hurt- hey don't throw stuff at me!"

Who he ends up with

Ace is going to be naturally attracted to a girl he can "bring out the worst in."  She probably starts out shy and quiet, then Ace adopts her into his friend group, and now they are sassing each other back and forth. She calls him out on his bullshit, and fights against his teasing with teasing of her own. But she also takes care of him when he's down. He's hiding a lot of insecurity under his cool guy exterior, so if she lets him snuggle, and lets him whine, and then whispers how much she loves him, he'll be a happy man. Also, side note, he's fine if you like sports, but if you know nothing about basketball, it means he gets to look really good when you come to his games. Just saying….

Deuce Spade

What he says

"Huh, I've never really thought about it. Um, I guess she's nice and funny, and isn't scared of my past. I'd also want her to be a little like you, Y/N….not that I like you! Well, I like you, not like like you, shit I'm sorry! This isn't sounding any better…"

Who he ends up with

He really means it when he says he wants someone like you. You're one of his first friends, and, in his mind, the person you date/marry should be your best friend. But if it's not you he ends up with, he will probably be attracted to a girl who's book smart, but less street smart. A little "dumb" like him, in a cute kind of way. He likes a cuddler, and maybe a girl who is shorter than him so that he can feel like he's swallowing her whole when he wraps his arms around her. Also, someone who encourages him and helps him with his homework/paperwork. 

Riddle Rosehearts

What he says

"I don't have time for a relationship right now….but I think I want someone well behaved who follows the rules- what are you smirking at? Just because you're a rule breaker doesn't mean every girl is. I'd also like her to be in the medical profession. You know, someone who works the same profession as me so we have similar interests."

Who he ends up with

As much as he hates to admit it…he's attracted to rule breakers. Not as bad as Ace obviously, he's not trying to go gray early. But if she says something like "let's have a non herbal tea" when it's time for only herbal tea…damn what a rush. By the time he gets serious with someone, he'll be confident enough in himself to cut ties with his mother, so she has to be strong willed, and willing to live off of a low budget for a while.  He'll need someone understanding, who knows he'll have relapses and be too much and too angry sometimes, and she has to be understanding of that, and encouraging of improvement, or he'll live with guilt for the rest of his life. 

Trey Clover

What he says

"Someone who's willing to settle down and grow fat and old with me. You're laughing, but I'm going to be running my parents bakery, and feeding people is my love language. Speaking of, you better finish off that slice of cake before the others steal it."

Who he ends up with

Trey isn't that picky. He really means it when he says he wants someone to get old and fat with. That's his dream. Running a bakery with his wife by his side, and growing old together as your own kids grow up and bring home their own spouses. But he also wants a girl he can blindside with his sadistic side. Someone who'll enjoy that side of him, but also someone who easily forgets it's there. It makes things more fun for him.

Cater Diamond

What he says

"Ha ha someone trendy and totes hot. Someone totally cammable. Aw, are you jealous? Don't worry, you'll always be my fave girlie, even if you're not the girl I love."

Who he ends up with

Cater wants someone who won't disappear when he looks away. Yes, if she's "cammable" that's the first thing he's looking for, but when all is said and done, if she seems like she's going to be flaky, he won't take it too seriously either, as a defense mechanism. He needs a girl with mental endurance, because he's going to spend the beginning of the relationship trying to scare her off. Not that he wants to, he just needs to know he won't be left alone like he usually is. He is going to be attracted to a girl who humors his trends and magicam addiction, but who also sees through him. Someone balanced.  She sees the real Cay Cay, but she's also willing to be his "trophy wife" online.

Savannaclaw

Jack Howl

What he says

"Oh, I uh, well someone who can keep up on a run with me I guess…"

Who he ends up with

Jack says he wants someone who can work out with him. And he would really be happy if he had a girl who was as active as him…but he'd also be happy with a curvy girl. He gets blushy thinking about holding someone soft and plush against his firm muscles. But he's flexible. In the end he won't choose his future wife based on appearance and activity. Wolf beastmen mate for life, so the main thing he is looking for is loyalty. Loyalty, and someone who would want to raise lots of kids with him. As long as you have those two traits, nothing else really matters to him.

Ruggie Bucchi

What he says

"Girlfriends are expensive, shihihi. Tell you what, you find me a lady with sticky fingers, and we'll eat the rich together."

Who he ends up with

This is a deflection. Ruggie loves the idea of a busy business wife, while he is a trophy househusband, cooking and cleaning for his high powered  lady. He wants a strong woman who will scratch his ears and tell him he did such a good job! Then he'll draw her a bath, and massage her feet as she tells him about her day, then they'll snuggle and make out until they fall asleep…that's the dream anyway. He can be a little worker bee until you rise through the ranks, which you will, Ruggie has absolute faith in you. You guys can rob people early on if you have to. In short…Ruggie wants a dommish woman who will call him a good boy and keep him well fed.

Leona Kingscholar

What he says

"Body pillow"

"That's not-"

"Body pillow"

Who he ends up with

He's going to be attracted to a strong woman who whips his ass into shape. Someone who says, "Hey bitch, you're going to therapy, cause I love you and want you to be happy!" And then she actually makes him go. And when he does go, she rewards him with snuggles, and soft kisses. He wants a woman who's never scared of him, who's self assured, and is certain and vocal about her feelings for him.

Also, she has to accept that nighttime is when she's a body pillow. That's an absolute must.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

What he says

"Why do you wish to know? Are you attempting to reach my standards? Ha ha, let's see. A woman who is ethereal, who is willing to dress stunningly, and sit in my lap when I make deals, so that competitors can see what a high value man I am."

Who he ends up with

If that didn't make you want to throw up 🤢. He'll be attracted to someone who makes him feel beautiful in subtle ways. He knows how easy it is to spin a verbal web of lies. But there's some things you can't fake. Like allowing someone to rest on your lap, and caressing their hair. Or squeezing someone's hand gently when you have to let go. Or pressing a kiss to someone's cheek after you help them straighten their outfit. It's the soft romantic moments that'll speak to Azul when he finds his love. Aside from that, he's not looking for anything in particular. Just someone who makes him feel loved and beautiful.

Jade Leech

What he says

"Fu fu who's to say? Perhaps you are the woman of my dreams. Or not."

Who he ends up with

She's a woman who can see through him. She's someone who never compares him or confuses him for his twin. She's smart. Very smart. She eats his mushrooms and goes on hikes with him. She is patient with Floyd. What Jade is looking for….is female Jade. Someone like that is the only one who can truly keep up with him.

Floyd Leech

What he says

"Aw Shrimpy! Are you worried? Don't worry, whoever she is, I'll still squeeze ya!"

Who he ends up with

He's looking for someone fun. That's his only criteria. At least that's what he says. He can't be sure if he loves her because she's fun, or if she's fun because he loves her. In that sense, it's sort of a soulmate situation for Floyd. Whatever will be will be. He'll just know. 

…

…

…

Also she has to be squeezable. 

Scarabia

Kalim al Asim

What he says

"I love everybody!"

"But-"

"Have some of this ice cream, it's amazing!"

Who he ends up with

He wants someone he can spoil, but he doesn't know that. It's something in his subconscious. He doesn't want things in exchange either. So she has to be someone who is okay with being spoiled, and doesn't feel guilty about it. He's going to be attracted to someone who loves life like him, but also helps to keep him grounded. And if she has a spark of danger in her, oh man, he'll be simping so hard. 

Jamil Viper

What he says

"I'm not going to even think about it until my freedom is assured. Kalim has promised, but it would be irresponsible to force someone into servitude with me."

Who he ends up with

Jamil is going to be attracted to a hard worker. Someone who's dedicated, and slightly serious. He's also looking for a girl who will see how hard he works, and pampers him from time to time. He's never been in charge of anything, so he likes being the boss of the household. Not that he doesn't see her as an equal! On the contrary, he wants his marriage to be a partnership. But the idea of having somewhere where he is king is definitely something he likes. She can rule the house from as well. They can split the time they rule over the household. They'll take turns being served and pampered.

Pomefiore

Epel Felmier

What he says

"Um, she knows I'm the boss. Wait, that came out misogynistic, sorry I jus mean she knows I'm manly and can support her an all that."

Who he ends up with

He says he wants a cutsie tiny housewife, so that he can be the manly man at the manliest job for mans. He really will be attracted to any girl who doesn't doubt his masculinity, nor call him cute. Someone who tells him that they feel safe and secure with him. He says he wants a short wife. But he's fine with any size or shape as long as she sees him as someone who can care for her. 

Rook Hunt

What he says

"Mademoiselle trickster, I can find beauty in every woman."

Who he ends up with

What he says is actually true. He can and will fall in love with every kind of woman. It's hard to say who he will tie himself to, in the end. It'll be someone who he heavily bonds with and imprints on. It's a lot like with Floyd. Essentially a soulmate situation.

Vil Schoenheit

What he says

"Hm. Why do you want to know, potato? I suppose she's professional, and beautiful, and cares about her image enough that she doesn't cause a scandal."

Who he ends up with

The thing about Vil is, he's not that far off from Rook in his take on beauty. He doesn't so much believe in conventional beauty, or societal beauty standards. He knows everyone has an individual definition of health and beauty. When he says he's looking for a beautiful woman, he's looking for someone who's willing to reach her full potential. Or, more accurately, to allow him to help her reach her full potential. Vil never admits it, but he adores pampering and styling people. His love language is helping people look their best. So if she's someone who knows herself enough to know what style she likes, he'll appreciate it, and take up the mantle of doing the hard work, ie making outfits, styling hair and makeup, formulating skin care etc. TLDR, he wants a confident self possessed woman he can dress like a doll, and show off.

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

What he says

"-------------" mutes ipad.

In his head, he doesn't think any woman would ever love him. But his dream woman is a sexy anime cat girl.

Who he ends up with

What he'll be attracted to is someone who is patient, speaks at a reasonable volume, and is assertive enough to make him leave his room. Essentially, winning Idia's heart is a siege. You'll have to starve him out. That's the patience bit. The reasonable volume comes from him being easily scared by loud noises. Assertive enough to make him leave his room…well that speaks for itself. He wants to believe he can be part of the outside world, and the girl he will fall for will be willing to show it to him.

Diasomnia

Sebek Zigvolt

What he says

"She is someone of noble bearing, who shall help me defend my liege!"

Who he ends up with

He'll fall for a woman who is stronger, mentally, physically, etc., than him. A woman who can put him in his place. A woman who speaks, and it makes him shut up, and sit pretty. She's assertive, and can come off as abrasive to others but to Sebek? Sevens, he'd die for a smidgen of her affection.

Silver

What he says

"I don't think it's worth it to try and define the girl I'll fall in love with. There are so many wonderful women, and my father always told me that love is the greatest mystery in this world. Who's to say who I'll fall in love with?"

Who he ends up with

Silver will fall for someone soft. The entire romance will be soft. Soft caresses in the moonlight. Soft kisses in the morning. Soft fingers gently intertwining.  She'll be empathetic about his sleep condition, never blaming him since it's not his fault. She'll be gentle with his animal friends. She'll be sweet and kind and the very image of a Disney Princess. I'm picturing Aurora, actually. How ironic.

Lilia Vanrouge

What he says

"Fu Fu Fu wouldn't you like to know."

Who he ends up with

Lilia can and has fallen for every kind of woman. He's lived a long time. He's had the time to romance lots of women.  What he'd probably fall for in this stage of his life, is someone he can tease, and play around with, but who is also ready to settle down a little bit. Someone who enjoys the little things in life. He's getting a little old. He wants to build onto his family that he already has. Silver can stand to have three or ten more siblings, right?

Malleus Draconia

What he says

"You."

Who he ends up with

You.

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[wasabidottie]

The man in the yankees cap

You were just out grabbing coffee, a peaceful Saturday morning ritual, when someone bumped into you—hard. Your iced coffee sloshed dangerously in your hand, and you turned with a scowl to see a tall guy in a Yankees cap, hair peeking out messily from underneath.

“Hey, watch where you’re—” you started, but then he cut you off, not at all apologetic.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t be standin’ in the middle of the sidewalk,” he shot back, though a hint of a grin tugged at his lips.

You blinked, thrown off. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, excuse you,” he said, fully smirking now. His brown hair stuck out in all directions under his cap, and you couldn’t help but think how it made him look surprisingly endearing. His voice, though brash, had this way of pulling you in, making you curious instead of mad.

“You’re not even going to apologize?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Eh, you’ll live.” Then, after a beat, he squinted at your coffee. “What kinda drink’s that? Doesn’t even look like coffee. Looks like some milkshake experiment gone wrong.”

You huffed a laugh. “It’s an iced vanilla latte, thank you very much.”

“Vanilla, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Figures.”

“Figures?” you echoed, amused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just sounds like somethin’ a… I dunno, a librarian or somethin’ would drink. Real basic.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “And what do you drink, Mr. Coffee Expert?”

“Black. Like a man,” he said, puffing out his chest a little, though his grin betrayed him.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Sure, sure.”

“So, you gonna let me buy you another one since I so graciously ruined yours?”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

“Yeah, but maybe I wanna keep talkin’ to you,” he admitted, eyes gleaming in a way that almost made your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the first real sign of bashfulness you’d seen. “Dunno. You’re just… interesting. That, and your drink still looks like a science experiment. I’m intrigued.”

It was hard to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. Something about this guy—his messy hair, the playful way he poked fun at you—it was all oddly charming.

“Well,” you said, “if you’re paying, I’m not saying no.”

He grinned, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled before putting it back on. “Good choice. Let’s get you another one of those weird drinks.”

And with that, the two of you walked back into the café, an unexpected grin plastered on your face as Schlatt continued cracking jokes, clearly trying to make you stay a little longer.

As you stepped back inside the café, the warmth of the place contrasted with the coolness of your drink. Schlatt, hands still tucked into his pockets, stood beside you like he wasn’t sure whether to stay close or keep his distance. You caught him glancing your way, and when he noticed, he gave a smirk.

“You keep eyeballin’ me like that, people are gonna think you’re interested.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve been staring at my drink like you’re planning a heist.”

“What can I say? I like to study my enemy.” He leaned over as if to examine your cup, his shoulder brushing yours. “Still looks like dessert to me.”

You laughed under your breath and nudged him. “And you still look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Hey, it’s called havin’ style.” He straightened up, tilting his Yankees cap. “Not all of us spend an hour makin’ sure our hair’s perfect before leaving the house.”

You glanced up at the messy strands poking out from under his cap. “This is style?”

“Yeah, the ladies love it.” He winked, which somehow managed to be both cocky and goofy at the same time.

“You look like you’ve been wrestling with a pillow,” you teased, stepping up to the counter to place your order. You could feel him hovering behind you, his presence oddly comforting despite his sharp tongue.

When you finished ordering, Schlatt stepped up, pulling out his wallet. “Make it two. I’m curious about this vanilla librarian drink now.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Oh, so you’re stealing my drink order now? Thought you were a black coffee guy.”

“I can switch it up,” he said with a shrug. “If I hate it, it’s on you.”

“Oh no, what a tragedy,” you said mockingly, “a random stranger hates my drink, guess we can never be friends now.”

“Who said anything about friends?” He shot back, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

Before you could respond, the barista handed over the drinks. Schlatt took a sip of his, eyes narrowing immediately. “What the hell is this?” He coughed dramatically, setting it down on the counter like it personally offended him. “Tastes like a liquid candle.”

You doubled over laughing, tears springing to your eyes. “Liquid candle?”

“Yeah! All… floral and sweet. Gross.” He shook his head, but you noticed he kept taking sips, as if he didn’t actually mind it.

“You’re still drinking it,” you pointed out, arching a brow.

“Gotta be sure. Maybe it gets better,” he muttered, shooting you a sideways look. “But it won’t.”

“Admit it, you like it.”

“Nope,” he said, though his expression was softening. “But I do like—” He cut himself off and quickly switched gears. “I do like messin’ with you.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” you asked, tilting your head with a playful smile. “I thought you were just bad at flirting.”

He froze for a second, caught off guard, before letting out a loud, genuine laugh. “You’re bold, I’ll give ya that.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Denying what? That I’m bad at flirting? I got game, sweetheart,” he said, puffing his chest out in mock confidence.

“Really? Haven’t seen it yet,” you teased, enjoying the banter more than you thought you would.

He smirks, leaning in slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “maybe I’m just savin’ it for the right moment.”

“Oh? And when’s that?”

He leaned back with a grin. “Whenever you agree to let me take you out. See, I’m playin’ the long game here.”

You felt your cheeks warm but didn’t back down. “Smooth.”

“Hey, it’s workin’ so far, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “Maybe.”

Note: completely random but my boss got pissed at me for wearing a Yankees shirt to work the other day

-dottie

[bamfkeeper]

Kurt with a goatee kills me...please imagine him. PLEASE. 18+ under cut, MDNI

I can't get it out of my head, but him with a goatee is one of my favorite looks ever. He's just sooo hot, that blue devil knows it too. I mean look at that fucking grin 😩

Warnings: afab reader, a lot of teasing because look at him, oral sex, brief unprotected sex, fingering, using his tail, semi-exhibitionistic situation

WC: 1.2k (kinda short, will write more of this one in the future though ^^)

I want to imagine so many things with him. Watching him groom would be hot for no reason. Him combing it or styling it in the mirror, catching glances and shooting you that damn smile. "What are you looking at, schatz? You always stare at me when I do this." he hummed as his tail flicked.

"Dunno just...watching you mess with it." you reply with a soft shrug, trying to hide how attractive you find his goatee.

Or laying on him at any point and reaching up to play with it, he grabs your wrist lightly and tsks you. "Ah, ah...now I just finished styling, meine liebling, you will make it a mess if you play with it." he smiled down at you, cheeky and knowing. You know, that smile that his canines poke out and you can't help but squirm where you are.

Imagine feeling that hair rub against your skin as his tongue laps away at you, he nearly pulls you up off the bed, his face buried as hot breaths leave his nostrils while his tongue is completely occupied. He slides it up and down your wet slit and flicks your clit, your juices soak his goatee and he pulls back, strings of spit and arousal connecting him to you.

"Ah, liebe...you are drooling..." he chuckled, his finger swiping over your wet clit and gently pushing inside, his finger slowly pumping in and out of you while you write beneath him. His expert movements pressed upward, curling and finding that delicious spot inside you that made you moan louder.

"So schön, I will always remember these sounds you make for me..." he purred and leaned down, his glossy lips pressed into yours. You could taste yourself on him, his goatee slightly damp too. Oh god, it turned you on so badly you felt like you were in heat.

"Kurt, I need more than a finger, and you know it..." your body squirmed as he playfully continued to curl his finger inside you, gently pressing up on that sweet spot that made you nearly see stars.

"I know, I know, I am not too cruel to deny you your needs." he retracted his finger from you, watching how your pussy tightened from the absence and he sighed, his cock growing harder between his legs as he looked down at your beautiful body.

"Mein Engel...you are like a piece of art in a cathedral..." he placed kiss after kiss on your body, his hands rubbing your hips and sides, his tail delicately wrapping around your wrists and guiding your arms above your head. "I worship only one God...but perhaps I could spare some of that dedication to you." he winked. "The closest to a real angel I shall ever see."

You whined, his words were so tender but his gestures were so hot, you felt loved and turned on at the same time. "Please, I can't wait any longer..." you glanced down at his cock, erect as a bead of precum got too heavy and slowly drizzled out of him, leaking onto your belly.

His cock was beautiful, his head swollen and purple, the damn thing always made you arch your back and you wanted him in you every chance you got. Especially when he gave you that stupid smirk that made your pussy grow hot and wet.

You gasped when he rubbed his tip up and down your silky folds, your mind fogged as you whimpered. He grunted, biting his lip as he slid himself against you, slickening himself up a little bit so it wasn't such a stark penetration. "Ready?" he arched a brow, looking down at you as he positioned himself once more.

You were so needy at this point, you couldn't help but buck your hips towards him and his tip slid in. He grabbed your hips and pinned them to the mattress, smirking at you. "Naughty thing." he panted softly, "You have no patience, do you, dove?" he questioned with a false tinge of disappointment.

You pouted slightly, your bottom lip protruding a bit. He chuckled at that and rubbed your lip with the pad of his thumb, "Now, don't pout, dove. I will give you what you need. I know if I don't, you'll become a little Teufel, won't you?" he nipped your neck and smiled against your skin as you let out a loud moan when he slid the rest of his length inside you.

Or imagine him getting out of the shower, his entire body slick and wet, his hair soaked and dripping onto the mat below him when he steps out. His goatee gathering large water droplets all the same. They drip onto his chest and run down his body, you have to hold back when you see him drying off, he ruffles his hair with the towel and he smiles at you.

How soft it would be after he showers. He grooms and fixes himself up after drying, and he kisses you, since you know you like that first thing after he's all done. "Still love it?" he questions with a chuckle, watching you sigh happily. You nearly melt in his arms.

"Oh yes, still love it..." you whisper and lean in for another kiss so you could feel that facial hair against you once more.

He makes jokes about shaving it off, (he's kidding), just to see you whine and beg him not to. "Oh, my heart," he holds his chest like he were shot. "Would thou not love me, if I were but a hairless blue boy?" he feigns dramatically. He always makes you laugh, your panic dying down and you roll your eyes at him. "Tease."

He knows that a single look gets you weak in the knees. During meetings, he will glance at you and you feel yourself stiffen in your seat. Suddenly you have good posture, and he chuckles to himself. If he feels extra cheeky...he will do more than just glance and give you a smirk.

His tail snakes around your leg, the spade slithering between your legs and pressing your core. Your breath hitches, you desperately try to look like nothing is happening, trying to pay attention to whatever is being said, but this blue imp doesn't make it easy.

His tail slides up and down, caressing your cunt through your clothes before he manages to slide it under, his bare tail feels your wet folds and you can see him grin out of the corner of your eye. "Frecher Vogel." he whispers so only you can hear.

You have to bite your lip, the tip of his tail pokes inside your wet entrance, exploring you expertly even though he was practically blind in the moment. He moved his tail tip to your bud and teases it, your legs naturally spread more and you hook your feel around the back of each chair leg, needing to focus on something else to keep you from moaning out loud in front of everyone.

The feeling of your sensitive bud being played with send shocks through your body, you were shaking with anticipation as his tail rubbed your clit, trying your absolute best to stay still. The gentle movements of it were driving you crazy, and the fact that it was his tail made everything feel even more naughty. He sat still like nothing was happening beneath the table, that cheeky bastard.

Your cheeks were surely red by now, no amount of hiding or squirming could distract from that. You feigned you weren't feeling well, which is why you looked feverish. Though, a quick glance at Emma and the split second of eye contact had her smirking like a fox at you.

Damn telepaths.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images: Immortal X-Men #7 (2022)

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone's trying to cut out sugar from their diets now. Sugar, as introduced to us by Big Industrial Monsters, has been inserted into all of our foods without our consent. A little bit is fine, but eating it with every single meal is fuckin' up our guts. And if you ask literally anyone on the street, they don't want their guts fucked up. Well, maybe don't ask that guy.

One problem is that we don't know what has sugar in it. Sure, you could read the ingredients, but the greedheads have corrupted the government into allowing them to hide the cursed crystals under one of many different names. Glucose-Fructose sounds like an interstate shipping company, but you better believe it's sugar too. The only answer is to rely on science, and by "science" I mean the biggest dirtbag with a mass spectrometer that I could find.

What is a mass spectrometer? It's a fancy science machine that looks at whatever you put into it. And with only a lifetime of expertise (or about 30 minutes of training) you too can understand its cryptic answers. Or at least, come back with an "I dunno, but it had some cool blinking lights." One such scientist is Dr. Mary Su, a PhD who has been kicked out of every lab in the tri-state area for her extreme views on the recreational use of nitrous oxide.

Here's how our arrangement works out. I bring Dr. Su some food, and then she tells me if it has sugar in it. Then I slip her a $20, which she spends on race parts (the only ethical use of money.) Unfortunately, our partnership has yet to bear fruit. On my way to visit her, I invariably get stuck in traffic for a few minutes, and then eat whatever I came with out of boredom. Or the rat in the glovebox gets it first, when my back is turned. Either way, nothing is left by the time I get to her ramshackle lab built into a disused nuke bunker.

You might have better luck. Or, you can just eat some broccoli. Once it's been deep-fried and breaded, it's gotta be pretty healthy for you.

[tboybuck]

here, have a little modern steddie meet-cute. meet-ugly, maybe? idk. 1k words, mostly dialogue

"uber for, uh," the guy in the beemer at the curb looks at the phone in his hand, "eddie m.?"

"hey, that's my name!" eddie shouts, stumbling toward the car. the world is tipping sideways a little, but it's been a good night.

he wrenches open the passenger side door and slides in.

"cool if i sit up front, man? i get motion sickness sitting in the back, and you would not like me when i'm motion sick."

"uh, sure?"

eddie pulls the door closed behind him and says, "so what's your name, pretty boy?"

"you don't check the app before getting into some random guy's car?" the guy asks with a huff.

"oh, no, i never order these things for myself." eddie laughs. he tries to think back, remember how many jameson shots he put back tonight. can't. oh, well. "my roommate always sets it up beforehand when i come down to the styx for a show."

"a show? like a concert?"

"uh, no. drag show. styx is a gay bar." the guy's quiet at that. "that a problem? still dunno your name."

"oh. steve," the guy - steve - says shortly. "no, it just... looks more like a... metal bar, or something."

"sometimes things are both, can you believe it! they do a drag show last wednesday of every month. good show tonight, all the girls looked great." he kicks his feet up on the dashboard of the car, watches steve's eyes cut sideways at them as he does. "do you like drag shows, steve?"

he's testing the waters, feeling steve out to see if he should be worried about getting into some random guy's car outisde a gay bar with a dead phone. eddie's definitely had a little too much tonight. he's probably got glitter in his hair. there's definitely black lipstick smeared across his cheek from when allison chaynz planted one on him earlier during her set.

"only been to a few, but yeah. they're a good time. good show."

safe, then. tentatively.

eddie studies steve for a moment, trying to figure him out. he's got this thing he does sometimes, in an uber; eddie's an easy read - he gets into an uber and the driver immediately flips their spotify over to a metal playlist.

the driver's are usually easy to read too, and it's eddie's favorite game; he tends to know when he's got a country boy behind the wheel, or an emo transplant from the mid aughts, or the indie girlies with their iced coffees and perpetual dark undereye circles that all the concealer in the world can't hide.

the guy looks like he wears teenage boy deodorant and smells like repressed trauma. he has the indie girlie dark circles under his eyes, an apple watch strapped to his wrist. rich boy. drives a beemer. good hair, stupid highlights. there's a tube of burt's bees cherry lip balm in the center console and a days old energy drink in the cupholder.

"hmmm, the front bottoms," he decides at last, after staring at steve for what must have been an uncomfortably long time.

"i'm sorry?"

"i said, the front bottoms."

"is that a... what's the word... a euphemism?"

"no, steeeeve. it's a band. check 'em out sometime, your daddy issues'll thank you. do you like music, steve?"

"sure."

eddie clicks his tongue. "smells like bullshit. no one who likes music says sure when someone asks if they like music."

they're stopped at a stoplight. from behind the wheel, steve is studying him right back, looking him up and down, his gaze coming to rest once again on eddie's shoes on the dash.

"get your feet down," steve says, pushing at eddie's shins. "do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"fine, fine. so if you don't listen to music, steve, what do you listen to in this fancy bmw?"

"sports, mostly," steve shrugs. "podcasts sometimes."

"oh, boy, you are a walking red flag, aren't you? shame you're so pretty."

"well what about you? what do you listen to?"

"guess."

"i dunno, probably that metal shit. five finger whatever, or something."

eddie presses his hand to his chest. "five finger - oh, stevie, i am wounded. i wouldn't be caught dead listening to bro rock."

out of the corner of his eye, he definitely catches a smile from steve.

steve holds an aux cable out to him. "here, then. wow me. show me some real metal or whatever."

"god, i'd love to take you up on that," eddie says, huffing out a little laugh. he holds his phone up. "this sucker's been dead for hours."

this time steve's the one to click his tongue. "shame."

"truly. so what's your story, steven? what's got you out at three in the morning?"

"it's my night off," steve shrugs. "just started night shift at the hospital, trying to get used to the new sleep schedule."

"mmm, the hospital. you a nurse?"

"i am. trauma nurse."

"nice. ever see any gnarly injuries?"

"had a pretty fucked up dog bite come in the other night."

"shit."

"yeah." another stoplight, another unsubtle once over from steve. "so what about you? what do you do?"

"line cook."

steve's eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary. "oh, but i'm the walking red flag. got it."

"whoa," eddie laughs. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i've dated line cooks. everyone's dated a line cook."

"sounds like something a slut would say, steve. craziest dick you've ever had, huh?"

"mmm."

it's not a denial.

they're getting close to eddie's building now, and that's an actual shame. because steve's cute. he needs a haircut maybe, and the stubble around his mouth and chin is just on the wrong side of five o'clock shadow, but he's got these distracting little moles along his face and neck and arm that eddie's been itching to play connect the dots with since he got in the car.

"wait, i know this building," steve says as he slows at the curb and looks at the address on his phone again. "my roommate's girlfriend lives in this building."

it clicks into place, then, for eddie.

"oh, shit! you're robin's steve!"

steve's eyebrows draw together as he gapes at eddie, and then his eyes go wide with realization. "chrissy's ed?"

"eddie," he corrects. "gotta be a level twenty friend to call me ed. and chrissy's the only level twenty friend i'll ever have."

"noted. good to finally meet you, man. i, uh. i guess this is you, then, huh?"

"yeah, sure is. maybe i'll see ya around." eddie goes to get out of the car.

"oh, you will," steve says, his smile lopsided and goofy. "i'll make sure of it."

"hold ya to it," eddie promises with a wink.

steve wiggles his fingers in a flirtatious wave as eddie walks backward on the sidewalk toward his building.

so robin's steve is cute. maybe he should have been letting chrissy set them up this whole time.

still. sports and podcasts. guy's a walking red flag. who knows, maybe they're green. eddie's never been able to see the difference anyway.

[its-time-to-write]

hi sweetheart! i was wondering if you could do a jamie imagine where the reader is a physical therapist and he’s always finding the most ridiculous excuses to go see her, like getting a paper cut and things like that. i would also love if it could be before they got together :)

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it or already did it and i didn’t see it. thank you anyway, you’re one of my favorite writers here on tumblr 🩵

you called me sweetheart, so now I would die for you. pet names are the way to my heart, in case u didn’t know. hope u enjoy🍊

(important disclaimer, I don’t know how physical therapy works so if I’m wrong about things, remember this isn’t a medical journal, I am just a girl)

before you go

Apparently, it’s impossible to purposely give yourself a paper cut, but Jamie Tartt has been doing his damnedest all day to get some kind of ailment, so if that means being careless with some photographs in his locker then so be it. 

He really wishes his leg would cramp or something, but Will’s been keeping him far too hydrated for that. 

So Jamie has to settle for slipping a picture of his mum at just the right angle to draw blood. 

“Shit,” he whispers softly. He puts his finger to his mouth to catch the first beads of blood. 

“Paper cut?” Sam asks sympathetically. Jamie nods, finger in between his teeth. 

“Ay, sí, you should go see the physio for that one, amigo. Ask for the Rojas special,” Dani says with his ever-present grin. 

“It’s just a paper cut, mate,” Jamie says in order to keep up appearances. 

Sam knocks his arm. “You have to go. Dani only just let me request the Rojas special last week, and Richard still won’t talk to me about it.”

“Ça c’est merde,” Richard calls from across the locker room. “Put on a bandage and go home.”

Jamie won’t. He sticks his tongue out at Richard and turns to go to the treatment room because he needs treatment right away. Never mind that it’s a cut and not a muscle injury. He can hide under the excuse that Dani sent him. 

Jamie taps on the door and pushes it open to find you sitting on the table, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on your knees. You jump down at the sight of Jamie. 

“Hi! I was wondering if anybody’d be over today,” you grin. “Where does it hurt?”

Jamie holds up his finger. “Dani sent me.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, grin never leaving your face. Jamie wonders if your sunny disposition is why you and Dani are such good friends. Suddenly, he’s gripped by uncertainty. Maybe you and Dani are morethan good friends. After all, Dani is strangely tight-lipped about his affairs and besides, it’s not good for the physio to be openly screwing a player. 

Maybe he should go. 

But you’ve already come back to him after rummaging in a cupboard, small box in hand. 

“Technically, this isn’t part of my job,” you say as you select a band-aid, “but I’ve been doing this since I started going to my nephew’s footie matches. Kid’s almost ten now, but he still asks for me every time he gets a scrape. First time I was here it was like, force of habit, but Dani said it reminded him of his sister, so…” you trail off. “I dunno, it’s funny that even big strong footballers still want silly bandages, yeah?”

Jamie watches as you open a green bandage with yellow flowers and wrap it carefully around his finger. You press a kiss to it and smile up at him. “There. All better.”

Jamie is… well, he’s flustered. He’s heard about the so-called Rojas special and how it’s available through recommendation only, but he wasn’t prepared for the sweet way you cradled his hand or the fact that your lips touched him. In fact, he wasn’t prepared for anything beyond a bandage and the fact that you slipped sweets to Sam and Dani to numb the sting of injury. 

“Thanks,” he chokes out, aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. You give it one last squeeze before dropping it. 

“See you around,” you say. 

Jamie mumbles something unintelligible and finds his way out the door.

“Fuck you,” he says to Sam as soon as he catches him in the car park. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get a chocolate. Did you not hold still?”

“I- you- it- fuck you,” Jamie says again. “You fucking knew.”

“Knew what?” Dani asks. He’s a horrible liar. 

“You knew I thought she was fit. You didn’t tell me she’s, like, emotionally fit as well. So fuck you both for that.”

Sam mouths emotionally fit as he and Dani dissolve into laughter. 

“Which band aid did you get?” Dani asks when he finally regains control of himself. “She ran out of Peppa Pig last week, but she promised to get some more soon.” 

Jamie holds up his finger, wishing the cut were on the middle one. 

Sam and Dani lean into inspect it and nod once. 

“Well?” Jamie demands. They just look at him with stupid grins. 

“Good night, Jamie Tartt,” Dani says, opening Sam’s passenger seat door. 

“Good night, Jamie,” Sam echoes. 

The fuckers just leave him standing in the lot, heart racing like a fucking idiot. 

—

Jamie’s ankle is barely twisted. Like, barely. But he grew up watching football so he knows how make an injury seem worse than it is. He’s mastered the art of not going overboard.  

“You should see the physio,” Beard tells him. Jamie pretends to protest a little bit, ignoring the way Ted shoots Dani and Sam quizzical looks. They’re making some sort of face and Jamie’s not going to figure out what they mean because he doesn’t care. 

(Or maybe he already knows what they mean. But he doesn’t give a shit.)

So he hobbles his way to the treatment room where you’re typing something on the computer. Reports, probably. 

You look up with a smile when you see him, the quickly school it into a frown. “Where does it hurt?” you ask. 

“My ankle,” Jamie grimaces. 

You pat the table and he obliges, sitting down on the crinkly paper. 

You squat to undo his boot and Jamie realizes that maybe this isn’t the best way to get you to fall for him but it’s too late now because you’re gingerly sliding it off his foot. 

“D’you mind if I get the sock as well?” you ask, and it’s all Jamie can do to mutely shake his head. You lightly run a cool hand over his ankle. 

“Feels a bit swollen,” you say. “What happened?”

Jamie has to gather his thoughts firmly away from the way he could feel the callouses on your palm. “Tackle,” he says. 

“Hm,” you reply. “Does this hurt?”

Jamie gasps as you press your thumb at just the wrong spot. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say. “Lie down. I’m going to massage it for a minute then put it on ice. You’ll be good to go in an hour.”

Jamie obeys, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your hand squeezes his calf for a fraction of a second. 

You’re able to find all the right spots, gently pushing the muscle back where it needs to go. You pat his foot gently and go to get an ice pack. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, off for five, then on for another fifteen. If it still hurts I’ll get you another pack, or maybe a heating pad. Depends on what type of pain you have, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You sending me back?” Jamie asks in a feeble attempt to be his usual confident self. 

You hesitate. “I mean… the other option is you stay here. I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty quiet back here but it doesn’t smell. Will got me on these scent diffuser packs, so this is one of the least-gross rooms on the lower level. I usually just type reports, but I’ve finished for now so I was going to read but we can chat if you like. You don’t have to, but I can monitor your ankle for the next hour if you’re here. It’s up to you.”

Stay and flirt with the pretty physio or sit on the bench instead of practicing?

Jamie positions himself better on the table. “What’s your book about?”

—

Jamie wishes that he were just making an excuse to come see you, but if that were the case he’d have made sure to be showered. Instead, he’s fresh off the pitch after a long day of practice and he needs his joints like, replaced or some shit. 

He stumbles into the treatment room and practically flops facedown on the table. You’re up in an instant, combing his hair away from his face with your fingers. 

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, voice filled with concern. 

“Everywhere,” Jamie groans. 

“Okay, so full-massage with the extra-large ice pack at the end, then,” you say. 

Jamie just grunts in response and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most unromantic way he’s ever tried to date a girl. He tells himself that you’re a physio, that you’ve seen grosser, and that you’re not even interested in him anyway. It still doesn’t stop him from asking about your day and cracking stupid jokes the entire time you’re popping his muscles. His voice squeaks every time you forcibly release tension, but you just laugh and tell him, “You should hear Isaac.” So yeah, the worst training of his life has now turned out to be a goddamned blessing in disguise because you’re joking back and forth for a solid twenty minutes. 

“Come back any time,” you tell him with a wink as he heads out the door. “You don’t have to be injured to say hey.”

Jamie smiles at that, and goes to tell Sam and Dani that they’re shitheads but he loves them very much. 

—

It’s been a long week and an especially long match, but thank fuck it’s over. There’s a bit of an ache in his legs but he doesn’t give a flying shit. They’ve won, for once, so as a reward to himself he’s going to invite you out with the lads. Proper, like, probably with the words, “Hey I think you’re fit,” except he’s thinking he should probably swap “fit,” for beautiful, or stunning, or the most wonderful, funny, amazing woman he’s ever met and no, it’s not just because of the magical healing powers you seem to possess. 

Jamie showers, changes, then heads purposefully down the hall. He knows you’re still here, you never leave after matches until everyone who might possibly need physio is gone. 

He bangs open the door, ready to regale you with the shit Ted’s up to post-match when he catches sight of your face. Or rather, the fact that it’s in your hands as your shoulders shake. 

He rushes over to the desk and turns your chair so you’re facing him. 

His hands are on your knees as he urgently whispers, “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “I’m fine, I don’t know what came over me, I’m good, I promise. What’s up?”

You move to get up but Jamie presses lightly where his hands were resting. “You don’t look fine, love,” he says, then internally winces. Not a good thing to say to a girl, no matter how true it is. 

“I’m good, swear down,” you choke. You move to wipe away another tear but Jamie beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb. You shudder involuntarily, trying not to notice the rough feel of his skin on yours. 

“I’m not hurt,” he says tentatively. “Came to see if you wanted to go out with me ‘n the lads.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, still trying your absolute best to pull yourself together and failing miserably. “Right. I um, I’m going to be here a while so you should just go, yeah? Tell Dani I’m proud of him.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Ain’t leaving you here all by yourself.” He realizes your hands have found their way into his, and he has no idea who put them there. He lifts one to his lips and brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “Just tell me where it hurts, yeah?”

Another shiver wracks your body. “You can’t- I can’t- you have to go, okay Jamie? I need you to go.”

Jamie will, he’ll do anything you ask, but first he has to know- 

“Why?” he asks, so softly. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Don’t-” you half-choke. “Not- I’m gross right now.”

Jamie can’t stifle his laugh in time, so he does his best to save it. “Love, you’ve seen me at my fuckin’ worst. We’ll call it even.”

You’re breathing a little easier now, but just barely. You don’t seem too eager to get rid of him so Jamie pushes his luck and stays kneeling on the floor. 

“Tell me,” he urges again, but you just shake your head. 

“You really should go,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t want to keep Maia waiting. Heard actresses are notoriously particular about being on time.”

That’s confusing. Maia- do you mean Maia Stanwood? You must, that’s the only Maia he knows. But how did you know her, Jamie had run into her at dinner the other day and there’d been a brief article in the papers, but nothing that connects to what’s happening here. 

Unless-

No. 

Except- it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

But you don’t like him like that. At least, he’s pretty sure. And anyway, isn’t it prickish to assume everyone’s in love with him?

But you’re not everyone, you’re the team physio with nice hands and a sweet smile and an affinity to fix people, to mend what’s broken in the best way you know how. 

“I love you,” he says instead of everything else he had planned.

You’re silent, and he’s not sure you’ve heard him so he says it again. 

“Yeah, alright, I love you too,” you sniff with a half-smile, except it’s the way you’d say to a brother, the way you’d say it to Dani or Sam. 

“No,” Jamie says more insistently, “I love you. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you, wanted to take you out proper. Impress you with my dancing and chat you up at the bar. Make the lads jealous that I’ve got a beautiful girl on my arm, then sneak out early to kiss you like I’ve been fucking thinking about since that fucking paper cut. Had a right crush on you like an idiot since you got hired.”

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, unable to believe what he’s saying, and Jamie doesn’t know much all the time but he knows that you’re gripping his hands like it’s a lifeline. He knows your eyes are wide open and that he was on the mark about you thinking he was with someone else. So he does what anyone in his position would do. 

He captures your lips in his, letting go of your hands only so he can slip one hand around your waist and another in your hair. 

God, you feel like you’re melting. 

Jamie Tartt is kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and the floor is tipping out from under you, but apart from that vague feeling all you’re aware of is his hands on you and the fact that he tastes like spearmint. 

His lips are soft against yours, mouth warm and inviting. 

It’s like taking a breath of air for the first time in months. 

“I love you,” you say as soon as you break apart. You’re breathing heavily as if you’re the one who just played a 90-minute match. Jamie’s lips are swollen and your hair is mussed, but you both share the same look.

“All better?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Good. You want to get dinner? I know a few places we can go, don’t have to worry about paps.”

“The team-” you begin, but Jamie waves that away. 

“They’ll understand,” he says. “Been flirting with you for ages, getting injured all the time. Think Ted’s starting to get fucking worried.”

You run your thumb down his jawline. “I always wondered about that,” you murmur. “Thought it was in my head how much you were down here. Didn’t want to be unprofessional.”

Jamie reaches up to hold your wrist and you just sit there, on the floor of the treatment room, looking at each other in the dim light. You’ll get up, eventually, but for now you’re going to savor this moment you have together. 

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 10 - A Song of Ice and Fire | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The moment has arrived for you and Aemond to prove yourselves against the Martells. You can only hope you've done enough to earn your place | Word Count: 7.7k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: teasing, hair pulling, mile high club (oop), voyeurism, degradation, daddy kink, oral (m receiving), ass slapping, orgasm denial, threatening behaviour, mentions of a broken family, mentions of chronic pain, blood, slight angst, injury in relation to chronic condition, trigeminal neuralgia, hospitals

A/N: I can't believe this is the LAST CHAPTER FUCK 😭😭😭 i love these two sm, would die for them 🥰 I really hope you guys enjoyed this series, it was so fun to write! If you're lucky there might even be an Epilogue 😉

Sunspear.

That’s where the finals would be.

Cocky fuckers. Thinking that they had the win, by having it on Martell turf.

At this point, the prospect of winning was low on the priority list. The top spot had been somewhat taken over, by carrying out the plan you had in store, which Aemond was increasingly becoming more and more suspicious of.

You and Helaena would play dumb whenever he walked past her room, hiding whatever you were doing. As much as Helaena prefaced that what you had planned was a terrible idea, she’d grinned and told you to do it anyway.

She’d even given her opinion when you modelled it.

“Perfect” she said with a proud smile, leaning back in her chair.

You’d packed the suitcase well enough that Aemond wouldn’t see it even if he opened it by accident.

When it was time to load up the car for the flight to Sunspear, staying in a hotel overnight before the finals tomorrow, there was a finality to it that widened the pit in your chest. Helaena had barely had you out of her arms, intent on hugging every last bit out of you so that she could savour the feeling.

“We’ll all be watching the match tomorrow” she smiled, “try not to get into too much trouble before then”

As much as you’re happy that she and her family will be there, as your manager, he will too.

Aemond had pre-warned you about that.

But to be honest, you were expecting it.

“You know me, can’t keep out of it it seems” you smile back at her, hand slipping out of hers as you move onto Alicent, who stands straight, pink lips pressed together, like one touch and she’ll just crumble into tears.

Alicent nods, picking at the top of her turtleneck, “It was so nice to have you here, sweet girl. You are welcome back whenever you like” she manages, her voice wavering with emotion.

Smiling gratefully, nothing else need be said when Alicent opens her arms to pull you into a hug, as if you were her own. She smells like expensive perfume, probably YLS, as you’d often seen the bottle poking out of her bag. At first, when you met, you found the scent overpowering, and somewhat tart. But now, as the perfume enveloped you in a warm, motherly hug, it was entirely comforting. And your heart strained in your chest, knowing that it may be a while before you get to come back.

Your face pulls into a smile as Alicent then moves onto her son, bringing a comically tall Aemond in comparison into a warm embrace. No person is more surprised than you when Aegon walks over, trying to hide how nice he’s being with humour.

“Come in. Bring it in then”

You laugh through your nose, giving him a quick hug.

“Alright, that’s enough”

You shrug, smirking, “Fine, you smell anyway”

“Ouch, I’m so fucking wounded”

You pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’ll be watching as well. Can’t wait to see what happens” Aegon winks.

You turn awake, feigning ignorance, “Dunno what you mean”

You fought the urge to tear up as you looked in the mirror, watching the three of them wave you away. With lips pressed together to force a smile to your face, strained with emotion, you spare them a wave back, bidding the large Targaryen House goodbye.

Once past the security gates a deep exhale exits your lungs, and Aemond’s hand wraps around your knee, stealing your attention.

You smile at him, giving a soft nod, “I’m alright”

Aemond laughs through his nose, “You’re acting like you’ll never go back” he chuckles, “I know Mum would be very offended if you didn’t”

Smiling, you know it’s probably true. That they would like you back as often as possible, no matter the outcome of the finals.

Aemond scrolls through his phone, biting the inside of his cheek, “Applications are closing soon” he muses, almost so quietly you don’t hear him unless you’re leaning close.

“For what?”

He clicks his phone off, shoving it into his sweatpants pocket, “For the new academic year” he replied anxiously.

“Philosophy and History right?” you smile, putting your hand on his to calm him, “You’ll love it, Aemond”

“I know, it’s just-” he adds, “I don’t know if I’ll be good at the whole academic side of it. It’s one thing to be interested-”

“You’ll do great because you’re interested in it” you smile, “besides there’ll be plenty of workshops on essay writing and such”

He sighs, like the idea of doing all of that is just so overwhelming right now. Not knowing what to expect, has his whole body tense.

“Finals first. Then I’ll apply” he states, turning to flash you a small, Aemond-smile. One you return with warmth.

“I’ll help you with your Personal Statement”

He laughs, “Then I’ll never get in” he jokes, making you swat his arm playfully.

It was a couple of hours on a plane to Sunspear, and with the assistance of the private jet supplied by Hightower Management, it was a simple process. The car even pulled up right next to it, allowing you both to largely avoid the media who stood behind the chain-link fence, trying to get a word or a photo from the mysterious couple.

You’d barely looked at the news. But every now and then, a notification would inevitably pop up on your phone, about your outburst and subsequent removal from the Targaryen House. Frustration boiled in your veins.

That wasn’t true.

But then again, not a lot they wrote about was true.

It happened so often, each time affected you less and less, and the quicker it was to push that aside.

An ‘unnamed insider’ had also offered their opinion.

‘There was an altercation with the Chairman of Hightower Management, in what I understand was a lapse of morals’.

You had laughed when you read it.

And so did Aemond.

Alys Rivers.

Still trying to dig her claws in, desperate for even a slither of that limelight. Of Aemond’s attention.

She wouldn’t fucking get it. No fucking way.

Aemond had joked that you’d beat her in a fist fight if need be. And you didn’t doubt it. In fact, the mental image somewhat amused you.

You looked up from your phone, the hum of the incessant jet engine vibrated through the seats. Arryk was fast asleep in the front of the jet, slumped back in his seat, with his hands clasped on his chest. His suit, inevitably crumpled with the awkward sleeping position he found himself in.

Aemond was seated next to you, earphones in, leaning back to only appear as if he were dozing.

You bite your lip, looking back down the aisle and then to Aemond.

He cracks open his eye as you stand up from your seat, a suspicious look rakes over you as you pull the jumper you were wearing over your head and huffing it onto the seat.

“Where are you going?” he asks gruffly, to which the only thing you can do is smile, seeing the way his gaze absorbs the image of what you’re wearing stuck tight to your skin.

Knowing he fucking hates it.

Hates it.

You roll your eyes.

“The toilet?” you reply sarcastically.

Gods, you know you’re pushing your luck but you just can’t help it.

You can practically feel the irritation radiating off Aemond. His lips part to say something but you’re gone with a smirk on your face before he can say anything. His harsh, determined gaze bores into the back of your head, burning a bright hole through it. You sway your hips as you walk down the aisle to the bathroom, closing the door, but not locking it.

10 seconds.

That’s how long you give it.

You pretend to wash your hands, looking in the mirror and smoothing your palms over the ponytail that sits semi-loosely at the back of your head.

5, 4, 3…

The door opens quickly and with a click it’s shut again, but this time Aemond slides the lock across. He had to duck to get into the cramped bathroom, and now with two people inside, it feels utterly stifling.

You have to bite back a smile that you’d guessed him so spot on. It hadn’t even been ten seconds. And here he stood, putting on a stoic, blank face, as if he had no intention of doing anything at all.

Your lips part to speak, but your throat is instead met with pressure, his palm flush to it and his fingers around the sides as he pushes you further into the bathroom.

“You want to get fucked?” he suggests in a dark, husky voice, the muscles in his arm tensing and untensing as his control begins to wane, “Hm?”

You can see the way he expects you to respond, but as his fingers press on the sides of your neck, it only serves to make your mind swirl with want, seeing how frustrated he is. Nothing seems to want to come out of your mouth, shock pleasantly blocking your throat.

“Think I didn’t see that? The way you rolled your eyes? Acting like a little slut?”

You swallow under his hand, his words sending a bolt of arousal straight between your legs, throbbing with desire. The way your cheeks burn makes it clear to him what you really want, coupled with the tremble that has now managed to worm its way up your legs.

In a smooth moment, your thighs hit the counter in front of the mirror, his arm now reaching widely around you to hold your head up to see his expression in the mirror. You shiver at the sensation of his hair on your skin, his nose dragging up the side of your neck, his breath eventually hot on the shell of your ear.

“You just want it, don’t you?” he grunts, pressing his now noticeable erection against your backside, his hips moving torturously slow, as if to make you wait, to tease you.

Pride rings in your body at the way he’s just so easily fallen apart the way you predicted.

“No” you tease, biting back a smile which he sees in the mirror.

His mouth drawn tightly into a line, not revealing at all what he’s thinking.

Aemond’s large hands go to your leggings, tearing them down harshly like he can’t get a good grip on them. The speed, the sheer neediness of the gesture, has arousal pooling where you need him most and your skin prickling with desire.

“We’ll see about that”

You have to spread your hands on the counter to keep yourself up as Aemond tugs your leggings down just enough and bends you over, exposing you just enough that the cool air against your core makes you shiver.

“No” he gruffs, wrapping your hair around his knuckles and tugging back to make you look in the mirror at him, “You’re going to watch”

You barely have time to think about his threat before you feel the fat head of his cock kiss your folds, pushing forward, Aemond moans breathily as he looks down to watch you take the entirety of him, squeezing his length tightly.

It feels like the air is being constantly pushed from your lungs, he doesn’t even give a moment of reprieve, one hand tugging your hair and the other kneading the fleshy globe of your ass to spread you open for him to see. His cock pistons so quickly and with such a lewd sound that for a moment, it makes you embarrassed that Arryk might actually hear from the front of the plane.

“Keep your eyes open, princess” she breathes, leaning over your neck and giving a harsh tug to remind you. You whimper as his teeth graze over your skin, combined with the way he bullies that sensitive spot inside you in this position, it all feels very too much.

“Just my little fucktoy aren’t you, hm?” he grunts against your ear. And without even thinking you nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak, your eyes dragging down to watch the ceaseless rocking of his hips slapping against you.

He delivers a hard slap to your ass, “Say it”.

“ - yes, I am - I am -”

Aemond groans, burying himself as deep as he can inside you with each devastating thrust, “Yeah, that’s right -”

You gasp loudly, eyes slipping shut as his hand makes his way to your front, his thumb drawing harsh circles against your clit. It’s more pressure than you anticipated to such a sensitive area, and it has your body pushing back to meet his, desperate.

“ - fuck, Aemond -”

“ - not my name, princess-”

Just when you’re about to lose it, he ceases his movements to your clit and slows his pace dramatically and he chuckles darkly when you whine with annoyance.

“If you want to cum, I want to hear it-”

You can’t help but feel irritated. You are so, so close. It’s unfair.

“Come on, you can do it, baby-”

With a strained, annoyed tone, “-fuck, daddy please - I’m so close-”

You feel him grin against your neck, “better”

Nothing feels more overwhelming than when he picks up the pace again, blood feeling as if it’s on fire as it hums around your body, right to your little bundle of nerves that Aemond hasn’t left alone.

“-that’s it, cum around my cock, princess-”

And you do.

Hard.

So much so that Aemond has to put his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. Especially when his pace never falters, and he fucks you through your orgasm with the same vigour. Aemond moans as your walls flutter around him, squeezing his length tightly.

He pulls out, fisting his length quickly in his fist, a shuddered groan falling from his glorious lips as his warm cum coats your bare pussy. It’s near-pornographic, the way it feels to be covered by him, and even more so when he smears his cum over your slit with the head of his cock.

You smile tiredly, seeing that this little act is something that Aemond enjoys doing often.

Perhaps it's his way of reminding you you're his.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect-” he praises, “-baby you’ve made such a mess- come on, be a good girl-”

You’re near breathless as he pushes you to your knees in front of him, covering your lips with the cum that glazes his cock before plunging into your mouth. You let your jaw relax as Aemond makes the slow, lazy pace, using your mouth to clean the aftermath off his length.

You moan around him, the taste of him salty and heavy on your tongue.

“That’s it - you like me using your mouth, don’t you-”

You make a noise of confirmation as he continues to use you, making his head tip back at the vibrations stimulating his oversensitive cock.

He pulls you off by your hair, looking down at you reverently, using his thumb to swipe whatever was left on your lips back into your mouth.

As your eyes meet, both of you light up in a smile.

"Seven fucking Hells, what am I going to do with you" he smiles lovingly.

The Dornish heat was nothing compared to that little bathroom.

The air was crisp as you exited the plane, a dull, but satisfied ache between your thighs. In fact, Arryk had looked at you both with some level of barely-contained suspicion when you came out the bathroom on the flight, and you’d flushed bright red when he asked if you were alright, and swatted Aemond when he made no attempt to hide his smugness and laughed out loud.

The hotel was lavish, and entirely different in style from the hotels you were used to on the tour. The floors were marble, the walls largely made of stone, with bright and vibrant colours decorating the tall ceilings and walls.

Even people’s fashion was different. Flowy fabrics of silk and light linens, probably due to the intense heat, which was already making it difficult to concentrate.

You gave Aemond a look when the receptionist gave you one key.

As if being in on an inside joke of sorts.

The last time you were forced to share one room, it was a very different circumstance.

The room was spacious and utterly luxurious, but you’d expect nothing less from the Martells.

The bed was enclosed with panels of delicate details surrounding it, along with silks of various vibrancies to lift it. The floor was marble, and a nice cooling sensation in comparison to the stifling air.

And as Aemond snaked his arms around your waist as you looked out onto the balcony at the lavish gardens, leaning down to bite at your neck softly, your eyes slipped shut.

“Aemond the finals are tomorrow, we have to practi-”

“And I intend to” he whispered back, kissing higher and higher on your neck, while one of his hands sank lower and lower, til they were beneath the waistband of your leggings.

“It’s still early, Princess” he mused.

You had both christened the bed that afternoon, and later on, any available flat surface Aemond could find, he would do things that would make even Aegon blush.

Unlike the other hotels, there was only one ice rink in Sunspear, and it would be the one you’d be using tomorrow to compete against the Martells. It was a bit annoying having to book in a spot to go over the routine, and you and Aemond had already practised beyond measure, but it was still nice to get a few more sessions in before the big day.

Surprisingly, you felt okay, and Aemond was the nervous one. Even though realistically, there was little outcome for Aemond, whether you won or not.

You sigh, the cool air of the rink hitting your skin, “At least it’s nice and cool in here”

Huffing your bag onto the floor, you look behind at him when he doesn’t reply.

Aemond, with a stoic expression, only gestured with his head in the direction of the stands.

Larys Strong sits there, his cane in hand.

His head is angled down, so that he’s looking over the bridge of his brow, his darkened eyes flitting between you and Aemond from where he’s seated in the middle of the rows of seats, which tomorrow, would be filled with people.

Immediately, irritation gnaws at your insides. And the only saving grace is Aemond’s careful hand on your arm, grounding you.

You make no effort to go to him.

He will come to you if he wants to speak.

It almost pleases you that it takes him so long to stand and step down to the ice rink, so that it gives you more time to think of what to say. You go to move away to speak to him, but Aemond’s fingers tighten, holding you close to him.

He wanted to stay with you.

“Aemond” Larys greeted first, leaning on his cane as he stopped before you both, smirking as he searched both of your faces.

Aemond didn’t respond.

“What do you want?” you ask, getting swiftly to the point, as you knew he wouldn’t.

Larys bowed his head, as if briefly embarrassed and wondering what to say, his slick wavy brown hair not moving around his shoulders.

“I am here for the finals-”

“That’s not what I asked” you added quickly, “to the point, please”

You didn’t see the barely-contained smirk that Aemond was struggling to keep at bay behind you. It turned out, he rather liked to see you angry.

Larys floundered noticeably.

“You had seen my emails?”

“I had”

Larys raised an eyebrow, “and it was insufficient?”

Biting your lip, you couldn’t hide your contempt, “You expected me to go to the press?”

“I thought that was the plan”

“There was no plan. Nor an exchange of terms between you and I. I sought your help because I thought you had information on my employment, and you did. There is nothing more to say”

He goes quiet for a moment, before lifting his signature smirk to his face.

“I see the Ice Princess has some fire in her”

Aemond’s grip tightens, as if he’s ready to explode at any moment.

“I do hope Floris is alright” he muses, taking a short step forward, “it’d be a shame for such a capable skater to retire so soon into her career”

Your eyebrows furrow.

Was that a fucking threat?

Larys smirks slightly, appearing to have hit the nerve he was after.

"Good luck with the finals"

"Watch it" Aemond responds, keeping a firm grip on your arm. Now because he's afraid you might actually hurt him.

Larys laughs through his nose.

Fuck you.

You and Aemond watch with bated breath as Larys leaves slowly, the clang of the double doors rattling behind him.

Aemond let's out a breath.

"Should I be watching where I put my skates now?" You ask him, half joking. But it earns a breathy laugh nonetheless.

"You say that. Maybe you should"

Practice goes as expected.

The routine is intricate, perhaps the most technical so far, but in a nice way. Working with Aemond now, when everything had been addressed was nice.

Gods it was so nice.

It almost made you sad that he wanted to retire after the finals.

He was so graceful. For such a tall guy, lined with lean muscle, he had such elegance on the ice. Wasn't afraid to show off, which the judges would no doubt love.

The song?

Swan Lake. The Ending Song.

A bold choice of Otto's.

Was that a threat too? Perhaps?

It didn't bother you too much, as you'd found a perfect place within the song to do what you had planned for weeks.

And gods, it'd all be worth it to see his face.

It was all very surreal.

A flurry of texts crowded your screen on the morning of the finals.

Rhaenys.

Baela. Rhaena.

Floris.

El.

Even some of your family.

Estranged family.

You're certain you blocked their number.

You sigh, pulling the towel around yourself and walking out of the open wet room. Aemond is laid flat on his back on the bed, a damp cold cloth applied to the marred eye.

If you didn't know any better, he looked asleep.

"Still bothering you?" You ask.

He just makes a noise of confirmation. His eye not moving.

You rub his arm lovingly as you sit next to him.

His eye had been bothering him all night, so much so that embarrassingly (his words) he'd had to remove the glass eye he wore and slept without it to alleviate the pain.

He'd looked so vulnerable when he showed you.

As if you'd run away when you saw it.

But instead, your heart leapt. You were more lovey than usual after a little drink at the bar with Aemond after practice, and you'd pressed your lips to his scarred cheek. Lingering.

Little did you know, that his heart leapt as well.

And when you slept, moulded in each other's arms.

It felt like it was always meant to be this way.

It changed something.

"Do you want some painkillers?" You ask softly,

"I'm alright, just took some…waiting for them to kick in"

Patting his arm, you give him a reassuring smile, though he can't see it.

Making sure he's not looking, you sneak the outfit out of your suitcase and into your bag for later. Biting your lip, you try hard to contain the excitement in your veins. And nerves as well.

For a lot of things.

Ping!

You laugh through your nose.

Scrolling, you check the other messages you have.

You laugh at that too.

Gods she's such a boomer. It's kind of painful.

You shoot her a quick text back, clearing the texts from your family without replying.

Not like they deserve it anyway.

Everytime you see a text from them now, it only reminds you of why Otto hired you.

Bad circumstances.

Someone of low background.

Ugh fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

With a barge pole if needed.

Aemond huffs as he gets up, squinting and looking over at you, "ready to dance with the vipers?"

"Oh more than ready" you smile at him.

You're thankful you have your own dressing room at least. To get everything right without Aemond's curious eye constantly looking at you.

No time for quickies this time round.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair all done into a ponytail with curls falling from it. Decorated with glitter hairspray and little pearls. Your outfit is black, as Otto had said it would be in his email. The corset is almost velvet like, with a slight v at the top (which made it difficult to initiate your plan, but you managed).  And the mesh skirt over the leotard sways like a cloud over your legs.

You steel yourself.

You can do this.

When you go out to the hallway, looking down to the ice rink, where the stands are entirely full with the echoed chatter of the audience, your skin immediately prickles with nerves.

You feel Aemond's hand on the small of your back, making heat crawl up your neck.

"Feeling okay?" He asks in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

You don't think you'll ever get over the feeling you get when you see him with his sapphire eye.

It literally takes your breath away.

But his scar looks reddened somewhat.

You furrow your brows, "Are you?" You ask, concerned, "your eye. It looks sor-"

"I'm fine" he says quickly.

I don't believe that.

You can see the way he's trying to be brave about it. His jaw tight and his good eye looking anywhere but you, as if he knows he'll be found out.

"Aemond we don't have to. If you're in pain-"

"No. I want to do this for you" he urges.

For you.

You swear for a moment your heart skips a beat, stilling in your chest as the rest of you gets warm.

Aemond can never be forced.

He's stubborn like that.

A Targaryen trait, you muse.

But you know deep down, he won't heed your warning. He's headstrong. Completely sure of his own opinion, rightly or wrongly.

There's something about it now though, which doesn't feel right.

"I'm alright, princess. Promise" he adds, taking one of your hands in his while he takes in your outfit.

"You look nice" he says, forcing a smile to his face. His hand goes over your sleeves to the clips at the top. He plays with them briefly, as if wondering what they are before you playfully slap his hand away.

"Off"

He gives you a look.

A suspicious one.

He knows you're up to something.

Then he smiles.

Again a forced one, but stubbornness will kill him first.

As you both walk towards the ice rink, journalists, media, the judges, the faces of the audience as well as the Martells all serve to wake your nerves.

You wave at Rhaenys in the crowd, Baela and Rhaena seated either side of her.

"There they are, the Ice Prince and Princess. Ready for the finals in their all black get up"

"They appear to be closer this time, speaking in hushed voices- oh! Was that a kiss I saw?"

"It was! Perhaps there is more to this mere partnership than meets the eye"

Aemond whispers to you, "up in the stands, to the right"

When you follow his eyeline, your face drops and you turn to avoid the cameras from getting a good look at your expression.

Otto Hightower sits there.

Alone.

Good.

He's looking down at you both, chin high but his gaze looking over his nose like you're shit at the bottom of his shoe. His hands are clasped in expectancy, clearly desiring a favourable outcome to the performance.

But at least now you know where he is, so you can see the look on his face.

The thought of it has an evil smirk rise to your face.

"Are we going first?" You ask.

Aemond nods.

Fuck. You hate going first.

And as if by magic-

"Aemond fucking Targaryen. The One-Eyed wonder!"

Qoren's voice has a tendency to travel. And right now, it's travelling through every nerve in you, jolting them awake. He walks over with a swagger, a slowness, clad entirely in bright mustard and wine tones, akin to his partner who is sat on the bench scrolling through her phone.

Aemond sighs, "Qoren" he greets flatly, rubbing his thumb against his temple on the marred side of his face.

"Just wanted to say good luck" Qoren smirks, nudging a curled wave out his face, "I'm certain you won't need it"

Cunt.

That's what you want to say.

Instead, you roll your eyes and take Aemond's hand leading him to the ice rink.

"Ignore him" you tell him, pulling of the blade guards and tossing them aside.

Aemond huffs a laugh, "Seven Hells, if he's in your bad books he's done for" he replies, joining you as you both go out onto the ice to do a few laps.

"Our Crownlands couple look ready and composed for a challenge today"

"And a challenge it will be. It's never easy going first, especially against the Martells. They'll have to work for it"

You skate next to him for a few warm-up laps, the heat rising again to your face as he takes your hand, giving his signature one sided smile.

Your heart flutters pleasantly.

In front of all these people?

He sees your reaction.

"I'm not going to hide anything anymore, princess" he says softly, "I've done it for far too long"

One part of you wants to cry with joy.

The other wants to drag him to the nearest dark corner.

So instead, you squeeze his hand. A good compromise.

As you skate to a halt in the middle, you mouth the words.

'I love you'

And your heart roars with delight.

He mouths it back.

"Our couple seem utterly smitten with each other"

"Their chemistry rivals the Martells, for sure!"

Taking a deep breath, you and Aemond nod to each other, getting in position to wait until the music starts.

It's quiet.

You could hear a pin drop.

His hand is warm.

The clarinets begin to play, the opening sequence of violins accompanying the music as you and Aemond begin the medium paced routine. The only sound you both can hear is the blades tearing through the ice, the rustle of your clothing against each other and the shallow breaths between each movement of the routine, moving swiftly hand in hand, twirling and feeling light and airy as Aemond lifts you effortlessly.

The music is almost frantic, the trumpets are getting so loud that they almost vibrate the ice beneath you. But you concentrate on the routine at hand, letting Aemond take your weight with each quick lift into the air, each synchronised motion perfectly executed.

“Quite a quick routine from the couple. Good choice of song and good technical ability so far”

“Yes, they really look like a proper team now, don’t they?”

As the music picks up momentum, you briefly glance at the stands mid-spin, smirking when you spot Otto’s eyes half closed, looking right at you. As if wondering what it is you are thinking.

Drums.

As Aemond moves in front of you for a split second, your hands lift to your shoulders, unpopping the buttons there.

No going back now.

Aemond looks over you in brief shock as the black is completely encompassed, a sheet of dark green falling over it like a curtain, replacing the beaded darkness with the bright forest colour he was so used to seeing his mother wear on her old performances.

It quickly changes to a barely-contained smile as the fabric laps at your thighs, the green mesh replacing the translucent black, right as the music hits its crescendo.

"Oh my-is that what I think it is!"

"Hightower Green looks very good on our Ice Princess!"

You don’t even have time to look at Otto.

The audience is a mix of clapping, awes and shouting of support. Never wavering for a moment.

Aemond continues the routine with a big, boyish smile plastered onto his face, performing the rest of the moves and lifts with a renewed vigour and passion that was not there before.

The rest of it seems to fly by, assisted by the smitten way you look at one another. Before you even know it, the music has died out. You and Aemond face each other, foreheads almost touching as the applause roars around you, several items like flowers and flags being thrown onto the ice around you.

It’s difficult to describe Aemond’s expression. Awe? Affection? Lust?

Love.

All you know is that you love it. And that all this was worth it.

You’re about to open your mouth, when his hands find each side of your face, his fingers holding the back of your head desperately, as he crashes his lips to yours.

In front of everyone.

In front of all of Westeros.

It feels exhilarating. Adrenaline boils the blood inside you, burning for him. And when you part, breathless after not only that, but the energy of the routine, all you can do is smile. Feeling so in love with him it’s honestly disgraceful.

Hand in hand, you bow to the audience, a massive grin plastered on your face. Rhaenys, Baela and Rhaena are all stood, clapping passionately. Larys is seated at the end of a particular row, both hands clasped on his cane, smirking beneath it, as if he just loves watching the drama unfold.

And then Otto.

You’re happy to find he looks absolutely livid.

That's right, you think. This is where my loyalties lie.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you as you give your bow to the judges. But it’s not a tight, comforting hold. Not one of victory, or love.

“Aemond?..” you ask, turning to him.

He’s breathing heavily, his other hand pressed to the scarred side of his face, his good eye blinking quickly as he turns to you.

Your face blanches, “Aemond, what’s wrong-”

“I’m fine, it’s just-ah fuck”

He nearly doubles over in pain, his hand pressed painfully to the left side of his face, the faintest bit of blood trickling between his fingers.

Panic rings through you, and with your hands on his sides, you guide him on the ice towards the edge, helping him sit, ignoring the muffled whispers and rumours that echo around the atrium, “let me see, Aemond..”

He shakes his head erratically, “No, no, just-I’m okay”

“Aemond you are not okay” you urge, watching the way his other eye waters from the pain, his face going pink as he encourages himself to take deep breaths.

“It appears he may have some sort of injury. We’re waiting on some updates from management”

“Who do you need me to call?” you ask him hurriedly,

“I don’t know-fucking-call Mum, please” he replies pitifully, bending over in searing, hot pain that radiates from his eye socket.

Spotting Arryk, you rush over and grab his phone that he throws, pulling it to your ear while rubbing Aemond’s shoulder.

“Aemond, take the sapphire out, it’s just going to hurt you more-”

“No, no, I can’t-” he shakes his head, panicked and scared.

“Aemond”

When his good eye meets you, he looks so vulnerable and unsure you almost regret your tone.

But you just want him to be okay.

Turning away, he dislodges the sapphire, his hand still covering his face, despite having the utmost trust in you, he still doesn’t want you to see it, all red and sore.

“Hello, Alicent? Yeah I think Aemond is having one of his neurological-fuck-I don’t know-episodes? I don’t know what to do?” you speak nervously into the phone.

“I know, I know, sweet girl. He needs to go to Urgent Care right away, and needs his glycerol injections, alright? Where’s my father?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see him!”

“He has Aemond’s health insurance card, okay, find him and get him to hospital as soon as you can. okay? Has he taken the sapphire out?”

“Yes, I made him”

“Good. Until he gets to hospital, just apply a warm compress and keep him calm, okay? You can do this”

You hang up quickly, looking around and spotting Otto as he paves his way through the crowd of people. Still rubbing Aemond’s shoulder, all notions of hating him are gone in favour of helping the quivering, vulnerable man in front of you, whining pitifully as his nerves are set aflame.

“Otto, he needs to go to a hospital. Do you have his health card?”

Stoically, he nods, his eyes ignoring you, “I do, Arryk will take us. Come on”

He assists Aemond to his feet, leading him to the exit with urgency.

The fire doors open and Aemond turns to you, “You have to stay”

“What? No! I’m coming with you!”

“One of us has to stay, we’ll get disqualified” he reasons, with a wavering voice.

“Aemond, I don’t care about-”

“Well I do. Stay” he urges.

You go quiet, staring at him in disbelief and also shock. And seeing it all over your face, how conflicted both of you are, he leans forward pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers stroking your hair lovingly.

“I’ll be fine, baby..” he adds softly, “Stay”

You watch him hurry out of the fire escape, and straight into the back of Arryk’s car with Otto. He’s so doubled over in pain, clutching the sapphire in one fist, that he barely has any time to look back at you standing there, the warm air making the mesh skirt lap at your legs.

You only meet his worried gaze at the last second.

A shuddered breath tumbles from your lips, the adrenaline and panic of the last few minutes just sinking in. You feel a bit helpless, unable to do anything for him as he’s driven to hospital.

“Hey” the soothing voice of Rhaenys at your side pulls you out, and you look at her with bleary eyes, “are you alright?”

You nod quickly, “Yeah, I think so..”

She guides you back inside, sitting at the sidelines, “Sit here, I’ll get you a drink”

You can’t relax. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“Just a little update. Aemond Targaryen has been rushed to hospital in what we believe is an episode of acute pain due to a long-standing condition”

“We’ll wish him all the best in hospital and hope it isn’t anything too serious”

Rhaenys gives you a warm cup of coffee, but you can’t drink it, you’re too on edge already. And if any caffeine is pumped into your already hammering heart, you think it might explode.

You don’t even concentrate on the performance the Martells are doing, eyes nowhere near the scoreboard. Your leg bounces nervously, fully aware that you are probably being scrutinised endlessly by the media, with hundreds of articles already written about you.

Their orange and red outfits dance in your periphery. Spins, twists, lifts. Things that right now, don’t mean an awful lot to you. All you can think about is when Aemond turned to you, blood trickling between his fingers, face twisted in pain.

“Hey…”

You don’t even realise you’ve zoned out until Rhaenys taps your arm excitedly.

Shaking your head, you look around, everyone’s stood. Smiling. Clapping. The Martells are lazily skating their way to their end of the rink, talking with their manager, with bowed heads.

“Wha?..” you reply, completely dazed, “what’s happened?..”

“Qoren’s partner fucked her landing. They’re a whole 10 points short on the technical. Not including the penalty they’re likely to get” she replies, leaning closely to whisper it, a victorious smirk on her face.

Oh shit.

Your eyes meet the scoreboard, watching as the rest of the scores come in.

With the penalty, they’re tragically low. But your breath feels hot in your throat still.

This was always the part you hated.

Rhaenys’ ring-clad hand grips yours tightly.

The crowd's cheer, applause and shouts of support are nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

"We won"

Entirely shocked beyond words and comprehension, Rhaenys pulls you into a hug, jumping up and down excitedly. Your face is blanched with shock, eyes still, and you realise you must look a total idiot to everyone else. The reality of the situation still not entirely dawning on you.

"The Crownlands have done it. The Championship title is theirs!"

"Shame our Ice Prince cannot be there to receive his trophy"

"Go! Go!" Rhaenys urges, pushing you by your shoulders to the stands where the judges are all grinning, holding the trophy, medals and large bouquet of gloriously colourful flowers.

It's a blurred slew of 'well done' and 'congratulations'.

The Martells, though devastated, nod in your direction in congratulations. And you barely hear it, but Qoren even seems to offer some sort of kind words for Aemond's condition.

Still doesn't make him less of a twat.

The trophy, long and golden, is heavy in your hands, rested against your shoulder, with the flowers pushed into your other, shoulders sagging with the weight of two medals around your neck.

Aemond.

With a few quick thank yous and bows of your head, your panicked, searching eyes find Rhaenys, who already has her car keys and your jacket in her grip.

"Come on" she utters, "quickly"

It feels utterly silly to still be wearing the green outfit for the competition while riding in the passenger seat of Rhaenys' Mercedes. But at least your black jacket provides some semblance of normality. You didn't even have time to take the medals off.

You did however, change your shoes, shucking your skates off in the footwell of her car.

She's driving well over the speed limit. But hey, most of Sunspear are as well. Through several junctions, she even graces some of the locals with her middle finger.

If you weren't so taut with nerves, it'd make you laugh.

The tyres screech loudly as she pulls into the hospital car park, the trophy nestled between your legs nearly making you trip over yourself as you hurl yourself out the car door.

Those tell-tale clicks of camera shutters and the echo of incessant questions are instantly upon you.

With the trophy loosely in one hand, all you can do is run to the entrance of the hospital, where the media are not allowed.

This time, they part a path for you.

The security guards at the front who have been fending them off, see your outfit, medals and trophy and immediately slip the door open, "Room 47"

You nod in thanks, your breath feeling like blood in your throat from the effort of running so fast and so suddenly. The lights inside the hospital hallways are stark, clinical, and far too bright. Your trainers thud against the linoleum floor, eyes desperately searching for the numbers on the rooms.

"25...24...shit, I'm going the wrong way-"

Aemond.

It doesn't help in the slightest that the hospital is a complete maze. You probably look a complete mess, pink in the face, hair all mussed up from running, but it's the last thing on your mind.

At the end of the hallway, you spot Otto, chatting with a dark-haired man in a white coat. Engaged in conversation, only looking up when the tide of loud footsteps comes closer to them.

You don't care about that either.

Otto tries to reach out to stop you from going in, but you're too fast, fiddling with the handle of the door before he has a chance to pull you back.

It's quiet. Your hurried breathing sounds so loud in your chest.

The door slams into the wall and Aemond looks up, seated sideways on the hospital bed. His cheeks are pink, from the remnants of pain that still linger, but he looks calmer, relaxed, with his brows unfrowned and sitting comfortably on his forehead. His hair, that was so neatly styled for the competition in his signature bun is somewhat curled from the sweat on his forehead and back of his neck.

A surgical patch is taped over his left eye.

His lips twitch when he sees you there, his right eye gleaming with affection, clearly out of breath, having ran the entire length of the hospital to get to him.

"Hey Princess..." he says softly, in a way that never fails to make your heart lurch into your throat.

You almost cry with relief that he's alright.

He licks his dry lips, "Did we do it?..."

With a relieved smile, a lump forming in your throat with emotion, you nod quickly, "Yeah...yeah we did..."

The breath is expelled from your lungs near-painfully when you surge towards each other, throwing your arms around one another, the trophy propped on the floor where you were previously stood.

He feels warm, with his hands around you like this, his heart thrumming fast in his chest. Your body sags against him.

He feels like home.

You hear him inhale, the familiar scent of you immediately having a calming effect on his body, his hand raising to brush your hair from your face as his palms cup either side of it, pressing a light feather-like kiss to your forehead.

His thumb wipes your undereye of moisture. But his smile says it all, his eyes crinkling, briefly irritating the spot where he's obviously had his glycerol injections not a moment before.

"I never doubted you" he utters quietly, "...not for a second"

You give a watery laugh. Hardly recognising this Aemond compared to the one you first met.

Competitions.

Scores.

Drama.

It all means fucking nothing.

The future. Happiness. It's all right here.

"Aemond Targaryen, don't ever scare me like that again..." you smile at him, half-joking, fingers tenderly stroking along his jawline, prickles of regrowth rubbing comfortingly along your skin.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, his mouth opening slightly as he smiles.

"No promises, princess"

And finally, with a pleased little muffled sound crawling up your throat, his tender, full lips descend onto yours, sealing whatever is felt between you right now and all that has happened before.

It doesn't even need to be said. Those three little words.

Because they're just not enough.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep | @boofy1998

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic may 11th & 13th - gentle & mischievous - 634words

bickering boyfriends~ <3

The thing about Regulus is that he’s a little thief.

A remote thief to be exact.

James plops down on the couch next to him and dumps the chocolates in his lap. He smacks a kiss against the side of his head and Regulus hums in appreciation.

His eyes are trained on the little baggie of M&Ms and James can’t help the smile tugging on his lips as Regulus crunches away happily.

“Brooklyn99?” James asks, flipping the remote once and burying his feet underneath Regulus’ blanket as well.

Regulus makes a grumbling noise and buries deeper into James’ chest.

James grins, “Modern Family?”

Regulus huffs and then turns to blink sweetly back up at him, voice all saccharine innocence, “Bridgerton?”

James groans, “Again?”

There’s a hand caressing down James’ abdomen, resting low just above his waistband. It’s distracting, sort of. Regulus twirls his fingers into the strings of James’ sweatpants, rosy lips contorted, “There’s a new spin off.”

James narrows his eyes. “I dunno.”

“It’s about the queen,” Regulus explains, nosing at the crook of James’ neck and eliciting a small shudder. One of James’ hands twists into the curls of his boyfriend’s dark hair, the other fisting the cushion.

“Baby,” he reprimands. Regulus is dangerously skilled at distracting James, pushing his buttons.

Regulus licks and James breath hitches and then he’s pulling him off gently.

Before James is even entirely back in the present he registers faint classical music in the background.

He whips to the screen and sees fancy dresses and a horse carriage.

James scowls. When he turns to glare at Regulus he’s already immersed into his show.

James clears his throat pointedly.

Regulus gives no reaction.

“Regulus, love?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the remote?”

Regulus shrugs feebly, “Dunno.”

His voice is way too light. Faux innocence.

James hums, “So the TV just opened Netflix and chose Bridgerton all on its own, huh?”

Regulus makes a vague meh sound, “Y’know how electronics are these days. CIA listening and everything.”

“You-” James huffs, “baby, gimme the damn remote.”

“I don’t have it,” Regulus insists. “Now, shush.”

“Ohh,” James chuckles, “Oh, that’s how we’re gonna play it?”

“Play?” Regulus inquires, “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—James!”

James is too busy to respond, currently forging his way under Regulus’ blanket where James knows he’s hiding the remote.

“James, stop it! You’re invading my personal space! Stop—”

“Hand me the remote control, Reginald.”

“You’re violating,” Regulus growls, “my boundaries.”

“You’re violating my trust,” James counters.

“No!”

“Yes!” James volleys back, “Clearly you are, you little—”

“Ja-ames,” Regulus whines, still trying to fight him off, angling his body this way and that and hiding the device somewhere.

James lets himself fall back into the cushion, glowering at Regulus. “My love.”

“What?” Regulus bites out. He’s all flushed in the face, breathing shallowly.

James wants to snog him but his detest for 19th century drama wins, “I am trying to reason with you.”

“And I’m trying to watch this show.”

“I will cut the power cable.”

Regulus gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

James only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Magically, the TV clicks off.

They’re pushed into immediate silence, both facing forward as they pout, shoulder against shoulder.

“Now what?” Regulus asks.

James looks over. Regulus’ cheeks are flushed angrily and his mouth is all twisted and teeth worrying the inside of his cheek.

“Look at me,” James orders softly and suddenly they’re nose to nose.

Regulus’ eyelids flutter, blinking him into focus. He blushes more deeply, eyes flitting down to James’ lips.

James slips into a grin.

Regulus blinks again, then scowls, “No.”

“Yes, baby,” James responds, cupping his jaw.

Their lips brush and James hears his boyfriend’s breath stutter. Victory.

Needless to say they get the hours of the evening filled just fine without any Netflix.

[guacala]

Bella ramsey x reader and the reader like leaves hickies on bella without them realizing and bella goes to set/ an interview with it and Pedro makes fun of them

hickeys, bella ramsey

masterlist pairing: bella ramsey x fem!reader summary: you leave hickeys on bella and when she shows up to an interview with them, pedro makes fun of them word count: 1k warnings: suggestive themes (reference to previous smut), language, pedro annoying bella, but mostly a lot of fluff a/n: bellie and pedge have my whole heart. i used she/her pronouns for the reader since you didn’t specify which you preferred, lmk if you want me to change it. also, im sorry it took so long (writer's block is a bitch) and if it seems like it’s on crack, its probably cause i was listening to queen shaki and lana del ray while writing this… <3

you wake up to the morning light, a lazy smile making its way on your face as you roll over to see Bella choosing out some rings from your small jewelry box.

“good morning sleepy,” they say, looking over at you with a smile as you get up to sit criss-cross applesauce on the edge of your shared bed.

“g’morin’,” you say, eyes still half closed and reaching out towards Bella.

they walk into your arms, their own wrapping around you.

“you sleep well?” they ask, pressing a kiss to your forehead, knowing how much morning breath kisses bothered you.

you nod against them, leaning further into their touch, “you?”

“mhm,” they hum in agreement, pulling away from you to finish getting ready.

you take in the outfit that they had chosen for their day full of interviews, starting from the black jeans that fit them way too well, up to the black and white button-up with green accents, which was technically yours.

“pretty,” you say, sleep still clear in your voice as you slightly drag on the e.

“thank you, babe,” they say, and your eyes trail up to their face to see their smile grow, but something else catches your eyes and makes you do a double take.

“um, Bells?” you say, awake now, with wide eyes, and you can feel your face getting hot.

“yeah?” they say in response.

“um…” you start to say, but words escape you.

“what's wrong?” they ask as they take in your embarrassed state.

“your- um- well- i- just come here,” you say, getting up and walking over to the bathroom as they follow you, concern clearly written on their face.

“what is it?” they ask, and you simply point at the mirror, watching their face, carefully, as they look at where you're pointing.

their eyes widen, and their jaw drops in amusement as they take in the trail of purple and red marks starting at their neck and going down under the shirt.

they start to laugh, and you hide your face in your hands.

“i’m sorry, i-” you start to apologize before Bella cuts you off.

“no, don’t say sorry, i should be the one apologizing, yours are way worse,” they say with a soft but teasing smile as you finally take your face out of your hands to look at yourself in the mirror.

you take in the matching marks left by Bella all over your neck, and when you pull the neck of your hoodie down slightly, you see more marks littered all over your collarbone. you bring your other hand up to gently trace over them.

“gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” they whisper as they walk behind you, wrapping their arms around your waist and pressing feather-like kisses on the bruises that were starting to form.

“but you have interviews all day, and now you’re gonna have to be in makeup forever,” you say, turning around to face Bella, their arms still holding you close to them.

“it’s okay,” they say with a laugh, and when you look up at them, they mumble under their breath, “i kind of like them anyway.”

a shit-eating grin makes its way on your face as you laugh softly. “well if anyone gives you shit for them, it's not my fault.”

“what do you mean! of course it is!”

“i dunno,” you shrug, “it's just not.”

“well, you’re clearly not fully awake yet,” Bella says, giving you a small kiss, “i left you breakfast, but i have to go right now, or i’ll be yelled at even more.”

“no, don't leave me yet!” you whine as you hold Bella tighter, and they press another kiss on your temple.

“i know, i don’t wanna, but i have to,” they say, and you finally let them go.

“i love you,” they call out as they grab their stuff and start walking out.

“i love you more,” you respond.

“not possible,” they say as they close the door behind them, leaving a smile on your face.

⭒⭒⭒

when Bella arrives at the interview site, they are immediately rushed into hair and makeup as they scold them for the visible marks on their neck.

“Bella, what the fuck!” their makeup artist, Tori, complains as she starts grabbing concealer and foundation in an attempt to cover them up.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! blame my girlfriend!” Bella whines.

“you’re just lucky that you’re already dressed,” Tori mutters under her breath, and as she starts to apply the first of many layers of makeup, the door to the room opens up.

“Bellie!” Pedro yells when he walks in, acting as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“hey Ped-” Bella starts to say but gets cut off by a gasp coming out of his mouth.

“shit Bella, your neck,” he says in shock as Bella hides their face in their hands, causing Tori to roll her eyes.

“i know, i know, blame her, not me,” Bella says, referring to you, as Tori moves their head to the side.

“oh, i highly doubt that,” he says, laughing harder by the second as Bella’s face starts to get red.

“what's that supposed to mean?”

“that knowing both of you, the poor girl is probably ten times worse.”

“Pedro!”

“am i wrong?”

“well-”

“am i?”

“...no.”

“see!”

“whatever,” Bella groans as they roll their eyes and throw their head back.

“let’s just hope that makeup covers all of that up, 'cause little Bellie went to town last night,” he says, laughing again as Tori nods in agreement.

Bella turns to flip Pedro off, but Tori quickly slaps their hand away and tugs their head back to the side, making Pedro let out another laugh, which causes Bella to cross their arms.

⭒⭒⭒

it takes some time to get them both ready, but once they are, Bella turns to Pedro.

“just... don’t tell Craig,” they say, holding out their pinky to Pedro, and he links them together, nodding, as they walk out to meet Craig and Neil.

“hey, Craig!” Pedro yells as they get closer, “guess what Bell-”

“PEDRO! NO!” Bella yells in distress, and Pedro just crackles and leans in toward them.

“man child,” Bella mutters under their breath as they roll their eyes, fondly.

[lotuspeacock]

what the fuck even happened episode 8????

like, plotwise i know what happened but like there’s so much new info i’m processing.

rei dresses like that not for the professionalism of the job, but because his father expects him to look high-class even when he’s murdering people

anna’s musical talents literally traumatize children.

rei’s father has a god complex about his bloodline

the “organization” is more or less run by rei’s father. this is why kyutaro said that rei should know best what happens when you betray the organization, because every childish rebellion was treason on the organization.

rei doesn’t get too close to kazuki because the consequence if he does are dire.

side note: when rei says he has something to protect, he’s not just talking about miri. there is no mistaking that kazuki is precious to rei.

when rei is asked “did you find true belonging on the outside” he denies it. this is probably because he wants to protect kazuki and miri but it could also be because rei genuinely believes that he doesn’t truly belong in their little family. i believe this changes by the end when rei sees that kazuki and miri were waiting for him just to see him smile.

this is from a few other posts i saw, but rei’s mission was a warning. a peek into the consequences of forming attachments.

a continuation of point six, we see rei standing in his family home, feeling completely estranged while he’s on the phone with kazuki and miri being told to be back by dinner.

rei never seemed to be affected by his job before. but in the car with ogino he expresses shock at the picture of his mentors murdered wife. and the picture seems to be taken in the goriest way. rei is opening his heart to his family and as a consequence, he has to face the reality that he is not just killing, but taking lives.

“for the concept” WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN???? this man makes me so uncomfortable he is so goddamn psychotic. he definitely kills for fun even though he pretends its some big philosophical thing. essentially he was saying people exist to die. also his fucking blue eyed stare 🧿👄🧿

WAIT WAIT WAIT THEYRE TOTAL FOILS OF EACH OTHER. rei and his mentor that is. they both have that single slut strand.

miri is extremely insightful. she notices when someone close to her is hiding their dissatisfaction with life - what she calls “sadness”. her mom was dissatisfied with her life as a single mother and rei is dissatisfied with living under his father’s boot.

rei didn’t tell ogino his mentor’s last words because they weren’t meant for him (but probably also cuz ogino is a creep sob). rei “didn’t hear” anything because the words were directed to someone already gone.

this is less a plot point but more a personal analysis - i was sorta hoping that kazuki would show up during the fight and save rei, and he does! he saves rei, but not during the fight because that’s not really where rei was struggling. rei needed to be saved from his own belief that he was irredeemable, and kazuki did that perfectly bu showing rei that no matter what, he’ll be there. unconditionally. i mean, the man didn’t even ask about all the blood on his suit. (another i won’t ask i wouldn’t tell moment)

kazuki cut rei’s hair and decorated the apartment. when rei said “but then you suddenly started cleaning”, he’s saying that he didn’t care about kazuki until kazuki taught him how to care. when kazuki barged into rei’s apartment and cleaned the blood stained hands of a child assassin, he also cleared a space for himself in rei’s life. (side note: of course the undercut was kazuki’s idea)

“you think we can change?” god this was such a good quote. and the way kazuki doesn’t put up a front and say “of course” because he’s trying to figure out if he can change too, so he just says “dunno” but its so sincere and hopeful. i love the dichotomy of kazuki not knowing if he can change because he’s spent the past 4 years trying not to and rei not knowing if he can change because he doesn’t know how to. at the root, it’s because they both see themselves as unforgivable.

continuation of points six and eight, rei smiles when he’s home with his family.

oh my god the angst just doesn’t stop.

[slashers-and-rats]

hiii could i request a nsfw 😳 one shot with brahms? the plot being the reader being in greta's pov when he asks for a good night kiss and how it advances from there when the reader chooses not to stab him hehehehe i dunno if smth like that has been written before tho,, anyways thank you for reading my req!! ♡♡ love ur writing btw~~

rat chat: thank you!! I’m glad you like my writing!! i hope this is what you were looking for.

brahms heelshire x gn!reader | nsfw

brahms felt heavy.

the way you looked at him felt like a weight being pressed down on his shoulders. something about your gaze, about the way you seemed to stare through his soul- it all felt straining. something was clawing at him, trying to get out. it pushed on his ribs and crowded around his lungs, it suffocated him.

you had lead him back to his room. you guided him down into his bed, so stern as you spoke. he knew it was passed his curfew, but the itching in his brain told him he should stay awake. he had to. you were there, right in front of him, how could he waste this time on something so useless as sleep?

he was lucky you had agreed to tuck him in. you laid him down so gently. you tucked his blanket in tight around him, making sure he was cozy. he wasn’t. he was restless. he stirred and squirmed, his fingertips twitching with the energy he was trying to contain within him. maybe on the outside he was calm and collected, but if you could see his eyes, you’d know nothing but need burned behind them. he didn’t understand what he was hungry for, what he wanted, but with every graze of your fingertips across his blanket-clad body, he became more and more starved.

he laid there, still, watching you. you finished readying him for bed, making sure the comforter was snug around him. once it was confirmed, you had straightened up a bit, but not before letting your gaze linger on his own. he knew you could see it. he knew you could see his yearning, swirling hot behind his eyes; he could tell by the way you bit your lip that you could see right through him and into his deepest desires. it wasn’t like he was hiding it anyways, he wanted you to know. he wanted you to see him, and to be the one to act, and to provide what he was missing. he needed you.

but, much to his dismay, you began to move away. you straightened up, and began stepping back, your lips beginning to form the words ‘goodnight’. brahms didn’t let them come, though, and stopped you with a harsh grip around your wrist. the movement had been so sudden, you wondered if his hand had been there the whole time.

“goodnight kiss…?” his voice was soft, strained. he sounded almost pathetic.

“brahms… i don’t know. maybe not tonight, it’s already late, and you should’ve been in bed a long time ago, and-“

he cut you off by squeezing your arm a little tighter. for a moment, you looked fearful, but when you saw what was really there behind his intentions, you seemed to soften. he needed you. it was nothing trivial, he just… needed you.

you sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. a hand went up to his face, and he pressed his cheek into it without any thought. his eyes never left yours, though. they remained steady, gliding over every detail on your face over and over. he tried to memorize it all for later- for when he was alone, pretending his hands were yours. he did it many times before. he felt almost ashamed at how many times he had touched himself while watching you through random peepholes in the house. but he couldn’t help it. he needed you.

you pulled him from his thoughts when you tilted his head towards you. he parted his lips under the mask just as you did above him. you leaned down, pressing soft against the mouth of his glass face. underneath the porcelain, he returned this gesture. if he tricked himself- if he shut his eyes tight and imagined there was nothing between you both, he could feel your warmth.

before he realized, he was pressing up into you. his hands had emerged from the blankets, both now finding purchase at your sides. he gripped onto the fabric of your shirt, dragging you closer to him. the surface of the mask was smudged against your lips, nearly pressing passed into your teeth, and the sensation made you whimper.

this sent a hard shiver down brahms’ spine. you could feel his body shake at this sound. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer, until his chest was pressed tight to your soft body. you felt like a pillow. it reminded him of the one he had in his hideaway, that he sprayed with your stolen perfume and rutted against when he was feeling particularly desperate. that was nothing in comparison to this, though. he could feel your actual heat, your real beating heart, your hands coming to hold his shoulders for balance.

he pushed himself up to a sitting position, tugging you until you were partially in his lap. at this, you pulled away, taking a moment to catch your breath while holding yourself at a distance. your hands had come to rest against his chest, and he could feel the thumping of his pulse manipulating your fingers.

“brahms… you need to sleep, okay? you can’t… we can’t do this.”

“why?” the question was somewhat stern. his head tilted to the side, eyes blinking focus back onto you. “i want it.”

“i know you do, but… but you don’t even know what you’re doing. and it’s wrong, and it’s late, and-“

“i need it,” he pressed on. he leaned closer to you, dipping his head down to rest in the crook of your neck. his hot breath hit the inside of his mask, the sound echoing out into the open air. he could feel your own heartbeat quicken. you wanted this too, he knew it. deep down you longed for this, for him. why couldn’t you admit it? why couldn’t you just give him what he deserved? “i’ll be good…” he whispered, fingertips trailing down your sides and to your thighs. “please… please, i’ll be so good, and i’ll never misbehave again… please…”

you turned away, your skin dragging along the porcelain of his ‘face’. he knew he was getting to you. he was picking away at that inner resolve.

“what if i just gave you another kiss? would that be enough?” you asked. brahms shook his head. it would never be enough, never. “what do you want than?”

“touch me.” he grabbed your wrist, not too rough, and moved it to his own thigh. you gasped quietly in surprise. the sound was so sweet, he could taste the sugar on the edge of his tongue. he pressed your hand up, up, up, making it push along his loose lounge pants and up towards his bulge. “please. i need it. it aches…”

your palm met his clothed cock, and you could feel it immediately throb under the pressure. brahms had never been touched this intimately, and the slightest brush of your fingers made him whine quietly under his breath. he let go of your hand, expecting you to move away, but you stayed. you pushed a bit more into his erection, the sensation making him buck and rub his hips up into this new feeling.

“if i do this, will you go to bed?” you asked. his nodding was immediate. he whispered promises under his breath, his face pushing further into your flesh. you rubbed a thumb up the length of his bulge, and it made him thrust hard into your touch. “okay… okay, lay down. pull your pants down too.”

he did as told. he laid himself down flat against the bed, yanking his trousers and underwear down at the same time. his cock flipped up against his stomach, hard and leaking with beads of precum already. this would be a quick ordeal, but it would be worth it.

you reached down, wrapping your fingers around his cock and beginning to pump. the movements were slow at first, your thumb rubbing underneath his head and your fingers squeezing rhythmically around his shaft. you watched him, your gaze nearly burning his skin. brahms was lost to it all immediately. his head turned to press into his pillow, his hands gripping hard at the sheets of the bed, and his hips pushing lazily into the pleasure. he felt lost to it all. your caring touch sent him into the clouds. all of his brain power was being focused on this warm feeling enveloping him, wrapping around him like a dense fog. it felt so good.

brahms managed to find some composure, just enough that he could turn to look at you. where he thought there would be indifference, he saw lust. your eyes were focused on his dick, watching it with such intensity. you licked your lips as you stroked up and down, letting his precum leak over your knuckles and down his shaft. his cock was wet, making slick sounds every time you pumped him. each noise went straight to his core, and added to the fire building there.

“does this feel good?” you asked, stopping for just a moment to hear his reply.

“y-yes… yes, please, keep going… please, i need it… i need you, please…” he babbled, bucking his hips into your fist. you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face. he had to look away again, face becoming hot with embarrassment. he had never seen you look at him that way before, and part of him hoped you’d never look at him any different.

“you’re already so worked up. are you gonna be able to handle me going faster?” you gave a few quick strokes, and it made him keen and arch his back. you chuckled as he slumped back down to the mattress, thighs already shaking.

“i can take it… i can… please…” he whimpered.

you nodded, starting a faster pace with your hand. he couldn’t hold back now. moans spilled unfiltered out of his mouth. they echoed off the walls and created a chorus of pleasure. every movement of your hand pulled another pathetic tune from his mouth, and he thanked the lord his mask was on, or else he’d be ashamed of how embarrassing his face was. it was red, contorted into an expression of overwhelming pleasure. his hands pulled at the sheets underneath him. he worried if he let go he would fall into nothing, and all of this goodness would disappear into the ether.

his cock twitched hard in your hand, continuing to spill puddles of precum around your fingers. you hummed at your work in satisfaction, twisting your fist and squeezing periodically along his shaft. you worked magic on him, making him sob in pleasure and pulling noises he never knew he could make from the depths of his throat.

it all became too much. an early orgasm was rushing towards him quick, and he was writhing hard against the bed at an attempt to escape. you never let up, though, and chased down this feeling inside of him with every jerk of his cock.

“k-kiss! kiss, please, n-need kiss…!” he gasped, a hand coming to grab at your shirt. he pulled you towards him weakly, and you allowed him too. you loomed over his squirming body, never slowing your movements. you leaned down, pressing multiple kisses along his cheeks and forehead, before connecting your lips back to those porcelain ones.

he moved his own mouth up into the glass desperately, mouthing along the surface in between you both. you giggled, and the sound felt like needles piercing into his heart. it was too much, it was too good, he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t-

he came with a cry. his hand that had once been gripping you went down to your wrist again, leading you through the milking of his cock, until he pulled you away to stop overstimulation from setting in. he was panting, sweaty and spent, messy now with his sperm spread across his stomach. lights flashed behind his eyes, but you stayed centred in his vision, like a monument to his pleasure. he was lax against the bed, barely moving save for his chest, which heaved up and down in an attempt to catch up to his heart.

“i think you’ll be able to sleep well now,” you cooed, gathering the blankets back up. you tucked them around him once again, and nearly laughed at the way he winced as the fabric touched his bare cock. you didn’t say anything, though, and simply went about your normal routine of making him comfortable.

once he was snug, you pressed one last kiss to his forehead. he was barely there, slipping in and out of a haze of euphoria. you lingered for a moment, watching him as he tried to force his eyes to stay open.

“goodnight, brahms. sleep well.” you patted his chest lightly, before standing and leaving the room.

brahms laid there in the glow of it all. as he began to slip into sleep, he sent out a last prayer to the universe, begging that tonight would happen again. he needed it to.

he needed you.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Melodic Memories | Track 5: If You Gotta Go, Go Now - Bob Dylan

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, high school breakups, estranged parent/strained parental relationship, depression, high school drama, anxiety, mentions of drinking, drinking, mentions of hookups/one night stands, unrequited love, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation, PTSD mentions/explanations of reactions and behaviours due to PTSD, mentions of addiction/drugs, smoking, swearing, best friend fluff, sorry if i miss any!

Hi everyone!! Sorry this took so long—took a much needed break from life for a few days. Finally had some time to write this weekend. I hope you guys like it!! 🤍 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Her POV

“Listen to me, baby

There’s something you must see

I want to be with you, gal

If you want to be with me.”

“Jake, please turn that off. I can’t stand it.” You laughed, covering your ears as you tried your best to disappear under the pile of blankets on his bed.

“What?” Jake asked, freezing in place as the words reached his ears. Slowly, he turned from the record player sitting atop his desk, his eyes landing on you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. “Did you really just say that?” His voice was low, challenging you to see if you would say it again, or if he misheard completely.

“Yes.” You groaned, pushing your head further back into the fluffy pillow as you tried your best to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I can’t stand Bob Dylan.” You stood your ground, knowing it would cut deep but unable to hide it any longer.

“Are you insane?” Jake’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape with shock as he processed your unruly confession. “How can you not love Dylan? Are you deaf?”

“No, but right now I wish I was.” You mumbled, tuning out the grating harmonica echoing through the room. The crackling of the needle in the groove paired with the irritating pitch of the instrument was making your head ache, and even if you loved him more than anything, you didn’t love him enough to suffer through another song.

“Y/N, I-I… I can’t believe you.” He laughed, his tone airy and uncomfortable as he cranked the volume knob down a little bit. “Sunshine, he’s one of the greats—a literary genius, a folk-rock icon, a fuckin’ mastermind. How can you even say that?”

“I dunno, guess it just isn’t for me. Never really liked him.”

“You’re breaking my heart, baby.” His lips turned down into a frown, his eyes glancing at the vinyl record spinning as he debated turning it off. “You know what? No, I won’t take that as an answer.” He shook his head, turning the knob up again so the sound of the harmonica could be heard clearly again.

“Jake.” You groaned, wishing he would heed your request to change the record. He restarted the song, a hand on his hip as he observed the needle glide over a divot in the old vinyl. Then, after a particularly intense scratching sound, the song started from the beginning again.

As the lyrics began, he started to hum along, ploppping down on the bed beside you. His company made the song a touch more bearable, and staring at his face made it easier to ignore the noise he was trying to pass off as music.

“Seriously, sunshine? None of it?” He asked, still trying to wrap his head around your dislike for the musician.

“It just isn’t for me. Is that a crime?” You giggled, finding his overbearing approach entertaining.

“Usually no, but in this case, absolutely.” He laughed. “Only thing worse than that is if you said you hated B.B. King… or Hendrix, maybe.”

“Okay, well I don’t hate B.B. King, or Hendrix. You can’t let this one slide?” You grinned, shimmying down on the bed to be closer to him. He almost gave in to the temptation, forgetting the topic at hand momentarily as he reached out to brush the hair from your face. Then, he snapped out of the lovestruck trance and remembered why he was sitting next to you in the first place.

“If I let this slide, what’s next? You’ll tell me you hate rock, or blues, or worse, music all together?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing but still very petty over your dislike of the artist.

“Okay, bug, you’re being ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his in another attempt to distract him.

“I’m being ridiculous?” He repeated your words, his tone accusatory yet still playful. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Okay, I get it. Dylan is great and I’m crazy. Is that what you want to hear?” You leaned forward, your hand connecting with his bicep as you gave him a gentle shove. He barely moved from his position, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked over your face.

“No, that’s not what I want to hear, because I know you’re lying.” He said, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand. “What about I Shall Be Released? That’s a great song by him.” Your cheeks tinted red in embarrassment as you averted your gaze.

“Don’t think I’ve heard it.” You whispered, unsure how he would take it.

“Okay…” he hummed, raising his free hand to his chin, running his fingers over his skin as he thought. “No, that’s good. I can show it to you, and you’ll like it.” He deducted. “Like a Rolling Stone?”

“That one’s okay.” You emphasized the word, ensuring he understood it was bearable, not enjoyable to you.

“Tangled Up In Blue?” He tried again, met with another blank stare as he listed off a song you didn’t know. He let out a huff, nodding as he made a mental note to show you that one, too. “Alright, then. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door?”

“Yeah, but I’d much rather listen to the Guns n’—“

“No, I’m going to stop you there.” Jake cut you off, forcing a smile on his lips. “Not sure I want to hear the rest of that.” A silence fell upon the two of you, leaving him to ponder all of the information you had given him. After a while, your stomach was twisted in a knot, worried you’d driven a stake between you because of a simple dislike of the artist.

“So, what now? I don’t like Dylan, which is clearly troubling for you. Is that it for us?” You were joking, even if there was a slight hint of genuine concern behind your question. He looked at you, appalled that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Are you crazy, woman? F’course not.” He replied, a frown tugging at his lips just from the thought alone.

“Been called that once or twice… few times today, actually.” You grinned, easing the tension between you.

“I’d never break up with you over that, sunshine.” All of the humor in his tone disappeared, assuring you that leaving was not something that ever crossed his mind. “But, I won’t quit until you’re a fan. Lots of opportunities here, babe. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be his biggest fan.” You rolled your eyes ever so slightly, but nodded along with his words, knowing he would try even if you objected. Arguably, the worst thought was not hours of listening to Bob Dylan, but the idea of him ever being ‘done’ with you, in any sense of the word.

“Y/N, that is enough.” Mel snipped, rushing into your bedroom with a cloud of dust trailing behind her. In two quick strides, she was beside you, reaching over you to smash the pause button on the CD player. “It’s been three days—I’m done watching you cry, I’m done sitting in silence, and I’m done listening to this fucking Bob Dylan song.” As much as she cared for you, everyone had a breaking point, and she was undoubtedly long past hers. If you were less miserable, you would have recognized how insufferable your actions were, but you were too busy drowning in tears to care about how anyone else felt. “I’m one more bottle of wine away from an intervention, and I’m sure that’s the last thing you want right now.”

“God, why can’t you just let me suffer in peace?” You groaned, burying your aching head in your knees as you sunk further into the leather desk chair.

“I’ve been letting you suffer, dumbass.” She reminded you, plopping down on the edge of your bed. “But I’d hardly call it peaceful.” She continued, placing her hand on the arm of the chair and spinning you to face her. “You’re a mess. You’ve been drunk since two, you haven’t eaten, you’ve barely slept, and you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement.” You muttered, reaching for the wine bottle on your desk to finish off the last of the strawberry flavored heartbreak medication. Before you could place the bottle to your lips, Mel snatched it from your hands and placed it on the floor just out of reach.

“You smell like a distillery. Think you’ve had enough.” She chirped, her expression stern and her voice curt. You scoffed a reply, irritated at the world as you reached over to press play so you could listen to the same harmonica melody that had become an anthem of your sorrow once again. “Stop.” She pulled your chair a little closer to her so you couldn’t reach the desk. “I love you, but I cannot listen to that song again. I can’t fucking stand Bob Dylan.”

“What?” You hissed, whipping your head in her direction. Finally, an emotion other than sadness plagued you; instead, you were filled with anger that she could say such a thing. “Bob Dylan is a great musician, one who wrote absolute masterpieces. Watch what you fuckin’ say.” A slight slur followed your words, making you realize you were much more intoxicated than you previously believed.

You weren’t sure if you actually grew to like Bob Dylan and his music, or if the fondness happened because of the boy who was so adamant about changing your mind on the matter.

“God, you’re impossible.” She seethed, frustrated with your behavior and even more upset that she couldn’t break through the wall you built up.

Mel had spent years perfecting the craft of being your best friend; you were a confusing, closed off vessel of constant anxiety. You hated talking about your feelings, unless it was over a mixed drink or a shared blunt, and you were your own worst enemy. You second-guessed every decision, talked yourself down from taking leaps that would better you in exchange for mundane familiarity, and you loved routine. Despite that, you loved deeply and with a fervor not many could understand, which ultimately always seemed to leave you with a broken heart when nobody could match the same energy.

In six years, she climbed mountains not many would ever venture. She memorized your quirks and habits, just the same as you had done for her. More than anything, she put it to good use and learned how to help when you couldn’t find it within you to help yourself. Every wall you built up, every deflection and every distraction was never a match for her counterpoints, and she had never faced a situation where she felt helpless.

Never, until three days ago, when you returned from your date with Jake Kiszka more heartbroken and miserable than ever before.

In six years, she learned everything she could about you, but she never understood why. Once she stepped foot in Michigan, learning about a life you’d sworn to keep a secret forever, it all began to make sense.

Days before she met you, you faced the biggest obstacle of your entire life, and you left your heart in the back pocket of someone you never expected to see again. You didn’t talk about your problems because you knew they could never amount to the struggle of leaving Jake, and because you got through that on your own, you believed you could do everything by yourself. Not only that, but you kept your feelings locked up in fear all of it would come out, including those in which you swore to never speak aloud. You closed yourself off from everything because you couldn’t bear the thought of getting hurt like that again, and routine was favored over risk-taking because your last risky decision left you near death and you never fully recovered.

Though, no matter how hard you tried, you could never love less than what you were programmed for, and it was biting you in the ass as you sat and forced yourself to listen to a song you couldn’t bear to hear again.

When you stormed through the front door, twenty bucks down from the cab ride and suffocating on your own misery, you had intent to tend to your wounds silently, to slap a band-aid over the largest injury you’d ever sustained and move on as if it never happened at all. You’d done it once before, and you trusted in yourself to do it again, but six years of suffering in silence had taken its toll and you were beginning to crack under the weight of your mistakes.

Difference was, this time, there was someone there to catch you before the fall, someone who was committed to your wellbeing and a voice of reason you never had before.

At first, Mel took a step back, understanding that whatever happened wasn’t good, and you needed time to process it before you spoke of it. If not, you would explode, and neither of you wanted to clean up that mess. So she did; she sat by and watched you nurse a bottle of wine as you listened to the mixtape that started (and ended?) it all, waiting until you had enough courage to speak. When you dozed off for an hour or two of broken sleep in the desk chair you drank yourself to oblivion in, you woke up and started all over again.

The next day, she thought that maybe you would have come to terms with it enough to at least tell her something, but she received nothing. Well, nothing except for the same Dylan song played on loop and a few more empty bottles of strawberry wine you’d silently left the house to buy. When you refused dinner, she started to really worry, and when you neglected to sleep for a second night in a row, she began to stress. In the early morning, she started to gently coax you into telling her what happened, which was met with a blank stare and a rude hand gesture. Before noon, she pried a little further, to no avail. At lunchtime, she was frustrated, and now after dinner, she was long past the point of no return.

Coddling you clearly wasn’t an option you were open to, so instead she settled on tough love, which would either break through to you or ruin your friendship entirely.

She was distraught enough to take the risk, and loved you enough to work through the consequences.

“Tell me what happened, or I’ll call him and ask him myself.” Mel warned, unrelenting as she continued to try and force the truth from you.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, tears pooling your eyes at the simple thought of someone speaking to Jake, someone who was not you. “Just let it go, Mel. It’s over—don’t have to talk about it, don’t have to think about it. It’s over.” You repeated the word, feeling a separate stab in your chest each time the word passed through your lips.

After everything the two of you went through, how could it just be over? How could the time still not be right?

“No, you don’t have to talk about it, but clearly you’re thinking about it.” She countered, her lips pursed as they dipped down into a frown. “And you won’t stop thinking about it unless you talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You grumbled, feeling the pressure behind your eyes increase tenfold as you spoke. Your throat was dry, scratchy despite the constant flow of liquid into your mouth. You were dehydrated, the effects in full force as your eyes throbbed and your stomach twisted with nausea. You were a mess, and you weren’t sure how to clean yourself up this time. “After all the pain, after all of the hope and the luck, it meant fucking nothing. I guess it just isn’t meant for us, and I have to get over it.”

“What happened, Y/N?” Mel pried, wondering what could have caused the state you were in, especially after spending all night with him.

“What happened?” You scoffed, a sour taste in your mouth from her words. “What happened was that I spent six years dedicated to moving on, to forgetting and letting go, to heal from the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I spent weeks thinking it was luck, that the stars alligned perfectly for us to end up together again, but I was fucking stupid. I let you convince me to open myself up again, and I got hurt worse than I did the first time.” You spat, vindictive and angry at her despite it being nobody’s fault but your own.

“Woah,” Mel straightened up, defensive and ready to correct you on the matter. “Whatever happened, is not my fault. You can be sad, or angry, or whatever the hell you are, but you cannot blame it on me.” The two of you shared another bout of silence, fuming with stony expressions as you awaited the other's next move. “Are you going to be an adult, or do you want to keep acting like a baby? Completely up to you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, anyway.” You brushed her off, turning to face the CD player as you resumed the music once more. She let out a huff of annoyance, knowing she was bluffing as she sat and listened to the intro of the same song for the millionth time, refusing to leave until you gave her something other than blame.

“What, did he end it? Not what he wanted after all?” In a lapse of judgment and slightly hurt feelings, she retaliated with something that would bruise your already aching heart even further. Deep down, she understood Jake was not the one who put the relationship on pause, and she knew you well enough to recognize the guilt embedded in your tired features. You ended it, and you swore yourself to silence so you could beat yourself up over it.

“Oh, fuck you.” You shot back, slinking further down into your seat as tears stung your eyes. “You really think I’d be this upset if I knew he was okay? You think I’d be this miserable if he was happy?”

There it was; the admission of truth she’d been so patiently waiting for. With that, she had more ground to stand on, this time without a fear of falling.

“Why’d you leave, babe?” Her voice was softer, but still erring on the side of caution and defense.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” You exploded, the gates crashing open as the flood of emotion you’d been guarding so hard finally escaped you. “Leaving is the only way I can make sure he won’t throw away everything he’s worked so hard for! He can’t be what he wants if I'm there—or here, holding him back!”

“Okay,” Mel whispered, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Start from the beginning.” She continued, utilizing the briefest moment of time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to get the full story from you.

You let out an exasperated huff, feeling sick from what you tried to pin on the liquor whilst knowing that it had everything to do with your broken heart. She was your person, just trying her best to help while you did all you could to be miserable and impossible to be around, and you knew that you needn’t be so cruel towards her. Even so, the hurt that only ever seemed to grow larger made you want to be cruel to everyone and everything, convincing you that you could never be happy or feel good again. Projecting it outwards was your best way of showing how you felt on the inside, especially when words seemed impossible to come by.

You felt like you were drowning, whether it be from your tears, your sorrow, or the excessive alcohol consumption, you did not know. What you did know was that everything hurt, every breath, every blink, and every single beat of your heart led you to believe it would be your last, yet you somehow persevered through the process another time, wondering if it would be easier to give in to the pain and let it all go.

You did all you could to protect yourself, keeping your distance for so long because you knew how it ended, yet you fell into the same situation you faced when you were barely eighteen and still naive. You were listening to living proof of your greatest heartbreak—hell, it was the very thing to convince you to take another chance along with the woman sitting across from you. Why did you ever think that it could be different, that it could be so easy, that you deserved anything Jake could give you?

You were so angry, so cynical that it was making your head spin, and you couldn’t get any of it to make sense. In lieu of a better option, you swallowed your pride and prepared yourself to confess to your mistakes. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was better than letting the pain get the best of you. Six years ago, you survived it on your own, but it had left you completely depleted of any kind of energy, and you knew you could not do it a second time.

“It was perfect. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he planned. It was like he fit three whole years of dating into one night—or at least the best parts of it, I guess.” Your tone was weaker than before, more defeated as you let the misery seep through the walls of defense you’d built so high. “Got dinner at the same spot we had our first date, ate in the park where he asked me to be his girlfriend, went to the bar we snuck into on one of our last nights together. He played our song on the jukebox, and we went back to his hotel. It was perfect, Mel. So perfect that I think it scared me.”

“Why did it scare you?” She softened up too, less intense now that you were cooperating. She had a wicked need for control, a wicked desire to help, and it made the two of you bump heads sometimes, especially with your abrasive nature.

“When he was far away, it was so easy to pretend that this was all lighthearted, that it was as simple as old high school sweethearts rekindling, just to see where we were at in life. It was easier to swallow back those feelings, to pretend he didn’t mean that much to me anymore. When I saw him, there was no more pretending, and when he did all of his sweet little gestures, it was harder to ignore the fact that he felt the same way I did.” You explained, low and slow as you turned down the volume knob so she could hear you better. With every word you spoke, your eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “For a while, I lived in this bubble of happiness that nothing could touch. Six years of misery finally ended, and I was okay again, I could breathe again, without the weight of the entire fucking world sitting on my shoulders.”

“What popped your bubble?” Mel asked, growing more comfortable with the conversation as she kicked her legs up on the bed and leaned against the wall behind her. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at her words, knowing nothing was funny but still able to find humor in the childlike question.

“Reality.” You responded, your lips dipping into a frown. “Nothing changed, Mel. The reasons we broke up are still just as prevalent, and I was so high on his company that I almost forgot all about it.” She was quiet for a moment, taking in your half-told story as she waited for you to continue, but you didn’t. You felt as though your point was clearly across despite never actually getting into it.

“What popped your bubble, Y/N?” She repeated, her eyes trained to your face as she pressed a little further. You swallowed hard, knowing that what you did was wrong and unwilling to divulge into it. Eventually, her stare became impossible to ignore, and she silently forced your hand on the matter.

“I went through his phone.” You rushed out, your eyes closing as the last syllable left your lips, knowing you were bound to be chastised because of your invasion of privacy.

“Nosy, much?” She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her lips. You expected much worse—no, you wanted much worse. You wanted someone to hold you accountable, to be as angry at yourself as you were, because what you did was wrong.

“Am I crazy for wanting you to yell at me?” You asked, leaning your head back on the chair in defeat.

“No.” She shook her head, giving the honest answer. “You know it was wrong, but you’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us. I don’t need to make it any worse.”

“I guess I didn’t really snoop, per se.” You felt a small smile cross your face, the only joyous expression you’d adorned since leaving Jake’s hotel room. “I looked through his notifications. I didn’t go through all his texts, or anything.” You defended yourself, less so because you were trying to justify your behavior and more so she knew what really happened.

“Clearly you found something. Does he have a secret family, or whatever?” She was trying her best to sound disinterested, but you knew she was itching for an answer.

Leaving Mel in silence for three days was equal to torture, and you feared she genuinely might go crazy if she was left in the dark for any longer. Mel was overbearing, annoyingly so at times, but it was always with the best intentions. She was your person, even if you tried to fight it, and she was the only one in the whole world that could help. Whether you were open to her advice or not, she always had at least a single good idea to give. If not an idea, then always some food for thought.

“I wish.” You gave a solemn smile. “I think if I hated him, it would be so much easier to get over him.”

“So what is it?”

“Exactly what I thought he would do six years ago; dropped his entire life for me. Moved meetings, rescheduled photoshoots, canceled interviews… completely neglected every responsibility just to drive to Michigan to take me on a date. Then I saw a weird but not super incriminating message from a girl named Amelie.” You pronounced her name with a poor French accent, a bitter taste on your tongue at the thought of her meaning anything at all to Jake.

“Okay.” Mel breathed, giving a curt nod. “Let’s start with the easy part. This Amelie… you said Jake’s not the type, so what do you think it is?”

“Sounds like a beautiful French woman he met on tour that I can’t begin to compare to.” You grumbled, swallowing back a lump in your throat as you confessed to the fear.

But Jake’s not like that.

He had never been the type to entertain two women at once—he had never been one to lie.

Why would he say all of those things, the romantic and emotional tellings of his heart that were all directed at you, if he did not mean them in the truest and most genuine ways?

Why would he wait six years just to break your heart?

“Right,” Mel hummed, not agreeing with your statement but instead trying to gauge whether you were ready for her input or not. Your eyes flickered to her, silently telling her you needed her input, that you needed her to confirm you were crazy for believing so. “Want to hear what I think?”

‘Yes, please. God yes, tell me I’m wrong.’ You thought to yourself, your lips staying shut as your eyes continued to bore into her. Behind the rigid exterior, she could see it—she could feel your desperation for help.

“You’re going to tell me anyway, so why not?” God, what was wrong with you? Why had you always taken the defense, never letting yourself show too much and never giving up on your own stubbornness? Why couldn’t you just be truthful, tell her you needed her and you couldn’t do this on your own?

“I think Amelie was the excuse you were waiting for.” She said, her voice quiet as she treaded carefully. Never faltering in your physical form, you felt everything inside of you spiral into one, horrible pit of despair. “You don’t think Jake is fucking her, and you don’t think he’s in a relationship. You just wanted an excuse to run, to feel justified in leaving.”

You wanted her to tell you that you were wrong, but now you were pissed off because she called you out. More than that, you were pissed off because she was right.

“So what?” You snapped, your gaze falling back to your hands crossed on your lap. “Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the rest of it.”

“It does, though.” She corrected, already privy to your innermost struggles. “You’re scared to have that conversation, to tell him how much it hurt the first time. You’re scared to open up, and you’re scared of hurting him. You don’t want to go through the same thing all over again, so you think that by walking away, you’re avoiding it.” She explained. “Amelie was your excuse to run before you had to tell him all of that.”

“Stop that.” You recoiled at her statement, choking on the words she was shoving into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Open your eyes.” She implored you to digest the information rather than throw it away.

“Get out of my head!” You argued, angry not because she was missing the mark, but rather because she seemed to pluck the thoughts straight from your head and put them on display for everyone to see. “I hate it when you do that! You trick me into talking just so you can solve it all for me.”

“If I didn’t, who the hell would?” She snapped back, her eyebrows furrowed as she navigated your rebuttal. “You?”

Silence hovered over you again, uncomfortable and thick as it weighed you down. Breathing was hard, the strength of her stare mixed with the heaviness of your sadness combining into one, lethal force.

Of course you wouldn’t fix it; you weren’t a fixer—you were an ignore-er. It was your best trait, the only reason you’d survived the bulk of your life’s misery. You would shove it so far down that you would forget it existed, then carry on as if it never happened at all.

“He didn’t drop everything to go on some pathetic little date with you. He didn’t abandon responsibilities for a meaningless one night stand. He rearranged his schedule to find time to rekindle the relationship with the love of his life—with you. Those are two drastically different things, and you need to get your head out of your ass. He waited six years, Y/N. Six years for you to come back, six years of hoping and praying that you would change your mind. I know you like to be right, that you think you get to call all of the shots because you think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to make decisions for him.”

“I’m not making decisions for him—I’m making decisions for me, for what’s best for both of us.” Your argument was weak, and you knew she had you beat, but you never went down without a fight.

“If that was true, you think maybe you would be happy? Or at least okay?” She forced you to think about it again, to reconsider your thoughts and look inwards from a new perspective. She was right; if it were for the best, you wouldn’t be so miserable. Worse still, he wouldn’t be miserable, and you knew he was. The pile of unanswered texts told you he was anything but happy with your choice. “Was he happy when you left? Did he want this, too?”

“No, he didn’t.” You swallowed hard, your head throbbing as you thought back to his pain stricken face. Reliving the moments before you left, both times, was agonizing, yet they seemed to be the only memories you could think of as of recent.

“See?” She leaned forward on the bed, forcing you to look at her. “You know I’m right.”

“I just… fuck, Mel! I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I had my life figured out, but I never did. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a place to live yet. I can’t subject him to that. I can’t force him to put up with all of this. It’s better if we’re friends, at least while I get everything figured out, but it’s not as easy as you say it is.”

“Do you love him?” She asked, ignoring every point you made. You caught her gaze, your stomach twisting with anxiety as the word echoed through the room. It bounced against every corner of your skull, furthering the migraine and making your palms break out into a sweat.

“Yes.” Finally, you breathed the response, relieved to finally confess it to her. “I love him more than anything else in the world. I always have. I never stopped.”

“Then nothing else matters.” She hummed, the sweet tone easing the ache in your chest. Damn her for always knowing what to say, and damn her for always making you feel better. Most of all, damn her for not being able to mind her own business. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Nobody else has ever made you feel like that, not since I’ve known you, and I’m sure even way before that. If you still feel this way after so long, it means something, Y/N. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared. If he loves you like this too, you can make anything work.”

“I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for him, Mel. Want to see him happy, see him succeed, and I can’t get over the thought of me being the reason he doesn’t.” You confessed, your mouth dry as the truth scratched your throat raw. “That’s why I left the first time. That’s why I left this time. Our lives aren’t that different than they were back then, and the reasons we broke up are still very much alive.”

“You’re not the same, and neither is he. Stop thinking you’re still eighteen and stupid. You’ve grown up, you’ve lived life without him, and you came back. No matter how pressing those reasons were, clearly they weren’t strong enough to keep you away for good.”

“I hate you, you know.” You muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“No, you don’t.” She chuckled. “You hate being wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” You huffed, still believing your reasoning was correct.

“You sure as hell ain’t right.” Mel laughed, the sound uplifting and refreshing compared to the misery you had been stuck in. “Try, Y/N. Said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. If, in the end, I turn out to be wrong, we’ll take it as it comes, but you don’t know that’s how it’ll end. You can’t live your life always wishing you ended up with someone you wouldn’t let yourself have.”

Instead of responding, you reached out, pausing the Dylan song amidst a particularly intense bout of harmonica. In an instant, your blinding headache eased and your sick stomach rumbled with hunger. In a moment of clarity, you finally let yourself feel what you’d been holding back for so long; the largest, most pressing issue of the entire ordeal.

“I fucking hate Bob Dylan.” It felt like a million pounds were lifted off your chest as the words passed over your tongue.

“Thank god.” Mel fell backwards onto the mattress, utterly exhausted from pretending to tolerate the song.

Funny how missing Jake blinded you enough to believe you enjoyed it, like it was your last, desperate attempt at feeling close to him. You didn’t need to pretend, and you didn’t need to look at things from the same perspective all of the time. Life wasn’t black and white—it was a million different colors all at once, some so beautiful you couldn’t even begin to comprehend them. You could hate Bob Dylan and still love Jake the same, just the same as you could feel close to him without clinging to the time-worn memory of him. You didn’t have to view everything through a single lense, because sometimes things had to be looked at differently every time you encountered them.

You and Jake, were in fact, something that needed to be taken from every different angle possible. The twists and turns you took to get where you were, the surplus of emotion and the lack of action, the abundance of love despite there being no reason for it could not be justified from one single point or train of thought. You were everything all at once, and after six years and a damned mixtape later, you weren’t destined to end the same way all over again.

There had to be something else for you—it had to be different. After all this time, your commitment to his heart had to be worth it, rather than a painful bump in the road to remind you and make you relive your worst failures.

You were confused, nervous, and frustrated. You wanted it to make sense, for the answer to splay itself in front of you, so obvious you would trip over it and become one with it, but you knew it could never be so easy. You had to force yourself to learn how to take a step back, to stop being so close to a situation that it skewed your perception of what was in front of you. You needed to learn how to see it from Mel’s eyes, and most importantly, Jake’s.

You didn’t know anything, nor how to do it, but the fire under your ass was forcing you to figure it out. You couldn’t live the rest of your life this miserable, and you knew misery was the only thing in store for you if you forced yourself away from Jake.

Facts made sense to you, so you had to look at it logically; you had to learn, to understand, which had always been your favorite thing to do.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right?

You hoped not, because feeling so out of touch with reality was ruining you, and not knowing was killing you. No matter how hard it was, you had to do it, you had to know for certain.

Though, no matter what you did, you were certain one thing would always remain true; you would never, not in a million years, grow to love Bob Dylan, even if the man you loved most was his biggest fan.

And now that the song had finally come to a long overdue halt, Ozz found it within himself to join the two of you in your bedroom, free to keep you company amidst your sadness without being scared off by the high pitched harmonica on loop.

Jake’s POV

“God, you are a fuckin’ mess.” Your hotel door swung open, a voice ringing through the empty air after a brief moment of calm. You closed your eyes, not responding to the noise in hopes he would take the hint and walk away. For the first time ever, not even Josh could make the hurt ease. For the first time ever, you believed he had no advice to give you.

The whole world was burning, but you were so caught up in it that not even a hand to hold could reassure you, and he could not talk you through it.

If anything, you feared talking would only make it burn so much worse.

“Jesus, Jacob. Have you even gotten out of bed yet?” He was by your bedside, peering down at you with a mix of concern and disgust on his face. You were shirtless, the sheets strewn messily across your lower half as you prayed for the mattress to open up and swallow you whole. “Hello?” Josh spoke again, his lips decorated with a frown as he awaited a response.

“Fuck, what do you want?” You groaned, running a hand over your face. You wished he would take the hint, but you felt ridiculous for even thinking he might. In your long lifetime spent with him by your side, you noticed that Josh had never once acknowledged a hint, let alone taken one.

“I don’t know, maybe a ‘hello’? That would be a good start. Or, better yet, an explanation as to why I haven’t heard or seen you since I was here yesterday, when you were in the same position?” He had a hand on his hip, his stare accusatory as he refused to back down.

“Never should have given you that damn spare key.” You grumbled, pushing your messy hair away from your face. Your eyes were burning, puffy from crying, and even if he could clearly see the state you were in, you would never admit it to him.

“Well, you did, so get the fuck over it and tell me what your issue is.” He brushed off your snide comment, sitting next to you in the bed despite his lack of invitation. “Been three days, brother. Something happened—just waiting for you to tell me what.”

“Do you know how to mind your own business, or is that completely lost on you?” You huffed, still tipsy off the whiskey bottle you nursed to completion the night before.

“If you haven’t noticed, you are my business, asshole.” He snipped back, unscathed from your harsh words. He knew you, and all too well; this behaviour was nothing new, and even he knew what it was about, but he wanted to hear it from you instead of assuming. “I’ve only ever seen you like this once before. Trouble in paradise… again?”

“Do you have to try and be so condescending, or does that come naturally?” Your eyes shot open, more energy coursing through you now as you made a move to sit upright. As you did, your head throbbed from the grievous hangover, but you pushed it to the side as you focused on your irritation with Josh.

“Sorry I’m late—lost my fuckin’ key. Went to find Daniel for the spare, and he lost that one, too! Go figure…” Sam joined the crowd, ranting about his days minor inconvenience as he kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t seem to notice the disarray you found yourself in, nor was he able to read the emotion hanging heavily in the room.

“You really outdid yourself, Josh.” You rolled your eyes, half tempted to roll out of bed and dress yourself just so you could run away from the awkward encounter. “What is this, a brotherly intervention?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an intervention,” Josh shot you down, tapping his fingers against his khaki-clad leg. “More like a concerned conversation?” He offered an alternative, trying to explain himself before you jumped to conclusions.

“You said intervention in the text.” Sam countered, confused and adding little to Josh’s efforts. You raised a hand, motioning to Sam as you turned your head towards your twin. With a raised eyebrow, you waited for the confirmation you wanted, even if all it would do was drive you further away.

“Sam—ugh, you know what? Fine. Intervention, as the two of you would have it.” Josh threw his arms up, shooting the youngest of the group a glare.

“Right.” You muttered, throwing the sheets off of you and straightening the band of your sweatpants as you climbed out of bed. Your joints ached from days of lazing in the same position and your eyes hurt as you faced the sunlight pooling in through the sheer curtains. “Good thing I don’t need an intervention. In fact, don’t need anything. I’m fine.” You slipped a shirt over your head, stepping towards the door with hopes of escaping the burgeoning intensity of their stares. “‘Preciate the concern, but you’re wasting your energy.”

Josh sent a pointed look at Sam, silently commanding him to step in front of the door before you could leave. This time, he understood the hidden message that Josh was desperately trying to convey, and he took a step backwards to block the exit. You let out a huff of frustration, closing your eyes as you raised your thumb and middle finger to your temples, gently massaging away the migraine the two were causing.

“Sam, please.” You breathed, wasting little effort in speaking as you tried to focus it all on standing upright. You could smell the alcohol on you, seeping through your pores as your liver tried to recover from the previous night's binge. You were a mess, and they were right, but you did not want to talk about it.

“Sorry, brother.” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the wood grain as he shot you a sympathetic smile.

“So what, we’re leaving Daniel out of this? Pretty poor intervention if you ask me, ‘specially if the panel is ran by two idiots.” You felt your fuse reach the end, your temper getting the best of you as the frustration pulsed underneath your skin and behind your eyes.

“Jake, man, I love you.” Sam reasoned, pressing his palms together in front of his torso as the tips of his fingers pointed in your direction. “But could we lose the attitude? Just this once, could you grow up and be an adult about this? About her?”

“Don’t you dare—“ you seethed, cutting yourself off as a prickling sensation filling your entire body from the mere thought of him speaking about her. He had no right to speak her name, no business talking about her or placing his own notions and judgements on the situation. She was your sunshine, your entire world, and right now you were hurt enough to know that if he spoke ill of her, you wouldn’t be able to swallow your words. “Don’t talk about her, Sam. It’s not your place.”

“Okay, he’s right.” Josh nodded, standing and taking a hesitant step towards the two of you, not quite between you but ready to be if the situation warranted intervention. “No sunshine talk, Sammy boy. We’re here to talk about Jake.” Josh sent a careful glance at Sam, speaking with only his eyes. You were a ticking time bomb the two had faced explosion from many times in their life, and this instance happened to be one they were overly familiar with. To them, it seemed the fuse was the shortest when it had anything to do with her.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam cleared his throat, taking the step back and getting a handle on his own frustrations. “Let’s talk about you, Jake.” A twitch of anger contorted your expression at his tone of voice, but you took a deep breath instead of letting it slip into something bigger.

Why did it seem that the two people you loved most were always the ones who made you the angriest version of yourself?

“What about me, Sam?”

“Well, Jake… we’re concerned about your wellbeing, considering you’ve spent the last three days locked in your hotel room. Any reason why, or just making the most out of our vacation?” You squeezed your eyes shut, your teeth clenched tightly together as you listened to his words.

“Okaaayy—good start!” Josh chimed, trying his best to ease the lingering tension. “We are concerned, Jake. Thank you for starting us off, Sam.”

“You two are insufferable, you know.” You gave a tight lipped smile, ignoring the main topic at hand as if it were no big deal.

“‘Cause we love you. That’s all.” Josh shrugged, imploring you to understand where they were coming from. You let out a sigh, knowing they did love you, but it was not even enough to take away the ache in your heart. Nobody could love you enough to take that away.

Well, nobody except for her.

“Fine, you want to know what happened?” You asked, running your fingers through your tangled hair. “Date went great—better than I thought it would. Came back here, spent the night together, she said she loved me, and she fucking left! Again!” At that, your fist slammed down on the high end wooden desk beside you, the legs shaking under the pressure and your bones aching from the contact.

Your two brothers, dumbfounded and worried, stared at you with wide eyes, unbelieving that you found yourself in the same situation all over again. Why, after reaching out in the first place, would she leave you again without hesitation? Why would she let it go so far?

Confused and less than angry, Josh was in search of an answer.

“Why?” He asked, his face softening as he understood the torment you were enduring.

“Same thing as last time. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of anything, doesn’t want to distract me, or whatever the fuck—“ you felt your chest constrict at the thought, the pain coming back in an entirely new fashion as it tore through your entire body. When your brothers stormed in, they pissed you off enough to distract you from it, which means they served some sort of purpose. Now that you were talking, more specifically about her, it was back with a vengeance. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that this doesn’t mean anything if she’s not here with me. Christ, I did the damn thing because of her! She was the whole reason I had the courage to try, a-and she thinks that she’s a nuisance? A hindrance? To a dream that only came true because she loved me?”

Josh stepped forward, a gentle hand extended in your direction. Softly, carefully, cautiously, it landed on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was here and he was listening. Sam approached, less annoyance on his face as he stood beside his eldest brother.

For some reason that you could not explain, the simple contact between you and your twin, the unspoken support and solidarity from both of them made the murky skies clear and allowed for fresh air to fill your lungs. It didn’t feel so heavy, so overwhelming.

“She said she loved you?” Sam asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his ass resting against the edge of the wooden desk you’d assaulted only moments before. Even though it just happened, it seemed blurry, hazy as you tried to recall it. Everything was so messed up, so much more confusing now that she closed the door on the two of you.

Although painful, the last few years of your life did not feel as haunting as the last three days had. You tried to blame it on the wound reopening, but in truth, it had little to do with that. Every day, each grueling hour and every painstaking second of the last six years, beneath all of the misery, one thing remained true; hope.

Although time passed, and the longer it dragged on the harder it became to remain optimistic, you never gave up hope that she would come back, that the two of you weren’t finished. Deep down, there was a guttural sense of expectation that led you to believe she would show up, walk through the door with that awe-inspiring smile on her face and love in her heart for you.

Finally, after six fucking years, she did.

Then, she tore it away from you in an instant, without even thinking twice about it, with a measly promise of friendship that both of you knew only added insult to injury.

You were willing to settle, to be friends so you never had to live a life without her in it again, but she couldn’t even hold up that end of the deal. She left, storming out of your hotel room the instant the cab driver parked in front of the entrance, barely looking back over her shoulder as she held her heels in her hands and blinked away tears pooling in her eyes. You heard the door slam, but you were somewhere completely different—a dark abyss in your mind you’d only visited once before, when she drove down the long winding road set out for UPenn, never even glancing at you through the rear view mirror.

Then she disappeared.

Every call went to voicemail, every text went unanswered, the bold letters of the word ‘delivered’ taunting you every time you closed your eyes.

She was gone, and this time, so was all hope.

Why did you let her leave? Why did you let her jump to that conclusion, to run before she got the full story? Why didn’t you run after her?

You were stupid, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—she made up her mind, and she wouldn’t fucking listen. She never did, and you knew it would be a waste of breath.

“Sure did.” You cleared your throat after you spoke, your words raspy and sorrowful. You hated looking like such a mess in front of the two, but it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was the only thing they’d seen in the recent years that had come to pass. It only changed that fateful day in Europe, when her name graced your screen and the seemingly permanent cloud of misery finally floated away.

They enjoyed it for the few short weeks it lasted—it had been a long time since they saw that version of you. Happy, carefree, comfortable.

You only ever felt that way when she was around. The world only felt right with her by your side.

Now you had no idea where to go or what to do. The world didn’t end, the days still passed by in one never ending, haunting cycle of despair, and the sun was still in the sky, albeit it could never compare to her. You didn’t die when she walked away, although part of you felt like it did. You survived it once, and you could again. You had plenty to look forward to, so much to accomplish still, but it lost its sparkle knowing that you couldn’t share it with her.

So, no. The world did not end, but it definitely became colder, darker, without her light to shine upon you.

“Wonder if she meant it, or if it just felt right in the moment.” You scoffed the words out, sickened at the idea of her saying them but not truly meaning them. When you said it to her, it was the most sacred statement to ever leave your lips, the most genuine and soulful of words, and the only thing in the world that would forever remain true.

“Jacob,” Josh rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where your head was at. “Stop that. Take a second and get out of your own head. Let’s look at it through her eyes, together.” He offered. The muscle in your jaw tightened, your teeth pressed together with enough strength to cause an ache in your head.

From her eyes.

Her beautiful, alluring, calming eyes that always saw the world differently than anyone else could.

Why didn’t you do that before?

Maybe it was too painful for you, or impossible to see a different perspective without someone else to guide you through it. As of late, you had a knack for overthinking, jumping to conclusions that weren’t even genuine possibilities. Josh was always the one to guide you through it, and maybe you needed him more than you realized. He brushed you off, trying to get you to find your own conclusions when it came to her, but it was because you were asking for help in the romance aspect. In truth, you’d never needed much help there, especially when it came to her. Over the past few weeks, you just needed a pat on the back and reassurance that you could do it. Now, you needed help, you needed it to make sense.

“Now I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Y/N, but I have never known her to be a liar. I’ve never known her as anything other than selfless and sincere, and for you Jake, she’s all that and more.” You swallowed hard, his statement hitting you with force and knocking the air from your lungs. He was right, and you were so heartbroken it managed to taint your view of her.

She meant that she loved you, so why did she leave?

None of it made sense, and it all fucking hurt. You wished to have the level headed outlook that Josh had, but it failed you every time her name was brought up. The feelings she evoked within you, the intoxicating effects of her company and even just her memory was enough to drive you mad. You were completely smitten for the woman, and she never even had to try. You knew that nothing could ever compare, nobody could come close, and you were near insanity just imagining a life without her.

“There was this brief moment, the smallest amount of time where everything felt right, like it was supposed to all along. It felt like she felt it too, like we were on the same page, but I walked away for a second, and it all changed.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes bloodshot and stinging with tears.

“Something must have set her off, right?” Sam offered, hand on his chin as he found himself lost in thought. Yours and Josh’s eyes turned to him, curious about his input.

Josh was a shoulder to cry on, sharing words of wisdom to help you see a different perspective, but Sam? Sam was critical, always finding an answer even when it seemed impossible, always piecing it together when there were seemingly no pieces in sight. Josh was wise, but Sam was a fixer, and you needed this fixed.

“Like what?” You asked, beating yourself up as you heard the same breath of hope in your tone as you had once before.

“Well, I don’t know.” Sam fought back an eye roll, knowing you were hurting but frustrated by how obtuse you could be. “You said you walked away—did you leave her alone in here, or was that metaphorical?”

“No, I literally walked away.” You confirmed. “We were laying in bed, not really talking, but so comfortable that it didn’t matter. I thought for sure it was it, that we were gonna talk it out and work it out, but then I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was so different. There was that look in her eye, like when she left the first time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the bed that you’d left in a mess. Thoughtfully, his eyes scanned the scene, as if he could see it in front of him, like it was happening in real time. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, his lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then, his arm raised and his index finger extended outwards, pulling the two of you in the same direction he was going. He was pointing at your phone on the bed, screen facing upwards and lit up with incoming notifications that were insignificant to you.

To you, though.

To him, it was more than insightful.

“You always leave your phone like that?” Sam asked, his eyes flickering to you as he awaited a response.

“Yeah? Fuck does it matter?” You grumbled, unable to correlate the two. He bit his tongue as he breathed a long sigh of annoyance through his nose, stepping towards the bed and snatching the phone off the mattress.

“It matters because you’re an idiot with no passcode, and anyone can see any notifications as soon as they come.” He snapped, tapping the screen to light it up.

“So?” You couldn’t find the same wavelength he was on, unsure if it was because you were too upset or he was being too vague. Maybe, it was a combination of both. “Nothing incriminating on there. Would have let her look through it if she asked.”

“To you.” Sam clarified. “You said she felt like she was holding you back, that you were still in the same situation as last time. Where do you think that came from?” Sam implored you to think a little further, scrolling down the notification bar you never bothered to clear.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“She saw your notifications.” Sam stressed his point, his eyes reading over all of the worrisome details that likely sent her running. “Outlook: meeting canceled. Outlook: request for rescheduling. Aaron said: sent you the outline for the interview we put on pause. If you get a chance, please look it over in advance.” Sam listed off, flashing the screen towards you so you could see for yourself. “There’s about twenty more just like it.”

“Fuck sakes.” You groaned, placing a palm to your forehead as you let your eyes fall shut. Of course she saw it, and of course she took it personally. Had you realized it sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be where you are now, maybe you could have explained.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” Josh shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clearly feeling guilty on behalf of the situation. “Did you tell her it was my idea? That I was the one who canceled everything?”

It was true; coming to Michigan, coming home to her was Josh’s idea. He handled the scheduling conflicts, assuring you that this was much more important than another interview that would pertain to the same fifteen questions you’d been asked since the very beginning.

“F’course not—I didn’t know that’s why she got cold feet.” You mumbled, your eyes flickering towards the floor. “Besides, wouldn’t blame that on you, anyway. Doesn’t seem fair since it was because of me in the first place.”

“That’s not the point.” Josh urged, shaking his head at your stupidity. “If she knew it was me… if she knew how badly we all wanted to see you two together, maybe she’d get it. You have to tell her, Jake. This is all probably super overwhelming for her, to be back with you and to think that you cancelled everything to be with her. No doubt she loves you, but no doubt she’s terrified of messing things up for you. She’s always been afraid of that—she was there since the beginning, when all this was just a dream. She doesn’t see what we see. Make her see it, Jake.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should also tell her Amelie is our photographer, cause this message does seem a little bit flirty taken out of context.” Sam said, clicking on the text and showing you. Confused, you grabbed the phone from his hand and read over the words for what seemed like an eternity, noticing she’d attached four pictures of your last show, ones that you’d been begging her to share. You couldn’t see them from the notification bar, which would have made it seem all the more worrisome to her.

“Great timing, huh?” You grumbled, tossing your phone on the bed as you tried to process all of the new information. “Didn’t budge for a week, but finally sent them at the perfect time.” The sarcasm was dripping from your tone, your stomach upset as you understood how much those series of events would have bothered her.

You were so cruel, believing she did so because she didn’t care, because she wanted an excuse. It wasn’t true, and she did what she did because she cared so much, more than anyone ever had, and more than anyone else ever would. She took the burden of heartbreak because she cared more about your happiness than her sadness. If the roles were reversed, you would have felt the same way, maybe even worse. She loved you so wholly and completely that she would rather let you go than stand in your way.

Josh was right, she was a selfless, kindhearted person who would do and be anything for you, even if the best for you meant she had to be nothing. You were an idiot, and you accused her of lacking love when in reality, she was suffocating on the abundance of love she held for you.

You had to fix it. You had to make it right, to show her that no matter where you were or what you were doing, she was the very thing that made it possible to do it. You needed to tell her that she was all you ever wanted, that the life you lived was good, but only fantastic when she was there to stand by your side.

You needed to fight, to chase after her instead of letting her walk away. She meant too much to you to let her go. You couldn’t waste another six years hoping the situation would fix itself. This time, you were older, wiser, albeit still stupid, but you knew that she was worth it.

“I have to make it right.” You announced, looking between the two.

“You have to tell her the truth. Don’t let her go, Jake.” Sam agreed.

“After all this time, she’s still yours. Don’t take it for granted.” Josh added.

“Okay.” You breathed, giving one curt nod. “I have an idea, but I can’t do it by myself.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Josh assured you, knowing just as well as you did that she was the one. They couldn’t bear to see you lose her for good. Sam nodded in agreement, a silent show of solidarity without a second thought.

A small smile graced your lips, and a breath of hope filled your lungs. It wasn’t over, and you would make sure of it. When it came to her, you would never let it be over. You would work until your last dying breath, committed to her and her alone. She was everything, the whole world and more. She was your sunshine, lighting up the darkest days and making the brightest ones better.

Six years ago, you gave her eight songs to show her how much you would miss her, how sad you were about letting her go.

This time, maybe all she needed was eight songs to tell her exactly why you needed her to stay.

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