#he's making me wring him out like a towel to even talk this is a nightmare but we make do . we make do........

[faultedloyalty]

The speed in which he has to turn his amusement into faux-apology cannot be understated; though the way in which the young man’s reactions serve only to further bring him closer to something like elation cannot be, either! Perhaps it’s merely his age, but from their severity to their depths, he finds that his baser urges to toy with those lesser than himself are growing. They are, of course, overwhelmingly easy to keep at bay—he has practiced, he has lived, too long to be any other way—but the fact that he has to acknowledge them at all on his own is exceedingly rare.

Not that he is one to ignore his own whims, either, however.

“So many apologies you need not make; truly, just what kind of butler am I?” Another melodramatic sigh, another shake of his head, follows in the wake of his own bastard-conceived plot and results. “Though I must apologize once more, myself, for inadvertently insulting your acquaintances.” For if they are neither friends nor anyone he considers worthy of such a word... “I meant no harm, of course, but I fear I spoke too impulsively. Such is a failing of my own, unfortunately—

“I must admit that I do take heart in knowing you bear confidence-enough to correct me, however.”

For that, too, was amusing in and of itself—despite the irresolute clamber in which young Daisuke speaks his words, the fact that he speaks them at all is enough to make him want to chuckle. Companionship was of no use to himself, but the lengths in which those who find it so go to have others speak no ill-will of them, even when it was unsure, served to interestingly confuse him always.

“It is quite clear that they are of great import to you,” he continues on easily, belying his thoughts, “in spite of how little you know of them personally. Does not speaking of them in such a way also speak in turn, however, not just to their skills but to what skills they have imparted to you, as well?”

Even if mere beginner-work from another teenager, knowledge would forever be knowledge; “To gain any sort of understanding over the simplest of details is enough to learn the complex natures of this world, after all. One might argue that this is needed to do so, as what one might think of as a basis—though I dare not do so in my position, of course.”

(His position for the moment, at least, but there was little need to fret over frivolous details such as those, right then. He merely needs them known, still.)

“Special qualities or lack thereof aside, as well—and so long as I am permitted to say so—at the very least I find myself thrilled to find your art of quite the noticeable talent, already.”

And there he goes to demonstrate—flipping through pages quickly, though keeping a thumb on the one he had scribbled on himself, with that self-satisfied smile! He doesn’t go far, and he isn’t even looking at it, but even this serves more to try for a reaction than anything else!

“It is clear that you don’t lack an eye for details,” he speaks as the pages turn, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, “and neither is there lack of intent behind your work! Really, this is more than enough to warrant an impart of your knowledge to myself, as the less-experienced artist, but I suppose...”

Just as quickly as he’d begun flipping through pages does he close them back up, keeping only the one he’d utilized himself open for the book’s owner to see. In the same breath, he holds it back out for the young man; silent encouragement that he is to, finally, take his own look at what Sebastian had done.

“Relieving as it is to hear that my work shan’t be considered by one who is, at heart, ‘really mean’, I do urge you to give your most honest opinion. Shall my skills be lacking, I will endeavour to improve as quickly as I am able.”

Though he can already guess a few ways this is about to go—but he’s curious to see which of them will occur, as well, so there’s no need to continue stalling.

' i-infamy ?! '

the word seems to instantly jolt him . close to hives , his skin prickling , every thin hair on his arm swift to stand up straight on end . a word like infamy ... was really bad , wasn't it ?! ( like horrible , like heinuous , like --- dark . )

' n-no ! it's not like that or anything ! like hiwatari-kun and sagami-sensei , i mean --- er , u-um ... ' would someone like sebastian have been able to recognize any of these names ? arrive , vanish , do everything in a blink and leave nary so much as a single trace behind --- his family had instructed him over and over to be capable of severing any sort of loose strings in the midst of plotted , robbing act .

( why dare to admire his enemies , anyways ? )

was it too simple , too laughable , that just because he wanted to think they were friends ... no , that because he just wanted to somehow be friends them , that he should have therefore made every effort to be kind , and speak up in their defense ? even knowing that they might never have done the same for him , or for his far more rotten , wretched parts .

' t-they're not that bad , i mean ... i don't think infamous is a good word for them ... ' though , maybe and maybe not . before the hikari alone , what other artists played god , to the extent that their creations came to life out of nothing but the meager likes of stone , paint and wax ? man's first golems and homonculi , created in the perverse shape of themselves : both infinitely beautiful and hideous .

their broach of every natural law and order could have lent itself to their infamy , if only what vicious storms of emotion surrounding their works didn't coil about them like the still , untouchable calm of an eye of a storm . and there , braving the cuts and razor , racing edge of the roughest winds , was the black half of the kokuyoku ... what black wings even now remained bound to his body .

' ... i'm sorry . ' trailing away , clutching to himself at his hands , daisuke's will shrinks and relents , wilting meekly beneath the other's blase accusations . certainly , he feels every invisible pressure like a block of lead , hitching his shoulders high in a hopeless defense against what felt like , polite and composed as it was , an adult's chide .

' i don't ... actually know if i'm really friends with any of them . i only sort of know them , so i didn't think anything was that interesting to talk about --- um , hiwatari-kun is the same age as me , and he's the one who comes from a really family . the hikari ? their artworks always end up in museums and stuff , they've been making masterpieces for over four hundred years . i've only really learned a few things about ... um , shadows and circles from him , though ... '

embarrassing basics that anyone , even a toddler should have been able to comprehend .

' sagami-sensei was a sculptor , and someone who won top prizes every year in azumano ... our standards for art are the highest in japan , so it was a big deal when he was going to start teaching part-time . but then he quit right after his practice internship and decided to go back to art --- ' cheeks flush and he laughs ; he doesn't dare to pry at sebastian's turn , deeply curious as he remained to the other's work . ' he was really cool . he always seemed to know what he was doing when he was making art , hiwatari-kun too , i think . i'm not really anything special , especially compared to them ... '

humility blends in warmly with a loitering sense of shame .

' really --- really-really , i don't think i could give you good advice or critiques even if i tried . not to mention , since i was the one who asked you to draw something for me in the first place , if i were to suddenly get all nit-picky or something over it when i probably couldn't do any better , i'd feel ... um , really mean . '

[moremaybank]

KISS IT BETTER , jj maybank

── KINKTOBER: PERIOD SEX

"kiss it better, baby." ─ rihanna, kiss it better.

jj maybank x gf!reader

(18+) unprotected sex, period sex, use of a vibrator, praise, extra sweet!jj

your period is ruining your day and jj makes it all better (like only he can)

KINKTOBER , OBX MASTERLIST

the very second jj pushed inside you, you instantly felt at ease. like all your problems and discomfort were melting away solely because he was flooding your senses. you both shuddered when he buried himself all the way. jj's eyes flickered to yours, and he licked his lips.

"love how easy it is to slip inside your pussy when you're like this, baby."

jj had never been shy about period sex. in fact, he made it a point to show you that he craved it. the way your body grew even more responsive. the way the sensitivity of your most knee-weakening spots multiplied. he'd kiss you and you'd mewl for him. pawing at him every few mintues when you needed his attention. needed his lips on your skin and his hands in frisky places.

and also, he had no clue why, but something about it was just so...intimate. and it was crazy becase everyone on the island knew that jj was not the type to use the word intimate.

come on, now.

you were special. you had to be with the way he treated you and eased all your pain like it was second nature to him. he always told you, i got that magic touch, pretty girl. and now, you really, really believed him.

"'n your body's so much more tender, right, baby? almost came when i was licking those pretty nipples, huh?"

jj's hips continued to rock into you with a soothing motion. every inch of him rubbed at your walls, massaging and wringing out every last bit of agony before replacing it with sheer and utter pleasure. your cunt squelched even louder than normal onto the towel laid out beneath you due to the obviously different circumstances, but god, your body was on fire with delight.

even so, you couldn't help the doubts from creeping in. typical hormones.

"j," you whined, though you clawed at his thick shoulders. "s'makin a mess."

jj simply shook his head at you, leaning downward on his forearms. they caged you in while his forehead kissed yours. his eyes never left yours as he spoke. "don't sweat it, mama. focus on me, 'kay? feel that cock slidin' in 'n out..." he smirked with pride when you cried out for him. "yeah...how's that? you feelin' good, my queen?"

"s-so good," you assured him. your lips brushed against his, before you pulled back to look at him with every ounce of desperation you had. "need you, j. need you so bad."

"don't worry, baby. i got you, yeah? gonna make it all better for you. promise."

for a moment, jj's hips came to a halt, and you were left whining in protest. your legs wrapped around his waist securely, just in case he decided to up and abandon you. lucky for you, though, all he did was reach into your night table and grab your vibrator. he switched it on with ease like he'd done many times before, and drew it down the middle of your torso. you sighed as it buzzed down the valley of your breasts, the length of your stomach, and then all the way to rest on your clit. you hissed at the sensation, the sound growing louder as jj started to move inside of you again. he kept himself propped up with his other arm, staring down at you with near heart eyes.

"goddamn, my girl's pretty when she's gettin' fucked."

"fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. i'm gonna cum, j. shit," you rambled, feeling your high creep in you faster than expected with the added sensation. your tits rose and fell heavily as you panted, tempting jj to go temporarily insane.

"go for it, baby. soak my fuckin' cock." you nodded at his encouragement, limbs clinging to him like a koala while he fucked your cunt. all of your hormonal aches and pains were long forgotten as he talked you through it, showering you with love in typical jj fashion. "s'not fair. love you so much, mama...hate watchin' you suffer. y'deserve to feel good all the time. lemme help you."

[pinkgic]

ex-boyfriend fratboy!rafe. god help me!

cw. smut (mdni), fem!reader, toxic relationship, alcohol and drug use, mirror sex, degradation kink.

the music sounds distant, muffled by the white-tiled walls that appeared a light, smudged gray thanks to the alcohol fogging your brain—and the way his pelvis kissed your ass with each plap-plap-plap, echoing in the bathroom of a party you weren’t even supposed to be at. for this exact reason. you knew how it would end. with your lame coked-up excuse of an ex inside you.

and still, you couldn't even answer the big, ugly question sitting in your gut: why the fuck do i keep letting him do this? your body had betrayed you again, thighs spread wide and shaking as his cock hit that spot that made your toes curl against the cold tile. and, of course, your eyes met his in the large, square mirror above the sink. a voyeuristic form of self-loathing. as if you needed to confirm, once again, how the promises of, “no, i’m not gonna talk to him, not even look at him, i promise!” made to your friends, were entirely baseless.

perhaps even they had already accepted it—

“fuck,” he groaned, and a grin stretched across his stupidly handsome face as you let out another loud moan when his fat tip grazes your g-spot, bingo. thankfully, for the sake of your peace of mind (because he, more than once, hadn’t cared if the entire party heard how good his cock made you feel), the host’s house was massive. you’d ended up here with him because all the other bathrooms were occupied when the drinks you’d downed earlier hit, and that’s how you found yourself in the second-floor bathroom at the end of the hall. that's how “pee-and-leave” turned into this.

his right hand—the one not gripping your shoulder with his beefy arm wrapped tightly around your trembling torso—moved up, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into the mirror at the two of you: sweaty, panting bodies. 

“fuckin’ look at that,” he panted, gaze flicking down. “hah, shit, look how those two bounce,” he slapped the side of your breast, leaving a hot, stinging mark. he was so mean.

and you hated yourself for clenching around him because of it.

his laugh was this low, mean sound, vibrating against your back as he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat pressing into you like he needed to get as deep as possible. fucking gross. the thought was interrupted by the hot breath skating over the shell of your ear. “see that face you’re making?” he murmured. “‘s my favorite one. you look so—fuckin’—wrecked.”

and god, if he wasn’t right. your eyeliner had betrayed you hours ago, smeared into shadows that made your eyes look too big, too wide, like a haunted doll. your lips were red and swollen, half from the sloppy kiss that started this whole thing and half from biting down so hard to keep yourself quiet. the woman staring back at you was enjoying it, there was no way to deny that.

“shut up,” you hissed, you just wanted to look away. but his fingers curled tighter around your jaw, already marking his digits there.

“you don’t want me to shut up,” he taunted, his hips rolling deeper, lazier. like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. “you love it when i talk, when i tell you how fuckin’ good you’re taking it, like the slut you are.”

you hated him. you hated him so much you could cry—you were going to cry, but for different reasons. you hated the way he always knew exactly what to say, to keep you squeezing him between your slick walls, and getting you addicted every day a little bit more, increasing the dose.

but the worst part—the part that made your chest twist like a wet towel, wringing out something raw and acidic—was how he was right. he always was. every damn time. you hated how he’d figured you out. he was your ex, goddamn it!

because yeah, you did love it. loved the sound of his low voice dragging over your nerves like a matchstick ready to explode a bomb. loved the way his cock stretched you open until it felt like your brain short-circuited, leaving nothing but static between your ears. loved that stupid smirk, too. it wasn’t fair. he wasn’t fair. 

you tried to focus on anything else—the way the faucet dripped, the faint bassline pulsing through the floor beneath you, keeping your eyes open. “rafe,” you whispered in a treacherous moan.

his hand slid down your belly, splayed wide like he was claiming you, branding you his. “tell me,” his voice was almost tender now, mockery softened by the way he groaned as you clenched around him. “tell me how much you hate me while you’re drippin’ all over my cock.” 

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t. your throat tightened as your hips jerked back to meet his thrusts, sharp and desperate, chasing something you’d regret in the morning along with the hangover. or maybe right after you came. but right now, you needed it like you needed air. 

his laughter curled around you, mean and knowing, as his hand slid up your belly, splayed possessively just under your ribs. like he owned you. like he always had, no matter how many times you’d tried to scrape him out of your system. “that’s what I thought,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple like a kiss. like he thought he was being romantic, like he thought this was some kind of fucked-up love story. “hate me all you want, baby. but this?” his hand slid lower, between your legs, pinching your sensitive clit, making you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood as your legs buckled. “this don’t lie.”

[songofthepines]

WITHOUT YOU : MYDEI X ANAXA X PHAINON X M!READER

some of your facial hair has started growing, but you’ve never shaved before. you have no clue how to go about this, too timid to ask for help. however, your three roommates are happy to help– though it lands you all in something… a little less PG. (sorry if they’re ooc, i didn’t pay any attention to the story quest.. this is also my first time writing anything nsfw so lmk if there’s anything i can improve on?)

tags | @thezboss

You’ve noticed that your facial hair is longer than normal. You’ve never really thought about it, but you can’t decide if you want to grow it out or not. After sitting in the bathroom for about 10 minutes, just running your fingers over the growing stubble, you pick up Mydei’s razor on the counter. You’ve never done this before– how does this work? You’ve seen Anaxa do it, but never retained anything, usually just talking his ear off as he shaves. You’re at war with your mind, but before you can steady your hands, your roommates finally decide to check on you. You jump at the knock at the door, almost dropping the razor in the sink.

— Hey, it’s Phainon. You alright in there?

— Yeah, you dying in there or something? 

Um, I’m fine. All good.

— Are you sure? You’ve been in there a while.

I- I don’t really know, I’m kinda struggling here. You can come in. If you want.

You set the razor down on the counter, running a hand over your face. The door creaks open, and all three of your roommates are standing there. You didn’t even know Anaxa was there, he hadn’t said anything, just looming behind Mydei and Phainon like a statue. You’ve lived with them for over a year, and you’re still unnerved by them sometimes. Mostly Anaxa and Mydei, though. Phainon was the most welcoming, frequently apologizing for their callous acts. They file into the bathroom— Phainon standing behind you, Mydei sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, and Anaxa hovering in the doorway. Anaxa eyes the razor sitting on the counter and raises an eyebrow. He takes your chin in his hand, turning your face towards him.

— Are you trying to shave? 

— You’re doing a shit job.

— Mydei.

— What? He is. He hasn’t even picked up the shaving cream. He’s gonna nick himself and then come complaining to us that his face is bleeding.

— Can you stop being so mean to him? Sometimes, I’m worried he won’t renew the lease when you’re so rude to him. 

While Phainon and Mydei bicker, Anaxa picks up a face towel and wets it with warm water, looking back at you to make sure you’re watching him. He wrings it out, handing it to you and motioning for you to wash your face. You follow, soaping the bottom half of your face and scrubbing with the towel. Anaxa takes another dry towel and dries your face. 

— To get rid of oil and dead skin that clogs up the blade.

Hm. Okay.

He picks up Phainon’s shaving gel and squeezes out a generous amount onto your hand. He takes your hands in his, showing you how to apply it. Phainon and Mydei finally stop fighting, and Phainon audibly sighs, turning back to you as he rubs his face. He and Mydei are equally surprised when they see Anaxa standing next to you, looking into the mirror, showing you how to apply the gel. Phainon turns on the faucet as you finish with the gel, and you wash your hands off under the water.

— I leave the water on, so you can wash the razor after each swipe. 

— You’d better not break my razor. Don’t clog the razor up with hair and shit. Actually, give me that. I’mma change the razor for you, ‘cause you’re obviously unable to do it yourself.

Mydei picks up the razor, changing the razor as Phainon and Anaxa take you through the motions and steps of actually shaving.

Do I look stupid? I think I look silly with all the foam.

— You look fine. We all look like this when we have the foam. It’s normal.

Uh, okay. Phai, can you help me? I dunno how to do this…

— Of course.

Mydei hands you the new razor, and Phainon takes your hand in his, and leads your hands, guiding the razor. Your hands shake under his, but somehow, having all of them here makes it so much easier and your hands eventually stop shaking. You get a clean swipe and wash it off under the running water just like they showed you. You repeat until half of your face is done and Phainon lets go of your hands. 

 — Okay, you’re halfway there! Think you can do the rest by yourself?

I-I can try.

— We’re right here, dumbass. We won’t let you hurt yourself.

Yeah, okay. I can do this. 

You take a deep breath, fixing your posture. Something pops in your back, and Anaxa chuckles quietly to himself. Your heads don’t shake as much, but still you have to try to make sure they don’t shake enough to make you cut yourself. One, wash. Then another, wash. Another, wash. Last one, wash. You sigh in relief as if this was some impossible feat– but to you, it felt like it. It probably would have been that way if they hadn’t come to check on you.

Oh Aeons. Thank you guys so much. I don’t think I would have been able to do that without you here.

— Of course, don’t mention it. 

— Yeah, we don’t mind. Don’t we, Mydei?

— Sure, whatever. Yeah, I don’t mind. 

Thank you. So much. Don’t know what I would do without you three.

���────────! nsfw !─────────

Am I doing okay?

— So good. See how good you’re making him feel?

Phainon leads your hands, just as he did hours before. He guides you up and down, same as before, except instead of the sounds of running water, it’s Mydeo’s muffled groans and the soft creaking of the bed springs.  A smirk is plastered onto Anaxa’s face, one of his hands covering Mydei’s mouth, the other holding Mydei’s hip as his own meet them in a soft plap. Your hands are shaking under Phainon’s, but this time, it’s making Mydei feel a lot better. You look up to meet Mydei’s gaze, his eyebrows scrunched together. You only manage to hold eye contact for a few moments before his eyes roll into the back of his head.

— Fuck, ah– Phai- !

They don’t know what they would do without you.

© 2025 | all works are property of 「 @songofthepines 」 written by sen : do NOT steal, translate, repost, or plagiarize my work on any platform.

[sturnsblogs]

MOODY MORNINGS

Teacher!Matt X Milf!Reader

—

You’ve been feeling off for two weeks now. Exhausted. Nauseous every morning. Moody like hell. Your chest aches, your appetite is weird, and you swear you cried at a commercial for laundry detergent last night. But what’s worse? You’ve been fighting with Matt. About everything. Over nothing.

“Why would you put the mugs there, Matt?”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “They’ve literally always been in this cabinet.”

“Well, I don’t like that cabinet anymore.”

You snapped at him about the toilet seat. About how he folds towels. About how loud he chews. One night you even accused him of loving the dog more than you. (You don’t even have a dog.)

And Matt, to his credit, tried to be patient. Tried. But last night? That patience snapped.

“You’ve been on edge for two weeks and I don’t even know why!” he raised his voice for the first time in days. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? You want space? You want to fight? You want me to tiptoe around you while you glare at me like I murdered your childhood goldfish?”

You stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes glassy. “I don’t know what I want, okay?! I just—” You paused, swallowing hard. “I feel weird. I don’t feel like me.”

He softened just a little. “Baby… are you okay? Is something going on?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him, grabbing your keys from the hook. “I’m going to Target.”

“Again?” he sighed, frustrated. “That’s the third time this week. Are you even buying anything or just running away from every conversation we have?”

You stopped in your tracks and whipped around. “You know what, Matt? If you don’t like how I’m acting, maybe you should just leave for the night and go stay with Nick.”

He stared at you. And then quietly asked, “Do you even want me here anymore?”

The words stung. They hung between you both, sharp and heavy.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you slammed the door.

But sitting in the car—hands shaking on the steering wheel, nausea twisting your stomach again—you muttered to yourself, “God. What the hell is wrong with me?”

You already knew the answer.

You just didn’t want to admit it.

You didn’t even make it out of the driveway.

Your keys stayed in your lap, engine off, as the streetlights blurred through the tears in your eyes. You weren’t angry. Not really. You were scared. You were overwhelmed. You were two seconds away from either screaming or sobbing—or both.

So you came back inside.

The door creaked open quietly, like even the house was holding its breath. Matt was still on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. He didn’t look at you when you walked in. He didn’t say anything either.

You stood there for a minute, awkward, picking at your fingernails, tugging at your sleeve, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

You didn’t want to apologize.

You didn’t know how.

So you just… fidgeted.

Eyes darting around, fingers wringing together, toe tapping quietly against the floor. You weren’t good at this part—being vulnerable when you felt cornered, when you didn’t even have the words for what you were feeling.

Matt finally looked at you. His features weren’t angry anymore, just tired. Concerned.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “are you gonna talk to me or just keep pacing like you’re waiting on a verdict?”

You looked at him. Then at the floor. Then back at your hands.

He stood up, walked over, and stopped right in front of you. “You don’t have to say sorry,” he murmured. “I just want to know what’s going on with you. Really.”

You blinked a few times, and your voice cracked when you whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Matt gently took your hands, steadying your nervous fingers in his. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

You stared at him—at his messy hair and worried eyes, at the man who has loved you through everything.

And for a split second, the fear you’d been swallowing down all week bubbled to the surface.

“…I think I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air.

Matt didn’t flinch.

He just blinked once.

Then quietly asked, “Do you want me to go buy a test?”

You nodded.

He kissed your forehead, squeezed your hands, and headed toward the door—murmuring as he passed you, “We’re gonna be okay. No matter what.”

—

A/N- Am i locked in? Yes.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset-deactivate @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @sturnns-world @realuvrrr r @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k

[allisluv]

How do we think Finnick would react to his S/O showing up at his door in the middle of a thunderstorm? Completely soaked of course

Yk that troupe of “I didn’t know where else to go” the ANGST of it all

It could also just be something fluffy like they wanted to see him really bad! So many possibilities in the rain

thunderstorms.

content warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, fluff and angst rolled into one. thunderstorms, one innuendo, reader mentions the capitol and tiny implications that reader is forced into prostitution however it's not touched on.

word count: 0.7k

It’s late in the night when Finnick hears the knock on his front door. He’s always been a light sleeper, and despite your knocking being soft at first, he somehow still manages to hear it over the loud clap of thunder.

He drags himself out of bed and slips his feet into a pair of sneakers. As he treks down the staircase, the knocking becomes more insistent, more frantic and scared, and he finds himself growing worried. 

He glances at the clock in the kitchen. Who in the hell is at his front door at three in the morning? Tentatively, he calls out through the door. “Who is it?” 

“It’s me.”  He heaves a semi-relieved sigh and unlocks the door. His eyes rake over your body, taking in the way your clothes are soaked through and your body shivers. “Jesus, angel, what’s wrong?” 

You frown and swallow the lump in your throat. “I— I didn’t know where else to go.” Your voice has a shake to it and you’re nearly on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head, brushing you off and coaxing you through the front door. “Don’t be silly. Come in, you’ll catch your death if you stand out there any longer.” He leads you to sit on the edge of his sofa and kneels down in front of you. “I’m gonna get some warm clothes for you, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, shivering despite yourself as he runs back up the stairs. He’s as quick as be damned and in less than a minute, hes back by your side with a towel, an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. 

He disappears into the kitchen to make some chamomile tea for you as you change. Your hair is still wringing wet as you hide your hands in the sleeves of Finnicks hoodie. It smells like him; saltwater, sun cream and that cologne that reminds you of home. 

Finnick is quiet as he comes back into the living room and thrusts the mug of steaming hot tea into your hands. “There. That’ll keep you warm and it should steady your nerves, too.” He soothingly rubs a hand up and down the length of your back, trying to calm you down. Lightning strikes across the sky, bright and blinding, and you flinch without even meaning to. “It’s alright,” he coos. “You’re safe. You wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

You sigh. “I just— it’s stupid.” 

He raises a brow. “I doubt that. Go on, tell me anyways, angel, stupid or not.”

You hesitate, but eventually you relent. “I just came back from the Capitol.” His expression softens. “I don’t know, I know it’s stupid, I just— I didn’t want to be alone right now.” You squirm under the intensity of his gaze. “Sorry for waking you up.” 

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he chastises as softly as he can. “You hear me? Nothing. That’s what Im here for. C’mere.” You set down your mug on the coffee table and let him pull you into his lap. 

You’re straddling his thighs, arms twisting around him as he lets you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks. You shake your head and he nods understandingly. “That’s alright, angel, but you’re safe now. You hear me? I’m here.”

You sigh against his skin. “Can I stay here tonight? Is that okay?” 

Finnick chuckles under his breath. “Just you try leaving, angel. Hold on,” he instructs, lifting you up into his arms and heading for the staircase. You cling to him like your life depends on it as he heads for his bedroom and settles you down on the double bed. 

He slips in beside you, and opens his arms. You’re more than happy to oblige; you cuddle in close to him and he silently presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Your brows furrow. “For what?” 

“For trusting me enough to come to me.” He cards his fingers through your damp strands of hair. “I love you.” 

You sigh contentedly and blindly reach out for his hand, intertwining your fingers together. “I love you too.” 

He kisses your forehead once more and says, “Get some rest. You look like hell.” 

“Gee, thanks, honey. You sure know how to make a girl feel good.” You roll your eyes. 

Finnick grins mischievously. “I know more than one way to make you feel good.” He laughs when you slap him in the chest. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing.”

[sweetyyhippyy]

Fever. Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader. *FLUFF*

Summary: Steve wakes up to find his girlfriend is feeling ill. He helps take care of her.

Word Count: 908

TW: Reader being sick (mentions of fevers, body aches, taking medicine). Steve being a sweet boy.

Note: I wrote this when I was in the middle of a cold and all I wanted was for Steve to take care of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was around 2am when he felt his girlfriend moving around the bed next to him, groaning uncomfortably in her sleep. She usually slept like a rock all night, the restlessness wasn’t like her. 

He was quick to turn around, thinking that maybe she was in pain, but she was still asleep next to him, only moving slightly in the sheets. Steve watched her for a few minutes, thinking maybe she was having a bad dream based on her brows being furrowed together. 

“Honey? You okay?” Steve reaches out to touch her arm, immediately feeling heat radiating from her body that was not normal. 

She grumbles, rolling onto her side to face him. “My body hurts.” Sleep still laced in her voice. 

“You feel hot to the touch, baby.” Steve reaches for the lamp on the bedside table, turning it on to see how she was looking. 

Her eyelids were puffy as she looked back at him, the bags under her eyes making it look like she hasn’t slept since last Thanksgiving. 

“I’m going to go grab the thermometer from the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”  Steve rolls out of bed, grabbing his sweatpants off the floor and sliding them on his lanky frame before disappearing into the bathroom. 

She grabs the blankets that had been kicked off her body from the result of her rolling around, and tucks herself under them, shivering into the pillow under her head. A dull ache radiates all through her body, every muscle she had felt like it had been overworked. Somehow her eyelids even hurt.

“Let me see your ear, going to take your temp really quick.” Steve pushes the sheets down past her ear, sticking the earpiece inside until he hears two long beeps. “102.6, honey you’re burning up really bad.” 

“Probably the flu. Lilly and I worked together the day before she called and said she came down with it.” 

“I’m going to get you a cold towel and bring you some water. In the morning I’ll go to the store and get you some medicine and whatever else you need, okay?” Steve rubs the side of her face with the back of his hand softly, making her shiver against his touch. 

“I have work in the morning.” She mutters, sighing sadly. “Dean’s going to kill me if I don’t show up with Lilly being out.”

“You’re not going to work if you’re sick, especially with your fever. Don’t worry about Dean, if he has a problem with you being gone, he and I can talk.” 

Her boss was already on his shit list. There had been a lot of nights she had come home sad because he yelled at her for an honest mistake or was just being a dick for sport. Everytime he dropped her off at work and spotted the twerp, he made sure to stare him down, trying his best to intimidate him without speaking to him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” 

She nods her head, shutting her sore eyes, mostly because she couldn’t keep them open. 

Steve grabs a small towel, wetting it with cold water from the sink and wringing it out. He grabs a cup of ice water for her too, along with some Tylenol to help start to break her fever. He travels back to their room, finding his girlfriend fast asleep again. 

He takes the washcloth and lays it on the back of her neck, making her gasp and open her eyes quickly. “Sorry, honey. Gotta get your temp down as much as I can. Can you sit up for me so you can take some medicine?” 

She groans as she sits up on her butt, her body almost feeling hollow. Her body sways back and forth slightly as she waits for Steve, her head pounding loudly in between her ears. 

Steve hands her two medicine capsules and a cup of water, the cup feeling refreshing against her hot palm. “We don’t have any actual cold medicine in the cabinet. I’ll get that in the morning at the drugstore.” 

“Thank you, sweetie.” She softly smiles at him, letting the outside of the cup rest against her cheek for a few seconds, goosebumps spreading across her hot skin. She groans as her body shivers, the slight movement making her muscles burn. 

“Do you want another cold towel for your face?” 

“No baby, it’s okay. We should both go back to sleep. I’m exhausted and you look tired too.” 

Steve nods his head in agreement, walking back over to his side of the bed and pulling the sheets back. 

“Stevie, you’re going to get sick if you keep sleeping next to me. Why don’t I go to the couch?”

“No, you’re not going to the couch. I’ll be okay sleeping next to you. Besides, I have to monitor my patient.” He jokes, shutting the light off and sliding back in bed with her. 

She turns away from Steve, placing the wet rag on the side of her neck. She feels Steve’s hands slide over her hip and his chest press to her back. “Stevie, you’re going to catch what I have if you’re this close to me.” 

“Can’t go to sleep without holding you. I’ll be alright.” He cuddles up to her more, this time encapsulating her whole body.

She smiles to herself as she finds his hand and holds it to her stomach, drifting back to sleep for the night. 

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 5

word count: 4.7k

hey lovies! thank you for the support already shown on this story. i'll try to pick up the pace soon, i don't plan on making it too much of a slow burn. feel free to send messages on plot ideas, i'd love to incorporate what the people want. thanks again, enjoy!!

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

Harry fell onto his back, huffing air out. His eyes closed shut as he swallowed the thick air around them. They only unscrewed once Kirsten's voice rang through. "That was... wow," she laughed and turned her head to look over at Harry. 

He swallowed again and turned his head to look over at her. "Yeah," He breathed, pushing himself up off the bed. His back felt sticky, a warm hot flashing over before the cold wind from the night whisked into his room and collided with their skin. "Let me just, uh," Harry pointed to the bathroom, signaling he was going to go clean up and bring her a towel as well. 

The man's feet carried him to the cold tile of his restroom where the door clicked shut behind him. Leaning on the counter, he looked up to find his wild gaze looking right back at him. Normally, this routine wasn't anything out of the ordinary for Harry. He would hook up with women, clean them up, and off they go. What he didn't anticipate was the lingering feeling of guilt that came after, which flooded his chest. Even if he was nothing to Aspen and vice versa, that was her friend he had just slept with after ignoring her in her own home. He shook the thought out of his head as if it were too loud and leaking sound while suds formed between his scrubbing hands. 

The cold water of the tap absorbed into the rag in his hands so he could wring out the material and wipe the sweat off his chest and neck. Sure, his night with Kirsten was good. Probably leaning on one of the better times as of recent. He could only hope his neighbors would forgive him for the stereotypical headboard banging against the wall.

A heavy sigh floated past his lips after he slipped a shirt over his muscular frame to go with his now clothed bottom half. He grabbed a fresh towel to bring back to Kirsten, squeezing out the excess water.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, holding the towel loosely in his hands as he took in the sight of Kirsten pulling on her boots. The dim light from the nightstand lamp cast a soft glow over her face, accentuating the faint smirk she wore as she brushed her hair back into place. Her confidence was palpable, a trait that had drawn him in earlier, but now it only amplified the strange hollowness settling in his chest.

"I didn't realize you'd be grabbing me one, too," she said with a laugh, gesturing toward the towel he held. "I'm just so used to, well, you know." She gave a small shrug, her tone light, casual, as if she were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Tonight was fun. Really fun."

Harry gave a tight nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wasn't one for pillow talk, and Kirsten's carefree attitude made it clear she wasn't expecting it either. Still, there was something about the way she spoke that made him feel like a cog in some larger, predictable machine—a pattern he didn't particularly enjoy repeating tonight.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice low. He stepped forward, placing the towel neatly on the bed beside her before retreating slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. The air between them was oddly charged, a mix of satisfaction and finality that didn't sit well with him.

Kirsten stood, adjusting her jacket before slinging her bag over her shoulder. "You're quiet, aren't you?" she teased, her tone playful as she moved toward the door.

"Depends on the company," Harry replied coolly, reiterating something along the lines of what he said earlier into the night, his voice even but distant. He didn't mean it as a jab, but it came out sharper than he intended.

Kirsten paused, raising an eyebrow as she looked back at him. For a moment, her confident façade faltered, her expression softening just slightly. "Well, you were good company tonight. Even if you won't admit it," she said with a grin, turning the doorknob. "See you around, Styles."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Harry alone in the dimly lit room. He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a heavy breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The silence felt heavier now, pressing against his chest as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The faint scent of Kirsten's perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the musk of sweat and the crisp night breeze filtering through the open window. His gaze fell to the towel on the bed, the one she hadn't needed, and the guilt that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind finally spilled over.

Aspen's face flashed in his mind unbidden, the soft smile she'd worn when she greeted Isobel earlier in the night, the way her voice had wavered when she muttered her quiet hello. She'd seemed so small, so out of place, like she didn't quite belong in her own home with him there. Harry's jaw tightened as he thought of the way she'd disappeared down the hall, her excuse rushed and shaky.

And now, he'd just slept with her friend.

It wasn't like he owed her anything, Harry reminded himself, rubbing a hand over his face. He barely knew Aspen, and she barely knew him. But that didn't stop the uncomfortable twist in his gut, the nagging feeling that he'd crossed some invisible line.

He grabbed the beer bottle from his nightstand, the condensation slick against his fingers as he took a long swig. The alcohol burned down his throat, dulling the edges of his thoughts but failing to erase them entirely. He skimmed around the sex-musked room and his eyes locked on the black lace peeking out on the floor at the end of his bed. 

"Shit," he mumbled with a groan. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Meanwhile, Aspen lay awake in her room, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she tried to will herself to sleep. She could still hear faint murmurs of conversation from the living room, the occasional burst of laughter filtering through the walls. She wondered if Kirsten was still there, if Harry was still there.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of them together, though she didn't understand why. It wasn't like she and Harry were friends. He'd made it clear he didn't think much of her, and she'd done her best to brush off his cold demeanor. Still, the idea of him and Kirsten sitting so close, laughing and talking like they were the only two people in the room, sent a pang of something she couldn't quite name through her chest.

She turned onto her side, clutching her pillow tightly. You're being ridiculous, she told herself firmly. Harry was just a guy. A guy who had barely spared her a second glance.

But the thought of seeing him, or worse, seeing him with Kirsten, made her stomach churn.

In the stillness of her room, Aspen closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted tonight, though she couldn't say exactly how.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next morning came just as fast as it went. A trend of feeling that seemed to happen a lot lately, Aspen noted. Her body tossed itself in its half asleep state to her left side, jumping back a bit when she saw the mess of blonde hair. She sighed and closed her eyes, tucking herself in a ball under the covers. Isobel must have climbed into bed with her after Zayn went home, feeling bad about what Aspen came home to. 

Isobel followed with a groan, turning to her right side to now face Aspen who looked sound asleep but was very much awake. Her roommate knew her too well, once Aspen was awake, she was awake for good. There was no going back to bed for her. It was a pain in the ass sometimes, though. 

"Morning, sunshine," Isobel spoke up, the sleep heavy in her voice. She laughed at the sound of her grunting voice. The sound bounced off the walls of Aspens bedroom. In response, the girl only hummed and peeked her eyes open to look at her blonde haired friend. Eventually, her arms slid out the covers to stretch her limbs. "Good morning, Iz. Welcome to my bed," Aspen squeaked, shriveling back into the warmth of her comforter. 

Their breaths filled the air along with the small whistle of wind that creeped through the cracked window. They both laid on their backs now, staring at the ceiling that Aspen decorated with simple strings of fairy lights, which were currently off. She only turned them on when she spent days or nights cuddled in bed with a book or a movie. It added to the ambience, Aspen would always tell Isobel after forcing her to set them up for her. 

"I didn't know Harry was going to come," Isobel started, guilt swallowing her voice. She would have never let him in if she had known, but of course she didn't want to be rude and slam the door after Zayn. She would next time, she promised herself. 

Aspen stayed quiet with her eyes on the lights as they suddenly became interesting enough to individually count the micro bulbs. 

"I'm sorry, Asp." 

It was then that she looked over at Isobel with a forgiving look. "It's okay, I know. Plus," she shrugged and looked back to the ceiling, "it's not a big deal. We spoke what, once? He was bored of his friends and you were with Zayn and no one else seemed to be alone besides me—," Aspen sucked in a breath. Trying to change the topic, she surfaced the idea of taking that camping get away soon. 

They were finally on break and Isobel would drag Zayn along, to be the manly man, as well as Kirsten and maybe another friend from class. They kept their group small and quiet, and Aspen wasn't much for socializing anyways. It was a good time for them to get out of the apartment anyways. Aspen figured some time out in nature would be good. 

"What if we went this week? We could leave on Sunday, and head back Thursday morning. It shouldn't be too hard to find an RV to take out there. We'd sleep in tents, duh," Isobel rolled over to her side and propped on her elbow, "but we can drive it there. Well, Zayn can. You and I, we'll take on keeping the group alive with food. How's that sound?" 

Aspen cracked a smile. It did sound nice. She could read, possibly finish the one she was on now and start up another. And she could read by the lake! Something about the quiet sounds mixed with the flow of running water and just nature brought her peace. She didn't mind cooking, either. It was something she liked to do for herself and Isobel anyways, and it shouldn't be hard to keep three women and a man alive for that short time. 

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Her voice came out soft. "I'll just have to let Marion know, but I think it sounds nice," she said again.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Across town, Harry sat hunched over the work computer at the shop, his brow furrowed as he scrolled through the calendar of bookings. For the first time in what felt like months, his personal schedule was wide open for the coming week. It seemed like everyone was slowing down for the holidays. Even Niall, who typically had back-to-back clients, only had a few appointments scheduled.

Harry closed the calendar tab with a click, leaning back in the chair. He stretched his arms over his head, the ink on his forearms catching the dull light of the shop. “Zayn, you’ve got a two-thirty coming in,” he called over his shoulder, his voice gruff.

Zayn, who was cleaning his equipment nearby, gave a thumbs-up. “Got it. You okay, mate? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

Harry grunted in response, not bothering to elaborate. His mind had been on a frustrating loop since last night. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more-- the nagging guilt over sleeping with Kirsten or the fact that Aspen’s face had been haunting his thoughts ever since. She was shy, reserved, almost invisible most of the time, yet she’d managed to crawl under his skin in a way he couldn’t shake. How could one simple conversation in one night mess him up this bad?

Zayn watched Harry carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You sure? You’ve got that ‘brooding asshole’ look going strong today,” he teased.

Harry shot him a glare, though it lacked his usual bite. “Piss off, Z.”

Zayn laughed, shaking his head as he went back to his prep. “Alright, man, but if you wanna talk about whatever—or whoever—is eating at you, I’m here.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed his sketchbook and sank into the leather chair by the window, letting the sound of the shop fade into the background as he stared out at the street. The thought of disappearing for a few days—getting out of town and away from the mess in his head— sounded better by the minute.

The buzzing of a tattoo gun filled the shop, a familiar background noise that usually put Harry at ease. Today, though, it only made his shoulders feel tighter. He sat in the corner by the window, sketchbook balanced on his knee as he absently doodled. His mind wasn’t on the designs, though—it kept flickering back to last night. Specifically, to Kirsten, her easy laugh, and the way her inked skin had felt under his fingertips. And then, inevitably, his thoughts veered to Aspen—her quiet presence at the party and the way she’d all but fled the moment she’d seen him with Kirsten.

“You’re in a mood,” Zayn announced, his voice cutting through the noise. He leaned against the doorway to the back room, arms crossed, a knowing grin on his face. “More than usual, I mean.”

Harry didn’t look up from his sketchbook. “What do you want, Zayn?”

Zayn ignored the gruffness in his tone and sauntered over, plopping down on the couch across from him. “Nothing. Just wondering what—or who—has you looking like you’ve been chewing on nails all morning.”

Harry’s pencil paused mid-sketch, his grip tightening slightly. “Not in the mood, mate.”

“Not in the mood? Come on, Harry. You’re the one who had a bit of fun last night,” Zayn said, his grin widening. “Kirsten seemed... pleased. You two looked cozy.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he flipped the page in his sketchbook, pretending to focus on a new design. “Drop it.”

But Zayn wasn’t one to let things go, especially when he sensed there was more to the story. “What’s the problem? She’s hot, clearly into you, and it’s not like you’re the commitment type.”

Harry finally glanced up, his green eyes narrowing in warning. “I said drop it.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Zayn held up his hands, feigning surrender. “No need to get your knickers in a twist. Just saying, it’s not like anyone’s keeping score. Unless...” His smirk returned, devilish now. “You’re not thinking about Aspen, are you?”

The way Harry’s jaw clenched gave him away, even as he remained silent.

Zayn let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. You are, aren’t you?” He leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s what this is about. You’ve got a thing for Aspen.”

“I don’t have a thing for anyone,” Harry snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise of the shop.

At that moment, Niall popped his head in from the back, a mischievous grin already in place. “What’s this about Aspen?”

Zayn immediately gestured for Niall to join them. “Oh, you’re gonna want to hear this. Our boy Harry’s all tangled up because he slept with Kirsten but can’t stop thinking about her shy little roommate.”

Harry groaned, running a hand through his curls as Niall grabbed a chair and sat down, laughing. “Kirsten and Harry, huh? Didn’t see that coming. Thought you’d sworn off dating anyone remotely connected to your social circle, mate.”

“It’s not dating,” Harry growled.

“Right, right. Just some fun,” Niall teased, winking. “So, what’s the issue, then? Kirsten’s gorgeous, and Aspen...” He trailed off, glancing at Harry with a sly grin. “She’s not your usual type, but I get it. There’s something about her, huh? Quiet ones are always full of surprises.”

“Both of you can piss off,” Harry muttered, closing his sketchbook with more force than necessary.

Zayn and Niall exchanged amused glances before Zayn pressed on. “Seriously, though. What’s the deal? You’ve barely said two words to Aspen since the party, and now you’re brooding like you’ve got a guilty conscience. What’s going on in that curly head of yours?”

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, he muttered, “It’s not guilt.”

“Then what is it?” Niall asked, genuinely curious now.

Harry’s head snapped up, his green eyes darkening as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The sharp shift in his posture was like a physical barrier, warning them not to push further. His jaw tightened, and his lips curled into a dismissive smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you two serious?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Aspen? She’s dull as hell. Barely says two words in a room and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else when people are around. Boring doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Zayn and Niall blinked, their surprise at Harry’s sudden venom showing plainly on their faces.

“And Kirsten?” Harry continued, his tone biting as he picked up his pencil again, spinning it idly between his fingers. “Now that’s a woman. Confident, funny, knows how to hold a conversation. Not to mention she’s actually hot. Inked up and everything. You think I’d waste time on someone like Aspen when I could have that?” He scoffed again, shaking his head. “Please.”

Zayn frowned, exchanging a glance with Niall. “Jesus, mate. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Harsh?” Harry let out a humorless laugh, tapping his pencil on the sketchbook. “You’re the ones acting like I’ve got some secret crush on her. I’m just setting the record straight.”

But even as the words left his mouth, Harry’s chest tightened. He knew he sounded cruel— he’d meant to sound cruel. It was the only way to shut them up, to throw them off the scent of whatever confusing mess was brewing inside him. The truth was, every insult felt like a lie he was spitting through gritted teeth. Aspen wasn’t boring; she was thoughtful and observant, noticing things others missed. She wasn’t plain; her quiet confidence was magnetic in ways he couldn’t explain.

He pushed those thoughts down, hard, shoving them into a corner of his mind where they couldn’t fester. He needed Zayn and Niall to buy this version of him, the version that didn’t care, that didn’t even see Aspen.

Niall narrowed his eyes, studying him with more suspicion than Harry liked. “Funny, considering you barely took your eyes off her at the party.”

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning forward and grabbing his sketchbook to scribble something random. “I wasn’t looking at her, you idiot. I was just bored out of my mind. Not much else to focus on when the rest of you are busy playing happy couples.”

“Uh-huh,” Zayn said, unconvinced.

“Believe whatever you want,” Harry muttered, waving them off dismissively. “I don’t care.”

But he did care. Every word he’d said felt like a betrayal, not just to Aspen but to himself. Still, he buried the guilt, keeping his expression carefully blank as he returned to his sketch.

“Fine,” Zayn finally said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “If you say you’re not into her, I’ll drop it. But don’t expect us to believe you when you’re acting this defensive.”

Harry didn’t respond, focusing intently on the sketchbook as if the world around him had ceased to exist.

Niall snorted as he followed Zayn toward the back. “For a guy who doesn’t care, you’re awfully prickly about it.”

As their voices faded, Harry let out a long breath, his pencil still in hand. He stared blankly at the page, the lines he’d been drawing turning into nothing more than aimless scribbles.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his curls. Lying about Aspen hadn’t just gotten them off his back— it had left him feeling worse. But he’d deal with that later. Right now, the only thing he could do was keep up the façade.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was a couple of hours later when Harry found himself at Zayn’s house, lounging in the kitchen while Zayn leaned against the counter, his phone pressed to his ear. Harry had come over because there wasn’t much else to do. The shop had been slow, and his own apartment felt too quiet, his thoughts dangerously close to places he didn’t want to revisit. Being around Zayn wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being alone with his own mind.

Zayn’s voice was light and teasing as he spoke to Isobel, pacing the kitchen in socked feet. Harry half-listened while he rummaged through the cabinets, searching for something edible. Zayn never kept anything decent stocked; it was always random snacks or leftovers that had been in the fridge long past their prime.

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Honestly, it’ll be nice to get out for a bit," Zayn said into the phone, his tone dripping with the kind of affection that Harry couldn’t help but find mildly irritating. “Yeah, Kirsten said she’s in. Oh, and Niall—wait, hang on, let me ask him.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Zayn, raising a skeptical brow. “Niall can’t go,” he muttered, pulling open another cabinet. “He’s got appointments during the dates you’re planning. Told him myself this morning.”

Zayn paused, his brow furrowing as he digested that information. “Oh, yeah, right. I forgot. Thanks, mate.” He returned his attention to the phone. “Isobel, scratch Niall. He’s booked solid that week. But hey, I can bring Harry.”

At Zayn’s words, Harry froze. His hand, which had been reaching for a box of stale-looking crackers, hovered mid-air. He turned slowly, fixing Zayn with a glare that could have set the room on fire.

“Absolutely not,” Harry said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Zayn, ever the optimist when it came to wearing people down, ignored him. “Yeah, he’s free all week. It’d be good for him to get out. He’s been a right grump lately.”

“I said no,” Harry repeated, his voice louder this time. He slammed the cabinet shut for emphasis, the sound making Zayn wince slightly.

Isobel’s laugh was light but hesitant as it floated through the phone. “Actually, Zayn… I don’t know if that’s such a great idea. You know how Aspen feels. It might be… uncomfortable for her, especially with everything that’s happened.”

Zayn paused for a beat, glancing at Harry, who was rifling through the fridge with an irritated expression. His grin didn’t falter, though, as he leaned against the counter. “Aspen’s fine,” he said breezily, dismissing Isobel’s concern as if it were a passing thought. “She’s a grown woman. It’s not like Harry’s gonna be glued to her side the whole trip.”

Isobel sighed audibly on the other end. “I’m serious, Zayn. If he’s there, she might—”

“Babe,” Zayn cut her off with a playful tone, “you’re overthinking it. It’ll be fine. More than fine, actually. The more the merrier, right? Don’t stress, love. I’ll handle it.” Without waiting for her to protest further, Zayn quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, I’ll bring the beer. Do we need more marshmallows for the campfire?”

Isobel exhaled sharply, clearly not convinced, but she let it go with a muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“Love you too,” Zayn said cheekily before ending the call and shoving his phone into his pocket. Turning to Harry, he adopted the same easy grin.

“Good news, mate. Isobel says the more the merrier. You’re officially invited.”

Harry turned away from the fridge, a scowl tugging at his lips as he stared Zayn down. “I already told you, I’m not going.”

Zayn ignored his tone entirely, moving to grab a bag of chips from the pantry. “Come on, man. Campfires, hiking, fishing, a couple of beers by the lake… It’ll do you some good to get out. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn't necessarily wrong, but he knew the pang of guilt would only nestle itself further, especially after what he said earlier in the shop. “Hard no,” he said flatly, though there was a flicker of doubt in his tone.

Zayn shrugged, popping a chip into his mouth. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck in your cave all week, miserable as always.”

Harry didn’t bother responding, his jaw tightening as he turned his attention back to the fridge. Zayn might have brushed it off, but Harry couldn’t shake the unease that crept into his chest. If Zayn’s nonchalant attitude was an act, it wasn’t a very good one.

The thought of being near Aspen, even with a group of people, left him on edge. He didn’t want to admit how much she lingered in the back of his mind, how her absence in a room felt louder than anyone else’s presence. But the idea of facing her—and whatever awkwardness or tension would inevitably follow—was enough to make his stomach turn.

Still, as Zayn rambled on about tents and supplies, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if there was some part of him that didn’t want to say no. Some part that wanted to see her, even if it was only from a distance. 

Harry's mind traced back to his empty week. Niall had a busy week outside of work, so he couldn't bother him. Harry did well alone. It wasn't like he needed the company of other people, it was just the lingering thought of a retreat. Plus, he heard Zayn mutter back and forth with Isobel on the phone, a conversation long drowned into the background noise of Harrys thoughts, about Kirsten going. Their night at Isobel's wasn't so bad, she wasn't that hard to talk to. Especially with alcohol involved, Harry was sure he would slouch a bit into conversation.

Plus, it wasn't like the chances of seeing Aspen were high, anyways. He would climb into the passenger seat, assuming the girls would be in the back, and accompany Zayn in front of the curtain. And when they would arrive, he'd make his way to a far corner with his tent and keep to himself and his journal. His heavy shoulders slouched while his green eyes flickered back to Zayn; who was still on the phone. 

Surely, it couldn't be that bad. Harry would keep to Harry and Aspen would keep to Aspen and, well, her books. 

"I'll go."

"What?" Zayn grinned, a smug one at that. He knew that Harry would give in. The man always cooped himself in his own space and his apartment surely wasn't that nice. He could do the same, just by the campfire. Plus, Zayn didn't want to be the only guy there. His fear of snakes and ground critters ran deep in his bones and Harry... well. Harry was sure to do a good ole' neck stomp and carry on about his day.

"You heard me," Harry gruffed. "If I have to say it again, I'm not going. Piss off."

"Harry, this is my��ho--."

"I said piss off," He grumbled again, the front door slamming shut as he left.

It wouldn't be so bad. It couldn't be so bad. Harry's phone chimed only two minutes later.

Zayn: Vas happeninnnn!!

Harry rolled his eyes, not answering. So when Harry's response didn't come through for a few seconds, another text chimed on his phone. 

Zayn: Vodka or tequila ? Running 2 the store soon we leave tomorrow morning

Zayn: 9 am meet here

What a stupid question. Weren't they supposed to be friends? As if it was on cue with the curly headed mans thoughts, Zayn texted again.

Zayn: Nvm , gunna grab both Lol!

Harry rubbed a hand over his face with his eyes closed, head leaned back into the seat of his car. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Guess he should get to packing.

[coff33andb00ks]

🌈 + jack + red 😁😁🥰

eee yay my new love 🥰 (with an appearance by my current hyperfixation we love to see it)

warnings: minor injury, blood, not even close to a drabble (I cut out quite a bit, full Jack fic coming soon)

Your digital signature has been accepted, the hands shook and photos taken. Starting next year, you'll be driving full time for Mercedes. You're still in a daze as you make your way through the motorhome to George's room to tell him the news that no one else can know. His face creases in a delighted grin and his hug nearly cracks a few ribs.

"We're going to cause so much trouble next year," he says, still grinning as he takes a selfie with you to send to Carmen, who you know will be calling you soon to scream with excitement. No one's supposed to know until the official announcement during Singapore weekend, so of course everyone already knows, and after your call with Carmen you're smiling and nodding to everyone congratulating you as you make your way to the Alpine garage.

Esteban's excitement matches George's, and you agree to get drinks together soon with the gang before crossing the garage to where Jack's lying on his back under the car. Mechanics are with him and you lean against the wall to wait patiently while they talk about a setup for the coming race. One thing you've always admired about Jack is his serious intent to know everything about the cars inside and out. The first time you met him he'd been reassembling his new kart and had given you a toothy grin while explaining he had to know how it worked to know how to make it work. You'd sat next to him and asked him what one part did and he'd slammed his finger with his wrench.

You smile now at the memory of him, lanky and grinning like a dork. Your crush developed immediately, and even now after all these years you still have a crush on the man. You blink and the lanky kid is gone, replaced by a man with the same toothy grin unfolding his tall frame.

"There's my girl."

Augh. My girl. Those words will never not make you grin and blush and feel like a princess in a fairy tale getting her happily ever after. You push away from the wall, eyes on him, your spatial awareness completely gone because your only focus is on him, your very own Flynn Rider Eugene Fitzherbert. "Hey babe, I--"

Your grand announcement is cut off by a very un-princesslike curse word as you trip over a mechanic's foot. That spectacular superhuman reaction time that Toto loves to tout when he's talking about you? On vacation while you pitch forward, your arm catching on the car's rear wing.

"Cocksucking, motherfucking - fuck," you groan once Jack's helped you upright. Your arm feels numb but you can feel the blood already seeping through the sleeve of your shirt.

"No no no don't look," Jack murmurs but you're already twisting in his hold, stretching out your arm to see the crimson stain spreading.

"It's just a scratch," you promise weakly.

Ten minutes later you're in the medical center, watching the towel Jack had pressed to the cut slowly turn red as the team gets everything ready. It's more than a cut, you're gonna need stitches, and Jack sits next to you, pale and wringing his hands.

"When we get married I'm wrapping you in bubble wrap," he mumbles, rubbing at the drying blood on his fingers.

"It's fine," you insist. "I've had worse..."

He groans, looking even paler. "Don't remind me, please."

You're fine. He's a wreck. It's always like this. When he's had a minor injury you were the one fretting like a mother hen. When you had covid he was coming up with all sorts of home remedies to take care of every symptom.

"If you're this bad over a little cut how are you gonna be when I have a baby?" The words come out unfiltered and he slumps back with a whimper.

"We're adopting," he manages.

You can only giggle, startling the medics as they begin stitching your wound. "Deal."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

second chance

words: 800

“y/n?” your name brings your nose out of your book, popping your head up to scan the beach, seeing who might have called your name. your eyes stop on a familiar face.

“rafe?” you are surprised to see him for sure. it’s been almost three years. you set your book down on your towel, standing up to meet him halfway. “hey.” you’re not sure if he’s okay with it, but you can’t resist it, you throw your arms around his shoulders in a hug.

you’re relieved when he hugs back. “hey.” he pulls away, taking a good look at your face, giving you time to study his. he’s matured a lot since you last saw him, and he looks more like a man now than the boy that you had a summer fling with.

“how have you been?” you ask. you assume he still lives here in the outer banks, but maybe he’s just home for college. you haven’t had any contact since you left.

“good, good.” he nods, “just helping my dad with the business.” “oh, nice.” you nod. you don’t have many memories of his dad other than that he intimidated you. “i’m back here on vacation, obviously.” 

“yeah, i looked for you the past two summers but…”

you duck your head in embarrassment. “we went to um, florida instead.” you’re from michigan, but you spend all summer with your dad, wherever he feels like going that year. it’s always been like that since your parents divorced.

rafe is about to respond when a petite brunette stalks up to you, flinging sand with her stomps. she looks pissed at rafe, and your stomach instantly drops when you realize what was going on.

“rafe, who is this? did you forget you’re supposed to go swimming with your girlfriend?” she asks.

“oh, i’m just an old friend. we were done talking anyways. see you later rafe.” you wave and return to your towel, not wanting to get him in trouble with his girl, even as he sends you multiple glances as he heads towards the water.

--

you aren’t surprised by the knock on your door later that day. you take a deep breath before opening it. “hey rafe.” “can i come in?” he asks. you nod, letting him into your dads rental home, not that he’s ever actually here. since you turned 16 he took his summers with you as an excuse to let you do whatever you want while he does the same. 

you follow him towards the living room, rafe remembering the way from when he spent all of the rainy days that summer inside with you. “i’ve missed you.” he says, sitting down on the couch.

you join him, but put a cushion of space in between you. “missed you too.”

“why didn’t you say goodbye?” rafe asks, hurt flashing over his face before he gets control of his emotions again.

“i just…” you wring your hands out. “it was just a summer fling, right?” you let out a laugh that sounds fake even to your ears.

“was that what it was to you?” rafe asks. when you don’t answer rafe closes the distance, moving closer and taking your hand in his. “because that’s not what it was to me.” “i’m sorry.” you whisper. “i just thought it would be less painful. since we never would have worked.” “why?” rafe presses, “why wouldn’t we have worked?” “because i left to go back to michigan, and we were kids, long distance wouldn’t have worked.”

“i would have been willing to try for you.” rafe says, and it’s all too much. you stand up, needing to put some distance between you again.

“you have a girlfriend.” you remind rafe.

“she means nothing to me.” rafe says, and you snap your head to him.

“you can’t say that.” 

“i can if its true. i broke up with her before coming over. i want to try to make this work, please.”

“i’ll just have to leave again at the end of the summer.”

“but you don’t, do you? you’re an adult, you can choose where you live.” it’s crazy. you can’t just move across the summer for a guy you had a brief romance with three years ago. but for once in your life, you feel like indulging in the craziness.

“kiss me.”

rafe looks up at your words. he didn’t expect them, but he moves quickly once they process, cupping his hand around your face as your lips connect, gentle at first before he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his body, deepening the kiss.

you pull away with a smile, having missed the feeling of rightness when you kiss rafe. 

“i don’t know what our future looks like, but i’m willing to take this chance with you.”

[kuniidealz]

ch1! c'mon, let's get you home || not on ao3 just yet, 1.2k, tw! emeto warning, implied attempted/failed sa, bsdcember! day 4 (fav pm member) + day 6 (sickness) (sickness comes in in ch2)

Chuuya sipped mindlessly on his wine, swirling it in its glass as he listened to the couple beside him talking about nothing in particular and everything in between. The woman behind the counter snuck him glances that he didn’t quite miss, but the wine made his head throb in a way it shouldn’t and made bile rise in the back of his throat, so he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the glances.

He quickly downed the rest of his drink in one go, leaving the glass on the counter as a paperweight to hold the bills he left beneath it as he stood to leave. The woman came out from behind the counter, wringing out a sopping towel before throwing it over her shoulder. She approached him with a demeanor that hung between apprehension and a strange sense of hubris.

“Why, darlin’, don’t leave just yet. I’ve had my eye on you for a little while, and that sure as hell ain’t long enough. C’mon, stay for a few more drinks. I’ll get’cha somethin’ real special if ya’ stay long enough to let me.” She began, following him out the door. He glared at her. What was she getting at?

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“C’mon, hot-stuff, don’t be a prude. This is a once in a lifetime deal. Don’t leave me waiting.”

“I said I’m good, lady. Fuck off.” He stumbled towards the street, noting how unsteady he felt on his feet. The world spun before him as he struggled to walk in a straight line. Fuck. Did she…? He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped onto his contacts, getting ready to call Hirotsu or somebody to pick him up. He had walked here, for it hadn’t been that far of a walk, but now, he didn’t feel steady enough to make the walk on his own.

“Don’t be a prude!” The woman whined, coming closer until he was backed against the street. If he took a step further back, he’d be in the middle of a busy evening road. God, did his head hurt.

The woman grabbed him by the arm, and while he tried to pull away with full force, he couldn’t. He felt petrifyingly weak. It must be whatever she slipped into his drink. He felt like he did back when he was a teenager on the streets, defenseless to whatever life threw at him. It was a scary feeling.

“Get off!” He snarled, but she yanked him closer, bashing the heel of her free hand into the back of his skull. It did not help his migraine. He clicked a random contact in his phone, praying it was Hirotsu as he pressed the call. His phone clattered to the ground.

“The bar on Raye Avenue. Come pick me up-” He began loudly, praying the person on the receiving end could hear him, but the woman soon dug her heel into the screen, and he watched as it flickered to black with its breaking.

She crashed her hand into his skull one more time. God, was he tired. It would be so much easier to do what his head screamed at him to do, to close his eyes and let it all happen. He knew what would happen if he did, but his head hurt, and he was oh so tired. It would be so simple.

. . . . .

When Dazai got the call from Chuuya at nearly 12 A.M, he knew something was wrong. He hadn’t gotten a call from Chuuya in a year, when Chuuya was drunk out of his mind and didn’t know who he was calling. When he got a call tonight and picked up, he was instantly met with a few seconds of screaming through the receiver.

“The bar on Raye Avenue. Come pick me up-” Chuuya began amidst the loud yells of a woman in the background. The line rapidly went dull with a muffled shattering sound. Dazai was practically in his car within seconds.

He knew where that bar was; he and Chuuya had snuck in numerous times as teenagers, Chuuya slowly sipping his drink while Dazai downed his whiskey like it wasn’t something to savor. It was a mere 20 minute walk, 40 if you were drunk enough.

When Dazai pulled into the parking lot, he was met with an overwhelming sight; a figure crumpled to the ground, a pool beginning to form around it. He approached it haphazardly, prodding it with his foot. It was a woman, plump and round, clad in a bartender’s clothes, a hand towel thrown over her shoulder. Chuuya’s hat lay wrinkled at her side. Dazai sighed.

He picked up Chuuya’s hat, giving the body another kick for good measure. Yep. As he thought, the woman was out stone cold. He trailed around to the side of the building, noting the way Chuuya rested up against the corner between the ashy wall and the dumpster. A little bit to the right of him was a puddle of watery merlot-tainted vomit.

“Jesus, Chuuya.” Dazai muttered, staring at him for a second. Chuuya barely even looked up at him, disheveled flamed curls met with the grey wall as he leaned his head against it, his eyes half shut. His words came out slurred and murmured. He didn’t look good at all. His face was flushed and his hands shook with blatant, badly hidden tremors.

“Shitty ‘Zai?” Chuuya murmured. “What’re you doin’? Why’re you here?”

“You called me. Do you remember?” Dazai asked quietly, but even with the lowered volume of his voice, Chuuya still winced when he began to speak. The redhead shook his head as Dazai huffed.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” Dazai muttered. Chuuya hummed.

“She put somethin’ in my drink. Good fuckin’ wine, and she had to go and ruin it.” Chuuya began, words slurred all to hell. Dazai could barely understand a thing he was saying.

He suddenly took on a slightly green sheen to his face, and not before long, he was hunched over, heaving atop the puddle of vomit he had already made. Dazai was behind him, holding his hair out of the way.

Not much came out; it was clear he had already thrown up most of what he held down already. He just spat into his puddle, a few strings of saliva hung from his mouth to his puddle. It was strangely attractive. Dazai sighed.

“C’mon, Chuuya. Let’s get you home. If you puke on my car seats, I will kill you, and that’s a promise.” Dazai hoisted a hand under Chuuya’s armpit, supporting some of the executive’s weight as they both stood from their crouched positions. Chuuya clearly wasn’t steady enough on his feet to manage the short walk from here to the car without toppling over. Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s hat from where it rested upside-down on the ground, plunking it on top of ochre curls. Chuuya did not notice.

@bsdecember

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 1: Take Me To Church

AO3 link

Playlist of all songs

next chapter

Summary: A traveler arrives in a land of hidden villages and even deeper mysteries. But to the Akatsuki, she's a secret herself. A multichapter songfic about a strange, soft, "real world" musician who wins a stranger group over. She'll use the only thing she's got- her whimsy- to survive, but what does that mean to the charter of villains who survived by throwing pure mirth away? Maybe her head is stuck in the clouds.

Author's notes: I have been hyperfixated off and on by the Akatsuki alone (less Naruto the show) for about ten-so years of my life. At this point, they are dolls to me. They listen to my silly little songs and agree if I say "lmao that you". If the canon is king then I am God and what is God to a king. I don't care if Hidan knows what a keyboard is, I don't CARE, NO HE DON'T.

(Clearly cares a lot)

Anyhow. Combination OC-self insert-reader insert character is soft, musical, secretly from the "real world", and wins people over. I have a sociology degree with a focus on religion so I like musings about that sort of thing. Philosophical thoughts about murder, suicidality abound. I don't plan on any SA or anything majorly sexual, but I'm mulling over some pretty fucked up (erotic?) moments so 18+ interaction only, please. Partial songfic as I associate songs with anytthing that has an imaginary pulse, have different songs planned out to reference. If you like Will Wood, you'll have fun. Title is a reference to The Song With Five names by Will Wood and acts as scene breaks in this post. Perhaps obviously, Take Me To Church by Hozier is in this chapter. Lyrics not necessarily in order every time.

I'm writing this to get it out of my system but more than happy if it's for you too.

Edit 9/27/24: I lied about the not being sexual thing

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Never trust in yourself Or anyone else We’ve always all been wrong

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He likes the way boiling water stings at his skin. It’s not quite as hot as that, but hot enough to make him feel something. A small comfort, a reminder from Jashin. Hidan, lamenting as he slips into the spring, contemplates on a comparison between this and being clothed by the lord himself as it washes upon him inch by inch, popping and sizzling until it makes his hairs stand on end. It hurts-- not quite enough, but it hurts.

Good.

Prayer fills the back of his mouth, thick enough to choke on, as he remembers pain means he is alive. He wrings out a small cloth in a bucket besides him and places it over his forehead and eyes.

Darkness. Steam fills his nose; he breathes deep...and he listens to his god.

…

…

It sure sounds a lot like someone yelling a room or two away.

A dull smack happens somewhere else in the inn. A woman begins to run. She has no fucking idea where she’s going-- how, where, who-- just that HERE and with THEM is going to SHIT. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping her eyes open and feet moving. She’s so thirsty she could drink the clouds of steam as she unwittingly approaches the men’s bath. So tired that she hardly recognizes three red prongs as a weapon as it’s propped against the stone. So scared she sees only one choice:

“Hey!”

Surely that wasn’t a voice talking to Hidan, right?

“I- I need to—” She’s out of breath already and she’s hardly lifted his scythe. “I need to borrow this! You’ll get it back-- I promise!” He lifts up one edge of the wet cloth, heel-turning from annoyed to pissed.

“EH?!” Hidan shrieks. “What the FUCK-” He’s cut off as the woman screams herself and backs just out of view from the bath entrance. “SHIT!” He didn’t pray nearly long enough to not fall headfirst into magma-hot testiness. Who the hell sees THOSE robes and fucks with his shit?! Who sees those BLADES and fucks with him?!

He probably doesn’t leave the bath as fast as is really warranted, stumbling out with the knot of his larger bath towel so loose he needs to hold it at his waist to keep it up. Through the hot fog of this dark hallway, his chin tilts up in intrigue. “Eh--?”

Hidan sees her face first. A brow is furrowed, a thousand horrible emotions weighing it down. She’s afraid-- that’s what’s most readily apparent. There’s a blotch of red and blue on her cheek and her mouth gapes with heavy breath.

“Stay away!”

She looks like she’s never held a weapon in her life. Goddammit, she’s holding it with all of her life, though.

He decides just to watch as she begins to address the most forgettable thing in the room.

“Cute.” A man snides at her. Ah...Hidan had seen him check in. His cologne smelled like ass. Now that it’s mentioned...he guess he did see someone else trail behind him-- close enough to be his shadow. Didn’t really set his alarms off then. But then again, till his scythe got involved, he didn’t really care. Hidan’s eyes flicker.

“Not a couple, huh?” he mutters. Although uncaring if he was heard or not, the former possibility occurs.

“Hey! Either get your pants back on or mind your own business! You don’t know us.” This approach is not reciprocated by her, shaky hands pushing the crimson steel further into his space. At first the man cringes, but the bluff is called. “Come on, now…” The guy’s smile is soft, like he knows her better than she herself. Hidan doesn’t miss how she flinches. It’s impossible to when there’s five more feet attached to her arm of cold hard metal. Knuckles brush almost lovingly against her new, sharp fingers.

“You don’t have it in you, duckling. Fluffy and soft, all squawk with no teeth.”

“I said NO!”

He steps forward. She panics.

He cuts like butter.

All three of them briefly share the same expression. Wide eyes, shock. However, each births something much more complicated in the seconds following.

While her stomach flips, Hidan’s feel butterflies. The whelp's blood splatters in all directions, just as it was meant to with such a swipe. It flutters through the air, settling on their faces as gentle as a whisper, while the rest swim around the still-pulsating eviscerations of a soul worth less than a rat. She watches the body sink to the ground, a human heart gush its contents into a dark, glistening puddle closer and closer to her feet. Just as it’s about to touch, her gaze raises and meets another’s. The reverence in his eyes is lost upon her.

The silence is peaceful to him as he studies the stranger-- stilling, like his lord laid a hand on his shoulder and beseech he witness. At this point the thoughts and emotions that she’s gripping in her stare even more pure and divine than the blooming rose shedding its petals before him; that sort of thing is expected-- wet blood as ordinary as dew on grass in the morning. But this… He’s never seen a civilian kill before, he’s beginning to ponder...

This revelation, too, goes unappreciated, but the upcoming perhaps is even more delicious than the taste of iron in the air for Jashin’s priest. The woman’s breath hurries, the blade drops to her feet, and her arms raise at her sides.

Three expressions are in this hall: Addicted. Afflicted. And dead.

“JESUS FUCK!” she screams in horror.

Hidan grins wider than he has in ages. This is the beginning of something beautiful.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yes or no isn't null Yes it is, no, I don't know Yes or no, isn't that a silly question? Ask it anyway

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Being isekai-ed into another world isn’t nearly as convenient as it’s cracked up to be, you know?

The traveler’s body is tensed tighter than tightrope, her teeth in a perpetual grit and brow hurting from being furrowed so hard for this long. She killed a man. She utters this out loud to process the fact.

“And it was GREAT, right?” This guy is more than a little too eager for all of this. Fuckin’ shit, that doesn’t bode well for her. She reflexively scream/shouts at nothing in response, gaze unflinching at empty air… No, that sort of volume isn’t going to cut it. A floor cushion is snatched up from besides Hidan and she belts face first into it until she can’t breathe, and then she goes for a few seconds longer so her insides burn.

The silver-hair demon, however, is having the time of his life. The great Jashin himself drops this poor little idiot straight from his palm to drench in blood till white becomes red. He leans into his own palm, amused smirk across his face as they bide their time in this inn’s bedroom. They’ll be kicked out eventually, dead body and all, but he’ll deal with that when they get there! Just break the news to Kakuzu that he lost the deposit. An amputation or two will be worth the trouble.

“Ahh, so this is your first?” he hums almost sensually. The tears well in her eyes.

“Yes!”

“And? How was it?! The weight of the blade in your hands, the way he ripped in half, how his chest cavity just DID THAT?” He pinches his fingers and “explodes” them in a quick stretch.

“It was BAD!” the woman agonizes, still needing a paper bag to breathe into.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You get used to it.”

“Eeeughhhhhhhh….!”

Hidan sighs. Of course she doesn’t get it yet. Where would the fun in that be? “So, figures if that shithead had kidnapped you...you don’t really have a place now, huh?”

The pinpoint precision breaks her attention like glass, and she can tell where this is going. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to belong to in the first place!

“How about we hang out? I don’t have anywhere to be till my mandated jackass is back around.”

She squints. “M...mandated?” Like an...officer? “...Are you on parole?” she prods gently. He looks more confused than anything, though. Is that more or less relieving?

“The hell? You mean patrol?”

“...Yes,” she decides to lie. Her eyes shift finally, looking to the side to avoid his gaze. Constant reminders are about that she’s way down the rabbit hole. Or...bottom of the sea? That’s probably more accurate, going unconscious. The waking up part hasn’t come yet and hunger, thirst, and being punched do hurt a lot, and so she has no choice but to either survive or kill herself on the spot to save the trouble.

Hidan, unwitting, knocks the side of his head like he’s shaking water out of his ears. “Damn, you really ARE a dumbfuck civilian, mispronouncing that bad. Never heard the word before?” Just as the woman’s mouth opens, he interrupts. “Anyhow. No. Just biding my precious time till my partner comes back from whatever heathen nonsense dragged him away.”

She blinks. These words mean nothing to her. The whole murder thing makes simple conversation hard to keep up, and she’s already trying not to worry about pissing a guy off who thinks killing people is fine.

“Oi!” Hidan waves his hand like an impatient child. “Don’t leave me hangin’!” The stranger can only fold her hands in front of her lap and stammer.

“I-- I—”

There’s no clue what he really wants out of this. She’s 100% fucked if she doesn’t accept. Only 99% fucked if she does. Good odds.

“OKAY!” There’s no idea to her if he takes this as enthusiasm or as the duress it’s really under.

“That’s the fuckin’ spirit!” He sounds nearly sarcastic as he flings his head back and praises towards the ceiling. An ear-piercing scream brings him back down to earth. “Ahhh, yeah. Well, maybe now’s a good time to go. Don’t shit where we sleep n’ all.” With a swoosh, a black robe is taken off the floor and is swung around Hidan. “Normally I wouldn’t give a shit. But the virgin killer probably needs her time to relish this moment.”

A rock drops in her stomach. The man casually passes her and starts walking out the door, the bloodcurdling screaming continues as if it’s only as annoying as a car alarm in the parking lot. She swallows, and he stops past the doorway. Purple pools under a silver hairline look through her, over his shoulder. “Comin’?”

1%, she repeats in her mind.

Hopefully she’ll get the opportunity to kill herself later, without any help, if need be. There’s a hunch that dying by his hand wouldn’t be so pleasant.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Even I might defy, won't deny That I'm trying while my eyes do defy And belie quiet liars as I Say what I say, any way, I might be saying it But I've been wrong before

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite being a city girl, since she’s dropped in, the hustle and bustle of this society sure does overwhelm. The bargaining, the wagons, the bells-- and that’s only sound! Wafts of street food make her stomach hurt. The flags, statues, and other decor all clearly have a story behind them; she purses her lips trying to imagine--

“Oi!”

The woman knocks into his back and nearly falls over, him having nothing to offer but disdain as she regains balance. “How about this joint?” Clearly this is less of a suggestion and more of a certainty as he meanders into the doorway he suggests. A tapestry overhangs the darkness the cloaked man slips into, a single symbol printed so large and intimidating, despite not knowing what it means. She gulps.

Recompose. As best as you can.

She glimpses a ring as he sets his glass down, it only briefly distracting from the menu in her hands. “I’ll...get whatever you’re getting,” she compromises softly, hoping everyone gets the hint when she sets the list down. The man shrugs.

“Make it two, yeah?!” The server slips away, leaving the awkwardness as an appetizer. Anything besides the guy ahead of her is what her eyes go to, shoulders tilting back and head cocked enough every which way that it’ll get sore. The way people dressed. Laughed. Gossiped.

“Hoshigakure!” lips speak in the dim light. “That’s where it’ll be.” A snarl meets this, an old time friend with her doubts.

“You’re sure ‘bout this? That’s awfully far—”

“Yeah, but he’s worth it! Wouldn’t you? For the chance at true love?!”

“Get your head out of the goddamn clouds…”

A literal snap in her ear brings her back. “Oi!” the man repeats, forcing her attention back to him. “What are you, high or somethin’? Where. Are. You. From.” He’s not the type to repeat himself twice.

“...Hoshi-- gakure.” The unintended stammer makes her heart race, and the way he hums loud and long doesn’t help.

“Never been! Heard it’s a shithole. Probably why you left!”

The other conversation still fills her desperate ear, leaving her clues:

“The Kage is an idiot, isn’t he?! All that power means nothing with no respect. What’s a land without a leader?”

“We’re rendezvousing there, not living there.”

“The way you describe his passion for his homeland says otherwise, you know…”

“He likes the stargazing!”

The friend sighs. “Hopeless,” she murmurs.

The woman mentally returns to the table she’s seated at, briefly biting her bottom lip as she forces a face-to-face conversation. “It’s hopeless there,” she weaves. She may not be a good liar, but she used to have fun performing, pouring one’s self into the story being told. A grain of truth makes it all more believable, and so she rolls back her shoulders, swallows her pride, and thinks about being gone. “I didn’t belong anymore. Politically, it’s in the shit, obviously… Not even the stars could hold me in place.”

A palm holds his cheek in place, violet stare unflinching as hands drop steaming plates and bowls in the small gap between them. “So it started by leaving on yer on volition?” She nods, honestly. “Kidnappin’ came later,” he assumes. “Don’t take this the hard way but you’re not pretty or anything. Not like yer meant for sellin’… Any idea what he wanted you for? Did you have money? Don’t fucking tell me your family was loaded.”

Redness pinpricks her cheeks but she still manages to shake her head no. “I think he just...recognized someone was lost and thought he could make something out of it.” She rakes her mind, trying to think of the guy more alive than when he was dead. You know. By her hands. “Can’t really ask him why now…” the woman surmises.

“Ahh…” the man replies simply, conveying what seems to be the barest threads of interest in her actual words. “So. Alone. Broke. N’ lost.”

The scent of seared meat in front of her compounds the suffocation of this observation. “Yeah.”

The man once again snaps, though less in her face and more in front of the scratch on the table she had glued her eyes to. After her attention is caught, he uses two fingers to point to himself. His own eyes are hooded, far too calm, and his smirk is lopsided.

“Sounds like a perfect time for a change of pace, yeah?!” Instead of knocking his glass into hers, he bumps it against her forehead, chuckling at the noise that escapes her mouth. “Jashin will set ya straight.”

Her eyelids flutter. “Jashin?” He raises the cup to his lips at a bad time. “Is that your name?”

He spit-takes.

“Fuckin’—NO! No! Hell, no!” There’s a solidness conveyed to her as the ceramic is set down, a change of tone. “I can only aspire to the name,” he muses, leaning philosophically all of a sudden. “Study the scripture… Follow his ways…”

“Jashin…” the woman echoes, delicate on her tongue. A major religion, perhaps? Or a cult leader? Or-- as history has taught, maybe both! How exciting. “Tell me about it?”

Oh she has no idea how abruptly she had just changed her life--

That’s what he thinks just as he gets shoved out of his chair.

“Eh?! The hell?!”

The friend she was spying on suddenly towers over the not-Jashin, clenching her fist. “You fucking SPAT on me!” Only a long, drawn out question-shaped breath returns from his lips. The man planning to run away throws a warning shot with his own glass, squarely breaking besides Hidan’s ear. “Get on your knees and beg, or get the fuck out!”

While it isn’t lost on her that several others in the candlelight are matching her horror, she’s unaware their reasons don’t match too. She’s just mortified there’s fighting at all! Holy SHIT she hates fighting! Someone could get hurt!But to the locals...Hidan’s cloak gave a glimpse of the bloodbath to come.

He hums, oh how smoothly he hums. It’s almost a purr. Slowly, his head turns to the traveler. “Seems like we’ve been blessed a first hand opportunity.” The way the woman screeches likely bothers him more than what initiated it-- another attack attempted, a cling of metal as a knife is blocked by a scythe. After that, it only hits the friend and the runaway that they’re in deep water, teasing a piranha ravenous. It’s a thing of beauty straight from the river Styx or the fires of Hell, those blades, bisecting a man like you can blow puffs off a dandelion.

“Wait- WAIT-” the traveler beseeches just as the Jashinist enters a fighting stance. He considers the plea, nodding in agreement.

“Ah, yeah.”

She nearly falls down again with the force of the scythe finding her hands.

“Lesson one: grave sin to start a fight that doesn’t end in slaughter.”

“WHAT!”

Suddenly she is the grim reaper to these people, awestruck in fear. “Please, hey-- HEY! WE will leave, okay?! Don’t hurt anyone!”

“I don’t WANT to hurt anyone!” she begs to ears deaf with their pounding hearts. No, wait, NO! everyone prays in turn. Hidan reads her expression intimately; how does it taste, to make others see what they have to lose? She’s full to the brim of whatever Jashin has bestowed upon her soul, arms and lungs trembling with the weight of mortality. It’s like a kitten scared of her own claws. His teeth can feel the pulse of his lip as he bites in anticipation.

It’s just about when someone in the crowd is about to act on her hesitation that a familiar voice growls from behind.

“HIDAN.”

Two chilled hands grab the man by the collar and the woman by the scythe. Kakuzu wasn’t intending on dragging her over; her fault she won’t let go for dear life. She gasps, abruptly across the entire length of the room in a snap, shaky eyes meeting emeralds. They literally see right through her. Immediately she can see she is an object. A hindrance. If Hidan is the grim reaper then Kakuzu is cold uncaring death itself. And death is already tired of this bullshit playing around.

The tall newcomer sighs, gravelly in his throat. “What,” he more states than asks, “Are you doing.”

“Proselytizing, cocksucker!” Kakuzu repeats the first word under his mask, eyes returning to the girl while saying nothing directly to her.

“And this?”

“My disciple!”

He studies her. It’s like if a mouse that hides in the wall became a person.

“...You can’t be serious.” Guy and gal are simultaneously dropped to the floor, all threat forgotten in the crowd as they witness the bizarre show. The masked one starts to leave, and much to her dismay, the prophet takes her by the wrist and follows.

“Can you not respect my fucking beliefs for ONCE!” Hidan shouts at the back of his head as they go under a sunset sky.

“No.”

“KAKUZU!” Okay, so that’s both of their names now, she manages to note. “If you get your pointless bounties then I get this!”

“The hell you do!”

“Fucker!” Hidan spits back. “I saw it in her! This is something Jashin MEANT for me!” He grits his teeth, rationalizing the irrational. “We are all subject to Lord Jashin’s will! Even SHE can kill!”

The traveler only now recognizes how close to the outskirts they were, how if she screamed now, they’re so deep in the trees that the forest floor would dampen the sound. The red sclera stands out on Kakuzu’s face as he turns slowly-- too slowly-- to glare at the two behind them. She is in deep shit.

“I-I-I don’t mean to be trouble! I’ll just—” Politeness be damned, there’s no way out of a zombie’s grasp. Again, Kakuzu glares at her while addressing someone else.

“No expense,” he demands, curdling anger on his tongue. “No slowing us. She needs to do less than exist around me. If I feel a single iota of air shift around her, we are leaving her behind.”

In the woods. To die.

A lot of this comes back to killing or dying, doesn’t it?

She can’t even dare to swallow, while Hidan nonchalantly- roughly- yanks the woman from Kakuzu’s iron hold. “And you call me dramatic.”

Kakuzu doesn’t even have it in him to roll his eyes. He just turns back around, grips his fists to his sides, and walks once again. Hidan lets out a “pfff” in her ear.

“Old bitch.”

This traveler is fully aware she is just a goldfish in a plastic bag from this second on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Why, I can't see That I am the "me" That I was born into And what's the source of you?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Her tired heart won’t even stop pounding now that they’ve settled for the night; in fact, it made this worse. Idleness could mean anything to these people. For sure, at least for one it means that injuring others is entertaining. The other guy feeling at best contempt for her causes the woman to take Kakuzu’s threat very seriously. That’s why it’s such a surprise when a half hour or so into Hidan’s prayers, the masked man speaks to her for the first time.

“How’d he get you into this?”

She gasps lightly, as if any request of her will weigh the worth of her existence. As she hesitates, Kakuzu dips his head, light of the fire slicking over his slashed headband and ghostly gemstone eyes. Thinking better of it, she blinks away the fear and tries to reply.

“He...helped me get out of a bad situation.”

Rustling grass and crickets. She’s guessing if he wants more.

“He...saw me kill someone to get away. And. I guess he liked it.” Her voice is so soft, words not thick like honey but like tar.

“So he didn’t help you at all.”

“It was his weapon,” she states as defense. He murmurs in response. The pages of Kakuzu’s book finish flipping between his fingers, and he’s satisfied that at least as of this moment, she has no price.

“So you don’t want this.”

“I—” the woman holds herself tighter, hands in her lap and flames flickering, leaving as fast as they come. “I don’t. Know.”

“So you don’t.”

“I can HEAR, you bastards.” She suppresses a yelp but not a shiver. Kakuzu only sighs.

“She’s taking you for a ride, Hidan. Know that underneath all of your pointless sentimentality.”

“TCH!”

The silence fills the space between them, suffocating. Is she? Is she taking him for a ride? It never crossed her that way, but it was true. Just sticking around to whatever- whoever- offers a place to cling to. And how did it end up with the first guy? She was lucky that a sore face is the worst she got out of it. So what about this?

They sit in a triangle, both staring at the fire as a glow washes the fronts of midnight-soaked garb. One holds a book in front of his hearts and the other has a pendant to his lips. No one is really happy about all this. What’s the point?

Bravely, gently, the woman shifts up and wanders slowly enough that it’s known she’s not running away. She gets far enough away she believes no one can hear her, if she just speaks under her breath. A cliff is ahead, a clearing of stars over a pit of lush, deep greens stories below and miles beyond. The little noise there is becomes so much louder. Rustling leaves in the wind surely will keep her secret. You can taste the oxygen from so many trees; maybe they will satiate the hunger. Her own heart is sore from racing. Wistfully, she needs peace now, in this quiet, uncaring world that won’t let her rest.

My lover’s got humor

She whispers melodically.

She's the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody's disapproval

I should've worshiped her sooner

If the Heavens ever did speak

She's the last true mouthpiece

Every Sunday's getting more bleak

A fresh poison each week

Hidan breathes in.

We were born sick

You heard them say it

Hidan breathes out.

My church offers no absolutes

She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom"

The only Heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you

I was born sick, but I love it

Command me to be well

Amen

Kakuzu doesn't acknowledge, but he does listen.

Amen

Hidan doesn’t know what it means, but he feels the veneration it carries. Her white-toned dress is spectral in the moonlight, curls of hair played with by the wind.

Amen

She prays for something she doesn’t know.

Amen

[thebrandywine]

OOOH I love me some '℧: a damp towel against flushed, feverish skin' please! 😭😭😭

℧

Firm hands are holding his arms door as he thrashes as best he can. He realizes belatedly that he’s on a bed, an actual bed, but that realization only comes when his kicking feet slide on the sheets without traction. Footsteps retreat and then come back, someone talking to him as words fall out of his mouth that he can’t identify or pull back— the world is so hot suddenly, sweltering, and the heat seems to pull whatever energy he has left right out of him until he’s fallen back, limp, on the pillow.

“Leon?” A woman’s voice, but not Jill’s because it can’t be. A smaller hand that might belong to the voice touches his forehead, after which the woman swears. “He’s burning up.”

A man’s voice now, saying, “That incision could be infected. Or it could be the stress. Is Rebecca—”

“No, she’s guest lecturing on the west coast.”

A sigh, a prick in his upper arm that he barely feels as the world waver around him like smoke or waves of heat rising off the highway in summer. “You brought the supplies, okay? I’ll take care of him as best I can.”

“Now I understand what Chris means about leaving him when he’s like this,” the woman whispers.

Leon fades and the world fades with him.

-

Jill is reluctant to leave, which Carlos understands, but she's also their best shot at getting actual help. As her car kicks on outside, Carlos settles heavily in her chair with a bowl of water on the floor that he dips a hand towel into before wringing it mostly dry. The trails of water that slide down his forearm are cool to the touch, and the press of fabric against Leon's forehead has the man making a soft sound of relief and tipping into the change in temperature. Carlos spends a while swiping the towel over his face in an effort to cool him off, thinking back on the years and years of experience doing exactly this with his younger sisters.

Leon's a little different from them, though, most importantly because Carlos has held a minor flame for him for a while now. Though they've rarely spoken in the past and even more rarely had occasion to meet, there's always been some kind of pull that surrounds Leon that Carlos is helpless to resist. Moth, meet flame— try not to burn yourself to death.

Leon groans miserably, face red and mouth open as his labored breathing fills the silence between them. Carlos refreshes the towel, strokes it over Leon's throat, and murmurs, "I've got you, man. You're alright."

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

omgomg okay you have to hear me out i’m having a moment rn😭…

tangerine x reader where reader is like insecure about something and he’s just like girl wtf i love you what do you mean???

i will drop to my knees and cry happy tears if u can make this work😔

hii!! I love this🥹 I haven’t had many tan requests for a while, I was worried you guys stopped liking him😭 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

reassurance

tangerine x f reader

wc || 652

warnings || none? just fluff

masterlist & taglist

Some days, you felt comfortable within yourself. Others, not so much. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. 

Tangerine had reserved a table at a nice restaurant outside the city for tonight's date. He'd always make a deal about it, buy you flowers, compliment you, pull your chair out, all the other chivalrous acts he does so well. Dates like these were something you did regularly, but tonight, you did not want to go. You didn't even want to leave the house. 

You wanted to stick it out, do it for your boyfriend. You knew these dates meant a lot to him, so you didn't want to disappoint him. 

You finish up in the shower, wringing the water from your hair as you walk into your joint bedroom. You aimlessly flick through the dresses in your wardrobe, seeing if anything catches your interest, but nothing does. You don't want to wear any of them. Recently you've been feeling a little more insecure than usual, so the thought of going out tonight was not something you could stomach.

You sit down at the edge of the bed and allow yourself some time to calm down, some moments to reassure yourself, but when you glance at the mirror opposite you, all that goes out the window.

"Honey?" Tangerine calls out behind the door, "We gotta be there at eight. You nearly ready?" 

"Okay," you reply flatly, mentally scolding yourself. "Yeah, ready soon," you lie, raking your fingers through your wet hair.

"You alright?" he asks, his tone soft.

"Yeah," you lie again, patting yourself dry with the towel.

"Don't sound like it. Can I come in?" Tangerine questions, not fully believing you.

"Um- I'm naked," you say, panicked.

He lightly laughs from behind the door. "I'm sure I'll manage. Can I come in? I want to see you,"

"Yeah," you mumble in defeat.

"You're not ready," he says, his tone sounding like a question as he stares at you.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," you reply, avoiding his gaze. "Don't need that long," you partially lie.

"What's going on?" he asks, noticing the uneasy expression on your face.

You shrug indifferently. "Nothing," lie.

"No, I recognise that face," he frowns, walking towards you. "What's going on, sweetheart?" he asks softly, kneeling between your legs. 

You shrug once more, deterring from his admiration-filled gaze.

"Love..." he gently pushes, his hands sweetly circling your bare knee.

"I feel ugly," you mutter, staring at the door to avoid his soft blue eyes.

"What?" his head cocks, his features pulling together, looking as though he's confused. "Ugly?"

You don't respond. You meekly nod as you fidget with your fingers. 

"Why would you think that?" he questions, his tone full of sincerity. He props himself higher so that his face is in line with yours. His warm palms cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. "Don't ever talk about yourself that way again, you hear me? You are beyond beautiful," his words are firm yet tender, his softened eyes locked on yours. "You are so beautiful," he kisses the tip of your nose. 

He pulls away. His fingers brush the wet strands behind your ear with his eyes focused on you as if you're the most precious thing in the world. "That why you don't want to go out?" he asks, sounding like he knew the answer.  

"Sorry,"

"No, love. Don't be," he smiles. "I'll cancel," he says matter-of-factly, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I don't want you doing something you don't want to. We can get McDonald's for all I care," he chuckles, trying to ease you.

"Really?"

"Really," he nods before kissing you. "Can't be fucked to wear a suit and be around a bunch of posh pricks anyway,"

You snicker, already feeling better about the situation.

"Put on some joggers or summat. And we'll get a maccies?" he offers, sweetly smiling at you.

taglist: @tangerinesgf @kpopgirlbtssvt @slasher-sequels-suck @earth-elemental18 @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @thewinterv @navs-bhat @ilovetangerinewithallmyheart @theredvelvetbitch @randomawesomeperson102 @lov3lypeaches7 @princess-pebbles-things @astermath @dynamitehacke @ugh09876554444 @boldlyimportantface @charmedkim @fruitlovertangerine @psiiconic @bubblezuku @sporadiccherryblossomfan @landryslove

[bobfloydsbabe]

heartbeat | rhett abbott x oc | a linger blurb

SUMMARY: Lou has news to share with Rhett

WARNINGS: pregnancy

WORD COUNT: 740

LINGER MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST (google form–no personal info required)

A/N: I word vomited this last night and decided to share it even though it's waaaaay down the timeline of the actual fic. I'm adding everyone on the official Linger taglist, as well as the people who showed interest earlier. Enjoy!

“Rhett?”

“Yeah?” he answers without turning around from where he stands at the sink, washing their mugs from earlier that morning.

Lou wrings her hands, heart beating wildly in her chest. “I have to tell you something.”

She watches his shoulders tense, his entire body going rigid. He reaches for a dish towel, drying his hands as he turns around to face her. His expression is stony, his eyes hard, and his mouth is a straight line. Lou’s stomach clenches and she feels sick.

“What’s going on?”

Tears prickle in her eyes. She can tell Rhett is primed for bad news, maybe even betrayal–so used to being put aside for the sake of others. “Will you sit?”

Putting the dish towel down, he crosses the room and sits on the couch. Lou sits on the coffee table, facing him, their knees bumping against each other, making her chuckle. She peers up at him, hoping to see the tension gone from his shoulders, but no such luck.

She opens her mouth, but Rhett beats her to it.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Lou flinches, drawing back. “What?” It’s like a gut punch and the word sounds breathless.

He keeps going. “I know this isn’t the life you wanted, but we can do something else. We can leave Wabang, just don’t leave me–”

To make her usually quiet and gruff cowboy stop talking, she places her palms on either side of his face, pulls him to her and kisses him. 

His shock is palpable from the way he freezes, but he recovers quickly, and kisses her back with a fervor that reminds her of their first kiss. His hands cradle her neck, move into her hair, and she holds onto the front of his t-shirt like her life depends on it, keeping him close.

Out of breath, she pulls away and stares into those bright blue eyes she loves so much.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” she whispers, giving his lips another quick peck.

“Good,” he says, voice rumbling and finally the corners of his mouth turn up. “You scared me.”

Her heart aches for him. He’s so used to being pushed aside for the sake of others and their needs that he’s terrified of people leaving. If Lou could go back in time and convince little Rhett that he deserves to take up space, that he’s loved and cared for, she would do it without a second thought.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “Can I tell you the thing now?”

He chuckles, pecking her lips. She takes that as a yes.

She leans back, reaching around to the back pocket of her jeans, and hands Rhett the stick with a very clear message on it. He takes it from her with an adorable furrow between his brows. Flipping it over, his eyes dart to the little display immediately. 

His eyes grow to the size of teacups as his head whips up. “You’re pregnant?”

His voice is small, serious but anxious, and Lou doesn’t blame him for that. It’s a lot to process, and completely unexpected. Unplanned too.

“I am,” she confirms. “Dr. Bailey thinks I’m about 10 weeks along.”

He looks down at the test again, running his thumb over the display that clearly tells him it’s real. PREGNANT.

He’s so still that Lou almost thinks he’s having a stroke, but then a drop falls on his hand and she realizes he’s crying. Reaching for his hands, she brings them into her lap and it looks comical with her much smaller ones holding his.

“Rhett,” she says. “Please say something.”

He lifts his head then, tears trickling down his cheeks. “We’re gonna need a bigger place.”

Lou laughs. He’s not wrong. She takes the test out of his hand, puts it down on the table next to her, and crawls into his lap, her thighs on either side of his. Snaking her arms around his neck, her fingers play with the wavy ends of the hair at his nape. 

“Tell me you’re happy about this,” she whispers, pulse racing.

“Darlin’, these are happy tears,” he tells her matter-of-factly as his big, warm hands land on her hips. “Can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby.”

One hand slides to her belly where a new life is growing, half Rhett and half Lou. All love.

“I love you,” she says, leaning her forehead against his. “You’re gonna be an amazing dad.”

likes are nice, but commets and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @wkndwlff, @joaquinwhorres, @thedroneranger, @callsign-cacti, @chickensarentcheap, @lewmagoo, @sylviebell, @cherrycola27, @bradshawsbitch, @yanna-banana, @phoenixhalliwell, @rhettabbotts, @laracrofted, @everbizzare, @t-nd-rfoot, @callsign-joyride, @angelbabyyy99, @roosters-girl, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @eternallyvenus, @kmc1989, @high-speed-r, @anniesocsandgeneralstore, @petcr3

[sychosid]

“ do i ask questions or do i just help you clean up all this blood? ” jay white @ anyone he a) doesn't particularly get along with [in that moment] or b) does not know well [in that moment]

It was the quiet sobbing that caught Jay's attention. It must've been 3 or 4 in the morning. He'd been on his way through the hotel to get a snack from the vending machine. Deciding on a pack of M&Ms and Doritos, he had gotten comfy on the couch in his room. And that's when he heard it.

Through the (unfortunately thin) walls of the hotel room, was someone sobbing next door. Jay didn't know who it was, but that it was one of his co-workers. He wasn't exactly in good with most of them yet. Maybe this was a chance to make a good first impression?

Not like he could fall asleep anyway.

Bags of candies and chips in hand, he made his way to his next room neighbor. Knocking on the door, Jay waits, shaking his bag of chips to see if he could gauge how full it actually was.

Surprisingly, the person answers.

"Sorry if I kept you awake," the voice speaks through the crack of the door. It seemed like the door chain was in place. It takes a moment for Jay to clock the voice through the stuffy nose and stifled sobs.

"...Adam?" It was Page, no doubt. That slight country accent, the hesitant way of talking...

"...Jay?" Adam closes the door to undo the latch, before opening the door fully.

Adam's eyes are puffy and red, his nose scrunching as he sniffles. He seems more scared than usual, not making eye contact. Not even flicking his eyes up at Jay. Instead, he seems to be staring over at his hands that he was wringing nervously.

Hangman was a bit of a hurdle he was going to have to beat, soon. Unfortunately it wouldn't just be them dancing in the ring, but fortunately Jay was sure he could get the pin on Cole first. He was the weakest link, but that wasn't the problem here.

Not right now, at least.

Meekly, Adam steps back and points at the bathroom, where the overhead fan was on. The door was just barely ajar, and there was something red against the tile from what he could see. A towel, probably. Oddly, Jay wondered why Adam had red towels.

He stepped forward, opening the door. The towels were red. Stained red, and surrounding the dead body of a man with hair to his shoulders face down on the floor. Bleeding from the back of his head, blood pooled around him, soaking into the already saturated towels.

"...Is that Adam Cole?" Jay pointed at the body, turning just in time to see Adam coming at him with a lamp, wildly swinging as Jay manages to dive and roll out of the way.

"SHOULD I ASK? OR DO YOU WANT HELP!?" Jay's frantic yelling stops Adam in his tracks.

"Why would you help me?" Adam lowers the lamp for the moment.

"Maybe, Hanger, I don't want to end up dead on the floor of your bathroom!" He gestures towards the dead body of Adam Cole in the bathroom.

"...That's fair. So you're gonna help me?" Hangman is focused on the body of Cole, lips slightly parted as he's lost in thought.

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why'd you kill him?"

"...He just...he did the wrong thing Jay. I just was pushing him around. I-I just wanted to teach him a lesson."

Jay's standing up again, making his way back to the bathroom. He's scratching the back of his head, sighing. It was going to be a task, getting rid of these towels, and more importantly the body. He'd be missed.

"Okay, well, we'll have that for later. First things first, you and I? We did see Cole. You're going to tell me where his room is, and I certainly hope you know. We are NOT going to his room. This place has cameras in the halls, I've checked. We're going to--"

"Why...How do you have a plan for this already?" Hangman cuts Jay off, his eyebrows raised and furrowed curiously.

"...Trust me Adam, that when I say we don't have time for that now...we really don't have time for that now."