#i love for an excuse to write this verse

[agonizedembrace]

❛ that was a close call, wasn’t it? ❜ - star guardian o7

it was.

there's a breath that escapes evelynn as she steadies herself on the grass, hand reaching for her side that got scrapped earlier. while there's relief in her gaze, there's puzzlement as well as she continues to collect herself. gradually she resumes to a full stand, weary before finally: "i haven't seen you around here before."

ah, so the simplest of 'thank you's are still lost on her it seems. further words linger on her tongue, yet she bites them back. it is easiest to catch onto the other energy that resides within him, the very same she keeps at bay. only to create a further worry of ally or foe?

another breath, this one heavy and she allows herself to transform back. within seconds havu takes to hissing at him and all she can do is narrow her eyes at her companion before shaking her head. "ignore her, she's hungry." a lie, sure, but she'd rather not start on the wrong foot to someone who just about saved her.

"i had expected those.. new guardians to show face," her tone is firm, tentative in whether to trust her gut feeling of 'he's alright'. with a gentle swat, she gets havu to cease and retreat to her bag before shifting her weight with a minor wince. "perhaps though, your sword work proved more beneficial... thank you. i'm evelynn."

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 26: Werewolf

Night and darkness, space and the celestial bodies within were the subject of many stories and fairytales, of questions and fears. But the thing that had been forgotten by almost all but a select few, as small as the group of believers was, that Night was a God. Older than even Day, than humanity itself. Night’s worship had slowly faded until it was a shade of its former self, scant and scattered but they had done their best to keep as thorough records as they could.

One such record, a tome in your hands from a lucky auction grab, contained not just everything needed to understand or worship Night but also what happened to the God during different phases of the moon. He wasn’t a werewolf or anything of that nature but it affected him just the same as it pulled and pushed the tide on earth. He would gain strength and power as the moon grew in size, and it would fade as it shrank with some rumored pain like what those with chronic fatigue experienced, though that didn’t mean he was helpless either.

And during different lunar events Night would gain even more power. Though multiple of them were marked as too dangerous to be around him in, such as a New Moon or Blood Moon.

You stroked the tome’s cover, a deep spacial purple black with dots of blue and silver for stars and a lunar calendar along the top with Night’s symbol in the center, reverently. Your heart pounded in your chest a bit as you took a slow deep breath to try to keep calm. You were alone in the house for now, no one knew that you had the tome.

You had to keep this safe, only bring it out when no one could catch you with it, especially your parents. This book, no Night, could be your only chance out of this farce of a wedding they had planned for you, you just had time things right over the next few months and your opening would be revealed to you…

The sound of brush being roughly pulled aside was accompanied by the muttering that left Richard’s lips as he stomped through the forest. Really, what on earth had you been thinking running off like this?! On the eve of the wedding no less! Though he supposed wedding jitters had gotten the best of them, he was a bit nervous too but he wasn’t the one who had vanished in the middle of the night now was he?

You had been brought up better than this, he hoped the fright that being in such a dark atmosphere had been worth making him wake up to find you. Though he hoped you were unharmed, a pretty little thing like you didn’t need any visible damages and it wouldn’t do well for the guests to see you with him like that.

Richard called your name and after a few moments was about to call again, when he heard….singing? It sounded like a man’s voice. Deeper than his own, in the tone someone would use for a lullaby, though he couldn’t make out words. But still, it might be a hint as to where you went, someone took you instead of you running. If you had been so foolish as to try to run to someone else, he might make you stay out here a bit longer in recompense for his wounded pride and honor.

The sound led him into a clearing which was lit with the light of the moon above like a scene out of a fairytale, where Richard’s vision went red for a few moments at what he saw as angry possessiveness reared its ugly head. You were in another man’s arms, in your wedding gown but…it had been altered from the old fashioned, lovely piece your mother had given you as the ‘something old’ and of course it had been passed down on your mothers side of the family.

It was now more silver than white, the lace looked like it glittered like stars, shimmering in different colors like a prism with the soft movements you made in the gentle swaying you two were doing, the train looked like it had been fashioned out of the night sky as it was black instead of white like a mourning veil was, it rested on your head with a line of star shaped opals like a crown in your hair that fell around your shoulders and back, there was a pendant around your neck of a moonstone crafted into a lunar calendar, the full moon seemed to be almost glowing on it. You looked….so content…so happy in the strangers arms as you rested your head against his chest, like you’d known him for a long time, trusted him, there was even a blush to your cheeks that Richard hadn’t ever seen with him and it stoked his anger higher.

The stranger was as if someone had taken the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and crafted him specifically for it. He was dressed like a true noble in black lace up boots, dress pants, a black overcoat with onyx and silver buttons, moonstone and sapphire cufflinks, a purple to blue gradient vest styled like the cosmos above, his cravat was a black to red to purple, the broach atop the center at his throat held a spiral shaped seal in red wax, the earrings in his ears were obsidian. He had broad shoulders, thick black hair tousled just so as it fell into a ponytail, tanned skin, well groomed beard, dark eyes that looked down at you with such fondness and adoration that made Richard clench his teeth. The stranger was bigger than you, and twice as muscled as he was, it wouldn’t do to startle him and make him hurt you.

But when he looked at where your hands were joined, the stranger with full black leather and you with the modest silvery lace and fingers intertwined intimate and loving, was truly the straw that broke the camels back as the phrase went.

You both had wedding bands on your fingers, the gold ring Richard had given you on his proposal nowhere in sight. Instead you wore a silver ring with a moonstone held in the center, inlaid in a line down the ring were what to him appeared to be crushed gemstones to form a galaxy like effect. The stranger’s ring was black with the same galaxy like effect in the center with an amethyst or onyx star in the center.

If Richard hadn’t been so utterly incensed at this betrayal in front of him-how could you do this to your parents, to him?!? After what he’d been promised with you, a demure, obedient wife who would give him children and tend to his needs, and what your parents would’ve gotten in turn for marrying into a family as upstanding as his was. Did you have no respect for yourself?!?- he would’ve noticed that the stones in the rings were glowing, the galaxies shifting different colors. Or the way the stranger’s eyes suddenly flashed and reflected the full moon above and how a dark, cruel smirk flashed on his face.

At the soft, sweet confused sound from you at the change in expression Night chuckled and kissed your forehead, warm cheeks and then your lips sweet and tender, for a few moments relished in the contact of his new consort, he whispered in a tone just for your ears alone. “We seem to have an uninvited guest my star. Don’t fret your darling head about this now, it’s alright. I’ll take care of him and then I’ll take you home to properly make you mine. Just sleep for me right now, you don’t need to see such a ghastly sight… especially on a night as beautiful as this one.”

You momentarily had a look of fear on your face, but it faded at his reassurance and you smiled, giggled gently with a maidenly blush and then closed your eyes and slipped into sleep as your deity, your husband asked. Night gently laid you down in the soft grass that shined blue in the moonlight and then stepped in front of you, all pleasantry vanished in the face of the mortal you’d been promised to without any say so in your own wishes.

“You look the essence of aristocracy to your kind but in truth you are a bastard of a man Richard Ferguson. I suppose I should thank you for that though, otherwise my moonlight may have not found me as they did. Oh don’t you dare try to deny what you are you worm, you aren’t worth the dirt on my boots let alone the air my new spouse breathes.”

Night strolled closer and his coat billowed behind him, his eyes began to glow blue as he spat out in a furious rage, not giving the human a chance to speak or even try to make a sound. Even if he’d enchanted your sleep, Night wanted you to only remember his voice no one else’s, at least that wasn’t worthy of you. Your former fiancé was not in any way worthy of that honor.

“You had every plan to break them down, to abuse them and frighten them, break their spirit into what you thought was ‘proper and right’ for a wife until they were a mere shell of what they once were that jumped at every shadow and was so afraid of you and your drunken rage that they’d never disobey you on anything. You would’ve taken out the brightest light humanity had seen in decades and not cared one bit for the pieces crushed to dust to do it. Humans like you sicken me, greedy in your claim of everything you touch like it holds no other purpose or value but to be yours, pride oozing out of every pore like the world should bow to you and worship you, inflicting wrath on those that work for you until they break and you toss them aside, forcing your lusts on those that can’t say no because of your position, turning a blind eye to the poor and abandoned as if you didn’t cause their fates with your gluttonous attitude, slothing around in luxury while the innocent scrape to even feed themselves and envious of each other to the point you stab your ‘friends’ in the back the quickest chance you get to take more than what you deserve.”

Night’s power pulsed around him, shadows writhed and darkened, the air grew colder until dew frosted over around the clearing except for where you rested, his mark burned out of the glamor he’d put on the spiral like the harsh glow of a red supergiant against his skin as he felt his teeth begin to sharpen. He knew all the secrets the mortals tried to hide, one couldn’t hide anything from the darkness incarnate, from that which saw everything that tried to be hidden in its shadows, the darkness and shades of the human soul. It was all Night’s to know, to hoard and guard…to use as he saw fit.

And right now he grinned, feral as he threw back his head and howled, instantly there were a chorus of answering songs to his call as either by their own power or his, a group of people emerged from the woods, dressed in working clothes and rags alike they moved as if under a spell. They paid no mind to Night’s sleeping companion and moved around them until they stood behind the god. The light of a full moon, a rare blue supermoon in fact, shone down across their shoulders like a mother’s fond touch. Night’s expression was cruel as he let out a wicked rumble.

“You remember those old stories your grandfather told you when you were a boy, mortal? About the things that go bump in the night? The creatures that call the darkness home? The stories that frighten you so much that even today you still need to sleep with a knife under your pillow? They’re as real as you, and now…they’re going to bring you down to the level you threw them down to when they were merely trying to survive as humans before they were blessed with their mother’s power. You’ll live a life where you have to hide yourself like a pariah because of how awful you look, beg for any chance at food or drink….but you won’t be as lucky as them…their mother won’t honor you like she does them. Every time she appears in full beauty, it won’t be as painless as it is for them. It will hurt like nothing in your overindulged life has and it won’t stop hurting until you finally reach death’s embrace and face the consequences of your rotten soul.”

Night raised a hand and snapped his fingers and the people’s eyes flared golden and their bodies all contorted and arched in what looked to them like bliss as fur began to sprout as their muscle mass broadened and their faces shifted to be more wolf than man. The mortal bolted before the transformation finished, unable to take the strain of fear that ran primal in his veins, not now with the show of power and the oath of a god that felt like chains of iron around his chest. The werewolves all howled with animalistic joy of a hunt and raced after their prey, Night trusted the moon to keep you safe as he joined the fray.

The power in his veins bayed for blood, for him to soak in fear and pain from a hubristic mortal before delivering a just punishment. Night was only too happy to give it what it wanted.

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake sent: tell octavia how mbege felt/what he thought during the zombie bell murder moment 😉 just indulge me 

“ John? ” 

He smiled to himself even though he didn’t turn around to look at Styxx. If the voice hadn’t given him away, Styxx’s weird commitment to using his given name would have. He didn’t really mind it- his parents used to call him John. His moms was so used to scolding or caring for both him and Murphy at the same time that she just called them both John and let them figure out if she meant one, the other or both. His dad did call Murph ‘Murphy’, but had always called him John, never just Mbege. 

Styxx was a lot like a dad- maybe not his, more stern and stoic than his own- but a dad all the same, maybe a big brother. So he didn’t mind being called John from Styxx. 

What he did mind was being tricked, trapped, lured, implored, or tempted into having this conversation Styxx was about to try to get out of him. He didn’t want to talk about what happened when he and Octavia were out. He didn’t want to talk about the way her face had blanched when she’d recognized her brother in the horde, or the way her weapon had dropped just the slightest, just enough to make her vulnerable and force him to jump in before teeth reached her skin. He didn’t want to talk about how he couldn’t see the person Bellamy had once been in the shriveled, torn, sagging face of the zombie Octavia couldn’t bear to kill. 

And he definitely didn’t want to talk about how he could practically hear her soul shatter in tandem with the crunch of axe-in-skull when she had dealt that killing blow to the brother she loved and idolized and searched for for months on end. Didn’t want to discuss how his skin still itched even after he’d scrubbed Bellamy’s blood off him, but how it didn’t really bother him because he’d been covered in blood plenty of times and how this didn’t hit him as hard because Bellamy wasn’t his, and sorrow about what that said about him as a person. 

He definitely didn’t want to talk about how his first thought when he’d realized who that zombie was was ‘thank god it isn’t Murphy’. How he’d actually forgotten about Murphy for a moment in the heat of the fight and the aftermath of her grief. He’d forgotten his own brother, his best friend, as he tried to help Octavia and her blank eyes and deadened voice back to the safety of the group. But now, in the calm of the motel, in the relative safety of the group that was leaving him alone as they so often did, he was wondering what if Murphy. What if he was out there, just wandering and waiting for Mbege to stumble upon him the same way Octavia had stumbled upon Bellamy? What if one day it was going to be Mbege that had to make the decision to deal a killing blow to only person who’d truly had his back in any life? Could he? Was he that ruthless? 

He would have killed Bellamy, if he’d been closer and Octavia hadn’t reacted so quickly. He’d kill to protect the group- hell, he’d kill one of the group if he really had to. If it was between one of them and all of them he’d pick to save the majority. But he wasn’t sure he could do that to Murphy even if his best friend was already gone. He wasn’t sure what seeing Murphy dead and rotting would do to whatever tattered remains of his morals were left. 

Styxx’s hand was heavy on his shoulder as the older man took a seat beside him, setting a pad of paper and a crayon in Mbege’s lap.    “ If you don’t talk about it eventually, it’s gonna eat you up inside. ”   Mbege’s eyes fluttered shut, not wanting to do this, and Styxx’s rough voice softened. 

“ You can be glad it wasn’t you. No judgement. Start wherever you can. ” 

He opened his eyes and picked up the crayon, and started writing. 

[a-flappy-bat]

Want a Control sketch—Drop me an ask!

< Quality/ Response not guaranteed >

< May result in silliness >

< Darling /Jesse/ Trench preferred >

< All the characters are great/ Acceptable >

[guardiandamned]

Ryouga doesn't know how to face Yuma.

God, it pisses him off. That he's still such a coward, even now, who doesn't know what to say to the boy who should be his friend. ...Or is he an enemy?

Even now, he doesn't know what to think. It wasn't easy, turning his back on Yuma and the people he'd grown to love to fight for the Barians after remembering the truth of it all. It had been painful, hard, and cruel. ...But even that feels easier now than this shitty uncertainty that haunts him now, pulling him in two different directions, making him want to scream and just give up, but-

He can't. Not yet.

After he'd lost that duel to Yuma, he'd wanted so bad to believe that a miracle really was possible. If only he could put his faith in him one last time... but now that Ryouga's been revived, months into the past without explanation, he doesn't know what happened to the world he left behind. He doesn't know if Yuma and Astral's resolve was empty, or if they'd managed to find a way to save everyone - but even though nothing's changed... Ryouga just can't find it in himself to betray Yuma again for a second time.

"Yuma...?" Eventually, Ryouga speaks up. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels sick. "I... I need to talk to you for a moment. About something important."

@highfivethesky ( starter! )

[xonceinadream]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Glee Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Married Couple, Insecurity, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 4 of Seblaine Family Summary:

Sebastian should've known better than to keep secrets from Blaine. He knew how much his husband worried. But he really hadn't thought Blaine would ask if Sebastian was cheating on him.

[wiressmiled]

-   ̗̀   ♡⃗   ―   having   so   many   thoughts   rn   about   suzie's   wednesday/nevermore   au--   i   love   her   being   a   siren   ,   so   so   much   BUT   the   thought   of   her   being   a   psychic/seer   just   keeps   hitting   in   my   brain   .   her   love   of   art   ,   sketching/painting   her   visions--   she'd   be   like   a   less   emo   xavier   though   SIGHS   .   

[lattehearted]

open // alondra santiago, fledgling witch

"Welcome to Nectar and Ambrosia! Can I interest you in a cup of our new Persephone blend? Or were you looking for a tarot reading?"

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[chelseeebe]

seven minutes in heaven.

a/n: pure self indulgent smut here i really have no other way to describe this lmfao. i wrote this all in about three hours so please excuse any mistakes bc i had to get the idea out while it was still fresh in the mind. don’t get me wrong i love dominant eddie but let’s be real he’s just not, is he? he’s a fumbling little virgin and i love that

18+. smut. alcohol. sex with someone in the room (don’t do this. this is fiction.) eddie is so pathetically down bad for reader and also a virgin! they’re in college rather than hs bc i’m too old to be writing about teenagers here

‎♡‧₊˚

eddie’s insanely nervous when the bottle starts spinning, anticipating the dread of having to get in that tiny closet with well.. literally anyone.

he wasn’t exactly well versed when it came to sexual encounters. he’d barely just kissed a girl for the first time last year and had been successful in avoiding any and all games of this nature. it’s not like he didn’t want to, he just didn’t want to embarrass himself nor disappoint whichever poor soul had to stuff themselves into that closet with him.

it spins and spins until it lands on chrissy and some dude he’d just met tonight. breathing a silent sigh of relief as he now gets a further seven minutes to think up some excuse as to why he couldn’t kiss his match.

his ringed finger circles the top of the glass bottle, clinking against it in some unrecognisable beat. maybe he could run to the bathroom as soon as they came out? at least he’d have to miss another go, be free of the embarrassment a little while longer.

eddie’s eyes glide around the circle, eyeing up the potential matches. there’s robin, who absolutely not interested in him and especially not anyone of his gender. nancy, she’s cute but one hundred percent not his type and he’s sure that the fact both of her exes are sat in the room would mean they could get out of kissing. a few other girls that he’s sure would kiss him but they wouldn’t be thrilled about it. then there’s you. sat with your legs crossed, skirt riding up your supple thighs and a shirt that hung low enough that you shouldn’t have even bothered wearing one.

he only notices that he’s staring when steve makes some lewd comment about the noises coming from the closet. tearing his eyes off of your chest and onto the rowdy man.

oh shit, what if it lands on a guy? at least maybe they could just shuffle off and pretend to make kissy noises, see that’d be easy.

before he’s able to jump up and run off, chrissy and the unnamed guy stumble out of the closet, giggling with their cheeks flushed.

oh god oh god oh god.

‘ya have fun in there?’ steve bellows, clearly intoxicated and obviously way too eager to have his turn. why couldn’t he just be more like him, eddie thinks.

steve spins the bottle again. going round and round and round until it stops, the lipped edge facing you.

please no. please literally anyone other than him.

if he was clueless with the other girls he wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do with you.

‘oh shiiit,’ steve hisses as he sends the bottle flying again.

it slows down just before him, thinking he’d escaped once again until the glass stops. pointing right at his gormless face. he blinks at the bottle, trying with all his might to send it flying again through some undiscovered telekinetic energy or some shit.

it doesn’t. obviously. because he’s not fucking superman.

‘come on,’ you speak, stood before him with your hand extended. oh fuck. he’s not sure he can even take your hand. it’s far too clammy and he’d expose his super-virgin status.

he groans getting up from the floor, gingerly taking your hand and following you through the corridor to the closet. his heart in his throat the entire time. he thinks he might just throw up. unsure of if it’s from the anticipation or just sheer terror of having to try and kiss you.

with your fucking tiny skirt and your perfect tits pressed against him. there’s no way he won’t pop a fucking boner. oh god, what if-

‘you okay?’ you ask, shuffling into the small space opposite with the tiny flecks of light shining on your smile. he hadn’t even noticed you’d shut the door, too caught up in his own head to realise that this was now and he was going to have to do something before you ran out of there laughing.

‘yeah- yeah,’ nodding frantically as he attempts to collect himself. maybe you didn’t wanna kiss him? you’d make some polite excuse about having a boyfriend or something and then you could stand and make small talk for the excruciatingly long seven minutes.

‘good,’ you mumble before closing the already tiny gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a haste.

eddie’s head is empty. absolutely nothing going on inside. frozen in time as your lips move against his. he should do something. he just doesn’t know what.

‘what? you never kissed a girl before?’ you scoff, pulling away slightly. are you mocking him? or is this flirting? fuck, why don’t they make books for this kinda shit?

‘y-yeah i have..’ he mumbles, arms still limply hung around his sides. if you could see his face right now, he’d be comparable to a ripe beetroot.

‘so kiss me back then?’ you giggle, connecting your lips once again, soft hand coming to caress his warm cheek.

okay, yeah. just.. kiss back.

he does what he thinks is right, eyes fluttering shut as his lips move with yours. this is good, he thinks. it feels right.

your other hand reaches out to grab his wrist, moving his hand to rest on your waist. giggling into his mouth, your breath tasting like alcohol and a hint of mint. it’s sweet, addicting almost as he chases the taste with his mouth.

adrenaline racing through his veins when your hand leaves his wrist and tangles into his hair, fingernails tracing along his sensitive scalp. he has to restrain himself from moaning into your mouth. it’s an entirely new sensation for him, makes his cock twitch in his tight jeans. he can’t stop thinking about how much he wants you to just tug it, pull his head back with your delicate fingers.

your knee slides between his legs, thick thigh nudging the growing bulge in his pants. letting out the most embarrassing noise into your mouth. before he even has time to curse himself for it your tongue slips into his mouth, using the opportunity to push your chest further into his.

deciding now to be brave, his hand shakily meets your shoulder, holding you in that exact position. he could stay here forever, he wouldn’t need anything else in life. ever.

your lips pull back slightly and he whimpers. literally whimpers in response to the sudden lack of attention. feeling your smile grow against his now swollen lips. who the fuck whimpers? if he hadn’t already established his virgin-ness, he definitely had now.

‘is that good, yeah?’ you breathe, the words almost sending him into cardiac arrest. they sound as if they’re dipped in honey coming from your sweet lips.

he nods quickly, unable to form a coherent response without looking like an utter fool. opening his eyes just enough to see you staring up at him through your lashes. if he weren’t leant against the wall, he’s sure he’d collapse into a puddle of goo.

‘what if i do.. this?’ palm sliding down over his neck and heaving chest before stopping at his belt buckle, waiting for a sign to continue.

his adams apple bobs as he swallows and you take it as a compliment and sliding your hand on top of his very obvious boner.

he’s a goner.

grip tightening on your shoulder as his breath stutters. willing himself not to cum in his pants right then and there. he would never ever live that down. not with that meathead harrington who would definitely pull him up on it the second you left.

‘oh yeah?’ you remark, smirking in the darkness at his pathetic stature. slowly moving your fingers as you palm him through his jeans. your hardened nipples brushing against his chest because of fucking course you weren’t wearing a bra.

there’s no way he’s making it out of this cupboard alive.

‘h-holy shit,’ he chokes out, eyelids fluttering as he fights off fainting. his head is fuzzy, sorta like how he felt when he got high and jerked off except so so much better.

‘maybe we could.. continue this later?’ muttering quietly so as to avoid anyone outside hearing.

he’s well aware that you only have at most a minute or so left before someone rips open that door and reveals the pitiful mess he is. the sentence doesn’t register for a few seconds until he realises what you meant.

‘y-yes,’ he finally responds, overly eager, ‘please,’ ashamed at how desperate he sounded. he’s sure that he’d kill someone for just one extra minute in here with you. not entirely sure how he would be able to hold on until later.

you don’t reply with words, mashing your lips together one last time before someone hammers on the door, signalling that his seven minutes in actual heaven were over.

‘get out you horny fucks, i want a turn!’ steve jokes from the other side, making you spring apart before he comes crashing into the room.

you smile at him again, seemingly so innocent when he knows you’re anything but.

the bright light of the hallway makes him blink before you bound off back to whoever’s room you were playing him. leaving him with the worlds most awkward stiffy and absolutely no way to hide it from the prying eyes of the fellow players.

‘god damn munson, are you alright?’ steve laughs at his outwardly flustered appearance. eddie is so fucking grateful that the boy is too invested in getting his turn to pay full attention to the obvious tent in his jeans.

sliding into his spot, discreetly moving one of the cushions to his lap. he doesn’t give a shit about the game, too busy wondering just when later would be.

it goes on and on.

robin and nancy head off to the closet, receiving a few woos from the gaggle of people.

then it lands on argyle and jonathan, the larger man having to drag jonathan into the closet with an excited wiggle of his brows.

steve’s fuming at every turn that isn’t his, throwing his hands into the air when it lands on anyone other than him.

and then the bottle goes spinning again, stopping on you. eddie’s not sure if it’s jealousy that it could land on anybody else or desperate hope that it lands on him again.

it doesn’t, goes flying right past him and ends up stopping right in front of steve who jumps up, absolutely ecstatic that he finally gets to go into that damn closet.

eddie’s eyes meet yours, ducking his head slightly and hoping that the searing envy wasn’t so apparent on his features. you give him a little shrug and that same damning smile before getting off the floor.

‘c’mon then big boy,’ rolling your eyes as steve pulls you into the closet.

eddie’s seething with jealousy and he’s not even sure why. you weren’t his like, this wasn’t an exclusive contract that meant you could only play the game with him. near enough drawing blood as his teeth dig into his bottom lip. it’s the thought of it. of steve and his big hands and his exuding levels of confidence. infuriating him to no end.

‘you good bro?’ jonathan nudges his elbow, completely unaware that he had been glaring at the same stain on the carpet for what must have been minutes.

‘me? yeah.. i’m good,’ standing to grab himself another beer. thank fuck the boner had subsided. at one point he had seriously considered disappearing to the bathroom to relieve himself but a few thoughts of his sixth grade math teacher naked had killed it completely.

he pops the top off with his ring, taking a long hard swig of the beer, counting the seconds until you’d reappear from the hallway. this would be the perfect time to grow some goddamn balls and show you how he felt. he could slide right into the spot next to you, maybe even extend an arm around your shoulder. you know, really hammer it home.

‘it’s been seven minutes,’ he blurts out instead, appearing more as a jealous weirdo than the cool, outgoing guy he so wished to be. stupid. internally cussing himself out.

‘you were in there for eight minutes, dude,’ robin laughs, shoulders shaking at his eagerness. great, now everyone in the room knew he was a possessive, jealous freak.

‘hah.. yeah right,’ shuffling back to his spot with the worst attempt at playing at cool that he’d ever seen. swallowing the gigantic lump in his throat and watching the doorway like a fucking hawk.

‘seven minutes stevie.. that’s it,’ your voice echoes and you finally reappear, pulling at the strap of your shirt, readjusting it to its rightful position on your shoulder.

‘holy shit,’ steve remarks, his stupidly perfect hair all messed up, red cheeks to match. eddie longs to grab his collar and pummel his fist into his face. he doesn’t of course, that’d make him look really normal.

instead he chooses to read the label of the beer bottle rather intently, ignoring the feeling of your eyes boring into him. perhaps later would never arrive and he’d just have to move on with his life.

the party dies down and eventually the game gets abandoned, party goers slinking off home or to the bedrooms or as argyle had, passing out on the couch. now would be the perfect time to scarper off to his dorm, not like anyone would notice he was gone. you certainly wouldn’t. not with steve hanging around your feet like a lost puppy.

when the music cuts out, he knows it’s time to go. later was quite clearly not coming. and neither was he. well, he would. just when he got home.

‘well, i’m going to bed,’ you announce, pushing yourself from the couch, staring directly at him. is that a hint? is this later? god, he doesn’t know.

hesitating just a moment too long as steve interjects first, ‘me too.. you don’t mind if i crash here, do you?’

your eyebrows raise slightly, still staring him down. waiting for a response well, for anything from eddie.

‘i-i’ll take the couch, if that’s okay?’ thinking that maybe your lack of response was also a hint? it’s really not clear and he just wishes that you’d directly tell him what to do.

‘sure.. knock yourself out,’ you shrug, a tinge of disappointment in your voice. so it was a hint. you wanted eddie to volunteer to stay in your room, he gets it now! now that it’s way too late.

‘great! well, i guess we’re roomies,’ steve smirks, gazing over at you. disgustingly smug in the way his hand lingers on the small of your back. that should be him. if only he wasn’t such a bumbling idiot he might’ve been the one leading you up the stairs. fingers sprawled out on your back and a mischievous grin to match.

he takes his spot on the couch, shuffling out of the denim jacket that had clung to him all night. he’s sure he can hear a distant banging, some muffled moans and a squeaky mattress. or maybe it’s his subconscious playing cruel, horrid tricks on him. whatever it is, he hates that it’s got him excited. it’s incredibly disgusting and perverted but he can’t help it. he’d sported a slight chub for most of the night which was definitely not helping right now.

tossing on the uncomfortable couch until his head is buried in the cushion and he can’t hear it anymore. certainly rock solid as his eyes squeeze shut. oh fuck. the bathroom seemed like a perfectly valid idea now, that wasn’t weird right?

just before he can convince himself to get up and go the stairs creak and he can hear a soft padding of feet climbing down. freezing in his spot, hips pressed into the soft cushion so as to not give away his precarious position. it’s just someone getting water, at least he hopes.

‘are you a fuckin’ idiot?’ your voice whispers harshly from the doorway, muttering curses under your breath as you stumble across the room to the couch.

‘w-what?’ he speaks, turning his head but leaving his body flat against the back of the sofa. now he definitely didn’t want you to see that.

‘you were supposed to- fuck, where are you?’ groaning as your toe collides with the coffee table, still blindly feeling your way to the couch.

‘here,’ he calls, holding his arm out for you to find.

using his voice to finally find the stupid couch, fumbling around as your leg slings over his sideways turned thighs, ‘why are you lying like that? move,’ speaking in hushed voices, trying not to wake the gentle giant on the opposite sofa.

your bossiness certainly doesn’t make matters any better, his dick straining against the denim as he reshuffles, lying flat on his back. he’s grateful that you’d straddled his thighs and not his raging boner.

‘you were supposed to say that you were staying with me, you idiot,’ sitting tall atop his legs.

his hands are suspended in the air, hesitant to touch you. or touch the wrong part of you even. eddie’s brain reboots when you shuffle upwards, mouth running dry as the cogs turn ever so slowly to formulate a reply.

‘i- wha? i thought.. you and steve.. uh, in the closet?’ his eyes somewhat adjusting to the darkness, just about making out your figure and your furrowed brows. oh god it’s so hot- you’re so hot when you’re mad. his mind flashing back to that dingy closet and how fucking good your hand felt in his hair.

‘no,’ you grimace, ‘i don’t want to fuck steve, i want to fuck you.. are you stupid?’ coming to place your hands on his chest. sure that you could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. ‘he just touched my tits a little and besides, i hid in the bathroom until he passed out.. you are stupid.’

his mouth opens and subsequently shuts again without any words forming. there weren’t any. yes. yes he was stupid. quite clearly. most people probably would’ve gathered what was going on when you’d fondled his balls and very obviously stated that you wanted to fuck him later. well, eddie wasn’t most people.

‘you do?’ is all that he manages to squeeze out, sounding like a small child. eyes shining bright in the little light leaking through the curtains.

‘oh my god,’ you complain, leaning down to connect your lips, wanting to shut him up if nothing else.

even now, he’s still taken aback but he’s not completely brain dead yet as his hands find your hips. see? didn’t even need your guidance this time.

your hips grind down against his, pyjama shorts riding up as you move. eddie’s positively gutted that he can’t see them in this light, he knows they’re soft, can feel that at least. he’s more confident now, a new air about him that just wasn’t there mere hours ago. he thinks that maybe it’s because there isn’t a room full of his friends listening to your every move outside.

that or the sheer level of arousal coursing his veins.

but his tongue is the one to slip into your mouth, noting that you’d definitely brushed your teeth and he wished he’d done the same. your fingers walk the length of his chest, coming between your bodies to his belt buckle.

this is it. he’s going to lose his virginity. and to you no less. oh fuck.

you pull away, tapping on his chest with your other hand, ‘sit up,’ forefinger hooked into one of his belt loops.

he obliges immediately, shifting to sit back against the arm rest. making sure to hold onto your waist as he does. you feel so soft, his fingers melding into your skin perfectly. the cold metal of his rings leaving tiny indentations as his grip tightens. he’d do anything you asked him to, especially if you were poised above him like this.

your hand goes back to working his belt off, unbuttoning his jeans and working them down his thighs. brushing against his length with your fingers. he’s almost panting, head lolling back instinctively, stifling the ungodly moan that had found itself in the back of his throat.

‘look at me,’ you whisper, still tracing the veiny cock beneath you.

his head shoots up, looking back into your eyes. desperate to please you, abiding by any and all instructions that you barked just incase he fucked this up. he would have to pack his bags and flee the country if he did. not sure that he would be able to live with himself.

‘are you a virgin?’ you ask quietly and he feels his cheeks flush immediately.

was it that obvious? the fact that he’d popped a boner the second you’d kissed him was probably a dead giveaway, actually. you don’t seem to care.. he has no reason to lie. unless this is all one big prank and you’re actually about to climb off of him and start laughing.

it’s totally shameful but actually that’d probably still get him off.

‘yeah..’

you nod, taking your eyes off of his to look down at his cock. there’s a tiny wet patch which had actually most likely been there for hours when he thinks about it.

‘you want to, don’t you? we don’t have to.. could suck you off or something?’

‘n-no no, i want to.. trust me, i want to,’ sounding as desperate as humanly possible. over his dead body would he would fuck this up. now he’s not sure how long he’ll last but he’s sure it won’t be long.

‘okay.. good,’ you smirk, bringing the waistband of his boxers down. his cock springs up to his stomach and his eyes flit shut. was his dick small? is that something you cared about? he didn’t have much to go off here except from porn and even he knew that wasn’t exactly realistic.

he can hear you spit into your hand and he’s back to full attention, watching as it drops into your palm and trying his hardest not to cum right now. with your chin shining and your lips wet, it’s all too much.

and when your tender hand covered in your spit wraps around the base of his cock, he chokes on nothing. fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in your hips, certain that he’s probably hurting you but unable to let go without busting a nut.

you pump your hand a few times, watching intently as he struggles to stay with it. it’s heaven. no no, it’s better than heaven. better than anything he’d ever experienced in his entire life. and the man had gotten creative with some of his masturbation sessions to say the least.

a snore rips through the room and it’s then that he’s reminded of the other man passed out on the other side of the room, ‘shit.. sh-should we carry on?’ nervously taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘just be quiet, he won’t wake up,’ ignoring the drunkard and continuing to pump your hand.

eddie’s unsure if it’s you or if he’s feeling things but he can feel a something wet on his thigh. not brave enough to take his hand down there to find out.

‘you sure you want to?’ leaving your hand at the base of his cock to move yourself upwards.

‘y-yes.. please,’ nodding like a maniac.

that’s all the confirmation you need to shift your shorts out of the way, sitting straighter on your knees and positioning his tip at your sopping entrance.

he’s not prepared one bit for how intense it feels. the sensation sends shockwaves through his entire body, sending his head spinning.

lowering yourself down onto him with a soft sigh, hands now finding his shoulders for leverage. eddie’s about to start levitating. you’re so warm, enveloping him inside just right. the second you move, he’ll probably start crying.

his eyes struggle to stay open, rolling to the back of his head. moaning far too loudly when your hips move forward causing your hand to clamp right over his mouth. as if that wouldn’t make him cum ten times faster.

‘shh,’ you hiss, working your hips at a steady rhythm. soft squeaks leaving your own mouth with every bounce but keeping your eyes steady on him. enjoying the sight of him coming completely undone underneath your body.

your hand leaves his shoulder for a second, manoeuvring his hand onto your chest, ‘touch me,’ mewling when he gets the gist and starts palming your tit. the feel of your hardened nipples underneath his palm only sending him hurtling faster towards his already fast approaching orgasm.

he’s one second away from blurting out that he’s in love with you. which he doesn’t think is far off of the truth to be honest.

you trust him enough to not start babbling and take your hand from his mouth, grabbing onto his shoulder again to quicken your pace. clit catching against the patch of pubes he wishes he had time to tame. it was driving him fucking insane, knowing that he was the reason you were panting and cursing under your breath.

there it is. that familiar sensation of something tightening in his stomach, except a hundred times more intense than anything he’d ever felt before. quickly shaking his head to give you some forewarning though it’s pretty useless.

‘f-fuck, oh fuck,’ lifting his hips from the couch to empty himself into you. eddie could’ve never imagined that this is what you would feel like. pure ecstasy vibrating through his limbs, spurts of white hot pleasure exploding behind his eyelids.

his thighs shaking as he collapses back into the couch, still mumbling a bunch of sorries as he attempts to float back down to planet earth. he’d lasted a measly few minutes and for that, he wanted to curl up and die. if it weren’t for the fact that you were so fucking sexy and so warm and so perfect- he probably would’ve lasted at least a couple minutes more.

eddie’s eyes stay closed as you climb off of him, readjusting your shorts as you settle on his thighs once again, ‘you back in the room yet?’ chuckling quickly, leering down at him.

a strangled laugh falls out of his lips, daring to look at you. ashamed even though he knows it’s not that bad. sure he’d lasted longer than at least one other person out there.

‘sorry.. i swear, gimme like.. like ten minutes..’ doing everything in his power to convince you not to leave. because truthfully if you stayed like this, he probably would be hard again in a matter of minutes.

‘hey.. it’s okay,’ you lean down, chest flat against his, ‘don’t worry ‘bout it,’ head perfectly tilted to gaze up into his eyes. maybe he wouldn’t need ten minutes at all. not with the way you’re looking at him like that, doe eyed and whispering sweet words of encouragement into his ear.

‘wanna.. uh,’ the words stick in his throat, ‘wanna get you off,’ blushing despite the fact his dick had literally just been buried inside of you. it’s ridiculous really.

‘you can.. don’t worry,’ pressing your lips to the stubble beneath his chin.

his cock twitches at the sensation and he truly realises how completely pathetic he was. fully at your mercy but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hxney-lemcn]

Cuddling Headcanons — Jade & Floyd Leech x gn! reader

tw: none.

a/n: I know I already wrote affection headcanons for all the NRC students, but I had a dream about hugging Floyd and needed to write about cuddling the eel.

wc: 1k

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Jade Leech

❥Jade is a bit stiff when it comes to physical affection. Your hugs are met with light pats to the back. Just give him some time and start with small things. Jade, unlike his brother, isn’t as well versed in expressing his emotions so openly. He’ll try for you though, but only in private, he’s not comfortable with being vulnerable by himself, let alone in front of others.

❥Expresses his affection more subtly than Floyd, whether that be giving you gifts or helping you with any troubles. If you really want to hold on to him he’s more open to gentlemanly shows of affection like linking elbows or kissing the back of your hand. He’s amused at your want for affection and can’t help but give in even if it’s just slightly (also enjoys showing you off in a way that isn’t overly affectionate).

❥When you’re alone? He’s more open to any hugging you have in mind. Over time the awkward pats on your back will turn into a firm hug. You’re very lucky, he doesn’t even hug his brother like this. Like Floyd, his body temperature depends on his environment, so he won’t be warm per say, but he is tall and his hugs make you feel shielded from the rest of the world. He will tease you about how affectionate you are (even if you aren’t super affectionate), calls you clingy but makes no move to let go. 

❥Cuddling is another thing Jade has to get used to. So, so stiff at first. Over time he gets used to it, understanding how you want him to hold you or if you want to hold him (he finds the second option much more amusing). It’s not something he’ll crave, but he also enjoys the warmth you provide (both physically and emotionally). It’s in these moments that he finds himself willing to be just a bit more vulnerable with you, kissing your temple softly and tracing your features with his eyes. Finds it amusing and heartwarming that you’re willing to be so vulnerable in front of a predator like him.

❥Mornings are so domestic. Jade will typically wake first, go through his morning routine and wake you after. If he’s feeling a bit extra he’ll make you breakfast in bed, revealing just how sappy he actually was deep down. On the rare occasion you wake up before/with Jade, he finds the way you both walk around each other, doing your separate routine’s to be his favorite moment. How well you both know each other, and are comfortable you are with the other. It doesn’t fail to warm his heart. He’ll be hesitant if you ask to do his hair, he has a very specific routine to make himself look professional…but your puppy dog eyes do work on him no matter how much he argues otherwise.

❥Even Jade’s sleepwear is classy, you almost feel hesitant to touch it…almost. Unlike Floyd’s pajamas (which are baggy on him, can’t imagine how baggy they’d be on you), Jade’s are silky and smooth…also very baggy on you. He can’t help the predatory smile that tugs on his lips when he sees you in them, perhaps even he can feel a bit of cute aggression. But he doesn’t squeeze you, instead he admires you when you give him a twirl, flapping the sleeves that engulf your hands. He doesn’t mind sharing with you, not as long as you keep this view between the two of you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Floyd Leech

❥Let me just say this out front, hugging Floyd is so comfy. He may not be super warm (moray eels are ectotherms which means their body temps depend on their environment), but the way he holds you so snuggly more than makes up for that. If you’re touch starved he’ll be your best bud. An excuse to squeeze someone? Sign him up. A willing victim to his shenanigans is welcome in his book (although he finds himself a bit downtrodden that you don’t run away from him anymore, he liked the chase).

❥Loves love loves touching you. Whenever he sees you he just gets the urge to squeeze you, but not like his normal squeezes where he wants the person to pop. No, he wants to squeeze you because of the fluttery feeling he gets in his chest. Cute aggression to the max. He doesn’t just hug you though, he likes to swing your intertwined hands or carries you around (depends how he’s feeling). 

❥Cuddling with him is a one way ticket to being stuck for hours. He loves draping himself over you like a weighted blanket. Maybe not fully laying on top of you, but you lay side by side facing each other and he’s got an arm and leg splayed over you. Floyd basically cocoons you in his hold, basking in the warmth both you and the blankets provided him. Loves love loves feeling you snuggle into him, he gets all happy and squeezes you just a bit tighter.

❥In the morning you never know what mood Floyd will be in. Some days he’s extra sleepy and will try and get you to stay with him (it’s hard to say no with him nuzzling his face into your messy hair), other days he’s bouncing off the wall, wanting you to get up early with him and start the day off with a bang. No matter what he’ll be asking you to help him with his morning routine, specifically fixing his hair. He has such a terrible bedhead that it never fails to amuse you. Floyd just loves to feel your hands in his hair, so who better to style it than you? 

❥Steal his clothes. Do it. Okay maybe I want to steal his sleepwear ‘cus it looks so comfy. His reaction depends on how he’s feeling. If he’s in a happier mood he’ll coo and tease you for stealing his clothes, makes him wanna wrap you up and keep you all to himself. If he's in a pissed mood, he won’t take too kindly. He was already having a bad day and now you’re wearing the exact hoodie he wanted to throw on. It might seem like he’s being a drama queen but if you’ve been looking forward to something (especially when you’re having a bad day) and someone took it you wouldn’t be too happy either. So don’t fight him, let him take the hoodie (and steal a different one).

[heart--of--gold]

I think we NEED to discuss more on Logan being Wade's new roomie. Just, out of the sudden, this new hunk moves in with the really annoying (but lovable) guy that lives a couple doors down from you. warnings: Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, just some cozy ideas otherwise. wc: 430

Imagine trying to get your laundry done in the on-site laundry unit, and he's there. That's how you meet him, the mysterious roomie that barely leaves Wade's apartment. It's late at night, an effort on your part to avoid most people in the building, and he's there, the same reason as you, waiting for his clothes to finish the rinse cycle with a beer in hand. He's totally wearing that wife beater tank top, and you can either get caught staring at pure muscle or try to have a real conversation with him.

Imagine forming a friendship with him over those nights. Imagine how stiff and uncomfortable he was at first, he didn't even fold his clothes before leaving because he very much didn't want to be there. now he's cracking jokes and you're both bonding over your shared annoyance with Wade. you're both looking for any excuses to prolong the night.

Imagine Wade convincing you to join him and Logan on some shopping trip. Guy's new, stripped from his 'verse, and needs more clothes if he's sticking around. ("I think we all would love to see him walk around in his birthday suit, buuuut-") You can tell Logan doesn't wanna go, it's written all over his face, but he doesn't voice his protest when you agree. Btw, if he grabs a shirt just because you pointed it out, don't pay attention to it too much.

Actually, imagine running into Logan all the time after you two become friends. Like it's one thing to see him at the grocery store, but you run into him in the hall just before you leave for work and when you come back from work. He makes an appearance whenever you're talking with Wade, arms crossed over his broad chest and staring at you both. (Wade comments on it, something about a pup.) It's like he was purposefully hiding from you before, and now started making the effort to see you as much as possible.

Imagine bumping into Logan when he's taking Mary Puppins out on a walk. You're on your way up to your room, and you ask Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome if he'd like to join you for dinner tonight. Imagine if he looks at you with that stupid charming smirk and says yes.

Just. imagine being neighbors with Logan. Imagine pining after him and the very slow slowburn because of course the Wolverine has his walls up. Imagine Logan pining after you, with his conflicted feelings because he's much too old to be engaging in romance of all things.

-----

heehe ok don't mind me..!! just joining in on the fun, even if it's short. I've never written anything marvel related before, so i hope this was ok! requests for logan are open so I can get back into writing ^^''

[helldustedstories]

For a moment, Moxxie starts to think about what he does know about truth serums. His father hadn't really used them that much, preferring the…..old-fashioned way of getting information out of people, something that had never sat right with Moxxie, even when he was involved in the family business. It was highly likely that, if he'd stayed, he would have ended up doing more research on the subject, to offer up a possible alternative to torture. After all, like he'd told the human agents, people tended to say whatever they thought their captors wanted to hear to put an end to the pain: it definitely wasn't an entirely reliable way to get information out of someone.

But going down that particular train of thought is playing a dangerous game, especially with Blitz watching him as closely as he is. That was something Moxxie didn't want to touch, as much as he could avoid it. Though he supposed it was harder to just…..completely ignore, at this point; he was still gonna do his best to talk and think about his father and that whole part of his life as little as possible.

There was a reason he put way more weight on his mother's background, on the fact that he was born in Wrath, even though most of his formative years had been spent in Greed.

Moxxie's prepared to slump a little, ready for the teasing about how he'd been prepared to infodump about something he doesn't know a lot about. But instead, Blitz's words are a weird sort of encouragement, telling him to lead with his best foot forward, something that Moxxie had been trying to be better about.

Unless someone actively asked him about something he was really interested in; he almost always jumped into those conversations without thinking, and it was only after the other person involved finally managed to get his attention again that he realized he'd been going on at length about barrel density when he'd been asked about scopes. He was trying to be more aware of when he jumped right into overexplaining something he hadn't been asked about, working to keep on task and focused instead.

Blitz's attention is fixed on him, more intent than Moxxie had seen him in a while, outside the field, at least. He's not entirely certain what to do with Blitz's undivided attention, though when he speaks again, it gives him more of an idea of what he actually wants.

❝ Alright, c'mon, tell me the side effects you've been having. And don't bullshit me, I'm bullshit proof. I want details. ❞

A little frown slips onto Moxxie's face at that, as he takes a moment to consider what could be considered a side effect. (He also knew there was more to why Blitz was asking than just being interested in what was going on with him, but they'd get to that later.)

"Well, my dreams have been a lot more….," he trails off for a moment, frown deepening. "Musical? Fucked up? Linear?" All of the above, really. "I don't usually remember most of my dreams, but these….; I could probably write down the music." Oh, maybe he should try that sometime; his subconscious might be onto something, as far as that went.

He glances over to Blitz, watching him as he talks, and he's pretty sure he knows at least some of why he'd asked. You don't just bring that sort of thing up out of the blue unless there was a reason for it.

"My dreams don't always make a lot of sense, but they have since then. Like…., it's not just snippets and images that any therapist would tell you to write down in a dream journal, but….full scenes." He pauses for a moment to take a breath, smoothing down the front of his jacket without thinking about it, something he frequently does when he's nervous or lost in thought.

"Sometimes….it feels more like memories than actual dreams," Moxxie muses out loud. "At least until the nightmares start." While there hadn't been a whole lot of that when they'd been in the human's facility, they'd started not long after getting home. Moxxie was no stranger to nightmares, though there have been far fewer of them in the past couple of years. He'd been hoping that he might have finally left them behind, but it seemed that that was unfortunately not the case.

Moxxie glances over at Blitz, just watching him as he takes in what he'd been telling him.

"What side effects have you been having, sir?" While he didn't know that that was why Blitz had asked, he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the only one having some rougher nights. And maybe if he caught him off-guard, Moxxie could get Blitz to actually admit he was struggling, too. As unlikely as that event might be; Blitz was fucking good when it came to people, much better than Moxxie was. But he was certainly gonna try to get some sort of answers out of him.

Blitz could just drop it here - this may not technically be even close to the doors he's nailed closed, but it's still a door, and any door can be dangerous. He's fairly sure he can get some distance between them again, if he's annoying enough - Moxxie'll probably drop it in frustration. And it's so tempting, backing down and slinking back into his corner - being loud enough so people don't actually look and see.

Except for this whole, trying to be better thing. Fuck, it's exhausting and he hasn't even said anything yet.

Or maybe that's just the sleepless headache.

In typical Moxxie fashion, his go-to is facts about truth serum and Blitz is that much more tempted to goad him onto the path of research and back the fuck out of this. Be better, be good, don't run. Okay, hell - maybe some research into that particular field might even be useful one day, right ? He does perk up at the quick, glancing mention of side effects, and is instinctively side stepping the question being turned on him with the ease that comes from years of practice.

❝ For the record, side effects are a much better opener than fuckin' encyclopedia entries, Moxx. Lead with your best foot forward. ❞

Blitz is leaning forward now, gaze sharp and searching. He has always known that Moxxie is more capable than he ever gives himself credit for - at least, in the things that matter. He'll go on and on about his taste in music or his elaborate plans, but it's his instincts and his eye that Blitz had picked out from the very beginning - his ability to see things for what they are and roll with them in a way that makes working together in the field absolutely seamless.

Point being: he's a good fuckin' employee. But he is also the closest thing Blitz has to a best friend, if he lets himself think that way. When he's not such a fuckin' coward that he's not consumed with the thoughts of ruining everyone's lives. And that's the part he needs to build on.

❝ Alright, c'mon, tell me the side effects you've been having. And don't bullshit me, I'm bullshit proof. I want details. ❞

[lucyandthepen]

last young renegade | jjh

summary: your valentine’s day plans with jaehyun may have gone down the drain just a little. (okay — a lot.)

pairing: jaehyun x reader verse: canon, idol!verse rating: t warnings&tags: reader & jaehyun are in an established relationship, quite frankly there is nothing too out of the ordinary in this fic which is a shocker, it’s a rewritten fic so pls excuse any errors I may not have caught! word count: 5.02k

a/n: happy 2024 friends and family !!!!!! and advanced happy birthday to the man who created valentine’s day, he who is perhaps my first love in nct, jaehyun! this is actually just a fic I’ve been hoping to re-write a bit from before, and since it’s valentine’s themed, what better time to post it!! Enjoy enjoy, and may this year bring more fun, laughs, love (and debauchery) to this blog!

Yᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏғ ɪᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʏ.

♡ jaehyunnie ♡ I know I said birthday dinner but practice is running so late ㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie ♡ Can we meet after? I’m sorry ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ How about I call you when we’re done? Maybe 11:30?

At times like this, you often wonder if it’s all worth it.  

You know thinking that way is counterproductive, not to mention a little unfair. You knew exactly what to expect, getting into an under-wraps relationship with an idol, and so far, it’s lived up to most of your assumptions, and then some. It doesn’t help that Jaehyun, even just by name, tends to attract an unbelievable amount of attention. You know you can’t blame him; it’s not like he wants to be high on the radar every time, either. For some reason, though, you seem to be looking for something or someone to blame, which you also know is a dead end. You have no one to pin the blame onto apart from yourself by frequently generating doubts that keep your mind running around in circles.  

It’s not even the sneaking around that gets tiring; it’s the waiting — waiting on calls, waiting on free time, waiting on a good opportunity to do something that doesn’t involve him suddenly getting pulled out to attend to one of many of his celebrity responsibilities. Over the last few years that you’ve dated, NCT has only ever gotten more popular; with that popularity came the fact that the public eye was trained on them, focusing on every microscopic detail of their lives. Jaehyun hates that more than anything, which is why he’s given up on trying to avoid it by practically escaping it altogether, locking himself up in the dorm with you when he has his precious few days off. 

While it’s true that you definitely don’t miss having to play espionage when going out for a cup of coffee with him, you’ve also managed to memorize every single inch of Jaehyun’s room, which isn’t good for your mentality, you’re pretty sure. You have to keep reminding him to open the window whenever the both of you are in there, because all you do is stay in and watch English movies without subtitles to see who can understand the most without asking questions (obviously, he always wins) while eating food he runs up and down the stairs to get every other hour. And while him trying to imitate the British accents on these shows is genuinely funny, you’re starting to suspect even he’s starting to get tired of watching Harry Potter over and over again. Twenty hours sounds like a long time unless you spend every twenty-hour period you have together marathoning the exact same films. Much to both of your disappointment, your suggestion to watch it totally out of order did not make it cooler.

Still, you suppose it’s not all bad. Jaehyun also taught you how to play Fortnite on a couple of his days off back to back, and while you hadn’t been as good a player as you both had hoped, he’d still patiently waited for you every time you got lost on the map. He’d even given you his account’s password with the sentiment that this was him ‘taking things to the next level with you,’ and you get to log into his account and play whenever you want; he doesn’t even get mad when you’ve wasted all the stuff he’s farmed on your subpar gaming skills. And, well, the bigger picture was that you loved him. Based on how much effort he put into the relationship, plus the bonus of his trust in you when it came to his Fortnite account, you could at least be confident in that he returned the sentiment.  

Except, sometimes, you still wonder if it would be easier for the both of you if he flew solo and didn’t have a girlfriend that tanked all of his player’s ammo and health kits and generally made a fool out of his cute little avatar while he was out breaking his back onstage.  

You aren’t sure if Jaehyun’s been noticing the turmoil in you; you’re not that good at hiding how you feel, anyway, but if he has, he hasn’t said anything thus far. You do observe how much more he texts you when he has free time, which makes you feel doubly bad, because you know that he’s spending precious minutes he could be resting with on talking to you instead, which isn’t the best trade-off for someone who’s constantly busy — and thereby constantly tired — like him.  

♡ jaehyunnie♡ ___________ I’m going to practice again, okay? Wait for my call ㅠㅠ You I’ll wait for your call ♡ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ I love you ㅠㅠㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ You love me too — a lot, right? I’ll keep my phone now, but I’ll make sure to check that you said so. ㅋㅋㅋ You Right! ㅎ I love you a lot! ♡

When the clock hits 12:01, and your phone is silent, your mind starts working on overtime again. It’s only when the special ringtone you’ve set for him comes to life at half-past midnight that you break your train of thought and put on your socks so you can meet Jaehyun at your front door.  

You’ve made a rule — sort of like a deal — between the two of you that apologies aren’t necessary when work holds you up. You’ve cashed in on that deal a couple of times, but you’re both aware that it’s more for Jaehyun’s sake than anything else, and he keeps to his word on that much when you open the door and duck into his car. All he does is smile at you, and you smile back, and for the rest of the car ride, everything seems okay.  

He always asks you about your day — unfailingly, at any chance he can. It’s never an off-handed question, either; Jaehyun takes great pride in his memory, and the sweetest thing about him is that he’s dedicated a good deal of it to knowing almost everything about you. Right now is no different. He asks you about your team manager, what you had for lunch; he grills you on if you took your vitamins today and if you got to break in the new shoes you bought online — the ones you’d been pining over for the last three months. He even asks you about the guy from the neighboring department who keeps asking you out for after-work drinks.  

“He wanted to go to Hongdae tonight,” you tell him as he slows for a red light. “There’s some new pub of his friend’s doing a soft opening there tonight.”  

“You could have gone.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I wouldn’t have minded.”  

“I didn’t want to.”

“Good.” He glances at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Because I lied. I might have minded a little. Or, you know, a lot.”  

“Don’t tell me after all these years, you’ve turned into the kind of boyfriend that doesn’t let his girlfriend go out without him.”

“That’s impossible for me, and you know that,” he chuckles. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Just not with that guy from the other department.”

“Don’t worry.” You tinker with the little charm dangling on your phone — half of a flat, metal heart dangling from a gold chain that Jaehyun had given you two years back on your birthday. He keeps the other half, but since he can’t freely attach it to any of his belongings, he keeps it wedged between the back of his phone and its case. You like watching him change the backing because he does it so carefully, like he’s worried the other half of the heart is going to break if he rips off the case willy nilly. “I told him my boyfriend and I were going out on a date tonight, so he backed off. Although he did wonder why I keep talking about a boyfriend he’s never seen.”

“And? What did you say?”

“I said it was none of his damn business.”  

Jaehyun laughs loudly, and you go along with him, but you don’t miss how tired he looks when he sobers down, the green light illuminating all the shadows on his face as he steps on the gas again.

Nothing good is open this late at night — that is, nothing you haven’t seen before. You hadn’t even expected to go out at all, but since it was the day before Valentine’s Day as well as his birthday (or it would have been, if you hadn’t waited until midnight), Jaehyun had wanted to do something special without having to run into a huge crowd of couples on the day itself. Your only option is this from-out-of-town carnival that’s set up in tents and even has a medium-sized ferris wheel by the edge of the metal barricade. The parking lot is practically empty when Jaehyun pulls into a slot; you joke that he should break one rule and park in two slots, which he smugly replies to by saying he couldn’t park badly even if he tried.  

He tucks your hair back behind your ears as he loops the strings of a face mask around them, using another one for himself. Between that and the brim of his cap, you can barely see his eyes. The only knowledge that you have that you’re walking next to the man you love is that he takes your hand in his, slender fingers finding their way between yours.  

The carnival is half-closed when you get to the middle of it; there are still a few stragglers, but half the kiosks have their lights off already. There’s a woman dressed in flashy clothes standing on a patch of dead grass a few feet away, and she’s holding a hoop that a ginger cat is jumping through. Jaehyun steers you to them, and you stand there for a good five minute watching the cat roll on the ground and stand on its hind legs, but you can tell it’s been going it at for most of the day because at one point, it just ignores the lady, opting to weave its way between Jaehyun’s and your legs instead. You do have a pretty good time when he picks it up and cradles it in his arms so you can pet it for a second, but it just hisses when its owner approaches and jumps out of his hold, disappearing behind a row of trash bins.  

Jaehyun doesn’t have anything in his wallet apart from his credit cards and 50,000 won, and the coin machine operator says he only has enough coins left to break down 5,000 won for the games, so you end up having to jog back to his car so you can fish out some coins from inside his glove compartment. You come up with a grand total of 1,500 won, and you have to sheepishly go back to the coin machine operator to change four 100 coins and a couple of 50s just to get the last 500. Jaehyun tells you to hold onto the three coins so he doesn’t run off with them entirely and leave you destitute.  

You learn you can only do three things at most — you dedicate 500 won for the Ferris wheel entry tickets, which leaves you with 500 won each. The both of you agree on choosing one kiosk to play in, and with only about five left that are open, you don’t really have that many options. You end up dragging Jaehyun over to a stall with a pond filled with those magnetic toy fish, but 500 won only gets you one fishing rod. Since it’s your choice, Jaehyun lets you play, but you feel kind of stupid doing it on your own with him just watching you. In the end, he decides to stand behind you, his arms around your waist like he thinks closer contact isn’t even more distracting. You do manage to fish out 10 fish and win a small bear on a keychain. It doesn’t even pass through your hands as Jaehyun takes it from the stall operator immediately. 

“That’s mine!” You whine, reaching out in vain to take it from him; he just holds it high over his head. His eyes are twinkling under the shadow his cap casts over his face. “I worked hard for that.”  

“Let me keep this one,” he mimics the pleading lilt in your voice. “I’ll put it on my bag.”

“You know you can’t! Give it back.”

“I’ll win you a bigger one,” he promises. “Let me keep this one. It’s cute. It reminds me of you. I’ll kiss it goodnight before I sleep.” He starts to laugh softly. “And then you’ll feel this weird spirit kissing you at like two in the morning, and you’ll know it’s me.”  

Your arms aren’t long enough to retrieve it, and you don’t really want to, so you settle with twisting his ear. He takes it in stride even if he over-acts, making pained noises while leading you to the kiosk he wants to go to. It’s a shooting range stall, and he pays his own precious 500 won for a dart gun. He’s barely paying attention when the guy starts explaining how many points are assigned to each balloon color, more concerned with talking to the bear keychain in his hand and pretending like he’s cooing at you. You have to hit him across the shoulder to get him to focus.  

“You need to start picking out what prize you want,” he tells you — the actual you, not the animal keychain version — as he lifts the dart gun.  

“I’ll wait for you to finish first.”  

“No way.” He tilts his head, closing one eye to steady his line of sight. “Pick already. Or just go for the biggest one.”

“You know that Fortnite and dart guns aren’t the same thing, right?”  

“Yeah, but I’m well-motivated.” He grins at you, one eye still shut. He looks like a baby pirate. “Go ahead. Pick the biggest one.”

“Why don’t you just shoot, and we’ll see.”  

“Pick it,” he insists. “Tell me you have faith in me. Tell me you love me.”

“Okay, I love you,” you agree. “But I have no faith in you when it comes to this.”  

“One out of two is fine,” he concedes, taking aim.  

All three of you, including the stall operator, let out a disappointed groan when he misses his first shot. His comes with a sheepish laugh as he reloads, suddenly telling you to pick the second biggest prize instead. You can’t even watch him miss over and over, so you pretend to be interested in a bunch of teenage boys playing a game of cups one stall over, trying not to giggle when you hear him get increasingly more frustrated at himself. When you turn back around, you notice he’s holding two small pieces of gummy candy, offering one to you like a kindergartener. He helps you tug your face mask down so you can eat it.  

There’s a food stall nearby that, thankfully, accepts credit and debit; Jaehyun fishes out his card to get you a corndog — only one because he’s watching his weight for the upcoming concert, apparently. This is information you hate hearing but have no say in, and he knows this; you know he does because he says ‘don’t worry about me’ totally out of the blue, like five minutes after the conversation ceases to be relevant.  

His phone starts ringing when the food comes out, and he takes a tiny bite of it — more bread than hotdog — before he answers. You know it’s Taeyong by the way he answers.  

“Hyung, sorry — can we talk later? I’m out with ____________.”  

Taeyong says something loud but indiscernible on the other end. You piece together that it’s about tomorrow’s schedule when Jaehyun speaks again.

“I know. I’ll be home in a bit; don’t worry about it. I haven’t forgotten.”  

There’s more garbled speech on the other line; Jaehyun gestures for you to keep eating, and you do, but you more concerned with the morphing expressions on his face than you are with the act of chewing. He’s making noncommittal noises in response to what seem to be commands and reminders. You’re pretty much done with the corndog by the time he says ‘Okay, hyung. Hyung — I’ll see you later, okay?’

“Taeyong hyung says hi,” he tells you once he’s hung up the phone. “He says you still need to give back that book you borrowed from him last year.”  

“Oh yeah,” you finish off the last of the food. “I’ll drop it off within the week.”  

“Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t actually mean it.”  

Jaehyun watches you snap the stick in half and toss it in the trash bag.  

“We can go home,” you say finally. His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re busy tomorrow. I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget, and it’s fine.”  

“It’s almost two in the morning.” You check your phone to verify. “You probably have to be up in a few hours. You need to sleep, or you’ll die, Jaehyun. I’m too young to be a grieving widow.”

“Let’s at least ride the Ferris wheel,” he suggests. Before you can protest, he tugs you towards the rickety contraption, digging the 500 won out of your pocket and handing it to the bemused operator. He lets you choose what carriage you want because literally no one is on it anymore, and Jaehyun asks for the best carriage. You’re not sure how it differs from the rest, but he makes a show out of guiding you into it, and you don’t miss the corny ‘my lady,’ he mutters under his breath.   

It’s small, clearly meant for either a tiny group of children or couples who want to be as close together as possible. It’s also not air-conditioned, and only one of the windows is open, so you end up sticking to Jaehyun’s arm on the way up. The view is still great, though, and you feel his hand settle on your knee as the carriage makes it slow ascent.  

The ride up is quiet, and you press your face as close to the glass of the carriage as you dare, but Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. His hand is still heavy on your thigh, but it doesn’t do anything but lay there. When you’re close to the top, you’re hit with the urge to do something romantic — kiss, maybe, tell him happy birthday, or say ‘I love you’ to him in the most sickening way possible — but when you turn to look at him, you have to hold your tongue.

Jaehyun is asleep, leaning against the corner of the carriage, head tilted down a little. His shoulders are rising and falling slowly, and he’s pulled down his face mask a little so he can breathe better; his lips are slightly parted by the slackening of his jaw. His left hand is shoved in his pocket, like he’d passed out halfway through reaching for something in there.  

He doesn’t wake even when you move slightly so you can lean back next to him, rocking the carriage a little — not even when you reach up and adjust his head so he can rest on your shoulder. He breathes deeply, evenly, and you wonder if his ear against your shoulder allows him to hear your heart plummet unfairly to the bottom of your stomach.  

You have to shake him to rouse him when the ride comes to an end; when he opens his eyes and realizes what happened, he looks mortified. Instinctively, he opens his mouth, but you fling the carriage door open and step out before he can apologize.

You have a deal, and he knows what he shouldn’t be doing.

His grip on your hand is much tighter as you walk back to the parking lot, and he doesn’t let go, even on the road. The trip back is quieter, maybe because it’s late, or maybe because there are a ton of things the both of you want to say but can’t.  

He slows down when he gets to your street, but when he stops in front of your building, he doesn’t immediately unlock the doors to let you out. Instead, he turns to you, licking his lips a little nervously.

“Can you…” he clears his throat because his voice cracks a little on the first attempt. “Can you come back with me? To the dorm?”  

“I have work tomorrow, Jaehyun.”  

“It’s still at eleven, isn’t it? I can bring you home before that. You still have some stuff in my room. You can get ready there.”

“Won’t you be too busy?”  

“Just—” he sighs softly. “Can you? Please?”  

You don’t know how to say no to Jaehyun, and tonight isn’t a night you’re willing to try. It’s why fifteen minutes later, you’re walking through the front door of his dorm. Donghyuck, sitting at his computer in his room with the door ajar, greets you sleepily as you pass by.  

Jaehyun steps in the shower with you; you don’t talk, maybe because you’re worried you might wake the others up if you start a full-blown conversation in a bathroom surrounded by other bedrooms. He just passes you what you need, and you do the same for him, and somewhere in between, he kisses you under the spray of the water.  

Later, he falls asleep with a face mask on, and you have to peel it off for him and toss it into the trash. The tip of his nose is shiny, and you want to kiss it, but you know it’ll wake him, and you noticed he’d set his alarm to go off two hours from now. He’s set out a couple of earplugs for you so that you don’t hear it, but you don’t put them in. You want to see him before he leaves, even if it’s in the deadest hours of morning, so you just crawl into bed with him. A minute before you doze off, you feel his damp skin press against your neck, his form curled up against your back.  

The alarm never wakes you; the sun is out when you open your eyes, and when you check your phone, you see that it’s already half-past nine. You also notice that there’s nothing from Jaehyun on your screen, but you try not to dwell on that, considering that you’d been expecting to wake up to an empty bed. His side of the mattress is cold, which means that he’s been gone for some time.  

You don’t know if it’s just because you’re groggy, but your insides still feel like lead when you sit up. The part of you that nags about this relationship is back at full force when you start thinking about Jaehyun going to a pre-recording two hours after spending the last of his energy on you. You start wondering if you’re doing the right thing if it feels like you’re just dragging him down. Your heart clenches tightly when the worst thought hits — maybe, just maybe, he’s tired of you, too.

But you won’t let him go. More to the point — you can’t. He’s the best part of your life; it’d be a cold day in hell if you decided to leave him.

Even the thought of it makes you feel like dying.  

Then again, this isn’t all up to you.  

You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes — and maybe a couple of frustrated tears — when the door creaks open. You see two mugs and his hands before you see the rest of him come through the doorway. Jaehyun whispers a careful good morning as he sets the coffee down on his table, making sure to push his keyboard away to avoid accidents, before sitting down next to you. You notice that there’s an envelope next to one of the mugs; the flap is slightly open, and from under it, a flash of red peeks out.  

His hand finds its way back to your knee — it’s his favorite resting place, he’s told you once. Your lap feels like home, he’d joked. Maybe he touches it every so often because it’s like a reset button for him.  

He doesn’t ask if you slept well, or if you want to get ready before having your coffee, or if you’re okay. He just squeezes your knee a little tighter. It’s you that has to start the conversation this time.

“How did it go?”

“It went great. You’ll see it on TV later tonight,” he starts rubbing your thigh idly. “You’ll watch it later, right?”  

“Of course. I’ll call you and tell you how cool you look.”  

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When you lapse into silence again, it’s because you’re expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t come out with it directly. You try not to let it show that you’re worried, that you’re skeptical, that you’re wondering if he thinks he’s too tired, too busy for this, too.  

You’re expecting him to start how most break-ups start. You know I love you, right? And then the telltale but… would come, and you would have to hold back your tears and smile for him, and tell him you know, and that you understand it isn’t the right time, but maybe one day, someday, when he isn’t everyone’s Jung Jaehyun anymore — only yours.  

“You love me, right?”  

It’s not what you’d been expecting. Nor is it the playful little text he’d sent — no laughs, no jokes. His expression is somber, mouth pressed into a thin line.  

“You know I do.”

“A lot, right?”

“A lot,” you confirm softly.  

“Then whatever it is that you’re thinking about us,” he says quietly. “Don’t. Don’t think it. Don’t do it.”  

“Jaehyun—”

“I know it’s hard,” his fingers dig into your skin a little. “I know I put you through a lot. I know you think that I’m suffering because of this relationship too. I know everything. But whatever you think I’m going to do, I won’t do it — not ever. So if you’re thinking of it too, I’m begging you. Don’t. Please.”  

Maybe he had noticed all this time. A wave of guilt washes over you when you see the pained look on his face; perhaps you were even more transparent than you’d originally thought. You nod slowly to show your understanding, and he continues.  

“I know yesterday wasn’t the best you could have hoped for,” he carefully avoids apologizing, although it’s written all over his features. “For me, too. I… I wanted something different. It’ll be better next time. Do you believe me?”  

You hear him swallow — his nails are biting into your thigh a little, so you have to gently peel his hand off. Your fingers replace it, tightening around his palm as you nod.

“I believe you.”  

“And you trust me, right?”

“With my life.”  

“Then can you put your faith in me right now?” He asks. “Don’t panic. Just — just say yes.”

He pats around his pants, finally deciding to slip his hand into his left-hand pocket. Unlike on the Ferris wheel, he manages to extract something, but he keeps it closed in his fist. It’s shaking a little as he takes your hand in his other one, pressing something small and hard into your palm before he curls your fingers over it. His hold keeps your fist closed as he starts talking.

“It’s not immediate. We’ll figure it out. We’ll tell the right people, and they’ll help us tell everyone else — the public, the press. It doesn’t have to happen right now, or any time soon either— not if you don’t want it to. We can take it slow, or whatever. Anything you want — just as long as it’s with me.”  

“Jaehyun,” you shake your head, a little dizzy. “What are you talking about?”  

He slowly loosens his hold on your fingers, his hand dropping to the same spot on your knee. You’re free to open your fist, and when you do, you can’t help but feel a little stumped.

“I don’t mean now,” he repeats, now sounding doubly worried. “It’s not — It’s just…”  

“You’ll get in trouble. We can’t.”

“I won’t. Not if we do this right. Like I said, we can do it slowly. Months — years, however long it takes to do it well. What it is — it’s just… a promise.”  

“A promise,” you echo. It does have a nice ring to it.  

“That I’m not leaving you. Not ever. And… if you say yes, that you won’t either.”  

Your coffee has probably turned cold. Jaehyun is watching you carefully, looking like he’s trying hard not to bite his lip. You look back down at your hand, and he speaks up again.  

“You know I love you, right?”  

You smile slightly. “No but?”  

“No but,” he agrees.  

The ring fits nicely on your finger; maybe it’s well-measured from the amount of times he’s held your hand tightly in his.  

“Okay, Jaehyun,” you whisper. “I promise.”  

When you place your hand on his, he twists his palm, slender fingers gently twirling the ring around the base of your finger.  

Minutes later, he hands you your coffee. It’s sweet and milky, the way he knows you like it best. When he settles back down on the bed, you notice his eyes travel to your finger again, a small smile playing on his lips.  

Perhaps, in this moment, you finally learn to ask the right questions — not about if it’s worth it, but if he is.  

And in this moment, where he sits in silence with you, the sunlight pouring in from his window hitting the tips of his hair and the end of his nose, with the knowledge that his heart is as full as yours, you come to realize that there can — and never will be — any doubt of that.  

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 7

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

You're breaking fast with Aunt Eliza as a footman brings in her letters. She lets out an excited yelp as she holds up the latest edition of Lady Whistledown.

You can't help but roll your eyes at the older woman. All of the Ton fall over their feet to read the anonymous author's "news". You're not overly fond of the things she's written about your friends, the Bridgertons, and a majority of the Ton.

You go back to your food, enjoying the fresh fruits that were brought in, "The strawberries are extra sweet today, Aunt Eliza. I think we shoul-"

Aunt Eliza abruptly stands, pressing her hand to her chest. Your brows furrow, "What has she written now?"

"You, dearest, but Benedict as well," you rise out of your seat with haste, rushing to the other side of the dining table and grabbing the latest Whistledown.

Your eyes quickly skim across the words and your heart drops as you read: -perhaps the second eldest never proposed to Miss L/N because he knew he could never provide for her as a second son.

Your jaw clenches as you lower the paper onto the table, "That horrid woman! Benedict is more than just a second son! He's kind, compassionate, charming, he adores his family, he is well-versed in the arts and-"

"Take pause, Y/N," your aunt urges as she places a hand on your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath and look to your aunt, "Do you think it wise if I visit him? I just want to make sure he is well."

Aunt Eliza thins her lips, "To be frank, I do not think it wise. It may jeopardize your marriage with Lord Montclair. You mustn't risk it."

You dejectedly sigh, "Yes, you're right. I suppose I will just write him a letter then." You no longer had an appetite anymore and ask your aunt if you may be excused. Seeing the state of you, she allows it and you immediately go to your room to write to Benedict.

__________________________

"A letter arrived for you, brother," Anthony announces as he steps into the study where Benedict is mindlessly staring out the window.

"Just set it on the table. I shall read it later," Benedict mumbles.

"It's from Y/N," the sound of your name immediately makes his head turn towards his brother.

He approaches Anthony and snatches the envelope out of his hand. He practically tears it open and quickly unfolds the letter:

Ben,

I just read Lady Whistledown. I hope you know that what she says can never be true. You have so much worth and not because you are a Bridgerton. You are a man that spreads kindness and warmth wherever he goes. You have so much love and passion for your family. You also possess an amazing talent in the arts that I have never seen before. Whoever you marry will be lucky to have you as their husband because I have no doubt in my mind that you will do anything and everything to make them happy.

Never mind what that horrible Whistledown has to say. She knows not of who you truly are.

Best,

Y/N

PS. I do miss your company terribly. Perhaps we may meet in our secret spot tonight?

Benedict places the letter on the desk and proceeds to start pacing along the study. Anthony immediately reads the letter and then looks up at his younger brother, "She did not mention about you being disappointed about the engagement. This is a good thing."

Benedict shakes his head, "Or a bad thing. That she does not return my affections and therefore, is ignoring them."

Anthony chooses to ignore his brother's dramatics, "I do hope you choose not to meet with her." Benedict stops his pacing and gives his brother a guilty look.

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose, "She is engaged to Lord Montclair. If someone sees you-"

"No one will see us. I assure you, brother, when we say it is a secret spot, it truly is a secret spot." she swipes the letter from the desk and folds it back up, slipping it into his chest pocket...right over his heart.

_______________________________

Your day was exhausting. Aunt Eliza allowed you a few hours of solitude, however, she proceeded to drag you out the house to begin planning for your wedding. You spent almost two hours at the modiste picking out fabrics and styles for your trousseau. Your head was hurting and you didn't want to stare at a roll of fabric for the next month.

You also went over what food will be served at the luncheon after your wedding, the colors, etc.

You felt a bit somber as the day went on. You always imagined doing this with your mother when you were younger. It hurt your heart to think about all the things you two never had the chance to do. However, you are grateful for Aunt Eliza. She has stepped up to take up a parental role while your father wasted his days away at the men's club.

At dinner, you started to become nervous. It had been so long since you've spent time in Benedict's company. You knew you couldn't be seen together a lot around the Ton, so in secret was what you had to resort to.

Once you knew that everyone in the house was asleep, you slipped out and crept your way to a small pond that was surrounded by trees and hedges.

You and Benedict found it when you were children after you two pulled a prank on Anthony. It was only you two that knew of the place. All of the overgrown grass and trees deterred people from wanting to go through. But not you and Benedict.

Wrapped in your cloak and you dress from dinner, you weave your way through the overgrown branches and leaves, eventually leading to the pond. Benedict was already there waiting for you and you couldn't stop your heart from beating a little bit faster.

Benedict turns when he hears the leaves and branches breaking under your steps. He gives you that shy yet charming grin that makes many of the women of the Ton swoon...you included.

"Evening," he nods to you.

"Good evening and thank you for meeting me. You didn't have to."

He shrugs, "Might be the only way I get to see you now."

You wince, "I am sorry for pulling away. Surely, you understand, right? I mean," you chuckle, "All of the Ton, Whistledown included, thought we would end up together. If I continued to be in your company, it would have further hurt my chances of finding a husband. And I needed to make haste and-"

"Would it really be all that bad?"

"Would what exactly?"

Benedict shakes his head, "Nevermind."

"Ben," you place a hand on his arm, "Can we just...just pretend like I'm not engaged and be like how we were before this mess happened?"

Part of Benedict wants to say "no", that you two can never go back to how it was because he loves you and he's going to lose you in two week's time. But the other part of him, the part that always yearns for you, that thrives in your presence, the part that reminds him of when he was young and realized that he wanted to be around you forever, that part of him was louder than the former.

"Of course," he replies breathlessly and slips his hand into yours, pulling you towards the old tree where you two made makeshift swings.

You look at the ropes, now aged from time and weather, "Do you think they're safe?"

"I suppose we shall test them out," Benedict says as he goes to the swing that he designated as his, cautiously lowering himself onto the large branch that he used as the seat.

The wood creaks but doesn't snap under his weight. He pushes himself back and swings forward a few times until the branch snaps in two.

You gasp as Benedict falls to the ground with a thud, a surprised expression his face. You two stare at each other for a few seconds and then you burst into laughter.

You continue to laugh as you join him on the ground, "Are you alright?"

"A bruised ego and probably a bruised bum, but otherwise, I'm okay," he looks at you with an embarrassed look, but also a playful smile.

You giggle more, scooting closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder, "Good."

Benedict leans his head against yours, "Thank you for your letter."

"You're welcome. I wanted to see you to talk about it, but my aunt said it wouldn't be wise. Didn't want to potentially give any more reason for Lady Whistledown to write about you."

He shrugs, "It could have been worse."

You two sit in a comfortable silence, listening to the crickets chirp, the fish in the pond occasionally come to the surface and splash water around, and the sound of breathing between you two.

[gghostwriter]

Poison Me, I’m Fine

Spencer Reid x Songwriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your choice of poison was Spencer Reid. Who knew he would kill you and set you free in the process

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: I feel insane for writing this in one sitting and not editing it. There's no part 2 for this, I just wanted to purge myself of this angst plot that took over me. This is probably the closest I could write to a singer-songwriter reader x spencer, granted she just writes for other pop stars (maybe I'll write some popstar!reader next time idk yet.) Also, 'Free Now by Gracie Abrams' and 'The Black Dog by Taylor Swift' was on repeat when I wrote this so you can spot some inspiration from both here. Hope you like it!

Main masterlist

You don’t know why you settled for less. Why you opted to walk on a blurry tight rope, why you chose a crumbling place to land on, and why you chose to enter a situationship that will end in heartbreak. Actually, scratch that, you do know why. Spencer Reid, that was enough reason for you to put yourself on the line. Or it was until your treacherous, greedy heart wanted more. 

Does she follow like an echo? Like your shadow, you can try, but you can't run

It started with hushed whispers. Your mind slowly poisoning itself with what ifs and scenarios where he was fully yours, just like how he unknowingly owned you—mind, body, and soul. Whispers of—wouldn’t it be nice to visit this museum again with Spencer or he’d love this newly opened vintage bookstore around the block or it’d be nice to see the stars with him right now. You tried to cleanse those thoughts away but that’s the thing, poison that has entered your bloodstream is hard to remove. 

It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time It's a shame that I memorized your outline

It morphed to vivid imagery next—hallucinations so life-like that you found yourself believing it half of the time. Portraits of him and you holding hands as you both walked down the streets, phantom outlines of you together swaying close to muted music, and shadows of you and him twisting in bedsheets. All untrue, except for the latter. You attempt to blink them all away with no success. Your heart reluctant to part with the delusion than face the truth—that he had only offered you his body and nothing else.

Every page that I wrote, you were on it Feel you deep in my bones, you're the current

It seeped out of you next—to your writings, to your works as if your body was doing its best to reject the poison away. To save itself from the nearing death that seemed inevitable in the end. Your poetry, your lyrics, and your art all contain entangled webs of metaphors and colors that lead back to him. Purple streaks on your canvas to represent his favorite, his beloved authors mentioned in your verses, and symbolisms of his career scattered all over—cuffs, guns, shot and everything in between. You tried to pour it all out of you, the dark and sticky emotion of despair and longing covering you and all extensions of you. Everyone noticed the change. The dimming of lights in your eyes and the shadows that threaten to swallow you whole. Everyone noticed—your family, friends, colleagues, and even the pop stars that buy your singles. Everyone except for the one that could save you, Spencer. 

It turned into screams next. It was as if your body gathered all its remaining strength to shout for help or to howl in pain, you’re not sure really. All you’re sure of was that the end was near. The end was coming to free you from everything—from him. The trigger was overhearing him discuss you with his friend and male co-worker during a run-in in his apartment where he had no choice but to introduce you. Six months of pseudo dating him and no one knew you existed.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, wanting to escape the tension emitting from the situation and when you came back, that’s when you heard it. The lethal blow to your already dying heart.

“She seems nice,” his friend, Morgan, commented.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s no Maeve—not as deep but she’s—she’s safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering lest you whimper out loud the pain his words has caused you.

Donning on a fake smile on your face, you watched as Morgan left with a wave goodbye to you and a casual ‘see you again.’ Not like that would ever come true.

Within seconds, you felt your mask cracking as tears slowly trickled down your face.

“I love you.”

They say the truth sets us free but not this truth. All it did was crash, burn, and pulverize your already precarious stacks of sticks that represent you and him. 

Silence.

“You know, when we first started this—whatever this is—I promised to myself that I wouldn’t fall for you. That this was purely physical, sex,” you sardonically laughed. “But you know what I realized, that you were easy to fall in love with. So easy that I found myself ruined even before I could comprehend where and when it happened.”

“We agreed, didn’t we? That we would tell the truth and stop when feelings are starting to get involved. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You roughly swiped away the tears. “I didn’t know when it happened, Spencer! I thought if I stuck it out long enough, you’d feel something for me too! But that was foolish of me to believe. I see it now.” 

“See what?” 

You walked towards him, invading his personal space. The same way he did with yours. “That you’re not ready. Honestly I’d prefer if my opponent was standing in front of me. At least I could gauge if I had the chance to win. But with her, she’s gone, Spencer—” you jabbed your pointy finger on his chest, where his heart was. “I’m fighting with a ghost who I can’t even land a hit on. A ghost who haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Tell me, Spencer, how do I compete with that—when I feel there’s little to no space for me. I exist only in between and in your limbo when you’re craving for a physical companion. How do I win, Spencer? Tell me or should I just throw in the towel?” 

“Y/N—”

His eyes contained the answer and although it wasn’t what you were wishing for, it was what you subconsciously knew you needed to free you. 

You nodded your head. “I guess—I guess this is it, huh. End of the line for us.” 

“I guess so.” 

You gathered your coat, haphazardly strewn on the floor—just like the pieces of your shattered heart and as you stepped out of his threshold, you gave yourself one last chance to memorize his outlines.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” 

And finally, the poison had killed you and had set you free. 

If you feel like fallin', catch me on the way down Never been less empty, all I feel is free now