#i need to shampoo my carpets

[xreapurr]

. (Ignore tags, it’s vent.)

[reverieaudios]

I'm in the uncomfortable position of wondering if I should ask my former housemate why the carpet in her room reeks of pee. Specifically human pee. This is not dog pee. Human pee. In multiple spots. So much pee.

[bledf1rst]

recluse

[klemen-tine]

No Prince Charming

(Batfam x Mom!Reader)

Anonymous asked:

Hello, I really like your work.

I saw that you have an open request, so I want to share an idea that has been sitting in my head for a long time.

Reader married Bruce for convenience. (In my head, the reader is a woman, but I'll leave it to your taste) The wedding takes place shortly before the appearance of the first Robin. Bruce and reader have a cold relationship. Reader comes from the wealthy population of Gotham. Therefore, reader is well educated and intelligent. So after a while, when Dick already appears, reader understands what her husband does at night. But reading doesn't say anything about it or hint at it. The reader doesn't want to get involved in any of this, it scares her. And although the reader is planning a divorce, she takes care of all the members of her new family. And although she is neglected in the family, the reader becomes a parental figure for children. But the children won't admit it. When Damian appears, the reader doesn't say a word to Bruce. But Damian treats reader very badly. And that becomes the trigger. The reader slips Bruce the divorce papers.(not to mention that they are getting divorced, since Bruce is likely to protest) and when Bruce signs them, he leaves the estate, leaving the divorce papers and the wedding ring on the bed when no one notices. And only then does the family realize what they have done with their neglect of reader. Their yandere trait is waking up in them and now they need to somehow find their reader.

Sorry if it's too much.

And I apologize for the English, I am writing with a translator

❤

Warning: Non-consensual drugging, not descriptive sex. It's just mentioned, no details. Hinted at Dick's trauma with his sidekick.

It was a marriage of convenience. That's all it was. Bruce Wayne knew Y/N L/N since childhood, and while they weren’t close, Y/N was the only one who never treated him any differently after his parents were murdered. Maybe it's because her own father was murdered, and she understood that sometimes the greatest support was to act like nothing changed. 

Fast forward to young adults, Bruce Wayne was now Brucie in public, and Y/N was the unstoppable woman leading her own company by the reins. Bruce had come to her with an offer, one that had her brows raised and painted lips smirking. For Bruce Wayne, this will help solidify his position as someone who was not Batman, and for Y/N it would finally silence the hecklers that gnawed at her heels and bit into her shoulders. 

A frigid marriage, filled with cold greetings, Brucie still entertaining women, Y/N still controlling her company with painted lips, and rumors surrounding them. Despite the coldness, Y/N knew a lie when she saw one. She knows a front when she comes face to face with one, and it is why when she saw Batman in the hallways of Wayne manor, staring at her in shock and apprehension, she rolled her eyes and continued to sip her wine as she made her way back to her office. 

“Please don’t stain the carpet. Alfred just shampooed them.” They never brought it up again. Bruce was no Prince Charming, despite the front he put on for strangers. There were no whispered promises, no flowers, no gifts, nothing but ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes.’ 

Then, along came Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson. A child who had blinked up at her with large blue eyes, and Y/N could feel her heart crumble. She had welcomed him with open arms and smiles. She had welcomed all of the Robins in. Her manicured nails getting shorter each time, so she doesn’t have to fear hurting one of them, and her smiles became softer. Y/N had never tried to replace any of their mother’s, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like one. 

But it was Bruce they had a closer bond with. Which is why they started following his behavior towards her. Clipped words and rolling of eyes were common, as were the cold shoulders and tense silences. 

“You’re not my mom! So stop asking how school was!” Y/N stared at Jason in shock and curiosity about where that outburst had come from. Alfred was the only one to say anything. A stern, “Master Jason,” and a look that had even Bruce cowering had the young boy apologizing. Y/N ignored the way her heart slowly broke, as the quirky child full of smiles, sass, and who loved classics, turned his back on her. 

As if she wasn’t the one to introduce those books to him. 

Y/N doesn’t blame them for their cold behavior towards her. She doesn’t blame Dick’s disregard, Jason’s hurtful words, Tim’s cynical looks, Steph’s taunts, and Damian’s heated actions.  

Y/N had cried at Jason’s funeral, she helped Bruce fight for custody for Tim, she had consoled Dick after some of his own traumatic experiences, and she sat there and listened as Damian compared her and Talia. Talia, of all people. She had met the woman once, and Y/N had nodded at her. Y/N never judged Bruce for sleeping with the woman. Hell, Y/N would have too.  Y/N can recall the day Damian came to their manor, and the short look Dick had given her when she and the child made eye contact. 

Y/N doesn’t know if it was a look of concern or mockery, but she knows he did look. 

She was there for Richard when his trauma with his sidekick happened. He may have never told her, but Y/N is a woman. A woman who has known people that have suffered the same way Dick has. That are still suffering like he is. 

“I’m sorry Richard.” 

“What do you even know?! You know nothing! Absolutely nothing so just butt out!” Dick glared at her with blue eyes that had put the arctic water to shame. Y/N stood there and took it all. She stood proudly with her shoulders back and chin up. 

In public, she was a stoic mother keeping the children in check while Bruce goofed off. She was the woman who failed her children, because she chose to continue running her business. Her very, very, very successful business. A business that had taken her and her mother from the bottom of High Society, to the top 10%. A series of great investments, smart marketing, and pretty words have lined her pockets with money that she could easily retire on. 

Yet, all that money couldn’t save her mother. The woman died of a heart attack, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Y/N could do besides bury her mother. 

“Bruce please.” 

“I am busy.” 

“I know but Bruce, this is my–” 

“Ask Alfred.” He had turned his back and Y/N was stuck staring at the retreating man with a new feeling of heartbreak. The tabloids ate up that she was alone at her mother’s funeral. A private event that no one was allowed into besides close family and friends. 

When she came back, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, Damian had picked the time to make his disdain known again, “–and my mother would have never let herself go like that. You look horrid, unbefitting of a Wayne. A disgrace.” 

Blank E/C eyes stared into raging green and she sighed, “Thanks, Damian.” She spared him no glance after that, and she walked towards her bedroom to take a hot shower. It was there, under the hot spray of water that she finally cried. She cried for the last part of family she had, and the years she lost from marrying a man who didn’t even like her enough to attend a godforsaken fucking funeral. She cried for the children she couldn’t even call her own. 

She cried for the life she missed by marrying Bruce fucking Wayne. 

“Honey, are you happy?” 

“Of course Mama.” 

“You never could lie to me sweetie.” Her mother kissed her forehead and looked into E/C eyes with nothing but love, “You’ve worked so hard, sweetie.” That acknowledgement alone had her almost in tears, “But please start working for yourself now.” 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N hopped out of the shower and called her lawyer. Divorce papers were in her hands within 24 hours, and her bags packed in 3. 

She stood next to Bruce, ignoring the scowl on his face as she ‘disrupted’ his work. Y/N kept her face neutral, because if she smiled it would give it all away, and handed him the page he needed to sign. 

For a billionaire and for a vigilante, he sure didn’t read the damn paper. Which is fine. Great even, because now, after being here for over a decade, Y/N is free. She laughed in her room, laughing so hard that it almost tore her throat. Leaving a copy of it on Bruce’s bed once he was gone, she grabbed her suitcase and accidentally ran into Alfred on her way out the door. 

The old man took a look at her clothes, her bags, and her expression before sighing, “Shall I drive you for the last time, Lady Y/N?” Y/N smiled, bitterly at the thought of leaving Alfred, her only solace in this cold mansion. 

“To the airport, please.” The ride was silent, and Y/N didn’t look back as they left the gates of the mansion. It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Y/N spoke up, “My lawyer will call in a few days, just to hash out the details.” 

“Is that so?” 

“There’s nothing I want. No assets, no money, nothing will be taken, I just want a divorce.” She just wants the law to recognize that she is not a Wayne. That she will never be a Wayne. 

“Lady Y/N, perhaps a check for compensation for the emotional strain would be nice?” Y/N laughed, bitterly and sad, “I don’t want his money. I want nothing to do with him anymore.” 

“And the kids?” 

“They don’t need me. They never did. I doubt they will even notice.” Gotham International Airport wasn’t crowded, and that may be because it was 1pm on a Tuesday. Alfred helped her with her bags, and the old man stared at the woman before him. He remembers meeting her for the first time, a confident young woman who had a way with words and was unfairly intelligent. Matching wits and able to speak confidently in a room of people who thought little of her. 

It's good to see some of that coming back. 

Y/N hugged Alfred, “Thank you, Alfred. For everything.” The older man sighed and watched as the woman took her bags and walked away. Not once did she look back and Alfred decided to stay until her form disappeared in the building. He sighed heavily and when got back in the car, he dialed a number he knew by heart. It only took three rings before the voice of the man he raised answered, “Alfred, is everything okay?” 

“Master Bruce, I fear you may have lost something precious, and I do hope you, and the young masters, have a plan to make this up to them.” He hung up afterwards as he merged into traffic, and he hoped his message finally hit something within his son’s dense skull. 

When he returned back to the manor, he began the preparation for making dinner. All was silent throughout the manor, until the door opened and the rush of the footsteps began marching towards him. 

“Master Richard, I urge you to not run.” 

“Bruce told me there was an emergency and to hurry to the manor?” Alfred sighed, “While it is an emergency, it is not one you can fix on your own.” No, this was something for Bruce to fix seeing tha all the problems stemmed from him. 

Dick raised a brow, “What kind of emergency is it?” Alfred pursed her lips, “Miss Y/N Wayne is now Miss Y/N L/N once more.” He turned to look the man he has considered his grandson in the eyes, and he could see the revelation sink in. 

“Y/N divorced Bruce?” Alfred nodded, “The papers have been signed.” 

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Alfred raised a brow, “They are signed and waiting for him to read.” Dick slowly walked out of the kitchen, “Is she still here?” Alfred turned back to the food and Dick began speed walking towards Y/N’s room. As a child it never occurred to him why they would they never slept together, but as he got older he understood. 

He knocked on her doors, calling her name like he used to as a kid. 

Dick had always understood that Bruce’s and Y/N’s relationship was not one of a couple in love. He also understood that Y/N’s treatment in the manor by the residents of the manor was unfair. Whenever he could, he would correct Damian’s harsh words, but even he himself couldn’t fully bring himself to be all that kind to her. 

He tried. He desperately tried, because he saw all that she did for them behind the scenes. He saw the mistreatment and judging looks others would give her as her ‘husband’ was out fooling around. 

Dick saw the blank look she had given Damian after her mother’s funeral. The one none of them had gone too. 

“What do you mean you didn’t go?” His voice panicked as he talked to Tim, “I didn’t go. I was under the assumption someone else would go.” 

Y/N could have been Gotham’s biggest bitch, but not even then would she have deserved that. What made it worse was that Y/N was not a bitch. She wasn’t cruel, or unkind. She was as much of a philanthropist as Bruce was. Always aiding those whose needed it and desperately trying to make Gotham a better place. 

Dick opened her doors and was greeted with an empty room. Gone were the picture frames, and the closet was empty along with the bathroom. Her prized jewlery, the things she took care of almost obsessively, all of it was gone. 

He could remember beng 9 and sitting next to her as she cleaned one of her sapphire earrings. Thin fingers with long nail held the earring next to him, a scrutinizing look on her face before she would break out into a grin, “As I thought, nothing could ever compare to our Dickie’s sapphire eyes.”

“Holy shit.” 

“What’s going on- why is Y/N’s room empty?” Tim looked throughout the room, and Dick could see the wonder across his younger brother’s face. Right, between all of them, Tim and Y/N had the least amount of time spent together. 

Dick stared at his brother as the image of Y/N smiling at a string of pearls entered his mind. She had explained to him when he asked that pearls, while feminine, also symbolized new beginnings. She had gotten it when Tim’s custody was signed over to the Waynes. 

“She’s gone.” Tim met Dick’s eyes, “Like… taking a vacation gone?” Dick gave a humorless chuckle, “She divorced Bruce, Tim. Y/N is gone.” This must have been what Alfred saw when he broke the news to Dick. The confusion and then realization coming to light in those blue eyes. 

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Dick had said the same thing, and yet here she was. Gone. As if to emphasize his point, Dick made an exaggerated expression and motioned to the empty room. 

Tim looked around and he could feel a headache forming, “Bruce is gonna be pissed.” Dick groaned, “Fuck Bruce for a second, the only stable-mentally healthy-adult figure that isn’t Alfred is gone, Tim.” The boy didn’t look all that bothered, “Well, if she’s happier then I don’t mind.” 

Of course he doesn’t mind. Why? Because this little stalker most likely knows where she’s going. Tim did a good job hiding it, but Dick was raised by Bruce. He is trained to spot the mciroexpressions of people, and even if they are his own siblings. 

Tim is panicking. The very thought of Y/N leaving had not once occurred to them, and for Tim who loves planning, this was not once ever in the plans. 

Not once. Y/N had been a staple within the manor, and to imagine her not being here was rough. Evenw hen she left for business trips, it was fine because they all knew she was coming back. SHe would come back with souvenirs, handing each of them something that reminhded her of them, before running upstairs to get out of the family’s judgemental line of sight. 

“Fucking hell.” 

++++

Bruce entered the condo with ease. His steps light as he walked through the dark room, noting the all the furniture. There was no Y/N in the living room or kitchen, but when he looked out the balcony door, he could see her back. She was leaning against the edge of the infinity pool, without doubt a hot tub of some sorts because it was too cold to be swimming in a regular pool. 

She didn’t even turn around to look at him, her attention focused on the view of the snowy mountains and raging seas in front of her. Bruce could see the wine bottle left on the side of the pool and the glass that looked like it was finished only a short while ago. When she did turn around, E/C reflected the stars and dimly lit light around the pool, making them shine and sparkle like they were the galaxy.

Bruce isn’t blind. He knows Y/N is an attractive woman who had many people lusting after her even when they were married. Talia even made a note of it, “You should see if she wants to join next time.” He should have known that his clipped response was a sign. 

It was all there, and yet he did everything within his power to ensure that he would not fall in love with her. Falling in love has always been out of the question, and when Y/N came into his life, Bruce made it his mission to do just that. The woman before him had never complained, and she never seemed to fault him for it, but he could tell there was resentment. If he couldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love with her, he could have at least offered her friendship. One that made life more bearable for the both of them, and set a good example for the kids. 

“What are you doing, Bruce?” She didn’t seem shocked that he was here, let alone in her vacation condo. Bruce took off his shirt and pants, stripping down to his boxers before joining her in the hot tub. He had grabbed two glasses of wine before doing so, handing her one and taking a sip from the other. 

 “Is it wrong of me to want to join my wife on her vacation?” 

“Ex-wife. The documents are signed, and besides this is a girl trip.” Bruce re-read those documents and kicked his foot for not fucking reading them when he first signed them. He should have known she was up to something. 

“Y/N, come back to the manor.” He stared into E/C eyes as she took another sip of the wine. Bruce had come with a speech prepared, ready to convince her to come back with him, but it was all lost as he stared and observed the woman in front of him drink delicately from the glass. Y/N L/N has always been a woman of class, even when she was near the bottom of high society. It wasn’t her good looks that landed her in the top 10, possibly even top 5%, and like every classy woman, she was only allowed to regret a few things. Their marriage is one, but leaving is not even an option on the list of things she wants to regret but can’t. 

He knows this. She knows this. 

And yet, Bruce could only focus on how beautiful she looks, and how beautiful she would look sprawled on the silk bed sheets. Y/N has aged like fine wine, looking even more beautifully and worth more and more with each passing year. Aging gracefully and beautifully as the years passed and still catching the attention of others. 

It's a shame his younger self was more into whiskey than wine. 

He wonders how different their relationship would be if he had gotten to know her before and during the early years of their marriage. Without a doubt it would be easier to talk to her. Easier to convince her to come back to a manor that now misses her.

“And why should I?” It’d be easier to answer her with a compelling reason, one that would have her actually debating on whether or not to come back. Bruce reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and he’s shocked that she even let him do that. She didn’t flinch, nor did she lean into his touch. Y/N stood still as he moved the H/C lock behind her ears. 

“The manor misses you.” He’s never heard her laugh the way she did in that moment. Throwing her head back and exposing unblemished skin to the night air as she laughed, and continued to laugh. Her shoulders shaking from the force and slightly distilling the wine. 

Once she was done, her cheeks were red from the laughter and she was gasping for breath, “Yeah, okay. So Alfred misses me, I’ll make sure to give him a call then.” She turned her back to Bruce and began walking towards the edge of the pool. 

“The boys, girls, and I do too.” Chateau Petra was on his lips and the feeling of cold wine hitting his face and upper chest had him closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Y/N’s wine glass was empty and on her face was a hard expression. Cold E/C eyes glaring into his as she pulled herself out of the pool, and grabbed the rest of the wine bottle. 

“Sleep on the couch. You’re going home tomorrow.” Her steps quiet as she stalked into her home and she headed for the bathroom. Bruce sighed, and stared at the night sky with a new look in his eyes, ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’ He would like to believe that he is above this. He wants to believe that this was the worst case scenario happening and therefore this needs to happen. 

Has to. The very thought of Y/N being away caused an itch to form under his skin and a burning fire in his chest. A fire he never knew blazed in him until it went out. Now, more aware and protective of it, Bruce found himself craving the warmth in ways that had his mouth foaming and muscles tensing. He looked down at the water and saw the red wine diluting and sprawling throughout the pool water, looking like blood for only a second. 

A smile curled on his lips and he pulled himself out of the pool water, drying himself off before making his way into the shower with his ‘ex-wife.’ They may have never been lovers, but they were two adults living under the same roof. 

So, of course they have had sex. 

Hate sex is the best and worst sex. It is the best because Bruce can go as hard as he wants to and Y/N will love it. It is the worse because hate sex is all Y/N will see this as. Y/N will only see it has hate sex and not for the love Bruce feels for her. She won’t feel it in the way he caresses her skin or in the way he leaves his bite marks on her thighs. All Y/N will see this as, is hate sex. 

Which is fine. If hate sex is what Y/N needs to see this as to work then Bruce will take it. He has time. He has plenty of time to show her how much he cares and loves her. Those divorce papers will be long gone, every single one of those copies non-existent. He loves her. He loves her in the way a cactus loves the sun, or how the stars love the moon. 

Bruce was so enamored by her, that he couldn’t help but to fall deeper. Her soft hands, that have never broken a bone but have broken many hearts, cradling scarred shoulders and sharp cheeks. She didn’t flinch when his own rough hands gripped her’s, bruising and secure, and she didn’t flinch when intense blue eyes met hers. In fact, she smiled, like this was all a joke he was the butt of it. 

It pissed him off that even she could have secrets and inside jokes that he doesn’t know about. As she laid there, her eyes now closed and body relaxed, Bruce pulled out a syringe filled with something that will keep her asleep. Only for a few days. Barbara is already working on getting rid of the divorce papers and the kids were preparing for her return. 

Bruce kissed her forehead, smiling down at his Sleeping Beauty. If need be, the manor will be her castle and the kids her vines covered in thorns. Bruce, in all his daunting and terrifying glory shall be the dragon, keeping her locked within her castle because nowhere was safer than the castle. Only she could keep him calm, and only she could make him feel human. 

Batman was never Prince Charming.

_________________________________________________________

Not my best work in my opinion... but I still like tbh.

@problematicreblogger

@kurai-hono-blog

@rosecentury

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 6•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Everyone comes clean.

About this: some explicit talk about consent and non-consent.

-

Johnny insists that it will be easier for the three of you to talk in the ruined bathroom, which is how you end up in the bathtub. A part of you thinks that Johnny should be the one in the tub (he’s the one limping, after all), but he had taken the broom from your hands and insisted on sweeping up the remains of the ceiling tiles himself. 

“Don’t need two good legs to work a broom, hen. Be reasonable,” he’d said with a roll of his eyes. 

Simon keeps busy at the other end of the bathroom sopping up the standing water that threatens the bedroom carpet. With nothing to do and no one who would accept your help, you had minimal options: sit on the closed lid of the toilet or curl up in the empty tub. 

At least in the tub you could draw the curtain shut and retain a little dignity. 

“The bathroom needs major reconstruction,” Simon says, the close quarters and tiled walls making his voice sound as if it is coming from every direction. Not that you mind, with a voice like his. You take in this news while examining the bottles of soap and shampoo nestled in the nook of the wall, reaching out quietly to take one and pop the cap open. God, it smelled like Simon did after his post-run showers, woodsy and clean. You inhale deeply. “So we’re down to one bathroom for the next few weeks.” 

Your belly swoops with relief: they weren’t kicking you out. You peek out of the shower curtain, soap held out of view, and maybe it is partly that outlandish relief that has you saying: “That’s not so bad.” 

Simon stares, kneeling on the tiles, wet towels all around him. “It’s an invasion of your space and privacy.” 

“Yeah, who knows the sort of girly things you keep hidden in there,” Johnny says. 

Simon shoots him a dry, unamused look. 

“I don’t mind sharing,” you admit (thank God you’d hidden the only real incriminating item before Johnny had used your bathroom). “My last roommate and I had to share while we lived together. We just locked the door and tried to respect each other’s time. I’m sure the three of us can make it work.” 

“We’ll have to,” Simon says, sounding about as thrilled of the prospect as a man might be of the electric chair or other unwilling euthanasia. He turns his dark, all-seeing eyes on you. “What is it that you needed to talk to us about?” 

You pull the curtain shut abruptly. With care, you sneak the soap back into its former position and hope that Simon won’t notice it’s been moved. Your hand shakes while you do. You’re horrified to feel tears of embarrassment and shame filling your eyes, grateful for the cover of the shower curtain as you palm the tears away before they can fall. Even if they weren’t planning to kick you out, it made you feel no less shameful about what you had done on the car ride home.

“I just feel terrible about last night. What I did to you, Johnny—and you, Simon—it, it was trashy to say the least. I mean, it was predatorial—” 

The soft rasp of the broom’s filaments against the floor stops. 

“Preda—? Alright, I’m coming in there.” Johnny draws the curtain back, frowning down at you. You don’t want to imagine the sight you make: curled up in his bathtub, eyes red from rubbing them raw. He turns himself sideways and sits on the ledge, wincing as he does so. Ever attuned to Johnny’s needs, Simon reaches out and helps him adjust his leg into a more neutral position. “What’s all this? Yer no predator.” 

“You tried to stop me.” Your voice is thick, cracking at the edges. 

“I didn’t say no, not in so many words—” 

“You didn’t say yes either, Johnny,” you remind him. “If a man had done to me what I did to you last night, you’d break his teeth in.” 

Johnny’s face twists into a grim expression. “Aye. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t right what you did—but I get a say in it too, don’t I? I get to decide what happened to me, and I don’t feel like I was taken advantage of. Jesus, I could have stopped you if I hadn’t wanted it so bad.” 

“I think you’re—” you pause, blinking as Johnny’s words make it through the fog of your own self pity. Your eyes flicker to Simon, unsure if you had heard correctly. Simon gives nothing away, his eyes reminding you of cool dark rooms, if only you could find a lightswitch to illuminate them. “Johnny, did you just say—” 

“Is it easier if I shut the curtain again?” 

“Might be.” 

“Alright.” Simon helps him stand and Johnny tugs the curtain shut again. “Let me preface this by saying that you can say no to the likes of us, fer any reason, explained or otherwise, and there won’t be any consequences! But since the day you moved in, we’ve felt a chemistry with you that we haven’t felt with many people before, and we wanted to know if you felt the same way.” 

Chemistry. That was one way to put it. Overwhelming attraction and unshakeable fondness was another. While you knew that the three of you got along well enough (and more than once Johnny had referred to you all as friends), it loosened some tight, anxious muscle in your chest to know that they felt the connection too. It wasn’t just wishful thinking on your part; there was chemistry.

“What sort of chemistry?” you ask, adjusting yourself into a more comfortable position.

“There’s more than one?” Simon mutters. 

“I mean, there’s chemistry in a friendly way or a more romantic way—” 

“A sexual way,” Johnny suggests. You jolt and accidentally bang your knuckles against the porcelain of the tub. Hissing, you cradle them against your chest, mulling over his words.

Your mouth feels almost too dry to speak. 

“Right. Well—yes, I feel…that.” In the back of your brain, a tiny fire burns, fueled by disappointment. You try to smother its flames before it grows out of control and threatens to burn up your higher reasoning. Not every relationship needed to be centered around romance; this was the twenty-first century. You were perfectly within your rights—some would consider it smart, even—to have physical relationships without the complication of emotional aspects.

You’ll keep working on convincing yourself. In the meantime: “So you’re saying you want to have sex.” 

“I’m open to taking things slow and seeing where they lead,” says Johnny.

Dimly you remember something: some night spent curled up on the couch, your head lighter than air, listening to Johnny and Simon talk beside you. Something about their conversation reminded you of this moment, but the more you tried to remember, the more it slipped through your fingers like sand. 

“All of us?” you ask, noticing Simon’s pointed silence. 

There is shifting on the other side of the curtain. You see shadows moving through the thin plastic and fabric, like the two of them are trying to have a silent conversation with only hand gestures. It does nothing for your nerves. At length, Simon says: “Not me. Just you and Johnny.”

Your heart does a strange dip, like a bird changing course and soaring toward the ground. You feel strangely, stupidly hurt by this, though you couldn’t put into words why, and you wouldn’t want to even if he asked. It was within his rights to say no. Hadn’t you just learned that lesson?

“Are you sure you’d be okay with that?” you ask. Simon had never come off as a jealous sort of type (and you imagine that a jealous type wouldn’t last long with Johnny anyway, not with the way the other man liked to flirt), but everyone had a limit. You weren’t sure that if the situations were reversed you could be so affable. 

“Someone needs to keep a clear head,” he says. “I’ll be the designated driver.” 

Maybe he’s right. If you truly plan to sleep with Johnny, maybe it will be best to have someone in the apartment still as detached as possible. 

“Thanks, I guess,” you say, trying to force a little humor into your voice. “I think I proved last night that I don't make the best decisions under the influence.” 

“You did make the best decision,” he says solemnly. “You called me.” 

Johnny’s hand appears from around the edge of the shower curtain. Grinning, you stretch out to touch his fingers with your own and lace them together. It’s a little awkward, but most new things are. His hand is warm and gentle, and you could get used to it. 

“We’ll take it slow, yes?” 

“Alright.”

“Glad we’re on the same page. Lunch?” 

“Definitely on the same page there.” 

“Get out of my tub then.”

-

“Hey. Stay back.” 

Feeling a little like a student asked to stay behind after class, you watch with envy as Johnny slips into the living room to call for takeout, leaving you alone with Simon. You don’t get to spend a lot of alone time with Simon, and that time is usually spent in companionable silence as he reads. Nerves bubble in your belly, wondering what else he could have to talk to you about that he wouldn’t want to say in front of his husband.

“What’s up?” you ask, aiming for nonchalant. 

“I’ve got a rule,” he says. “One for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Don’t fall in love with Soap.” You blink up at him. Of all the things you could have imagined him saying, this hadn’t been on the list—though perhaps it should have been right there at the top. “I know how easy he is to love. But I also know that this is going to end at some point, one way or another. Let's not let it end up a mess. That’s my advice. As the driver.”

“Just friends,” you clarify around the knot in your throat. “Believe it or not, I was thinking the same thing. This is all just for fun, right?”

Simon stares at you hard, like he is trying to see through you to the door behind you. You hope your face is arranged into something neutrally appropriate but know that if it isn’t, it’s already too late. 

“Right,” he says at length.

-

The night ends softly, with something mindless and easy on television. Simon sits on the floor with his back against the base of the couch, head against Johnny’s knees. Johnny lays outstretched across the couch on his side, one hand reaching down to rub at his aching thigh now and again. All while you sit curled up in the armchair, watching the television half as often as you watch the two of them. 

They’re beautiful. There’s something about the way they contrast with each other, the darkness and the light, which you find aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes Johnny slips his fingers into Simon’s hair and scratches softly at his scalp, and you get to watch the relaxed, blissed-out expression creep over Simon’s face at the stimulation. 

The domesticity of it does something to you. Deep in your chest—in between your legs. It’s time for you to call it a night; there’s a toy in your room with your name on it (not literally). Joints creaking from disuse as you stand, both their heads swivel to look up at you, making your heart squeeze fondly. 

“I think I’m tapping out for the night,” you admit. 

Simon wishes you a goodnight. 

Johnny says: “Where’s my goodnight kiss?” 

You feel zapped, suddenly wide awake. “You…want one?” 

Johnny nods. He tries to sit up but can’t find the leverage, face twisting in pain. 

“No,” you tell him, “You stay there, I’ll come to you.” 

Walking around the coffee table, you come to kneel beside Simon at Johnny’s head. Your chest feels tight, blood thrumming with nerves. You can’t help but glance toward Simon who hasn’t changed positions except to angle his body towards you both a fraction more, his eyes dark and shadowed. 

“Alright, hen?” Johnny asks. 

“Yeah,” you murmur. 

He reaches out to cup your cheek, his palm warm, thumb stroking along the length of your cheekbone. Steeling your nerves, you lean down and press your mouth against his. His lips are soft, warm as you give him the simplest, chastest kiss. He keeps you there, searching for more, tilting your head with his hand until the angle serves him best, parting his lips until you can taste the lemon from the tea Simon had shared with you both earlier that night.

His tongue sweeps across your bottom lip and your thighs shake, weak in the knees from holding yourself up. You grip a fistful of the couch cushion beside his head and meet his tongue with your own, a soft little dance, familiar steps but a new partner. He exhales, the breath fanning across your cheek, and something about that makes the ache between your legs so much worse. 

You break away. Your fingers find his hair, soft dark strands that slip through your fingers like silk. You whisper: “Johnny.” 

“Just a little more, please,” Johnny begs, and you can’t say no when you want it so bad.

You meet him open mouthed, shifting on your knees to make yourself more comfortable—and you brush against Simon seated beside you. It has you pulling back, sucking in a breath. You can’t help but look at him with wide, guilty eyes, only to find him watching you with quiet, earnest intensity. His mouth curls at the edges into the ghost of a smile, though why he would be smiling, you couldn’t say. 

Meanwhile, Johnny sighs, brushing his thumb against your lower lip.

“Chemistry,” he says, mouth red and kiss-swollen. 

You silently agree. 

[fcthots]

I log onto tumblr sometimes just to see your posts lol, and I love all the smut content, but I was wondering of you’d write something for a reader who isn’t feeling up to having sex one night, and they’re worried about how Jason will react but instead of being pushy about it Jason just cuddles the reader and affirms that they’re valid?

(I might be going through it a bit and feel this would be nice to read)

Thank you!! Also I think I needed this too lol

He was running on that post patrol adrenaline rush that leaves him looking for any outlet of release. Usually one in particular. You. He comes in through the window of the living room and lets his boots thudding on the ground be your warning. Before he even closes the window, his helmet is taken off his head and dropped to the carpet. He’s usually so careful about his precious equipment but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The clatter of his helmet is loud, much louder than his boots. You can hear it from under the water of your bath. You lift your head above water, and by the time you clear the water from your eyes, he’s standing in the doorway. His chest is heaving. You can see the tight coils of his fists, the lines of tension in the shoulders, the clench of his jaw. You know what he’s looking for.

But tonight isn’t the night for that.

You don’t stop him when he kneels on the ground by the tub and takes your dripping face between his hands, or when he kisses you with the enthusiasm of a starved man. His hands trail from your face to your neck and then trail down your collarbones, and down more. You pull away.

His hands stop. His face tilts like a confused puppy. There is a slight worry in his eyes, and unspoken what happened.

The words are hard to find. “I don’t um. I don’t think we should-. Maybe it would be-.” His hands trail down to yours. He holds them in his and gives a light squeeze, an encouragement, a go on. “I just don’t quite feel up to it tonight.”

He gives you a small smile, one reserved for you and you only. He gives your hand a gentle kiss, and then your cheek. “Ok. That’s alright. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

You search his eyes for any sign that he might be lying. You can’t find any but just to be safe, you ask, “are you sure?”

He tilts his head again and smiles. “Of course I’m sure.” He moves his body to make himself more comfortable sitting on the ground. He brings his elbow to the lip of the tub and rests his chin on his hand. “So what have you been up to while I was gone?” The easiness of the question makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy. There’s just something about the casual tone in which he says it, like he wasn’t planning to fuck you not even five minutes ago.

“I’ve just been in the bath.” You swirl some of the water around for emphasis. His nose scrunches when a few droplets of water hit his face. You try to hide your laugh.

“The whole time?” You were hoping he wouldn’t ask. You’ve had to rerun the water a few times after it got cold. You just couldn’t get yourself to get started for some reason.

“Yeah.” You watch the calculating and searching look in his eyes. He doesn’t ask why. You don’t want to explain, not right now.

“Do you want me to wash you? I don’t mind. If you’re ok with it that is.” He moves to sit on the lip of the tub. You just watch him.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He’s already answered the question, but doubt lingers in the back of your mind.

“I’d be happy to. My hands really need something to do right now. Washing your hair would help.”

You smile and nod as you bring your knees to your chest. You wrap your arms around them and drop your head down to watch him reach for the shampoo. Maybe it was something in his training, but that man is incredible at scalp massages.

[mirohlayo]

TO THE MOON AND BACK

( Oscar has always dreamed of giving you the moon, because it's his greatest proof of love. )

warning : cute fluff

note : I'm currently on vacation in Cambodia and I was sick for like 4 days because of the food so this may not be very well written but I hope you'll enjoy it !!

word count : 744

“One day I will go and get the moon for you.” The little Australian, barely 5 years old, was smiling at you, proudly pointing at the natural satellite in the sky. Your big puffy cheeks were now all red, as stars formed in your eyes. “Would you really do that for me, Oscar?” The boy looked at you tenderly before nodding. “Of course, y/n. We are best friends, and this will be my greatest proof of love for you.”

You remember this day like it was yesterday. Little Oscar, still young and innocent, who dreamed of giving you absolutely everything and anything, but especially the moon. This luminous star which represented you quite well indeed. You often met at night, on the roof of your house, to admire the beauty of the starry sky.

It's been a tradition since you were 5 years old, and that tradition hasn't changed at all. You didn't really know why but you loved admiring the greatness size of the world through the stars and constellations. This amazed you a lot when you were little. And it still amazes you.

And 18 years later, here you are together, in the silent night. You were lying on the red carpet that adorned the grass, in each other's arms to warm you up. It was calm and very quiet, you could hear the cicadas in the distance. But the grandiose sky offered you its most beautiful wonders and its greatest secrets.

Oscar played peacefully with your hair. He was trying to be discreet, but he couldn't help but smell the scent of your shampoo that he loved so much, trying to sneak glances to take in your beautiful face. He felt at peace like this, lying with your body in his arms. “When are you going to get the moon for me, Osc?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and that's why you yourself were shocked at your initiative in asking it.

You were referring to this kind of promise he made to you 18 years ago, because you have never forgotten it in all this time. As a little girl, this sentence had an impact on you. Seeing your young best friend say these words, like he was going to bring the moon back to your hands, was something simply incredible.

But, here you are 18 years later, still without this star lurking in the sky. You knew it was impossible, and you teased him about it, you knew very well that your best friend could never afford to get the moon. And yet. “I already took it down, y/n.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that sentence. Your eyes met his. And he lost himself in their sublime beauty.

"I have already taken it down to put it in my heart. So that you can finally admire me as you admire it every night. So that you can offer me the beauty of your eyes every time you look at it like you look at me. So that I can enjoy your smile that appears every time you hear about it like you hear about me. I put the moon in my heart so that you can love me as much as you love it. I want to be this star and this light that makes you happy, love." He pauses.

A sweet laugh breaks out in the silence of the night, Oscar's sweet laugh. “So yes, I think it’s silly but I can say it, I love you to the moon and back”. And you stayed there. Moved, speechless and paralyzed. You didn't know what to say or do, as Oscar seemed to savor every second that passed. His smile absolutely wouldn't go away, just like the sound of his laughter.

But he expected a certain answer all the same. He was afraid, afraid of your reaction. He was apprehensive. But it was by seeing the pure love in your eyes and the real smile that you showed him now, that he understood that you didn't need to say more. He had understood in the silence of the night that you certainly loved him more than this damn moon. And that you loved him to the moon and back too.

So deep down, he was proud. Proud to have taken down the moon to let the stars shine in the reflection of your eyes. Proud to have done it to illuminate the most beautiful woman in the world.

[drawing-prompt-s]

Here is a run through for anyone living in an apartment (or a house you rent).

But mostly an apartment because your local Promphet is back 7 months later ready to throw hands with the staff here - so make sure you're covering your own butt like I have needed to!!

MOVE IN:

People are not kidding when they say that you need to be doing a walk through and recording the condition of the apartment prior to living in it. If you can do it with management present then do so as well.

If your apartment/unit/whatever you live in provides damage sheets (to list everything wrong prior to move in) do not forget to take pictures of those sheets prior to turning them in. Just in case they get "lost" by management (sure sometimes it can be legitimate, but sometimes..... doubt). SAVE THOSE PICTURES + the apartment pictures/videos in a separate album.

DURING:

If you live with a roommate - even if it is room rentals with a shared common space - and roommates keep damaging things, take pictures and videos, tell management and do so/follow-up via email. Make sure that you have a physical trail of what and who is is responsible.

MOVE OUT:

Make note of any damages or issues with the apartment that need to be rectified (light bulbs, loose knobs on a washer, etc.)

Take videos and pictures before, during, and after the cleaning and moving everything out of the space. Do not forget to open cabinets, doors, drawers, etc. All of it.

Show the date, if you have a friend then try to put yourself in the video.

If you can do a walk-through with management then do so as well - make sure things are pointed out. Before you turn keys and things in make sure there is nothing else that they need covered. Like I got lucky today and the manager was doing walk throughs while i was in the middle of cleaning and she said everything else was golden, she just wanted us to shampoo the carpets because they looked a bit stained - so that was taken care of.

Side note I figured out today that might help:

When doing carpets, if you feel like you're not getting everything up, or even if you do, I suggest doing the following: get some carpet conditioner (I picked a pet one) and a toilet scrub brush. if you (or your friends) can get on your hands and knees and scrub it in then you will be astounded by what comes up. Mostly hair. There was so much hair.

We essentially did the following: broom sweep, vacuum, conditioner and scrub it in, and then vacuum again.

------

Brought to you by an angry former tenant who is fighting because management is trying to charge me for an apartment I lived in 7 months ago when I just moved out of my new unit.

-- Prompt Prophet

[thatlittlered]

i want you | logan howlett

warning(s): afab!reader if you really squint, cursing, immense and unbelievable heartbreak, spoilers for Logan (2017)

GIF by anonymous

author's note: I'm back where I came from writing x-men fanfiction and naming chapters after songs, life has truly come full circle. I could sit here and write some smut, talk about how much I want lick Logan (Hugh Jackman in general) from head to toe, OR I could break all of our hearts so guess what I chose :)

This is going to be a series so let me know if you want to be tagged.

-.-.-

It’s embarrassing; shameful, but he needs to have something.

Charles has to know about this little habit, somewhere in his few moments of clarity.

It’s practically morning when he comes back from work, but the water is running. He lingers; he always lingers when he realizes it’s you behind that door. He tells himself it’s typical animal behavior, he’ll guard you like the dog he is.

Today he’s not even good at that. His legs can’t hold him up any longer.

His feet take him to your room.

It’s probably the only part of this godforsaken place that smells nice. Almost feels like a real home in here, with your fresh cotton sheets and plush comforter. He won’t sully them, so he sits on the floor instead – a proper dog.

He should just fucking die already. Just send you off to a better life and die.

It’s what he deserves and long overdue.

You wouldn’t leave him though, and you most definitely wouldn’t leave Charles, or to be exact, what measly bits are left of both of them.

What a fucking waste.

You find him asleep there. Exhaustion took over when he leaned back against your bedframe, yet his body doesn’t seem at rest. Where can peace be found if not in sleep?

You sit next to him, now clad in soft pajamas and he’s already awakened by the smell of your shampoo before you call out to him.

“Logan?”

He blinks once, twice.

Even his eyes are not working properly these days. Always a little out of focus.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

He gives a half-grunt and moves to get up, but a brave hand on his thigh stops him. He surrenders to your insistence and the warmth of your fluffy carpet under him.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Of course, you are. You never sleep.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You can take my bed if the problem is the mattress.”

You watch him pinch his nose. Can’t be sure if he’s annoyed at you or himself.

“It’s not the fucking mattress, sweetheart, alright? I’m rotting from the inside out, no bed on earth can change that.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that.

It’s no secret to any of you that Logan has been struggling as of lately. He won’t speak of it, won’t ask for help. He's Atlas and the world is slipping.

“Did you need something?”

He doesn’t look you in the eye anymore, you notice.

“I was just checking up on you with how much time you spend in the shower. What do you even do in there?”

“I like it. It makes me feel normal.”

Logan merely hums in response. His hand reaches for the flask inside his pocket in a well-practiced motion.

“Is that whiskey?”

Of course it is.

You can make out his little smirk in the dim lighting. The odd little bit of humanity left in him that you always seem to attract. The tenderness they’ve tried time after time to rid him of.

“Can I have some?”

He watches you drink and lick your lips clean; admires your little frown at the taste. Decades alive and you’ll never grow used to it.

Your hands brush as you hand it back—an intentional act on your part—and he jumps. A shiver runs through him when it turns into a caress. Your hands are so much softer, so much gentler. A feather touch on his knuckles where the pus has begun to gather.

He should just fucking die.

“You should cut down on your hours. I can get a job, something part-time.”

His laugh is angry. It’s cruel and unnecessary.

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, but what does it matter?

“No need, bub. No point in it either.”

“You can’t go on like this, you know that.”

He drinks and drinks until the flask is almost empty.

“You should go somewhere else entirely; somewhere they won’t find you easily. Maybe your trouble will be worth something there.”

Maybe you’ll even have a life there.

“Is that what you think? That I’m here out of necessity?”

Logan chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“That’s why we’re all here, doll, but you- it could work. You should leave.”

Leave him. Never look back.

“It won’t. I won’t – I can’t.”

Something invisible tugs at his heart. Your glassy eyes, your loyalty.

Argos waited for Ulysses till death. For which master do you endure?

“For what? For whom, Charles? He’s barely even himself anymore, he doesn’t recognize you half the time. What’s the point?”

“So, he’s right, you’re just waiting for him to die.”

He falls silent again. The words cut deep.

“What about you, Logan?”

“What about me?”

“I should just leave you behind?”

It can’t be the heat, it has to be the alcohol, but the air is getting thicker in here.

He practically tears his suit jacket off. He’s usually nicer than this, always respectful of your efforts. The neat way you iron his shirts. Your ways of taking care of him.

The booze has started to get to him lately, as every other thing. He feels it now as it slurs his mind and speech. A shadow of his former self in every way.

It makes it even harder to look at you.

“I’m dead fucking weight. If you knew what’s right for you, you’d run and never look back at this shithole… you certainly don’t need me either.”

“I don’t stay because I need you, Logan. I stay because I love you.”

It’s hard to breathe. There’s unease in the way he holds your gaze and he almost looks small for a second. It doesn’t last. He’s quickly an animal again, now wounded and hurting. His growl is sign enough.

“Don’t say that.”

“Logan-”

You reach for his hand, but he doesn’t let you. He tries to stand up. His legs don’t listen.

What a pathetic excuse of a man he’s become.

You reach for him again when he lands back on your floor.

His voice is small and quiet, “Shit, sweetheart. You can’t fucking say that to me.”

He’s practically shaking in anger. Or sadness. Whatever this is, it’s overwhelming.

It’s easy to give up and lean into you; face landing on the softness of your middle.

“You can’t-you can’t say that to me.”

He can hear your heartbeat so clearly, it’s almost deafening when he presses his ear to your stomach. Everything hurts.

“I love you.”

You see his eyes close gently.

He wants to lose all his other senses, if only for this moment, if only to focus solely on the softness of your skin. The gentleness of your fingers when they gather in his hair.

“It’s okay, Logan.”

He only looks up when you take his face in your hands. You can feel his breath on you. All you can do is look at each other. His hand comes up to your shirt and lifts it, just enough for his lips to touch there – just this once.

He only needs this one thing and he’ll be good for the rest of his pitiful, miserable life.

“I have things I need to do.”

You only nod.

You offer your hand, but he doesn’t take it, drags himself upwards instead. The moment of weakness has passed.

“I’m going out. You should get some rest, don’t forget to lock the door.”

There is no point in arguing or asking where he’s going. He needs to be away from you.

“I won’t.”

He nods back at you, but avoids your eyes as he leaves. He’ll sleep in the car tonight.

Just this one little thing might be enough.

[soulofapatrick]

All The Time In The World - Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: You got kidnapped and in the aftermath you need Hotch to erase it all

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: mentions of attempted r; hurt-comfort; ptsd; fluffy and angsty

Notes: I need to be stopped 🤣 I do plan on writing more Spencer but Hotch has my whole attention rn 🤣

Y/N’s POV

I stand under the cascading of water, the heat searing my skin as if it could burn away the memories etched into every fibre of my being. The events of the last few hours replay like a horror film in my mind, each scene more vivid than the last. 

I can still feel his hands, vile and invasive, creeping under my shirt, his putrid breath hot against my skin as he loomed over me with that twisted grin. The terror of those moments claws at my insides, threatening to consume me whole. But just as I thought I couldn’t fight him anymore, voice raw from screaming and back burned from the carpet below me as I fought to escape, my team burst through the door like avenging angels, their precise shots shattering the nightmare and saving me from the abyss. 

The water pounds against my skin, relentless, as if trying to wash away the stain of his touch. I scrub furiously, desperately, but the memory lingers, staining my skin with it’s foul residue. The sob claws it’s way up my throat as I scrub and scrub. I must have made more sound than I realised because Hotch’s gruff voice, filled with concern, pierces my cloud of panic. 

I manage only a small sound in response, my arms still wrapped protectively around myself, a feeble attempt to shield myself against the unseen horrors that haunt me. 

“Do you need anything?” His voice, usually firm and commanding, is now softened with empathy, a balm to my wounded soul. In that moment, I realise what I truly need. Without hesitation, I find the courage to voice my plea, a fragile whisper that hangs heavy in the air between us. 

“Join me.” I choke out, the words barely escaping my lips, carried by the trembling breath of desperation. I long for his presence, for the solid warmth of his body to chase away the chill of my fears. In him, I seek refuge from the darkness that threatens to consume me whole. I hear the hesitant shuffle of footsteps outside the shower curtain, a tentative response to my plea. And though the moment hangs in fragile uncertainty, I cling to the hope that he will hear the silent plea beneath my words, “Please, Aaron.” I whisper, the weight of my anguish heavy in the space between us, a silent prayer for him to bridge the divide and offer me solace in the midst of my despair. 

The bathroom fills with a heavy silence, broken only by the soft exhale that escapes Aaron’s lips. I hear the subtle rustle of fabric as his shirt hits the floor, followed by the metallic clang of his belt buckle hitting the tiles. Each sound sends jolt of panic coursing through my veins, a stark reminder of the nightmare I’ve just escaped. 

But then, like a lifeline cast in a storm, his arms wrap around me from behind, strong and steady, pulling me back from the edge of despair. I release a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, the tension in my body melting away as his chest presses reassuringly against my back, a silent promise of safety in his embrace. 

His touch is gentle deliberate, as he silently pries my hands from where they cling desperately to my shoulders, nails biting into flesh in a futile attempt to anchor myself against the chaos within. I have to close my eyes against the onslaught of memories, tears slipping unbidden down my cheeks, each drop a testament to the agony that lingers beneath the surface. The scent of shampoo fills the air as Aaron reaches past me, his movements fluid and sure, retrieving the bottle provided by the hotel. 

I can’t help but tremble as his fingers thread through my hair, the sensation both soothing and agonising in its tenderness. His touch is a balm against the rawness of my wounds, a silent offering of solace in the world torn asunder by violent and fear. He works in silence, his hands moving with practiced ease, each stroke a silent prayer for healing, for redemption in the wake of tragedy. And though the tears flow freely, each drop a testament to the pain that will hold me captive for a long while, Aaron’s presence a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that he found me and saved me. 

But, even as he tends to me with such care, such tenderness, I can still feel the ghost of the UnSub’s touch lingering upon my skin, a stain that no amount of scrubbing can erase. It’s a thought that threatens to overwhelm me, to drown me in a sea of despair and self-loathing. 

As Aaron's hands tenderly cover mine, completing the ritual of washing away the remnants of terror that cling to my hair, I am consumed by a wave of overwhelming emotion. His touch is a lifeline in the darkness, a steady anchor in the storm raging within me. But even as he tends to me with such care, such tenderness, I can still feel the ghost of the UnSub's touch lingering upon my skin, a stain that no amount of scrubbing can erase. It's a thought that threatens to overwhelm me, to drown me in a sea of despair and self-loathing. 

And then, in the aftermath of my turmoil, Aaron’s arms encircle me, drawing me close as if to shield me from the pain that threatens to consume me whole. The weight of his presence is both a comfort and a burden, a reminder of the fragility of my own resolve in the face of unspeakable horror. 

My knees buckle beneath me, the weight of my grief too heavy to bear alone. I am lost in a tempest of sorrow, screaming sobs echoing against the tiled walls of the shower as Aaron cradles me in his embrace. Sobs so loud I’m sure the rest of the team can hear them from where they’re waiting on the other side of the bathroom wall, scattered across Aaron’s room. Aaron… He sinks to the floor with me, a silent promise that he will never let me fall, never let me drown in the darkness that threatens to engulf us both. 

In the sanctuary of his arms, I find release, the floodgates of my anguish opening wide as I surrender to the pain that has haunted me for so long. I’m adrift in a sea of memories, each wave crashing against the fragile shores of my sanity, threatening to pull me under. 

"It- I-" I choke on the words, my chest heaving with the weight of my sorrow, and yet Aaron waits patiently, his steady gaze a silent reassurance that I am not alone in my pain. And then, with a tenderness that takes my breath away, he presses a kiss to my wet hair, a silent vow to stand by me no matter the cost, "I can still feel him," the words are a whisper, barely audible above the rush of water, but they hang heavy in the air between us, a reminder of the scars that still linger beneath the surface.

“Do you trust me?” Aaron’s voice is a gentle murmur, a question whispered against the nape of my neck as his stubble brushes against my skin. I don’t speak, but nod, allowing him to pull me gently back to my feet. 

He turns me gently to face him, his russet eyes holding mine with a tenderness that belies the weight of the world we carry between us. There’s a gentlemanly grace in the way he looks at me, a silently acknowledgment of the wounds we both bear. And then, with a steadiness born of resolve, he reaches for the body wash, his fingers brushing against mine in a fleeting caress. 

I unfold my arms from around my was it, revealing the bruises and cuts that mar my skin, souvenirs of the darkness that still lingers within me. Aaron’s breath catches in his throat, a harsh exhale that echoes the pain written across his features. But there’s no hesitation in his touch as he picks up the shower sponge, his movements deliberate and unhurried, a silent promise of healing in the wake of devastation. 

He cleans me with a gentleness that borders on reverence, his hands tracing the contours of my body with a tenderness that speaks of love unspoken, of wounds too deep to fully comprehend. Each kiss he leaves upon my tingling skin is a testament to the intimacy we share, a silent vow to stand by me through the darkest of nights. 

But, even as the water prickles against our skin, a reminder of the heat that still burns within us, I find solace in the sanctuary of his embrace. His arms envelop me, a fortress against the storm raging outside, his face buried in my hair as if seeking refuge from the pain that threatens to tear us apart. 

I lean into his embrace, my head resting against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby in the chaos that surrounds us. In his arms, I feel small and fragile, but of so safe, cocooned in a love that knows no bounds. I want to hold onto this moment forever, to lose myself in the warmth of his touch, in the safety of his arms. But, reality intrudes, a harsh reminder of the world waiting beyond the confines of our sanctuary. 

“The girl?” My voice is a whisper against his chest, a question that hangs heavy in the air between us. He acknowledges it with a sound, a subtle shift in the air that speaks volumes of the burdens we both carry. And then, with a tenderness that pierces the silence like a knife, he steps away, turning off the water and pulling back the curtain. The moment is over, a fleeting glimpse of paradise in a world torn asunder by darkness. 

In the soft glow of the setting sun, Aaron stands like afire carved form marble, illuminated by the golden rays streaming through the window. His silhouette is a study in strength and face, even contour etched with the delicate touch of twilight. The light dances across his broad shoulders, casting shadows that play upon the sinewy muscles of his arms as he dries himself off, a vision of masculine allure bathed in the warmth of dusk. His dark hair, tousled and unruly, frames his face like a halo. His hazel eyes, molten gold in the fading light, fix upon me with a tenderness that steals my breath away, the corners crinkling with the ghost of a smile that sends my heart ablaze.

I can’t help but drink in the sight of him, from the proudest arch of his brow to the curve of his lips, each detail a testament to the beauty that lies within. My gaze lingers on the expanse of his muscled chest, the rise and fall to his breath a hypnotic rhythm that draws me in, until my eyes trace the line of his body, down past his happy trial to the heavy length settled between his thick thighs that has my eyes widening as he’s big. My mind going to what that would feel l-

“Eyes up here Princess,” his voice, low and commanding, pulls me from the reverie, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a command that I dare not disobey, though the temptation to linger upon the sight before me is almost unbearable. With a sheepish smile, I lift my gaze to meet his, the warmth in his eyes melting away the chill that lingers within, “Let me just get dressed, then I’ll give you a hand, okay?” His words are a  a gentle reassurance, a promise of solace in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty that threatens to engulf us both. I nod in silent acquiescence, my heart pounding in time with the rhythm of his footsteps as he crosses the room.

Each movement is deliberate, purposeful, as he slips back into his clothes, the fabric falling against his skin like a lover's caress. And as he draws nearer, his presence envelops me in a cocoon of warmth and safety, a sanctuary in the midst of chaos. Every touch is a symphony of tenderness, a silent declaration of love that transcends words. In his embrace, I find refuge from the storm that rages within, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us whole. 

As Aaron kneels before me, his touch a gentle caress against the bruises that mar my skin, I’m overcome by a flood of emotions too powerful to name. Each stroke of his hand is a silent prayer for healing, a testament to the depth of his compassion in the wake of tragedy. His lips leave sweet kisses in the wake of his touch, a balm against the wounds that still linger beneath the surface. I watch as his eyes flutter for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability in the depths of his gaze, and in that fleeting moment, I see the depth of his love reflected back at me. 

With trembling hands, I cup his face in my palms, the warmth of his skin a welcome embrace against the chill that still lingers in the air. There is a tenderness in his touch, a reverence that speaks volumes of the bond that binds us together in the aftermath of despair. And then, with a courage born of desperation, I guide his face down, my heart pounding in my chest as our lips meet in a chaste kiss. It is a moment of vulnerability, of raw emotion laid bare in the quiet sanctuary of our shared grief.

As Aaron pulls away slightly, his eyes search my face with an intensity that takes my breath away. In the soft glow of the dimly lit room, I see a myriad of emotions flickering in the depths of his hazel eyes – love, longing, and a hint of vulnerability. 

His lips brush against mine once more, a silent question lingering in the space between us. And then, as if drawn by an irresistible force, he leans in again, his kiss infused with a newfound passion that ignites a fire within me. I feel the heat of his touch against my skin, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine as our lips meet in a tender embrace. There is a hunger in his kiss, a longing that mirrors my own, as we lose ourselves in the depths of our shared desire. 

But even as the intensity of our passion grows, the kiss remains gentle, tender, a silent affirmation of the love that binds us together. In the quiet sanctuary of our shared grief, we find solace in each other's arms, our hearts beating as one against the darkness that threatens to consume us whole.

“That’s enough Princess, you need your rest. We have all the time in the world for this.” Aaron breaks the kiss, albeit reluctantly to help me finish getting dressed as my heart jackhammers in my chest but this time not from fear but from anticipation. 

With his help, I slip into clean underwear and a pair of his oversized tracksuit bottoms, their warmth a comforting embrace against the chill that still lingers in the air. He tends to my hair with a care that speaks of love unspoken, his fingers deftly weaving it into a bun as if to shield me from the chaos that threatens to consume us both. I make a mental note to ask him where he learned such a skill, a reminder of the mysteries that still linger between us, waiting to be unraveled in the quiet moments between storms. 

And then, with a quiet resolve that belies the weight of our shared sorrow, he holds out his shirt from the day before, a silent offering of strength in the face of adversity. I meet his gaze, the unspoken bond between us a lifeline in the darkness that threatens to tear us apart. With trembling hands, I slip my arms through the fabric, wincing at the ache that still lingers beneath the surface. He helps me button it up, each touch a reassurance that I am not alone in this battle, that together, we can face whatever demons may come. And as he leads me towards the door, the rest of the team awaits, their concern a silent testament to the bonds that bind us together in the aftermath of tragedy. 

As Spencer's eyes meet mine, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirls within their depths, threatening to spill over in a torrent of tears. His words hang heavy in the air, suspended between us like a fragile thread on the verge of breaking. JJ's grip tightens on Spencer's arm, her own expression a mirror of his turmoil, while Emily's hand flies to her mouth in a silent gasp of shock and disbelief. 

Morgan's jaw clenches with a fierce determination, his gaze a steel blade slicing through the tension that hangs thick in the air. Rossi's expression is stoic, a mask of controlled fury that belies the storm raging beneath the surface. And yet, despite the turmoil that threatens to consume us all, they remain steadfast by my side, a silent testament to the bonds that bind us together in the face of adversity. 

I shift uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of Aaron's embrace. His arms are still wrapped around my waist, a shield against the storm that rages within and without. 

"I-I don't want to be alone tonight," I whisper, the words a tremulous plea that hangs in the air between us like a fragile thread. And in that moment, it's as if a switch is flipped, the rest of the team springing into action with a sense of urgency that borders on desperation.

Morgan and JJ move with purpose, their movements swift and sure as they push the two double beds together, creating a makeshift sanctuary amidst the chaos that surrounds us. The others disappear from the room, only to return moments later with armfuls of pillows and duvets, their hands a flurry of activity as they arrange them with meticulous care. 

With a courage born of desperation, I turn to JJ and Spencer, my voice a tremulous whisper in the stillness of the room. "Will you sleep with us tonight?" The words hang in the air, laden with unspoken emotion, a silent plea for solace in the midst of our shared grief. They nod in silent understanding, their expressions a mirror of my own turmoil. Rossi takes the couch without complaint, a silent sentinel in the night, while Emily and Morgan settle themselves on the floor amidst the pillows and duvets, their presence a silent reassurance in the darkness that threatens to consume us whole. 

I nestle my head against Aaron's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby in the silence that surrounds us. Spencer's arm is thrown haphazardly across my waist, a silent vow to stand by me through the darkest of nights, while JJ's fingers brush against my hip in a gesture of comfort and support.

That’s how I fall asleep: My team, my family, surrounding me and the hope of something growing between me and Aaron in the future. Those words echoing in my mind. 

We have all the time in the world for this.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka @alexxavicry

[seattlesellie]

Can you write an ellie fic where she's getting off to photos of reader and moaning readers name and reader walks in on her

million times yes <3 ☁️🤍🐚🌫️

warnings: mdni!, masturbation, ellie’s a little bit of a weirdo, ellie gets caught.

Oops ♡

For you, being Ellie’s roommate was... hard. Unwashed dishes, the occasional sight of her boxer briefs messily laying around on the living room floor (“They fell from the laundry basket” she told), old crumpled yellow papers on the fuzzy carpet, an unwashed ashtray and a shit-ton of disorganized cards and pins adorning every single corner of the apartment.

But for for Ellie, oh, for Ellie it was even harder.

She always had a soft spot for things she’d never get. Your empty shampoo bottles never bothered her, neither did your habit of constantly forgetting to blow out the vanilla scented candles you lit once in a while, even after she told you they could be a fire hazard every. single. time.

What bothered Ellie, weren’t your complains, and neither were the repeating sounds and buzzes of your alarm clock followed by exactly eight hits on the snooze button (she counts, the walls are pretty thin).

What bothered Ellie, is that you didn’t give a single fuck about her. Or at least, that’s what she had convinced herself of.

When you’d lounge pretty on the couch, nestled within a cozy woolen blanket, your fingers tirelessly swiping and swiping and swiping through every single dating app known to man, she’d watch you intently, and stare.

It wasn’t because she was judging you, god knows she had a tinder phase herself (Amanda was her last straw. she said Ellie talked about her roommate “too much”, that she “needed to figure that shit out”, and then added a huff and a sigh followed by a “fucking lesbians, man”)

It was because she didn’t fucking get it. Could you not see what’s right in front of you? you didn't seem to... grasp the obvious. Don’t get it wrong, Ellie was not overconfident, and neither was she cocky. She just… noticed. She was observant by nature, and she knew, she was convinced shed never heard you laugh the way you do with her, with anybody else in the world. When your best friends were over for a girls night— even then, she would hear muted laughter and the occasional screech (barely audible over the backdrop of "The Smiths" blaring through her headphones) but never, ever, did that breathy, real, borderline on wheezing sound escape your mouth when you were with them. It was idly saved for her.

She’d take her earphones out— because perhaps she’d missed it, maybe she was delusional, maybe you did laugh like that— and then, plug them back in when she was met with silence or the gentle symphony of peaceful snores, and return to the solace of her music. She’d hollow in deep slumber, and have incredibly bizarre dreams of her pretty roommate roaming and floating around the apartment only in her underwear— and for some reason, a horn on her head. Dreams were fucking weird, man.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

“The Truman Show” played on tv. Jim Carey just made a funny face, and Ellie shoved another slice of greasy, brooklyn pizza in her mouth. She chewed, loudly (you sighed) and wiped her lips on her shoulder.

“I’d literally lose it if I found out my life was a tv show” you remarked, your eyes shifting from the remaining pizza to the flickering television screen.

“Meh” Ellie shrugged.

“I’d lose it if it was a video game though. Imagine if like— someone controlled every single movement you made… scary, man”

She huffed, and threw the pizza crust on the table. It fell on the floor. These fucking ants would come again, you knew they would! you gave her a stern look.

“Sorry” she softly sighed, and bent down to pick the crust off the pavement. Her boxers poked through her sweats, you looked across the room, and then you looked again. God.

“Plug you on their PS5, and go… ham and stuff” you giggled.

“Wild shit…” she shrugged. “Wild shit”

Jim Carey’s character just met the deepest corner of its own little world.

Ellie’s eyes were glued to the screen, even though she’d seen that flick about a million times.

You scrolled through your phone mindlessly. You know she hated when you did that while watching something with her— but you did it anyways. Something about the way her eyebrows scrunched together when she peaked at the screen through the corner of her eye always made your heart flutter. She pouted, and you tried to hide the way your lips curled upwards into a small smile.

“Should I post this on insta?” you questioned, handing ellie your phone. She took it in her hands, and the brightness was so high her eyes twinkled.

She bit her bottom lip, and then her top one.

“You’re like… half naked in that” she huffed. She wasn’t wrong, the bikini was so so tiny and the salt water covering your body, making it practically glisten in the sun, didn’t help the sensual undertones of said picture.

“I know” you stated.

She looked at you, and then looked at the screen again. Don’t look too long, she thought to herself. She handed the phone back to you, and stared at the television. Great, she just missed the best part!

“Is that a no?” you quipped.

“That’s a… who are you posting that for?” she tried asking casually, and mask her jealousy with curiosity.

There must be someone. there just must. Perhaps it’s for that girl you talked to on Bumble… shit, maybe its for that blonde from work or the one with the long braids that waved to you for too long who Ellie had made her arch enemy. Or maybe it was for that fucking ex girl—

“Why would you think I’m posting it… for someone?”

Ellie sighed, and rolled her eyes.

“Cause you look good in it.”

She gulped, and moved a hair strand from her face. it itched, all of a sudden.

“Or like— you look naked or something.”

You rolled your eyes back, and yawned.

“Is that a no?” you questioned.

“No what?” she snickered.

“Is that a no i shouldn’t post?” you removed a microscopic piece of lint that landed on her hoodie, it made her shiver.

She let out a shaky breath, and toyed with the string that hung loose from her black nike socks.

“Why are you askin’ if you’re gonna post it anyways?”

You smirked. For some reason you couldn’t quite put your finger on, sometimes, conversations with her weren’t exactly easy.

“Who said i’ll post? I asked you because I needed your advice”

“Sure” she stated, and slid off the couch.

“Post it” she crossed her arms.

You nodded. post!

You already had one like. Oh, it’s that blonde girl from work. fire emoji, winky face emoji, red heart emoji. Nice!

“M’going to bed” she groaned, and shoved a tiny mushroom in her mouth.

“Ugh. gooey”

You looked up from your phone, and shut it off with a click.

“But you’ll miss the best part!” you pouted.

“Tired” she shrugged. Her face scrunched together. how is she so fucking adorable.

“M’kay… night!”

Ellie dragged her body across the dim lit living-room, and almost slipped on one of her socks.

“Mmmmight” she mumbled.

“Say it nicely!” you yelled across the room, it echoed.

“Good nightttt”

The door slammed shut. Ellie sat down on the bed, and stared at the wall. She cracked her knuckles, one by one, and threw her head back on the mattress, wrapped up by green flannel sheets. Her head landed on the pillow with a soft thud, and she took a long, deep breath. She wasn’t even tired, why did she lie?

That image just took over her brain again. She had only glimpsed it briefly, not truly absorbing its details, before reluctantly handing the device back to you. If she stared any longer— her cheeks would burn a bright pink.

The screen of her Android glowed in the darkness, so she grabbed it. Always on silent mode.

A message from Joel; “Got Maria to iron some of your clothes. remember Janet from across the street? She passed away last week, LOL (lots of love).”

Ellie scratched her eyes, chuckled, and took a screenshot. no fucking way.

A message from Dina; “can u send me some lives on candy crush?”

Followed by another one;

“send them right now or die”

So she scrolled some more.

Instagram; “dinawoodward, jessethekinggglol, courtneycameron and others liked this post!”

She tapped, and thats when her eyes popped out of her head. she suddenly felt parched. She looked around the room— that water-bottle she kept from two weeks ago after a trip to the local bodega must be around there somewhere.

It was not, so there you stood, almost half-naked, a playful smile gracing your lips, the sun-kissed sand partially covering your stomach, and the gentle touch of saltwater caressing your chest. A pair of brown sunglasses adorned your face, with the serene sea standing still in the background.

Ellie blinked once. And then once more, and then she zoomed in.

Her face twitched, and her breath hitched inside her throat. It felt as though her breath had been captured and confined, held hostage within her, struggling to find its release.

She double tapped, and began typing;

“If I could, I’d fuck the shit out of you”

She stared at her keyboard, and breathed deeply. What would happen if she, actually pressed send. Would you come barging inside her room and throw something at her? the green colored vase, maybe? or would you delete her comment, pretend it never happened and move on? perhaps you’d think she was just fucking around, and scold her for typing something like that where everyone could see. “You’re such a creep, el!” she could almost hear you say it. And she could almost feel the way your palm would slam right into her shoulder and nudge it her the side. It made her ears feel warm.

She zoomed in on your tits. Ellie’s face flushed a pretty, dusty pink.

Then, she zoomed in on your stomach, and her nipples perked up inside her hoodie. They grazed the material softly, and she let out a shaky breath.

When she zoomed in on your smile, she smirked at the screen. it made her feel warm and fuzzy and happy and she hated every minute of it. “Never gonna get it” echoed in her ears, a reminder of the "truth" tugged at her heart.

When she zoomed in on your covered cunt, she nearly went cross eyed. She could almost see the outline of your lips— or was she tripping?

Her cunt clenched around absolute nothingness inside her boxers. Was she… getting fucking wet over this?

She gulped, as waves of guilt washed over her. and then, she zoomed in on your tits again, and she felt so turned on she couldn’t even remember what the word guilt even meant.

She heard the echo of your giggle reverberating through the corridor, filling the space with a sound that made her stomach turn. the rhythm of your footsteps grew louder, gradually approaching your room situated just across from hers.

Perhaps you chuckled at something amusing one of your fucking bumble buddies had to say. She lightly bumped her forehead against the screen of her phone, her lips pressed together, forming a thin line.

Your door slammed shut, and a tune began.

“you’re so gorgeous… i cant say anything to your face, cause look at your face…”

How fucking ironic.

“Shut up alexa!” you groaned at the device, causing ellie to stifle a giggle, before she felt the pool flow down her boxers.

The apartment descended into a profound silence, save for the sound of Ellie’s labored breaths echoing in the stillness. she leaned in closer, scrutinizing the image on the screen, alternating between zooming in and zooming out, and crosser her legs together.

When the imagination of your bare tits popped up in her mind, your nipple poking through as you held them together on the screen, it ached inside of her.

Would it really be so wrong if she…?

There was no real harm in it, she thought. It was either this, or close her eyes and rub one off in the darkness, and even then— she had a nagging intuition that you would somehow find your way into her thoughts.

Woudl it really make her that much of a fucking pervert?

Ellie groaned, and brought her knees up to her stomach. Her phone was still in her hand, and that picture teased, and teased, and teased till she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Fuck it. if she did this, she was going to do it right. And she needed to see it close up— and not through her cracked fucking screen she wasn’t bothered fixing for two whole weeks now.

She opened the screen of her laptop, and when she sat on the black leather rolling chair, It felt fucking uncomfortable down there. It was sleek, and she could feel her cunt slide off on the fabric of her boxers.

“Fuuuuck me” she hissed under her breath.

www.instagram.com

Right click.

Your profile, right click. Her hand held a tremor.

You were the focal point, the star of the show, illuminating her old, black HP laptop. The screen, adorned with a thin layer of dust, caught her attention. She leaned in and blew gently, causing the particles to disperse and float away.

She swallowed hard, her throat constricting as she continued to gaze intently. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to steady herself, but the inhalation felt jagged and uneven.

She brought a veiny hand to graze the fabric of her grey colored sweats, just above her clothed cunt, and she felt so fucking relieved.

And it still wouldn’t stop fucking pulsing.

she stared at the bikini, and rubbed her finger up and down slowly, cupped her cunt forcefully, slapped it and whimpered.

“Goddamn” she huffed.

She began tracing big, deliberate circles, her touch slow and steady, causing the fabric of her boxers to cling to her wet cunt.

She had to take them off.

Swiftly, she inserted her thumbs into the edges of her boxers, right at the level of her hipbones, and pulled them down in one fluid motion. The fabric gathered messily around her ankles. She felt so fucking nasty.

Ellie spread her legs, and gasped as the cool air hit her most sensitive place. She waited for a minute, mouth agape, teasing her cunt before she touched it. She swore she could cum with just squeezing in and out while staring at your face.

However, she could not tease herself anymore when those thoughts began forming clearer and clearer.

She brought a long finger and caressed her slit slowly from her hole to her puffy little clit. "Oh fuck yes" she hissed.

It started with thinking about your tits. Her mind wandered, and her hole leaked into the leather chair, forming a small droplet to lay down on it. She breathed heavily.

The thought of you, taking off that bikini top in front of her went through her mind. Slow, deliberate process of undoing its strings, so so agonizingly slow. When they spilled out, ellie let out a high pitched moan.

“Touch them, Ellie” you whispered in her ear.

“Please touch me…” you whined.

She gasped, took two fingers, her middle and her ring, and formed tiny, slow circles on her wet clit. Ellie spread her legs wide, and placed them on the table.

It looked absolutely obscene.

In reality, Ellie was touching herself to a picture on a slightly dusty old screen. In her imagination, you stood pretty begging her for more. Your fucking whines did it for her, and she didn’t even know what they sounded like for real.

You circled your nipples, pinched them and spat a glob of saliva, letting it streamline down your tits, teasing ellie so bad she was already panting. They glistened, and ellie latched on to them, sucking and spitting and whimpering groaning.

“So good Ellie...” you moaned, holding the back of her hand and pushing her deeper.

“I want you so fucking bad”

“Holy fucking shit” she hissed, and slapped her clit. one slap! two slaps! she was desperate.

“Fuuuck yes” she whimpered, and plunged a finger inside her aching hole. It sucked her completely in, clenching around her fingers. She gasped, and slid off the chair.

She was staring at your fucking cunt with her eyes half shut. she swore she could see those fucking lips.

Now, Ellie’s mind took a turn. You laid pretty on her bed, chest heaving up and down, legs spread completely open with a pink vibrator buzzing on your clit.

“Ellie!” you moaned.

“Fuck me... please please please"

She plunged a second finger, and bucked her hips inwards and backwards. She whimpered, and a shaky breath followed by the sound of your name escaped her quivering lips.

“Need you in my pussy… p—pretty please”

She swore she could hear you say it.

Ellie pounced on her bed and savored you whole. she bit your clit, sucked on it and got her entire face wet with your juices.

“God yes” she groaned, wet, squelching sounds filling the room. She pumped them in and out, and in and out again, whilst the other hand was circling itself fast on her needy, pulsating clit. Every few seconds, she’d slap it again, open wider and wider, bucking and riding them so hard she could almost see a supernova right in front of her.

The dull ache in her pussy grew bigger and bigger.

“You need me? fucking whore” she whispered under her breath.

Thin, shiny, sticky drool flowed from the corner of her mouth, it landed on the top of her hoodie.

“Yes Ellie… please Ellie need you in my pussy” She pumped them profusely, feeling your walls take her in like she needed to. When she pumped them inside of herself— That’s what she liked to imagine. It was you, who took her in. They were your walls, your wet cunt begging and screaming for more.

She felt it coming in the pits of her stomach. It grew bigger and bigger, like a wave, or a volcano, threatening to erupt and make her cream all over her chair.

“Ellie yesyesyesyes!” you moaned.

She circled faster and faster, her perky tits bouncing up and down with every movement of her hips. The chair squeaked, but she couldn't be bother to take it slow.

“Ellie?” your voice echoed through the corridor.

“Yeah baby s— say my fucking name, fuck” she hissed, her eyes completely shut.

“Ellie?”

God, it felt so fucking real. Almost there. She bit her lip, and it drew blood.

The door collided with the wall, hitting it with a loud thud.

“Ellie?”

“N— fuNgh”

She almost screamed so loud the gods could hear. she shut her laptop off before even pulling her fingers out.

She was going to fucking faint.

Her face flushed a deep shade of crimson, intense embarrassment radiating from her form, hands trembling uncontrollably, and the expression on her face was one of sheer horror— wide eyed.

She got caught.

"What..." you uttered, your voice trailing off as you stood frozen in place, your mouth agape. Your knees threatened to give way beneath you.

You shut the door.

Ellie, her chest heaving, struggled to catch her breath.

“Oh my—“

“God”

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

seventeen- can't you see the human in my being? warning: suggestive all over other than that enjoy yn+jake bonding!! and grab some snacks cus this is a long one

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

The feeling of cool water surrounding you is celestial to say the least, albeit the smell of chlorine that cuts through the small space sharply, it meshes with the fragrance of your shampoo. It’s a dizzying scent if you focus on it too much. You hum to yourself, the enervation that has been clinging to your body amidst your busy schedule for the past couple of days, slowly dissolves, becoming one with the droplets trickling down your skin.

From seemingly long and dreadful red-carpet interviews you watched Jake go through, a couple of runway shows accompanied by your messed up sleeping schedule thanks to the time difference. This relaxing time was much needed.

With the pool having an open rooftop, the moonlight seeps in, illuminating the dark, reflecting against the water as if tiny million diamonds are swimming alongside you. The sight brings a silly smile to crawl up your face. In this moment, your life doesn’t feel as tangible as the warmth spreading throughout your chest.

Your tranquil silence is heckled by the sound of a door sliding open, footsteps following. You swivel your head around, a startled expression overtaking your smile at the sight of Jake. An amused arch of an eyebrow coaxes forth his own surprise upon seeing you.

“Hey?” You speak, swimming closer to him. Your hair slicked back, your face bare of anything and a natural flush settling upon your cheeks. It’s a sight he was not prepared enough to behold stumbling from between his cold sheets.

Hence why it takes longer than essential for your words to penetrate his brain, stretching seconds for him to compose himself.

“I was wondering who the fuck is crazy enough to be swimming at 12 am. Of course it’s our precious bunny.”  He teases, a smile curling at the end of his lips as he sits on one of the lounge chairs, by the edge.

Precious

It’s unfortified, a scarce display of a sentiment that settles right atop your heart, evoking beats mellowed down to a mere hankering for him. It’s simply serendipitous despite the knowledge that you know he doesn’t mean it endearingly, not one bit. Not with the way mischief colors his grin. Yet, your cheeks obliterated with a darker flush, foolishly you could only pray it’s not visible enough for his eyes to catch it.

“I couldn’t sleep.” An all too adorable of smile spreads across your lips, Jake blames it on his lack of sleep as he eyes you wading to him, till you’re close enough to rest your arms upon the side of the pool, a sparkle matches the light emerging from the moon swims in your gaze, your sweet scent invisibly travels all the way to him.

“So, you decided to take a swim in the middle of the night?”

“Mhm.” You relax your chin in the palm of your hand “I had to call Niki as well. I haven’t talked to him ever since we landed in Paris.”

“How is he doing?” he asks, leaning back on the chair and his eyes growing half-lidded as he tips his head back, they’re growing unabashed, lowering over the length of your slender neck.

A knot forms in your stomach at the ferocity.

“He’s alright.” You breathe out, softly.

“Is it morning in Korea?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip and you, with enormous exertion will enough self-control not to let your eyes wander.

“Yeah, I think I called him in the middle of class but oh well.”

“You miss him?”

“a little bit. Is that too loser of me?”  you breath out a giggle, diffidently brushing a strand of your hair away from your face, even though it never moved out of place.

“it’s cute.” He replies, with integrity fettering his words. Your breath hitches ever so slightly, stolen by the fondness coating the air.

It’s a stillness that is unfamiliar yet welcome, twirled with the warmth of your chest and his peace of mind.

“You’re calling me cute?” he rolls his eyes playfully, a smile forcing its way on his face and your giggles turn discordant, evoking the air to sparkle with your effulgence.

“I’m saying you missing your brother is cute.”

“So, I’m not cute?” you push your lips into a pout, a strive to capture fallen praises from his mouth. He leans forward, pressing his index finger into the skin of your forehead, tipping your head back and you follow with ease, a lazy smile climbing up your lips.

“You’re annoying.” He jokes, leaning back in his chair.

“You said it so fondly I’m taking it as a compliment.”

Jake doesn’t say anything back to that, only tilts his head to the side with an enticing simper and you fall into tune with an amicable song. It’s plaited with stares brimming with desire, curls of his smile and the fluttering of your lashes. Induced with your cheeks glowing pink, your heartbeat remains abiding.

A silent movie that unfolds right amidst your eye contact.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”  you ask, a venture in tries to dissipate the tension daunting on you, you tell yourself it’s out of nowhere, yet the look in Jake’s eyes has been as transparent as ever.

Push and pull, a servant to overflowing lust.

It’s instantly deemed a failure when his silence stretches, his eyes are too busy watching you, too patently diverted with how inviting your lips look.

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t sleep for some reason.” he shrugs.

Perhaps it’s the way his pale skin almost glimmers under the moonshine that has your breath hitching. As if stars traveled for years only to disintegrate with enough force upon his first breath into the universe. Amassing atop his skin, in the flickers of shades in his eyes and in-between the black strands of his hair. Even with fatigue staining his undereye, evidence of his tossing and turning in the mess atop his head. Jake remains the most dazzling star you got the chance to behold.

Not dancing along to this all-too-familiar song of allure is impossible. You fall into step way too easily, it’s embedded with the way your own eyes cloud with desire, a bite to your lower lip as you attempt to push your breasts together with an innocent grin, induced with charm. His eyes flit down immediately, tongue darting out to wet his own lips.

“There’s gotta be a reason. Weren’t you pretty tired earlier?”

“Mm.”

“You should relax.”

“Oh? How do you think I should relax?”

“There’s a lot of ways to relax.”

“Like what baby?”

Ah fuck. You don’t expect it and it shows in the way your eyes widen, crushed rose petals traverse across your cheeks and triumphant blooms upon his just as strong. The endearment goes straight to your core. A fire slipping down your folds.

You avert your eyes for a moment in futile attempts to collect your thoughts, to not turn into putty under his stare. He remains ruthless with his intensity, your body growing impossibly hot.

When you look back at him there’s newfound seduction coating your lips, tilting them upwards.

“I don’t know,” you start with a shrug “Maybe you’re just hungry Jake?” Your words spill like candied sweets, melting his tiredness away and rendering his senses awake. His brows raising in pleasant surprise, galvanizing him into leaning forward.

“Famished.” He answers, quickly, no sense of hesitation.

“You should eat then.”

“I should.”

You smile with your eyes before your lips, even with air tinted red with lust. A hue of brightness surrounds you. It does nothing to the way he watches you with undevoted attention as you amble out of the water. You take your time, dawdling past him to grab your towel. The minutes ticking by agonizingly slow as you dry yourself.

His eyes run wild, in their own race against his sinful cravings, trailing all over your body with no shame to hold him back, submerged with ripples of heat, it’s in the fire setting a trail form him to you ablaze. Surging up with beguiling invitation. By the slowness of your hand’s movement, it’s clear you’re holding back your cards, leading with teasing batting of your lashes, darting stares and giggles.

However, tonight Jake has no time for premeditated moves.

He already bared them all on the table.

“Come here bunny.” He says lowly, an order lacing his tone.

“Where?” you ask, faux abstinence has your eyes widening in pureness. He sees past them all, pulling on his own end of desire with a raise of brow at you. Colored with lead that makes your mouth water.

Yet he still lets a chuckle slip, overtaken by merriment. He pats his thigh silently; it is more than enough for you to follow. You trudge towards him, his eyes growing heavier with each step, darkening with a daze of lust.

As soon as you’re within distance, his hand wraps around your hip, his thumb brushing over your tattoo with tenderness that has you exhaling.

“I forgot about this little guy.” He comments, eyes fixated on your hipbone.

“You hurt his feelings.” You retort in a hushed whisper, albeit impishness, you’re closer to stifling on the mere idea of him.

Keeping his gaze interlocked with yours he leisurely inches forward, his other hand curling around your waist and tugging you towards him and you allow it with adroitness dripping from the softening of your fingers pushing through his hair. His lips part marginally, just enough for him to place an open-mouthed kiss right over your tattoo.

“Sorry.” He murmurs halfheartedly, the twitch of his lips should annoy you like it always does and yet you don’t find it in you the same way you don’t find an answer to give back.

You’re mutilated, particles that only ever come together under his diverting touches of adulation.

At your silence, he kisses it again, closing his eyes as if to savor the flavour of your skin, as if decades have managed to mesh within the negligent hours of his workdays since the last time he felt your skin on his lips. It feels closer to that when you let a whimper out, your fingers tightening in his strands as his lips slowly travel up. With bruising kisses akin to infatuation seeping into your skin, whizzing with your blood. he leaves a trail of stardust behind, seared onto your skin with electricity that will surely remain for days.

“Jake.” You moan, overtaken with debility that has him groaning.

As if a coil that snaps, a tempest of lechery he cannot hold back anymore, his hold on you consolidates, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he pulls you to straddle his lap, your arms find his neck naturally and the proximity is enough for him to wave his vanquishment haughtily

“I want you.” He whispers wantonly right atop your lips, his breath reeking of mint and your legs tremble with his honesty.

“You can have me.” you press your chest into him, lust erupts from between your words all the way down to your core.

You collide with feverish force, your lips unfurling almost promptly as his tongue invades your mouth. Your kiss turns messy and wet sinfully quick. His hands are all over your body, on your ass one minute and then your waist only to end up on your breasts, kneading them with the same yearning unfolding within you, it has you grinding down on him.

With desire coating your hands, they slip down his body with their own purpose, slipping past the constrictions of his undergarments, your palm wrapping around his shaft, he groans against your lips and the sound is enough to have your hand moving up and down languidly. It is ample for pleasure to seep into him, breaking from your kiss with a moan. A sound so melodically profaned, your own core shakes all the same.

“fuck” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours and you kneel into reverence with force, kindled with adoring eyes lingering on every expression that passes by him.

Every twist on his face, crinkle of his brows and then the way his eyes catch yours, not stumbling by a blunder but rather with intention. Akin to butterfly wings grazing the softness of petals. Entranced by their beauty and you, with one another, sweetness manages to mesh within all the fissures of ambivalence between you. He manages to stay the prettiest even with pleasure fogging his essence.

His hand encircles your wrist, halting your movements with a bite to his lower lip and you exhale, not realizing you were holding yourself back from breathing in all along.

“Let’s go to my room.” He says, voice a mere whisper with your lips almost touching, your chest heaving. As your eyes dart between his darkening orbs and his mouth, you nod.

Your appetency to feel his body against yours, and his greed for your mewls to spill into him overwhelm every other sensation with vigor, painting the inside of your mind with emptiness, induced with echoes of need for him. It all unwinds between his sheets and his hips moving against yours, with lust drunk kisses and stares that stretch way too long to be deemed appropriate for the relationship you two have.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on it, even when Jake kisses trail from your lips to your cheeks with delicacy dusting them before he rolls off you.

After the both of you are showered, you learn on the doorframe of his bathroom, in a bathrobe and watch as Jake gets dressed in alleviated movement. He turns to face you, no usual disquiet etched onto his features. Instead, his skin glows brighter with city lights from his window.

“You wanna eat together?” you open your mouth to answer, yet before your words even manage to exist, your stomach grumbles, the sound cutting through the air forcefully.

He chuckles and your cheeks grow warm, with adorable discomfiture.

“I’m really hungry.” You smile.

“Me too.”

Jake ends up ordering room service, despite the late hour you’re guessing it’s one of the privileges you get when you’re the most famous person in Korea. With a table full of food separating you. Your chatter fills the room, with gleaming eyes and a beam on your face, your words unraveling parts of your past with funny situations and random pictures you had of your friends. Jake listens fastidiously, with seemingly uprunning attention and nods when it’s imperative.

“This was at Niki’s last birthday party. Wonie got so drunk there’s a not a silly thing that could cross your mind that he didn’t do,” you explain with a soft laugh, showing him the video, you took a few months back, falling into the warmth of nostalgia.

“Wait who’s that? Next to Ryujin.” he asks, fingers pointing at your screen.

“Oh, that’s Heeseung.”

“He looks different in everything you show me I swear.”

“Really? I feel like he looks the same.” You retort with an endearing giggle, one that has him clearing his throat as you scroll through your cameraroll “Maybe it’s the hair. He dyes it a lot.” You murmur, more to yourself as you tilt your head at the screen of your phone.

“Is he the one who gave you the alien tattoo?”

“Yes.” You groan, covering your face with your palm. It has a fond smile spreading across his face.

“What’s all that about anyways?”

“It was a stupid fucking bet.”

“Mm. tell me. I’m intrigued.”

You stare at him with dewy widened eyes, pulling your lips into a pout saturated with desires to run away. It does little to nothing to grate through his façade, it stays unwavering as he arches an eyebrow at you, scuttling gaze and you sigh. Knowing you’re cornered.

“I don’t want you to laugh at me.” You whine, a glisten takes place between your lashes, it evokes his fondness to enlarge.

“I won’t.”

“you’re already smiling,” your pout deepens, and his smile only stretches.

“Tell me.” you sigh with defeat.

“Basically, there was this guy I was obsessed with back in highschool. So, me and Heeseung made a bet that if I confessed to him in front of everyone, he’s gonna give me money.”

“How much?”

“Like 300$.”

“Damn. And the tattoo?”

“He said if I lost, he’d tattoo that stupid toy story alien on me. I thought there’s no way I’m losing so of course I agreed. Besides I had heard stuff about how the guy also likes me so I thought this should be easy.”

“Okay? What happened then?” you sigh, bracing yourself for the heat already crawling up the length of your neck with immense speed.

“I ended up confessing to the wrong guy.” You admit, looking at him through your lashes, Jake’s expression drops, crossing his arms atop his chest.

“You confessed to the wrong guy?” you nod, and he lets out an exhale of a chortle, crossing all the way to your chest and spreading just like you imagine an angel’s wings to unbosom “How?”

“They looked the same from the back. And I just went up to him and spilled the contents of my heart and you know what’s the worst thing about it?”

“Yeah?”

“It was during lunch time and in the middle of cafeteria, so everyone heard me.” you grouse, the embarrassment of the situation clambering over you all the same.

“So, you humiliated yourself and managed to get a shitty tattoo all at once?”

“Pretty much.” You answer with a chuckle.

A short silence settles, not twisted with excruciating awkwardness but rather a pleasant warmth, like the feeling of sunrays upon your skin after a dreadful cruel winter. It’s in the way Jake’s freshly clean hair falls over his eyes as he looks at you. It’s seraphic, enough to have you falling breathless, yet you don’t find the urge to run away from his gaze in you. Conjuring up enough gallantry to envelope his atoms with the affability of your smile.

His eyes dart down to your plate, a frown taking over his face at the sight of it being empty.

“Eat bunny. Who do you think I got this food for?” He berates with a tsk, adding pieces of steak onto your plate and you watch with amusement clinging to your features.

“You didn’t need to order this much.” You comment, digging into your food regardless.

“I told you I was hungry.” He replies, adding steamed vegetables onto your plate as well “Your diet is so shit. Have some veggies.”

“Excuse me? my diet is not shit- oh my god stop adding so much I can’t eat all of this Jake!” Giggles erupt from between your lips, amid bites you cover your mouth with the back of your hand.

“It is shit. All you have is sugar and coffee.” He falls back into his seat, bestowing you some mercy and leaving your plate alone.

“I have other stuff.”

He hums, resting his chin upon the heart of his palm. Watching as you indulge into your food with a smile of joy overriding your antecedent stubbornness.

“Why do you love sweets so much?” he asks after a while, after he has given you enough minutes to chew a good chunk of your plate.

“I don’t have a specific reason. It’s like my comfort amidst the chaos of life.”

Comfort. It tumbles out your mouth so easily, unrestricted by the shackles of hardship yet it reverberates with crudeness throughout the nooks of his brain, tastes pungent on his tongue. Nevertheless, it swirls in his mind with prodding questions. It translates into his gaze fogging up. Nebulous with conjectures if comfort were in the cards for him.

Surprisingly, you seem to be catching on to his telltales of running eyes and busy brain, as you pretend to pick your fork, your hand brushes against his briefly, akin to the feeling of Forget me nots on the tips of his finger. Like spring, warmth on the contrary to the coldness of his soul. It’s enough to bring him back to you. Eyes focused as they flit between your hand and your face.

“Do you have something like that?”

“Like that?”

You look out the huge window and Jake’s eyes stay on you, the marvelous city lights reflect upon your face, a sparkle manifesting in your eyes that is just as bright. As if every speck that is meant to shine only ever does so for you. it’s only evoked by the smile knitted with the rapture of existing on your face. It’s a little unjust – Jake feels, the realization that no matter what city he ends up in, no matter what roof he’s under and what kind of flavors on his tongue you’ll remain extravagant.

“Something that brings you comfort. when the world gets too loud, where do you find your silence?” You continue after a few seconds of quietness.

“I don’t think I have that.” He answers honestly.

There’s a rare vulnerability coating his words, cladding his being, it’s in the way the words fall from his lips, in the way he looks at you and it’s enough for you look back at him with similar vulnerability. The softening of your gaze does not summon his impulses to the surface. He doesn’t feel like running, instead he settles, right under Sakura petals. with a bated breath and you with a stirring heart that comes to life with emotions twinging into something much deeper than sexual attraction.

“Do you believe in hope?” you’re acutely aware of the confusion that fills his being at your question, raking through his mind for an answer that would make enough sense, deemed sane enough to give.

Please let me in you want to tell him don’t hide yourself from me you wish to speak yet you’re aware of the vow you’ve made. Of keeping yourself in check, never too far in. not this time.

“I don’t remember what hope feels like.” He starts, eyes flickering between yours and your chest tightens, not necessarily out of pity but rather as if a mirror had metalized and you’re looking at yourself. Relics of a human who has been too scratched up to recall anything else. There’s nothing as heavy as carrying around a bruised heart and more than anyone, you have memorized the weight.

“What is your hope like?” he asks, tilting his head at you with full attentiveness and your lips tilt up into a gentle smile, one that feels like soothing waves of comfort upon his heart.

“My hope is a lot of things.” You breathe out a chuckle “My hope is seeing Niki happy and healthy. My hope is seeing people’s worries flee their eyes when you help them with something or seeing the flowers I’ve been watering finally come to full bloom right under my gaze.” You trail off sheepishly, your smile growing the more words spill from your mouth “My biggest hope remains in Japan.”

“Japan?” he asks, and you nod along.

“I want to open a bakery in Japen. A cute little, small one where I sell my baked goods and I get to witness people’s smile upon their first bite.” Jake sees it all in your face and in your words – the pure euphoria that comes solely from dreaming. Not in desperate attempts to find happiness in melancholic hours of your everyday life but rather while floating away alongside the clouds, elicited by what could have been and what could be.

It is a little foolish, he finds it to be. He had long given up on looking for what cannot be tangible, what he cannot sense between the grasp of his fingers. Yet within his dark sky a singular gleaming star is born, sparkling into life and it is merely coaxed by the way you’re looking at him right now.

“That sounds magical bunny.” He comments and it’s genuine, coloring every letter yet for unascertained reasons you find yourself longing to give him touches of your magic.

Though deprived of unbridled happiness. You don’t recall moments when you got to enjoy crumbs of gaiety without worries of tomorrow or the future invading your mind. Hence dreaming, hope remains a taste of joy amidst the bitterness that comes with living and growing older.

You can’t help but grow a want to give him the same hope.

“If you could do anything you want do right now, without consequences and without worries,” you start, voice much quieter than before “what would it be?”

He is silent for a moment, his eyes drifting to the window and this time it’s you with a lingering gaze at him, overtaken by the glaze of his irises.

“I want to be able to love music like I used to.”

Aleit the months you have spent by his side, beholding the facets he likes to wear and witnessing the rare moments where it’s just him. Right at this moment, it’s just Jake and his grief. Tinted with a glacial agony that only comes from forcibly letting go of love. For them to pull your heart out from the unrelenting clutches of your hands, and yet you’re empty handed.

A glacial agony that runs through your bloodline just as deep.

“Can’t that be your hope?”

“No.” he laughs swiftly, but it’s void of emotions, not a spark of humor can be distinguished, no happiness “Music can never be my hope. Not again.”

“Why?” you ask, tentatively “Why can’t you love music the same way you did?”

Jake never gives you an answer, he isn’t unkind in any way, not vicious in any sense. He is as placid as still waters, nowhere near as wild as your heartbeat as he smiles at you, it’s benign.

can't you see the human in my being? the same one clad with agonizing torment? the one with scars that are deeper than i could ever show?

“Should we go to sleep? We have a long day tomorrow.”

Your conversation with Jake haunts your mind for much longer than you anticipated. When you lie your head on your pillow you don’t drift to sleep like you had hoped. Instead, you stay awake for a little longer while thinking about his words. They all lead you to more questions. After seeing the amount of crowd that had been waiting for him at the airport you realize he is truly Korea’s biggest celebrity so what exactly happened for him to leave Paranoia? How did he end up here with clear longing for music? What is stopping him? And why does everyone around him seem to be ignoring his clear symptoms of OCD?

Nothing makes sense to you, not him or the people you’re working with. Most importantly the ache that has nestled in your chest at the way he smiled at you stays the most confusing.

You tell yourself you should look up Paranoia, yet you end up falling asleep with your phone between the clutches of your hands.

The next morning comes with a gentle breeze swirling the streets of Paris, taking your thoughts away with the passing wind and the ache that was present last night is long perished, eluded by Jake’s mitigated face that greets you as soon as you’re downstairs. Your sleepiness long forgotten as you lock eyes. His warmth traverses through all the space you create between you as you settle two chairs away from him. Right next to Sunghoon who greets you with a fist bump.

Albeit the unfamiliarity, you find yourself smiling down at your plate.

You and Jay go through Jake’s schedule together. With him not having anything till a Prada event that is set later that evening, it feels more like an off day than anything. As the team gathers to eat breakfast Jennie tells you’re free to do whatever you want all morning.

Sunghoon and Sunoo decide to go back to sleep while Jay grumbles about promises he made with Soojin. It’s only you and Jake. Despite Jennie’s assurance to you that you could spend the day alone if you wanted to. You deemed that to be way too lonely, and boresome for you.

And so, you end up sticking to Jake’s side as he strolls through the city, with an undeniable joy woven into his features, in the steps he takes. It’s a refreshing sight to behold. Has the same joy nestling into you, overtaken and completely dismantling any negative thoughts you had. You never imagined a day to come like this one. Where you’ll able to see him so carefree, smiles find home onto his lips easier, laughs escapes him candidly.

Albeit the couple of bodyguards and a cameraman following you around - something about filming a vlog for Hype’s youtube channel – he looks the happiest you’ve ever seen him. You keep your distance, not wanting to disturb or get caught on camera on accident.

Never too far in. you remind yourself.

It’s only after you pass by a couple of bakeries that the small group of his team stops moving, therefore halting your steps as well. You, overtaken with confusion watch as slowly they separate, as if drawing a path for you and at the end Jake is standing there, waiting for you with a lopsided smile, induced with charm as he beckons you with a wave of his hand.

“Come here, bunny.”  With a racing heart, limbs traced with chagrin at everyone’s eyes on you, you walk to him.

As soon as you’re close enough, his palm envelopes yours with a tug, it is so abrupt, you don’t get enough time to settle into the feeling. Of having him this close to you outside the realms of his bedroom before he pulls you into one of the bakeries. It is so unexpected, and that is solely why your heartbeats are so loud it rings in your ear. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself, even after Jake had ordered three different kinds of pastries and urges you to try each one.

“How does it t taste?” He asks, as you’re standing outside, and his eyes are pasted onto you.

A dark flush seems to have found perennial refuge upon your cheeks, an exposure to all the clamorous beats coursing through your chest, as if your heart is about to ooze through your blush, you chew slowly on the cream cheese Danish, it feels like an explosion of flavours in your mouth. The cream cheese balances the sweetness and the berries on top give it freshness.

It has your eyes widening with an all too known gleam, excitement courses through your body and you hop your feet in place as you face him.

“It’s really yummy!” You reply with evident enthusiasm tinting your voice, awakening his own.

“Let me try.” He tells you, lips curling up into a grin, an underlining endearment at your reaction.

You nod eagerly, just as you’re about to cut the piece of goods in half with the assumption that he probably doesn’t want to eat from the same place your mouth has touched, his hand encircles your wrist, a phantom of gasp scurrying out your lips as he guides your hand with the Danish in it to his mouth, you’re forced to stand on your tiptoes as he takes a bite.

Your heart pulsates against your ribcage, watching him with incredulity all over your face.

Unlike you, Jake is completely nonchalant to the way he acts, instead his eyebrow only raises slightly at the taste.

“y-you don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs and you snort playfully, shaking your head as his grip loosens around your wrist.

“I forgot you’re like impossible to please.”

“It’s not that. I just think yours taste better.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, the stuff you make taste so much better.”

His words shatter through your vow with facility. Dispelling the promises you repeated to yourself as if they’re mere specks of dust. You don’t have enough of stability to focus on what fact first, the one where he admits he has been eating your baked goods that you bring to work all along or the one where he spills compliments into you as if they’re meaningless, as if their sentiment doesn’t overwhelm your being.

“Stop lying.” You whisper, eyes fixated on him.

“I never lie, you know this.” He says, effortlessly “try a different one.” He urges, pointing at the leftover pastries.

Absentmindedly you nod, with flushed cheeks and an increasing heartbeat. A heat seared with a circle around your wrist as if his hand is still around you. Despite his touches that you have felt upon your skin, in ways deeper than you’d ever admit outside the walls of his bedroom. Unwittingly your body makes room for one more sentiment to nestle into you. Not with force, but rather serene.

The same one that fills the tips of your fingers as you this time extend your hand to him, he leans down, eyes locked with yours as he takes a bite from the dessert, right over where your lipstick stained.

“This one taste better.” He hums, and you swallow around nothing, deeming yourself closer to demented with the way you keep staring at his lips.

“I like the other one more.”

“Probably because it’s sweeter.” He chuckles, swiping right at the corner of your lips with his thumb, you almost shriek with an itch to curl onto yourself “Your lipstick was a little messed up.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, inadvertently bringing your fingers to your lips right where he touched.

The following hours unfold with you two going in and out of stores. With notorious intentions like buying gifts for your friends or simply to check out something that managed to catch your attention. Jake follows with a small smile gracing his face, mainly at your overflowing exuberance as you drag him from one place to another.

“What do you think?” you ask, looking into the mirror, a light brown coat draped over you.

Jake hums, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes trail over your figure. At the lack of appease in his gaze, you face him, grinning at him and twirling around “So?” You urge, and he could only shake his head with a soft laugh, amused by the way you seem to pull it from him unequivocally.

“It’s cute bunny,”

“But?”

“But I think the baby blue would suit your skin tone so much more. This brings a gloomy and serious aura to you.” He adds.

“But I wanna be serious.” You mumble, turning to the mirror with a pout adorning your face.

Jake tips his head to the side, hands in his pockets as his eyes focus on you. primarily you end up trying the baby blue one and just like he said, it suits you so much better, bringing out the colors in your eyes rather than dim them.

“I like it!” you clap your hands diligently, perked up compared to when you tried the one before.

“Get it.” He encourages and you would have nodded eagerly if not your eyes have shifted in the mirror, your attention stolen by a pair of earrings, a different type of gleam takes place onto your face, one that is never directed at yourself.

“Oh my god Niki would love these earrings!”

Jake watches as you shrug off your coat, long forgotten as you make your way to check out the jewelry that had caught your attention. Aleit disappointed he isn’t surprised; he had noticed this tendency of yours coming to the surface all day. Managing to find something worthy to buy for your friends in every store the two of you had stumbled in. anyone but yourself it seems.

Putting yourself as the last resort appears to come to you naturally, constantly at the back of your mind is your own enjoyment, finding it elsewhere and it merely exists in spending your money on other people. Truthfully it did infuriate him more than he’d ever admit. For some odd reason something akin to disillusionment curls into the bit of his stomach each time he watches you casting aside a piece you originally were enthralled with.

Abandoning yourself then leaving with the waves with no intention of coming back.

He strolls behind you leisurely, eyeing the pieces of jewelry and pauses in front of a certain necklace. A sliver chain with a bunny to be specific, it’s rather simple yet the pure design of the bunny has a small smile stretching upon his face. It’s uncanny similarity to you has him purchasing the necklace without much thought and it isn’t until he’s at the cashier paying, he realizes he foolishly followed his impulses.

Who is he to gift you something as endearing as a necklace that reminds him of you? it’s absolutely ridiculous.

“What did you get?” you ask once you’re out the store, eyeing the small bag between his hands.

“Nothing important.” He replies, averting his eyes as he attempts to hide the bag behind his legs. It’s a clear indication of running, an avoidance that you allow. Nodding to yourself.

Never too far in.

It’s only a bit later when you’re both drawn in by a crowd that you catch yourself too far in, Jake stops, with a wandering gaze pasting onto a busker, playing in the middle of people with immense enthusiasm, it’s the passion coloring his gaze and the smile stretching upon his face as if the sun has only rose today for his music to fill the streets. You’re not taken away by his tunes rather by the man standing next to you.

Involuntarily your eyes dart over Jake’s face earnestly to find answers, His eyes are softened, tinged with longing, yearning. One like missing an old friend that you have spent countless nights with, or a soul crushing longing for an old lover that you cannot longer see, touch. The ache a soldier feels for one day to come back home.

Despite the love, pain remains a constant in every single one and you see it in his gaze.

Silently you walk to place money into the busker’s hat, and he throws you a thankful grin. Jake watches you with a gentle smile, a foreign warmth engulfing his being as you walk back to him, you with a craving dripping from your fingertips, one to disassemble his intricate sorrows and him for the veneration infiltrating his bosom at how effortlessly kind you are.

“Should we go back to hotel?”

“Yeah. let’s go back.” You reply with a smile of your own, adoring your face.

The Prada event, unlike the last one, goes by fluidly with Jake’s glamour taking by the cameras and you stand close by, with a hushed secret curled into the palms of your hands. One stroke of glimmer amid the silence in your mind as you watch him. It’s akin to privilege at knowing no lens, no matter the price could ever capture his beauty the way your eyes do. like given the pleasure to behold the flutter of colorful butterfly wings for the first time, you smile faintly to yourself.

The afterparty that follows goes just as lithely, alongside the buzz in your system due to the couple of shots you took. You feel great, dancing with Sunoo and Sunghoon to the blaring music. It’s only an hour later, when a thin sheen of sweat covers your neck that you take a seat right next to Jay. Your eyes heedfully searching the place for a glimpse of your boss.

“Where’s Jake?” you finally ask, turning to face the latter.

“He went back to the hotel.” He answers, “He also told me you should enjoy yourself and don’t worry about going back early for him.”

“I forgot he doesn’t really like parties.” You comment, your fingers picking at your red latex dress. A vague disappointment blooms ever so slightly in you, tracing your veins merely driven by the fact that Jake isn’t here to see it.

“Yeah, not really his scene.” Jay answers with a breath of a chuckle.

At that you perk up, your disappointment is momentarily pushed to the side as an idea swirl in your mind. Coming to life by the questions that have haunted your mind the previous night

“I never would have thought that an ex-rockstar hates parties.” You comment, clearing your throat as you side eye him.

“He’s gone to enough parties to last a lifetime. Now he’s like an old man when it comes to late nights. He’d rather sleep early or stay home.” Jay replies with a shrug.

“Was he that wild in Paranoia?”

“I wouldn’t say wild but more like normal rockstar wild, you know?” He answers vaguely and it only feeds your confusion, filling you with even more prodding questions.

You chew on your bottom lip, contemplating on what to say next. Perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, blurring your filter into nonexistence or it was the curiosity invoked in you by your conversation last night. Or maybe it was the grief haunting Jake’s essence, as if skin draped upon his bones and he cannot seem to take it off.

“Can I talk to you about something?” you ask, and as he leans closer to you to hear you clearly, amidst the chimes of music you ponder for a second if this is the suitable place for you to obtain answers.

“Anything.” He replies right away, and you inch closer, your shoulders touching.

“Throughout my stay with Jake these past few months I’ve noticed some things.”

“Okay? Like what?”

“I’ve been with him almost every second of his everyday life and I’ve noticed that he has some serious OCD symptoms,” Jay falls into a nerve wrecking silence for you, it’s ample for the seeds of doubts in your mind to grow horrendously brisk “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping or perhaps saying something I shouldn’t. my concerns only come from worry for him.” You continue, your eyes darting over his features rapidly in search of a sign.

“It’s okay yn, I know.” he responds.

“You know?” you question, a frown taking over your face quickly.

“Yeah,” He sighs, as if it’s a secret that have finally broke into the world although it’s only you who listens, its existence hangs heavy “It’s pretty obvious if you know him well enough that he has undiagnosed OCD or something along those lines. He probably even knows it at this point.”

“At this point? If you had doubts, why didn’t you suggest he goes to therapy? Surely that would make everything easier for him.”  Your frown is only enhanced by your growing questions.

“I have. But he doesn’t want to so I’m not gonna make him.”

“But why?”

“Because he would have to talk about what he doesn’t want to relive yet. And I cannot blame him for that or take it away from him.”

But what is it that he doesn’t wish to relive? What kind of misery has been casted upon his soul for his wish to flee to remain? An inexorable desire draped with facet of darkness.

“doesn’t that make it harder for you as well?”

“yn he’s not incompetent. You’ve noticed how he deals with and alters his triggers so he’s able to function normally,” he starts, eyes pouring into yours with conviction, a strive to plug out your doubts with vigor “I’m his manager but I’ve been his best friend for years. I trust him and when he does eventually deem himself ready to see someone about it then good for him.” His lips swiftly curl up into a gentle smile as if trying to dismantle your worries “right now he’s handling it really well considering everything and we could only have his back throughout it all.”

Your words wither at the tip of your tongue, not with incentives like contentment but rather with realization that what lies in front of you is something much more tremendous than you thought. It isn’t solved by scratching the surface or a few shared words of comfort between souls. It is attempting to free your closet of skeletons but to cower in fear every time your fingers graze the doorknob. It’s to spend every breathing moment in searching for light only for night to persist, for tears to descend upon your cheeks even after swearing to find happiness in the trivial things.

It’s an anomaly, constantly growing the need to abandon your heart, merely because it bears too heavy, too much.

You understand more than anyone.

So, you stay quiet.

With an ache dragging through your limbs, you make it into your room with a sigh. You immediately throw yourself on the bed as soon as your heels are off. Yet you don’t get to settle into the softness of your sheets before a thud captures your attention. With a furrow you peak at the ground and notice a small bag that you surely didn’t buy has fallen.

You forthwith sit up recognizing it as the bag that was between the clutches of Jake’s hands earlier. your tiredness replaced with an intrigued gleam as you open the bag.

What greets you is not something you have prepared for, not with a hazy mind and surely not with a heart as fragile as yours, it trembles with the scent enveloping the box. His scent. it courses through your being with vivacity, one that has your eyes widening as a necklace with a small bunny pendant stares right back at you.

Your fingers caress the bunny softly, the same way your eyebrows drop and interchangeable from the feelings creasing your being, running alongside your blood is nothing far from adoration. It’s in the way your chest warms with magnificent vehemence. As if the sun has finally shone after years of unwavering cloudiness, sunrays sundering through and it all translates into a smile dispersing across your lips, mostly uninvited.

Taking note of the card hiding in the bag, you take it out and read it.

For whenever your hope wavers

May this bunny help liquidate all your worries.

Your lips curve up in a smile induced with the magnitude of his words, albeit they’re not long they still touch your soul with warmth, evident with the way your irises shake with your heartbeat as they trail over the words over and over again. Placing your palm upon your heart you feel it reverberate, and you let yourself sink into the feeling. Abandoning the confines of the past, of what’s morally correct and what you should do. For tonight and maybe tonight only you allow yourself to feel, for your frail heart to find purpose in such minuscule words and for Jake’ scent to invade every fiber of your being with serene.

You allow yourself to reach for your phone, your fingers scrolling through the contacts, and you call him.

Jake answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” his voice is a tad deeper on the phone, enough to have you sucking in a breath “bunny?” he calls after your silence has lasted.

“Thank you.” you whisper softly.

“Mhm?”

“For the gift. It’s so pretty Jake, I love it.” Despite the fact that he can’t see your face, he can discern your sincerity through the cadence of your voice. It is enough for him to fall silent for a couple of minutes, listening to you breathe.

“How was the party?” he finally asks, evading your previous conversation.

“Really fun!” your usual liveliness is sneaking back into your voice and it has him smiling “I’m a bit tipsy I’m gonna be honest.” You continue, throwing your head back onto the pillows with a sigh.

“Yeah, Sunghoon sent me a video of you dancing.”

“What? Oh my god!” you exclaim, burying yourself into the pillows with a whine, albeit a bit childish, strangely it doesn’t annoy him, growing accustomed to your antics.

“You got some sick moves yn.” He quips.

“I’m gonna kill Sunghoon.” You grumble, words muffled by the pillow but audible enough for him to chuckle, the sound goes straight to your tummy, breathing life into butterflies to flap their wings “I probably looked like a mess too.” You trail off, turning on your back.

“You always look beautiful.” He retorts, softly and despite giving permission for your feelings to unfold, your being isn’t ready for his first words of flattery to fall upon your ears.

It has your breath hitching audibly, a shift in the air as you squeeze your thighs together.

“Don’t let it get to your head though.” He taunts, taking note of your lingering silence.

“I won’t don’t worry. I’m not Jake Sim.”

“I’m the humblest celebrity to exist what are you on about?”

“You just called yourself a celebrity you’re not humble in any way.” You reply with a snort.

“That’s just facts.”

“Just like how you’re full of yourself is facts?” you muse, rolling onto your side and yet finding yourself squeezing your thighs together at the chuckle he lets loose.

“Since when were you allowed to tease me this much, mhm?” he replies, tone dropping lower with volume, his playfulness is still apparent, it feels closer to warning, one that is whispered before his teeth sink in to you.

“My apologizes boss.” You say, with an evident irony coloring your tone.

A tranquil silence follows, woven with your placid mind yet raving heartbeat. It’s a paradoxical state to be in, especially with how hazy your thoughts are coming out to be. It doesn’t give you room to decipher the reason behind lust climbing up your spine and taking over every coherent sentence you could mutter. It is absolutely unhinged how even the sound of his breathing reminds you of his mouth pressed against your ear as he’s buried deep inside of you.

“You should get some sleep, or you’ll probably feel like shit in the morning,” his voice cuts through your quietness with vigor albeit its lower tone, settles deeper into your being, painting the inside of your brain dark with desire.

“Probably.” You reply breathlessly, eyes dropping, heavy lidded.

“you okay?”

Snapping yourself out of a daze is a strenuous task, one that you are too fatigued for and yet you try, clearing your throat.

“Yeah, just got a lot on my mind. You’re right I should sleep.”

“What are you thinking about?” his voice no higher than a whisper, as if he also could read the contents of your mind, take a look into all the aberrant fantasies manifesting.

“Nothing. You should go to sleep as well.”

“What’s on your mind bunny?” It’s no longer a question rather an order, induced with his stern tone and it has you falling apart in all the same ways he knows, all the same ways you hate.

“You.” you admit with a whisper, as if your embarrassment will subside yet your blush remains.

“What about me baby?”

“You can’t call me that.” You whine, unwittingly burying your face into the pillow yet again, your thighs rubbing together with hopes to relief some of the heat crawling over your being

“You hate it?” he asks with a bated breath, a small victory in knowing you’re not the only one affected by this.

“no.” your voice fades out, overtaken by your heaving chest “Do you like it?”

“Jake.” You don’t mean to be as whiney, yet they spill uncontrollably.

“Tell me.” he demands, oozing with paramountcy there’s no other possible way for you not to fall into him with submission.

“..I like it.” You breathe out, your underwear drenching with your arousal unfairly fast, it has you chewing on your lower lip, your fingers trail an invisible path on your thigh.

“What were you thinking about bunny?” he asks, the same arousal flooding his being, persevering in tainting you both.

“Just you, all over me.” you reply, your words falling with hushed whispers, bated breaths.

“What do you want all over you?”

“Your hands.”

“Where do you want my hands?” his questions stay persisting, It has you squirming upon your sheets unsure if you’re looking for an escape or for his voice to seep into you. He hums when you’re too quiet, urging for your words to follow and you swallow around nothing.

“Want them inside of me.”

“Yeah? what about my mouth?” his own voice grows strained, evidence of his fingers trembling against the rails of control.

“Want it too. Want it so bad.” Your confession falls boundlessly, no time for them to straggle by your deepening blush

“I wanna taste you too. Want you to come all over my tongue.” The mewl you let out at his words is unanticipatedly sinful, enough to have him groaning. A myriad of pictures flash in your mind, each one of them has him in it, infused with deviant touches and lustful kisses.

“Are you touching yourself?” his tone is gentle, a muzzled mutter in contrast to the situation you both found yourself in, you shake your head vigorously even though he cannot see you, you aren’t sure how is it possible for something as trivial as the lilt of someone’s tone to permeate your being this diligently.

“No but I want to.” Your filter is long shattered, your desires spill with nothing holding them back now.

“Don’t” he warns, and you bite back a whimper, swallow it down with vigor “I’m coming to your room. Wait for me.” He ends with a promise, snapping you out of your dazed enjoyment.

“Hurry.”

Is your last request before your call ends. With an itch in your fingers, you hold back with an immense force you don’t know how you manage to find. That is until ten minutes pass with no sign of Jake and soon after the ten minutes turn into fifteen, you roll off your bed with a huff, mind running a little wild with worry at his absence and an underlining exasperation at your lust being unattended to.

And so, you make your way to his room, albeit the throb of tiredness still evident in your bones, you knock on his door with too much of a force to deemed discreet. You don’t get to linger for hope, one like praying you didn’t disturb anyone else. Before the door opens, a somewhat disheveled Jake comes into view. The first few buttons of his white dress shirt in unattended to, exposing the top of his chest and perhaps you spend way too many fleeting moments staring.

“Bunny- fuck” he breaths out with a draining groan.

“Is everything okay? You said you were coming but- “before your sentence could fully come out your mouth, your eyes shift, darting to the figure behind him and your expression melts off vastly unexpected.

“Jake! Come back!” Soojin yells with a whine, kicking her feet on the ground as she trashes around the bed, discernibly drunk.

“Is she okay?” you ask, eyes fliting between the two.

“She’s just drunk and a little troubled.” He explains warily, running his hand through his hair “I’m sorry about this I’ll make it up to you later, okay? I- “

“Jake!!” Soojin whine cuts into your conversation once again and your smile curl up with force “I’m coming” he retorts, turning his head at her for a moment before facing you once again “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is there anything I could do to help?” you ask, concern etched upon your face and the sight warms his chest the tiniest bit.

“Not really. It’s something between me and her so you don’t have to worry about it.” He explains.

Between me and her.

It’s unjust, how hastily a couple of words can founderwith your confidence with so little effort, for them to dispel every emotion that was flowing through your veins and an abyss to comes to life in the middle of your chest instead. Your star unceremoniously plugged out from between the grasp of your fingers only for you to recognize it was never your star to begin with, your sky is not yours either, it is one everyone was looking at all along, inscribed with the same longing twirling in your eyes.

Your paralyzing idiocy remains a part of you and your insecurity stares right back at you with derision, how stupid to ever think of yourself worthy enough of anything ever fluorescing scarcely for you.

“I’m sorry bunny. I promise to make it up to you.” he pledges, and your eyes soften despite the heaviness weighing your heart.

“it’s okay. I’ll leave you to it then.” Just as you’re about to turn around to leave, Jake’s palm envelopes yours, halting your movement and you look at him in question.

“Can you please keep this a secret from Jay as well? I don’t want him to know about this.” His words twist the knife deeper into your heart, a puddle of your misery lies beneath your feet.

“I get it. It’s between you two I won’t tell anyone.” Your smile is strained, and your nails dig into his palm unwittingly.

You return to your bed heavier than you left. Heeseung’s comfort from a couple of weeks ago swirls around your mind and you manage to find solace in them. Albeit momentarily it’s ample for you to doze off, head plagued with thoughts of Jake and Soojin. As your interest has seemed to grow immensely in him during this trip you can’t help but let your thoughts wander. Evoked by what kind of past the two must have. You can’t help but feel like Jake has some sort of affection towards her, one that he cannot seem to let go of. An old flame that you always end up crawling back to although the burns adoring your skin.

The next morning comes with a minor ache forming in your head, not too bothersome and it slowly wears off as you shower and get ready for your day, it’s only when you’re in the middle of your make-up that a knock on your room door halts your routine. Surprise sneaking into your expression when you open it, and Jake is standing there. You invite him in after he greets you and he ends up sitting on your bed as you finish the last bit of your make-up. Eyes dark as they assess your body appreciatively, watching with devoted concentration as you apply your lip-gloss on.

“Can you help me?” you ask coyly, catching his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, your bunny necklace between your fingers.

“Of course.” Jake replies instantly, voice doused in emotions as he walks towards you.

“How’s Soojin?” you ask once he’s close enough, handing him the necklace.

“She’s all good now don’t worry.” He answers, although his tone is massively void, clearly uninterested.

you move your hair to the side and out of the way, his fingertips delicately brush over the skin of your neck, causing shivers to erupt upon your skin as he gently clasps the necklace, you could sense something unfurling in the depths of your stomach. You feel his chest against your back, every inhale, exhale vibrates through your being all the same. You lock gazes in the mirror, and you wither away, akin to dried autumn leaves, easily crushed by the force of his eyes as he slowly leans down, placing feather light kisses on the nape of your neck.

“Did you guys figure out whatever it was between you and her?” you breath out, tilting your neck further to grant him better access, his hands sneaking to your waist as he pulls you flush against him.

“Mhm.” His kisses turn unforgiving, melting your thoughts.

“W-what is it that you guys were talking about anyways?” your curiosity in unrelenting, pushing at the roof of your mouth with force.

“I don’t wanna talk about Soojin right now bunny. It’s nothing of importance.” He grumbles against your skin, dousing you in arousal as his lips trail up, kissing behind your ears and you shiver “I promised to make it up to you remember?” he whispers against the shell of your ears and you shiver, your palms tracing the veins on his arms.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

Evidently your doubts leave momentarily, overtaken by the pleasure he inflicts on you, and it all translates into you two both giggling over breakfast, throwing teasing remarks at each other and unaware of the way Sunoo and Sunghoon are staring at you both with evident bewilderment etched onto their face.

“What the fuck?” Sunghoon speaks, tone laced with shock as his eyes flit between you two “Is Jake fucking chuckling?”

“Pussy is really one magical thing.” Sunoo murmurs, shaking his head with now disgust climbing over his face.

“Amen.” Sunghoon replies with a snort.

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora

@vousty @realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory

@hearteyesforseungsung @jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @babrieeee

@mandoscyare @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou @seunghancore

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(bold cant be tagged)

[steddiealltheway]

Some College AU

It’s about an hour after what Eddie is now naming “The Incident” when he storms into Nancy’s room. He glances down to the left where Nancy's roommate leaves her red converse - announcing she’s in the room. But right now, they're gone and only Nancy's shoes are in the spot. So, Eddie flops down on the plush rug in the center of the room and covers his eyes with his hands.

“Nancy, I fucked up. It was so embarrassing,” Eddie sighs and hears the telltale click of a laptop shutting from above him. She must be in her lofted bed, but it doesn’t matter because he needs to rant. “You know, maybe I should go ahead and drop out and save myself the embarrassment of once again running into the human embodiment of every single wet dream I’ve ever had.”

There’s a slight gasp that Eddie knows is Nancy’s “Eddie we’ve been friends forever, but there are just some things I do not need to know about you” gasp. But it’s not her turn to talk. In fact, she’s the exact reason he’s in this predicament because without her convincing him to apply to the same college and actually go with her, then he would never be here.

Eddie groans and rolls over onto his stomach burying his face in the rug. He points up behind him gesturing vaguely towards where Nancy is sitting and says, “This is all your fault, but thank you for always shampooing your carpet it smells nice.” It comes out more as a muffled mess, so Eddie sighs and turns his head to the side.

“But anyways. I had my damn intro to economics class, and please tell me why we have to take foundation courses later because I think it’s the stupidest thing on this planet except for me at the moment. Because before that class a beautiful, kind man had to clean chocolate milk out of his sweater because of me. And this is exactly why I will never show my face in the dining hall again or anywhere on campus, so I will never run into that perfect man again. End of story.” Eddie finishes his rant, knowing he’s going to say more because he still feels like a stupid idiot. Because yes, spilling a drink on someone is bad, but that’s just clumsiness and nerves and that’s forgivable. But when Adonis himself is target of said drink, and the drink is goddamn chocolate milk… that’s unforgivable.

Eddie groans and rolls onto his back to stare up at Nancy who will likely have her head poked over the side of her bed with that flat look of “are you done yet?” solely expressed through a tight smile. Only, Nancy isn’t peaking over the side of her bed. But out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone else glancing over the edge of Nancy’s roommate’s lofted bed.

Holy shit. It’s hot dining hall man. “Fuck shit fuck damnit,” Eddie eloquently says, scrambling to get up and immediately backing up into Nancy’s desk. “What the fuck?” Eddie heaves out. He’s died, and gone to his own personal Hell, that’s the only explanation for it.

“I’ve never been called beautiful before,” the man says with a big smile, cheeks slightly pink, and holy shit he’s so beautiful. Maybe Eddie has died and gone to his own personal heaven. Then the man is climbing down the ladder and giving Eddie the view of his life before he’s right in his space. “I’m Steve,” he says, holding his hand out.

Eddie automatically takes it and wills any part of his brain to work but it’s all been turned to goo as he shakes his hand. “What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, and he thanks himself for at least somehow reacting although he sounds pretty breathless.

“Robin’s my best friend. I'm just waiting for her to get back, but I think her and Nancy went out to get groceries or something. But it’s nice to formally meet you…” Steve trails off, and Eddie notices he’s still holding his hand with his very clammy one.

“Eddie,” he supplies when he realizes what Steve is prompting. Gosh he has such nice lips... and eyes… and hair… and a really nice nose honestly and… Eddie stops when he realizes he’s blatantly checking the man out once again. “Shit,” Eddie mumbles under his breath and takes his hand back.

“I’ve also never been called the human embodiment of someone’s wet dreams before,” Steve says. Oh shit. He’s really going to bring that up and not move past it. Eddie sighs, and prepares to apologize when he notices… Steve is smiling. An overwhelmingly charming type of smile as if he was flirting.

Eddie opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind, “I spilt my chocolate milk on you.” He cringes. Okay, thinking before speaking is something else he needs to work on this semester. Got it.

“You did,” Steve says with an amused smile. He points to his shirt. “Changed and everything. Plus, the other sweater is fine, and it was too warm to wear today anyways.”

That is an absolute lie because it’s freezing outside. But Eddie doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he says, “Blue is a nice color on you. In the color way, not the… depressed way. Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He opens them and with a wide smile he says, “Hell of a way to make a first impression.”

“I’ve noticed you around before,” Steve admits as if it were no big deal although their campus is fairly large, and Eddie had somehow never seen him before today, so he has no idea how that was possible.

“How have I never noticed you before?” Eddie asks honestly but takes pride in the way it makes Steve’s face flush. “Maybe you can make it up to me - all that lost time when my eyes were not graced by your beauty.” Yeah, he's still got it.

Steve laughs pleasantly and looks away somewhat bashfully, but he quickly recovers and leans into Eddie space. “Just tell me how to make it up to you, and I’ll do it.”

Eddie swallows. Oh, this is dangerous. He is dangerous. And Eddie knows exactly what he’s going to request first-

The door opens, and Eddie and Steve’s heads snap to the side. Nancy walks in and freezes.

“What’s wrong Nance? Why did you-” Robin walks in and also freezes. She takes a second to recover before she cracks a big smile and nudges Nancy. "You owe me ten bucks."

Nancy sighs and sets her grocery bags down then digs through her purse emerging with ten dollars which she hands to Robin. What the hell?

"What's that about?" Steve asks, not taking a step out of Eddie's personal space, but he's really not complaining.

"Robin bet ten bucks that you two would somehow meet and hit it off before we could introduce you guys," Nancy says then turns and smacks Robin on the arm. "You planned this didn't you?"

Robin puts her hands up. "I had no idea Steve or Eddie were coming over. Not my fault that we gave them copies of our keys."

"They're for emergency use only though," Nancy says then turns an accusatory finger at the boys. "What was your emergency?"

Eddie catches a quick glance at Steve. They both know what Eddie's "emergency" was, but Steve looks a bit reluctant to admit his. A quick glance towards Nancy, and Eddie is immediately spilling out the truth, "I ran into a hot guy in the dining hall and spilled chocolate milk all over him and needed to rant."

Nancy looks disappointed but satisfied in the answer, so she turns to Steve expectantly. Steve shoots Eddie a quick glance and runs a hand through his hair. He gives in and admits, "A cute guy spilled chocolate milk on me, and I wanted to talk about it..."

Eddie gapes at Steve. There's no way. There's absolutely no way this gorgeous man was there for that reason. Holy shit. Steve turns to Eddie and softly smiles at him, and Eddie absolutely melts at the sight.

Robin laughs, "Nancy, you owe me twenty bucks." And bless Nancy, she reaches into her purse and hands Robin ten more dollars as Eddie and Steve continue to stare at each other.

Maybe going to college was the best thing Nancy has ever convinced Eddie to do.

I currently have about zero time to be writing stuff, but I missed you all and missed getting to write steddie content, so I'm just glad to get something down.

[rancidpancakebatter]

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob. 

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious. 

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out. 

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth. 

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know. 

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue. 

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk. 

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves. 

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response. 

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him. 

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness. 

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake. 

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend. 

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live. 

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again. 

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow. 

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten. 

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment. 

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again. 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you. 

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you. 

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some. 

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour. 

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing. 

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare. 

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own. 

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.” 

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind. 

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious. 

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much. 

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own. 

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right. 

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal. 

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t. 

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it. 

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them. 

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right. 

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you. 

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far. 

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough. 

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow. 

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave. 

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off. 

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions. 

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone. 

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller. 

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it. 

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking. 

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt. 

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him. 

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. 

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew. 

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you. 

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did. 

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be. 

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain. 

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her. 

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from. 

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said. 

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you. 

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long. 

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later. 

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead. 

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear. 

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him. 

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him. 

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries. 

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward. 

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this. 

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer. 

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” 

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return. 

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to. 

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was. 

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid. 

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him. 

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements. 

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took. 

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go. 

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here. 

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse. 

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence. 

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks. 

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door. 

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background. 

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right. 

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you began. 

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off. 

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins. 

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away. 

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for. 

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful. 

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗗𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗬'𝗦 𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟

　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x mom!reader

SUMMARY: Where Matt realizes that his daughter, Eloise, has him tied up in her pinkie.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Matt!" Y/N called from the kitchen, lifting her chin so that her voice echoed better throughout the house, turning her attention back to the items in front of her as she began preparations for lunch.

"Daddy!" Eloise's thin, excited voice echoed through the kitchen, catching Y/N's attention, who momentarily turned back, her eyes finding her daughter.

Eloise sat cross-legged on her fluffy pink carpet, scattered around her were barbies while her little fingers held a mini pink pan and a mini purple spoon. In front of her, almost on top of her white sock-clad feet, she had a mini board with fake vegetables of all colors. The little girl had asked that her mother give her her kitchen toys, wanting to imitate her.

Eloise had an area with toys in each room of the house, and in the kitchen it was between the refrigerator and the counter, with a child-sized stove and refrigerator in neutral colors, full of plastic kitchen items in all colors, and a pink carpet on the front.

"Hi, my little dove." Matt replied, having entered the kitchen seconds after his wife called him.

The man went to his daughter, bending down momentarily and kissing her head covered in curly brown hair - exactly like his -, tied with a pink bow. The smell of children's shampoo and neutral perfume filled Matt's nostrils, making his heart warm from the scent he loved so much.

Matt stood up seconds later, walking over to his wife - who had returned her attention to the vegetables in front of her. His arms wrapped around her baby blue apron covered waist, resting his large hands on her very much pregnant belly while his head rested on Y/N's covered shoulder, kissing the area gently.

"Hi, mama. You look so beautiful today." Matt's voice was low and husky. Y/N felt her face heat up, as if this wasn't the tenth time he'd said that to her that day alone.

The effects that his pregnant wife had on Matt were enormous, he felt his legs getting weak and his heart racing every time he looked at her, besides the arousal, which had increased at least twice as much. Y/N joked that he was worse than her when it came to hormones, and she was the one carrying his second baby.

"I need you to go to the market for me, please. We're out of tomatoes and peppers, and I'm going to use them in the vegetable gratin I'm making." Y/N asked, smiling sideways with Matt's hot breath so close to her as kisses were planted on her shoulder.

"Okay, I'm going to the grocery store around the corner." He informed, earning a nod from Y/N.

Matt and Y/N lived in a house situated in a very homely neighborhood, which had everything nearby: grocery store, butcher's shop, school, pharmacy, etc., which made the couple's day-to-day life easier, reducing the need for use as much car as they needed when they lived in downtown LA.

"Daddy, where are you going?" Eloise asked, raising her big blue eyes, which were now looking intently at her father who was about to walk through the kitchen door with their house keys and his wallet in hand, which he took from the counter.

"Daddy's going to the market, baby." Matt turned around, giving his daughter his full attention as he answered her.

"I want to come along! Mommy, can I go with daddy, please?" The little girl asked, getting up carefully so as not to fall - as had happened several times before because of her haste -, standing on top of her carpet and looking at her mother, her little hands holding the skirt of her pink dress with white ruffles.

Y/N turned to her daughter, pressing her lips in a thin line when she saw the girl's expression, eyes wide and lips in a pout, holding herself back from laughing at the similarity between her and her husband.

"Okay, you can go. But promise me you will be a good girl and listen and obey your father, remember what mommy taught you." Y/N spoke with a soft expression on her face, but serious voice. "And when you come back, be prepared to put away your toys, missy."

Eloise nodded her head repeatedly, smiling big and taking careful steps off the carpet, afraid of steping on her toys. Seeing that she was out of reach of the barbies and pans, she quickly walked towards her father, raising her arms and waiting to be picked up.

Matt, who observed the interaction between his wife and daughter, smiled a smile identical to Eloise's, bending down and picking her up with ease, arranging his arms so that the skirt of his daughter's dress was straight and wouldn't ride up with her movements.

"Her shoes are next to the door. Go carefully, I love you." Y/N spoke from the kitchen, turning her attention to the sink in front of her with a soft smile on her face after hearing her husband and daughter shouting "I love you" back.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Come on honey, give your hand to daddy." Matt asked after passing the market entrance, placing Eloise on the floor and taking her small hand, which seemed even smaller when compared to his own. "Let's see what your mom needs."

Matt fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and opened the messaging app, clicking straight to chat with his wife and reading the small list she sent.

The man decided that a basket would be enough, opting not to take a cart. Two of his hands were busy with his daughter and the basket, something he had already gotten used to after repeating this same routine since Eloise learned to walk.

Eloise loved accompanying her father in everything he did, seeing him as her inspiration.

Matt still worked on YouTube with his brothers - of course with fewer videos, since each one had their own family and personal life; but Eloise always made a point of accompanying her father on filming, even though she never appeared in the videos, her baby voice and loud laughs always sounded in the background of each of them.

When Matt was playing video games, Eloise would sit on his lap and watch her father type quickly, often falling asleep even with the loud sounds coming from his headphones.

Even when her father went out with his friends and brothers to play lacrosse or hockey, Eloise begged to accompany him, always being spoiled by the adults and cheering loudly for her father.

Eloise was a true daddy's girl.

"Daddy, can I get some ice cream?" The little girl asked as they passed the ice cream fridge. A big smile graced her face, showing her gums with some missing teeth.

Matt paused for a few seconds, knowing that if Y/N found out that Eloise ate something sweet before lunch, she would fight him. But who said he would be able to resist his daughter's smile and her big blue eyes?

"Alright, dove, but you have to promise to keep it a secret between the two of us." The man asked, crouching down to Eloise's height, raising his pinkie.

And that brings us to the current moment, with Matt already in the checkout line, the basket in his left hand, and Eloise at his right side, holding the ice cream with both hands and a smile still on her face, waiting patiently to being able to eat her treat.

After paying for all the items, Matt thanked the cashier and balanced the bags in his arms, taking his daughter's hand and leaving the store.

On the way home, Eloise squeezed Matt's index finger hard - with her little strength -, getting his attention. The man stopped his steps, looking at Eloise, who was already looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Yes, honey?" He asked, waiting for his daughter to verbalize what she wanted, just like he and Y/N taught her.

"Daddy, I want my ice cream. Please." The little girl asked, remembering to add the magic word at the end.

Matt smiled softly, bending down again and opening one of the bags, keeping Eloise close to him. His right hand reached through the vegetables, pulling out the ice cream covered in pink plastic.

Eloise raised her hands, waiting for her father to give her the treat, but the man lowered her little hands with his left one.

"Let daddy open it first." He spoke, using his two hands to open the plastic, being careful not to tear it, arranging it so that the ice cream melted only inside the packaging, avoiding a bigger mess.

"Here, baby. Hold it with both hands and eat it carefully." Matt asked, handing her the wrapped ice cream and arranging her smaller hands so she could hold it properly.

The man straightened up, arranging all the bags in his right hand and placing his left hand on his daughter's shoulder, keeping her close to him, guiding her carefully so she didn't trip over something or hit somewhere, her eyes too entertained by the pink treat in front of her.

Unfortunately, the promise made between father and daughter did not prevail, Y/N having discovered the treat due to Eloise's hands and mouth being covered in a sticky pink substance and a larger than normal smile adorning her face.

[em1e]

ᶻz feat. draken + mikey + ran !!

tokyo revengers && haircare

☓ they let u touch their hair !! ran's is a lil suggestive :3

ᶻz・ken ryuguji ‘draken’

⠀ ⬤ and helping upkeep his dark dye job.

“your roots are coming in.” you hum out with a tap to his forehead. 

draken swats your hand away with a grimace, standing from his kneeling position in front of the bike he was fixing while wiping his hands on the rag he keeps in his belt loop, “yeah? ‘ve been meaning to get some dye.” 

you smile, “can i do it?” 

“you gotta dying degree?, his eyes narrow to slits, quick to ask. 

“cosmetology degree,” you correct, unwavering, “and how hard can it be? you seem to do just fine.” 

“i’ve been doing it for a couple years.” he rolls his eyes, “and it’s so dark, i dunno how good of a job you’ll do.” 

“tomato, tomato.” you wave off, “what brand do you get? i’ll stop by the store and grab a box before you’re home.”  

he doesn’t have it in him to argue - not when you’re giving him such a big grin and those puppy-dog eyes - he can’t say no. 

“revlon,” he relents, “but if you mess up you’re never doin’ it again.” 

“aye aye captain.” you giggle, standing on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips before you’re practically skipping out of the garage.

when he comes back to your shared home, you’re sitting in the living room, a towel in the middle of the floor with one of the dining room chairs set in the center of it. he raises an eyebrow at it, and you hold up the box with a smile. 

“ready?”

draken changes from his work clothes while you mix the bowl of dye. he ends up sitting in the chair while you drape an old hand towel around his neck and press a kiss to his nose when you’re satisfied with the placement. 

“try not to get it in my scalp, yeah?” he grimaces at how dark the color is, suddenly very aware of each stroke you put onto his head despite you being mindful of each part you section off before moving to the next. it takes you maybe thirty minutes before you’re satisfied, making sure to use what dye remains to blend it in with the rest of his hair. you give another kiss to his forehead when you’re finished, and grimace when your nose presses into the still very wet dye. 

draken wipes away the little dot smeared on the tip of your nose with the corner of the hand towel, smiling at how you perk up at such a little interaction. 

“‘kay, it has to stay on for 25 minutes and then you can rinse it out.” 

“i know,” he laughs, “i do this like once a month.” 

you pinch his shoulder with a huff, “i was just reminding you.” 

draken stays in the chair as the 25 minutes pass, worried about dripping dye on your brand new carpet, and lets you help him wash it out when the time comes, leaning over the edge of the bathtub while you run water and shampoo and conditioner over his hair. 

you towel it try while he sits on the toilet, pressing a kiss to his forehead when you’re finished and smiling at how well of a job you’ve done. 

“none on your scalp.” you hum out, stepping back when he stands to look at himself in the mirror. you adore him like this, hair down and falling over his shoulders. he runs a hand through the still slightly damp hair, examining with the critique of a college professor.

then he gives you a toothy grin, brushing some fallen pieces out of his face, “you did good. might have to make this a habit.” 

ᶻz・manjiro sano ‘mikey’ 

⠀ ⬤ and letting you put his hair into different styles.

mikey was practically purring while you ran your fingers through his messy blond hair. 

the sensation of your fingertips against his scalp was magical, leaving him to bonelessly slumping against you while you part and section as you please, and despite you tapping his shoulder multiple times and mumble something about him needing to stay sitting up straight so you can properly fix his hair, he always ends up in the same position. 

it makes your job twenty times harder, tying up his pretty locks at an awkward angle and having to redo it multiple times when it’s uneven, and part of you suspects maybe he’s doing it on purpose - the need to have your fingers in his hair ever present with the sighs that fall from his lips. 

still, you do as well as you can, and press a soft kiss to the top of his head when you’re finished. 

he doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know you’ve done a good job. his body goes even limper to lean his full weight against you, sighing softly as you wrap your arms around his waist and hook your head over his shoulder. 

“how’s it look?” he asks more out of courtesy, since you did just spend the last twenty minutes doing whatever it is you’ve decided to do to his head. 

“cute.” you answer with a smile, “wanna see?” 

he hums, eyes closing when the warmth that radiates from you seeps into his back. he really doesn’t want to move.

and it’s as if you can see into the future - having already brought over a small hand mirror for him to look into when you grabbed the various hair ties and clips that are currently in his hair. you offer it to him gently, and he takes it with one eye open, head tilting as he takes in his new style. 

it is cute, he can admit. small colorful butterfly clips sat mixed into the usual half-up hairdo he normally wears. 

“you did good.” he turns his head slightly to give you a small peck on the cheek, smiling when he sees the blush that flares from the spot as if he’s burned you. 

“thanks.” your voice is quiet, but giddy. happy he’s happy. 

he sets the mirror face down onto his stomach, closing his eyes and letting himself relax in your embrace. some stray clips poke into the back of his head, but he can’t really find it in himself to care when the air around you brings such peace. 

he thinks he could stay like this forever, laying with whatever silly decorations in his hair if it means you’ll stay there, too. 

ᶻz・ran haitani

⠀ ⬤ and braiding his stupidly dyed hair.

“you are so annoying,” you groan out, undoing the entirety of the braid you’ve just done when ran turns his head to face you with a grin. 

“what?” he asks innocently, as if he hasn’t been the reason you’ve spent thirty minutes on his hair and still haven’t gotten a single braid finished. 

you replace the hair tie on your wrist, twisting him to face forward by his cheeks to restart, “we were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. rindou is gonna kill me if we’re late to this stupid dinner.” 

his grin falters at the mention of his brother’s name, turning to face you fully despite your protests, “who cares ‘bout him. you ‘nd i can have plenty of fun without goin’ to that dinner with him.”

the look you set him with would send any normal person running, but ran haitani has seen it all. death doesn’t scare him as much as it probably should, and neither does the way your eyes are scanning over his face. 

“it’s his birthday.” you settle for instead, forcing him to turn back around so you can start over with a frustrated sigh. 

“he ‘nd i already celebrated.” he says dismissively, turning back around despite you clicking your tongue and dropping your hands into your lap with another sigh. 

your aggravation is palpable, clear with the crease in your brows, “ran, i’m serious. i still need to get dressed and the reservation is five minutes from now and the place is almost fifteen if we speed-” 

he shuts you up with a kiss, pulling you towards him with a desperation that has your eyes fluttering closed and returning it as if it’s something as natural as breathing. your hands come up to tangle in his hair, fingertips meeting the hair tie still separating the half of it from the rest, and you pull. far harder than necessary, and it has him pulling away from you with a groan. 

it’s enough to tug the hair tie out completely, and you’re satisfied with the way his mixed colors fall over his shoulders and frame his face. 

the grin he gives you is sharp, all teeth and teasing, and your eyebrows raise with a pointed finger, “no ran. you are going to this dinner with your hair down and i am going to get dressed.” you slide out from behind him as quickly as your body will allow, already in the process of stripping off your shirt to put on the clothes you’ve set out previously. 

“c’mon babe, we’re already gonna be late.” his arms wrap around your bare torso, teeth pressing into your shoulder from how hard he’s grinning, “what’s a few extra minutes? s’not like he’ll be alone, izana ‘nd the others’ll be there to keep him company.” 

“ran.” your voice is warning, but you’re letting him pull you towards the bed and your resolve falters with each second he’s holding you. you are already late anyways. what’s twenty more minutes?