#might add onto this or share more eventually

[reilemon]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊Cool Off₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

♡︎ pairing: Zayne x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎ cw: unprotected sex (oops), office sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, I think that's it?

♡︎ word count: 3.4k

♡︎ synopsis: what to do when you "accidentally" flash your doctor?

♡︎ a/n: I haven't written smut in like three years. So if you think my writing is cringe, just keep scrolling idk.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎ @its-de ♡︎ for reading and helping me with this

banner by @cafekitsune

You finally have a day off and you want to use this free time to run errands. However, it's also a hot summer day and you need to dress accordingly. After cleaning your apartment and stocking up your fridge, you have -

meet up with your friend

shop for some new summer clothes and bed sheets

doctor’s appointment

You'd just skip the last one because you feel fine, even during the hot weather.

But you know damn well Dr Zayne will not be pleased with you if you do that. And he's not only your doctor now (and a childhood friend), but an actual friend who you spend most of your free time with. Circumstances of him being your assigned physician, some other stuff that happened in the last few months, brought you so much closer that you couldn't help but develop a huge crush on him. And how could you not when he's so kind, warm, attentive, always makes time for you, funny in his own way... you could spend the whole day thinking of all the stuff that makes you want to be more than friends.

Actually, you might be more than just friends. Lately, you’ve been going on a lot of “dates”; visiting festivals, trying new restaurants but also frequenting your favorite ones, dragging him to the arcade… he’s started insisting on being the one to drop you off at home after a night out. Just a couple of weeks ago when you were sick, he came to your place and took care of you. Both of you ended up falling asleep on your bed watching your comfort movie – actually, he wanted to read his book but ended up invested in the plot and eventually fell asleep before you, tired from his shift and nursing you back to health. You had enough strength to get up to pull out a freshly washed blanket from the closet and cover him. You lied back down, finding comfort in watching Zayne’s peaceful sleeping face. That’s how you fell asleep.

The next morning you found yourself waking up on Zayne’s chest, your form enveloping his. He was gently stroking your back, waiting for you to open your eyes. You don’t know whether you were the one that latched onto him during the night, or if he’s the one that pulled you in; nonetheless, it felt surreal to wake up like this. You looked up into his beautiful hazel green eyes, and you just shared a moment of pure intimacy. Then you got self-conscious of him having a close up of your morning face, which made you immediately jump from the bed and sprint to the bathroom. So, he did manage to nurse you back to health in one day.

You really wish he made the first move already. With all the stolen glances, lingering touches, cuddling, you genuinely think he feels the same way. But you are also his patient, so maybe he feels uncomfortable starting anything, like he’s crossing a boundary and abusing his position as your physician? Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Or maybe you’re just delusional and ovulating.

Okay, back to the present. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity to see your crush (this is more than just a crush, honestly) and you add one more task to the list

get some dessert for Zayne

And you want to look cute for him, so you opt for your new backless summer dress.

☃︎⋆⁺₊☃︎⋆⁺₊☃︎⋆⁺₊

“Thank fuck, I look okay.” You murmur as you check yourself out in the mirror in the bathroom of Zayne's office.

It's just before 8pm, your scheduled checkup. Both of you were too busy to hang out for more than a week, and you can’t wait to see him. You took this opportunity to leave the heavy shopping bags on the sofa, the bag with dessert on his desk, and quickly freshen up in the bathroom. It was so hot today, still is, but thanks to the dress you didn't sweat that much.

You exit the bathroom the same time he enters the office. You catch how his usually stern gaze behind his glasses softens at the sight of you.

“Hey!” You don’t waste any time and shorten the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck giving him a peck on the cheek.

Zayne’s hands stiffly hover over your waist, stunned by the enthusiastic greeting. You always have a big smile on your face when you see him, but you’re only this forward when you have some alcohol in your system. He doesn’t smell it on your breath now though.

“Did you miss me that much, or are you trying to coax me to skip the check up?”

You pull away with a pout and a blush on your cheeks. Feeling a little embarrassed, you go and sit on a chair across his desk, steering the conversation towards the dessert you brought him.

With an entertained smirk, he sat on his chair and indulged in just chatting with you, and making plans for the evening. He feels at ease now that you’re here.

Zayne cuts the conversation short to take care of some paperwork, so you entertain yourself with your phone, checking what cafes are open. You sit there in silence, not wanting to disturb him. The room is air-conditioned and you would think you'd start to cool down, but it's impossible to do so when your crush is right across you. You try to focus on your phone but your eyes keep darting between the screen and Zayne’s handsome focused features…his hand holding the pen… his long fingers...

“You need to ask me something?” Zayne peers over his glasses.

Busted!

For like a hundredth time.

You fidget in your seat. “Um, no. I don’t wanna disturb you.”

He closes a file and puts papers aside. “I’m done. Go ahead.”

You make up how you wanted to ask him if he wanted to visit the café on your screen, only to for him to point out it’s closed when you show it to him. Not smooth at all.

You nervously scratch your back, and that when it hits you. You didn't wear a bra today!

In your defense, of course you're not going to wear a bra with the backless dress and when it's so hot outside, and it would be okay if this was just a hangout, but the main reason why you're here is because of the check up! Well, now you're getting even more flustered and you can feel nervous sweat forming everywhere. Great.

Zayne's voice fades into focus.

"Is everything okay?"

“Yeah, let’s just go find a cafe that’s nearby!” You prop yourself to sit up and make a run for it, but the seriousness in Zayne’s tone stops you.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You wave your hand “I feel great, you don't need to -"

"That's good to hear." He humors you, setting the stethoscope around his neck, eyes not leaving yours.

You engage in a short staring contest, but you never win those with him. You hold back the bratty whine as you get up and walk towards the chair. Should you address this? What would be more awkward – saying that you don’t have a bra on or just slipping off the top of the dress, flashing him? But Zayne is a professional; he probably saw plenty of breasts from other patients and didn’t bat an eye. And maybe he even noticed that you’re braless.

You sit on the chair next to him and Zayne gives you an amused look. “Good girl.”

It was like a reflex - the moment you heard those words, your hands slipped off the top of your dress. Zayne pauses, his eyes locked at the sight before him. Oh shit, did you manage to make the situation awkward after all? Just when you wanted to open your mouth to say anything, he blinks and proceeds to do what he’s supposed to do. You suck in a breath when the icy cold stethoscope touches your chest spreading goosebumps across your skin, making your nipples hard. Zayne's eyes are focused somewhere to the side, but you can see light redness peppered on his cheeks. The two of you sit there in silence while he checks your heartbeat. You try to compose yourself, take slow breaths, but your heart is giving you away.

When he’s done, he takes off the instrument and places it on the table. He clears his throat “Nothing irregular, your heartbeat is a little faster, but the heat is probably to blame.”

Right, the heat.

You hope that the redness, still on his face, and his ears, is not from the sun.

Again, you have two choices – do you pull the top up and act like nothing happened, continue the same ‘will they, won’t they’ routine – or do you want to do something about this, take the first step and find out once and for all if this infatuation is one sided?

You take his hand, making him look at you, ‘Well, can you help me cool down, Doctor?’

Zayne eyes widen slightly, switching between your hand and your gaze, only guessing where you’re going with this.

You gently place his cold hand just above your left breast ‘Is this okay?’ you whisper.

Zayne’s irises are almost black from how dilated his pupils are. As he gazes into your doe eyes, the hand resting on your chest travels up across your skin and lands on the side of your neck. He takes off his glasses, leans towards you, his lips a breath away from yours, “You’re walking on thin ice, darling.”

He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss. Zayne is kissing you like a man starved, like he's been waiting for this for so long, afraid that this moment will slip away all too quickly. His other hand wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your chests together, feeling each other’s heartbeats. You moan into the kiss, surprised by the intensity of it and the desperation of his embrace. His lips are so soft and tender, just like you imagined too many times. The hand on your waist travels up to grab your breast, the sensation of his big cold hand on your heated skin making you gasp against his lips. He seizes the moment to lick your bottom lip, then slipping his tongue, yours quickly meeting it.

Suddenly, both of his hands land on your shoulders pulling away.

He utters ‘fuck’ (this might be the first time hearing him say the f word, and you’re embarrassed how excited it made you.) He holds your chin with thumb and index finger, ‘Do you wish to continue?’

You utter ‘yes’ and grab him by the black necktie locking your lips again. His hands find the top of your thighs, then sneaking their way down to bunch up your dress over your knees.

“Hold onto me.” He murmurs between kisses, and you oblige, catching onto his shoulders. Zayne grabs you by the back of your soft thighs, lifting you from the chair and placing you on his desk, so effortlessly and swiftly, like you weigh nothing.

Your fingers comb through his soft, thick hair, relishing in the fact of being able to touch it like this. His hands cup your face, distancing his lips from yours. You expectantly look up to see his tender, yearning gaze. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he kisses you again, this time softly, slowly deepening it, stealing your breath away. His soft lips move to kiss and nip at the side of your neck, his hands giving attention to your breasts again. He caresses both of them, and it doesn’t take long for one of his hands to be replaced by his lips. His hot tongue teases around the nipple. But when he starts sucking on it, while simultaneously playing with the other one with his fingers, a loud moan escapes your lips.

Zayne’s smirks against the sensitive nipple, “You need to stay quiet, darling.”

You were so dazed with lust that you completely forgot that there could be people outside his office. You bite your bottom lip and nod.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, one hand bunching up your dress more and resting on your hip, while the one on your nipple sneaks its way down, teasing the band of your underwear. You feel his fingers slide down, rubbing you over your soaked panties, making you move your hips, craving more friction.

“Fuck.” He breathes against your ear, “You’re already so wet for me.”

The fingers travel towards the band of your underwear and tug on it, and you lift your hips to let him slide it down your legs. Then he stashes your panties into the pocket of his pants.

He catches you by surprise when he kneels down in front of your cunt, your legs closing on reflex, but Zayne grabs your thighs before they could squish his head.

He gently strokes them, "Let me see you."

You’re hesitant about it, but you remember that you took extra steps when you freshened up in the bathroom. Slowly, you spread your legs, lifting your feet to rest on the edge of the desk. Cool air against your soaked pussy sends shivers all over your body.

His hands rest on the plush of your inner thighs. His eyes are mesmerized by the sight in front of him. You almost feel self-conscious by the close-up he’s getting.

"Zayne –" You squirm under his stare.

Snapping out of his daze, he meets your eyes "I’m sorry. You’re just so much more beautiful than I imagined."

Than he imagined? The statement makes your cheeks even deeper red, your pussy more wet and impatient.

Feeling impatient himself, Zayne starts by placing gentle kisses on your inner thigh. The hand on the opposite side follows the same trail, his slender fingers stopping to tease your wet folds, the contact making you gasp and involuntarily clench your thighs.

"Relax, angel." His breath fans over your pussy, not making it easier but you try anyway.

The digits slowly glide over the wetness, bathing in your juices. Your hips flinch as his fingertips lightly circle your clit, thighs trembling as digits are replaced with his hot tongue. It glides flat over your folds, stopping to circle the sensitive nub. The tip of the tongue flicks over it, circles it, again and again, your cunt dripping with both his saliva and your arousal. His middle finger slides in, ring finger shortly after, curling to reach and rub that delicate spot inside you; he sucks and licks your clit while finger fucking you, and your thighs are now shaking, toes curling, as intense waves of pleasure course through your body.

Your hold onto Zayne’s hair, and roll your hips in the same rhythm of his fingers, chasing your release, "Zayne… I’m gonna–"

He locks eyes with you and continues what he’s doing; you come shortly after, covering your mouth with your hand.

Zayne helps you come down from your high, places soft pecks on your thighs again and stands up, pulling you into another breathtaking kiss.

Your hands frantically find his belt and start unbuckling it.

Zayne breaks the kiss, ‘I don’t have any condoms here.’

You shrug ‘Just pull out.’

‘That’s not very respo – ‘

‘Well, you’re a doctor; you can prescribe me some plan b pills.’ you innocently flutter your lashes.

He chuckles and starts taking off his tie and shirt, and you take a moment to gaze at the strong, chiseled muscles of his torso, his arms and those shoulders. Zayne, amused at your dazed and shameless ogling of his  shirtless physique, reaches down to unzip his pants, taking them and underwear off in the same go, his hard cock smacking against his shaved pelvis. You suck in a breath when your eyes land on it. He's long and thick, curved just right, tip glistening with so much precum. You hand wraps around it, stroking and feeling the pulsing veins under your touch.

Zayne’s breath hitches ‘Are you sure – fuck…’ He groans when you press his length against your slippery folds, teasingly moving your hips.

‘Yes… I need you.’

With those magic words, Zayne swipes all the papers off the table, grabs you behind the knees and lifts your legs further, and you lean back to rest on your elbows.

His dick strokes your slit, tip teasing the entrance, but you're so impatient.

'Zaynee-' you whine.

He closes his eyes, jaw clenched. Even though your ‘friend’ is the embodiment of calm and collected, right now he’s barely holding onto his composure. His flushed cheeks and red ears, ragged breathing are exposing how badly he wanted, needed, this and how he’s trying so hard not to cum right here before even slipping the tip in.

But he doesn’t want to wait any longer; with your needy whines spurring him on, he places his red cockhead against you, your drenched pussy making it easy to slide it in.

His leg muscles tremble, trying to restrain himself from bottoming out the same second; with shallow thrusts, he slowly slides it all the way in. He towers over you, one hand resting on the desk, the other cupping your face. His hips roll at languid pace, his hooded eyes never leaving your face, watching you adjust to his size.

As you get comfortable, you grab him by back of his neck “Faster, please…” You breathe. He leans down, locking your lips into a sloppy kiss.

He slowly picks up the pace, his hand starts playing with your nipples again, and now it's really hard keep your voice down. You keep breaking the kiss in desperate need to catch your breath, but moans escape your lips as well. Zayne grabs your upper arms and pushes you down further. His muscular torso pressed against yours, his pelvis rubbing against your clit.

“Zayne - I'm close”

“Try to stay quiet, angel.” he grunts, his eyes locked on your face, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He angles himself so his hand can reach down and rub your clit, and it’s too much for you - you cum a few seconds later and Zayne has to slip two fingers of his other hand into your mouth to keep you from screaming. You still whimper and moan over his fingers. He slows down to help you ride out the orgasm, and pulls out the fingers to kiss your lips.

'Is it okay to pick up the pace now? I'm so close.'

You only nod, unable to form any words. He plants a kiss on your temple and moves onto kissing and sucking your neck. Then he goes back to just looking at your face while he picks up the pace, your legs locking around his waist, pulling him even deeper. You bite your bottom lip, but at this point, you feel it's impossible to stay quiet. And now it's not only you who is making noise, but the desk, although sturdy, is starting to move and creak.

You gasp as he suddenly lifts you off the table with his big arms wrapped around your torso. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding onto him. His hands grabs your ass and starts moving your hips in unison with his, his throbbing dick thrusting so much deeper, all the juices leaking down his balls and onto the floor.

You latch your teeth onto his neck to keep yourself from screaming while he’s panting feverishly into your ear.

‘I’m gonna come soon –‘

You meet his gaze ‘Don’t pull out.’

His hips stutter at your words, eyes widening for a second. He curses under his breath and picks up the pace. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, lewd gasps and pants interrupting.

His hands squeezing your ass in a bruising grip, he grunts against your lips, and you feel intense throbbing of his cock; warm liquid filling you up, sending shivers all over your sweaty body.

His slow pumps let his thick cum drip out, making a mess of his pants and the floor. You can feel how fast his heart is beating against your chest. The two of you catch your breath as your lips share a languid kiss, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies.

After pulling out, Zayne sits you on his chair. He kneels in front of you, caresses your cheek, his eyes full of adoration. “I never thought our first time would look like this.”

You lean into his palm, looking at him with sweet innocent eyes, “Oh? What did you imagine then?”

“I can show you later.”

[ltleflrt]

Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol

So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.

So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.

Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.

I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.

In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.

(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)

I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.

Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.

This post is for them.

Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."

Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.

Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.

Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.

And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.

AND:

This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.

You're valid. You're one of us too.

And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)

[pineconepie]

parental yandere guardian angel perhaps?? 👀

TW: Violence, infantilization, mentioned stalking(?), parental yandere, alcohol, attempted mugging

...

You drag out a long sigh, not bothering to look the presence you know is next to you in the eye. For days he's been following you around like some puppy looking for attention, and you're more than tired of it.

"I do not like these bars," Seradiel murmurs. "There's all sorts of harmful people around. Are you trying to make my job harder?"

"A pointless job, might I add," you chuckle humorlessly. "You don't need to watch after me like I'm some baby. And for the record, you don't need to be sitting next to me 24/7, either."

At first, you thought Seradiel was crazy when he claimed to be your guardian angel, but ever since you nearly got ran over from not looking both ways on the street, the dude had been following you everywhere like some sort of shadow.

He said he had been guarding over you ever since you were a newborn, but decided to make his presence known ever since that incident.

He would appear out of nowhere in your house while you were sleeping and making sure you're breathing right, or follow you on walks, protecting you from any potential danger.

Seradiel's frown deepens. "Either way, you won't approve. If I watch you from afar, you claim that's creepy; but if I make myself known, you get annoyed."

You give Seradiel a pointed look. "That's because most people don't have an angel follow them around all the time."

He shakes his head. "That isn't true. Everyone has an angel. Some are just less dedicated than I am."

A groan escapes you. What kind of excuse is that?

You wave him off. "Can you at least, I don't know, sit at another table? The waiters keep looking our way since they can't see you and probably think I'm talking to myself like a crazy person."

"No, they can see me. I just don't have wings in anyone else's vision," he claims. "They're probably giving funny looks because of our conversation."

"Whatever," you mutter under your breath. "Why are you so dedicated, as you claim?"

He ruffles your hair. "Because you're like my baby. Sure, you may have biological parents, but even they don't share the same kind of connection with you as I do. After all, I've been watching over you ever since your first moments of life. I've spent more time with you than anyone else on this Earth has. And you were such a sweet child. Sometimes I wonder if you miss those days as much as I do."

"Not at all," you mutter, even though that isn't true at all. "So you just watched me my whole life?"

"Of course. Therefore, you are essentially like my child. And no good parent would allow their child to wander around such a sketchy establishment like this." He motions towards the dimly lit, rather unimpressive bar.

"Any good parent would let their adult child do what they please, because they're an adult." You take another sip from your cup. The liquid burns your throat going down, and you almost immediately feel drowsier and more light-headed. Seradiel yanks the cup away from you. "Hey! What the hell, I paid for that!" You reach for it back.

"You've had too much already," he scolds. "Now let's leave." He grabs your hand and leads you out. With you stumbling after him, you finally make it onto the street outside and head home.

The walk is silent other than your occasional hiccup. But every few minutes, Seradiel makes sure you're still lucid.

"Just leave me alone," you whine. "Please. I want just a minute of independence, I can't do anything without you hovering over me! Is that too much to ask?"

Seradiel's eyes narrow. "Is that so?" Without warning, he lets go of your hand. "Fine. If you'd like to be a brat, we can play your game."

He disappears in an instant. Despite the fact that you were begging for him to stop being so clingy, you find yourself strangely unsettled at his departure, as if something's missing.

Nonetheless, you decide to ignore it; he'll come back eventually.

You continue your drunken stumble back home.

However, you barely make it another block before you hear the sound of footsteps behind you.

Normally you would've ignored it, but combined with how late it was and how sketchy the bar itself was, you pick up your pace. Whoever was behind you speeds up also.

Now more than nervous, you start running, not caring about how lightheaded you felt and how awful your body ached.

Whoever was following you started running after you now, and in the dead silence of night you can hear their rapid steps thumping against the ground.

Their heavy breathing rings through the air, and your heart drops when you realize they were gaining on you.

Before you knew it, a firm hand wrapped around your arm, yanking you to a stop.

The person has a knife, dressed in all black clothing, looking eerily similar to someone who was ready to commit murder.

"Empty your wallet now," he hisses. "And don't make any noise. If you try to scream, I'll cut off your fucking tongue."

You scramble to empty your wallet. There isn't much money in there, which just pisses him off.

"That's it? That can't be all you have," he snarls. He backhands you in anger, causing you to stumble back. You rub your face where he struck you, crawling backwards as he rummages through your things himself. However, he only finds a couple pieces of gum. He looks even more angered by this outcome, reaching for his knife again.

"Seradiel!" you cry out, shutting your eyes tight. "I'm sorry! Please help me!"

Suddenly, there's a gust of wind. Your eyes fly open, and in front of you is none other than Seradiel. He stands tall, looming over your mugger with his white wings stretching out like a curtain to conceal you. His golden hair shines in the moonlight. Although usually calm, his demeanor has completely changed.

His eyes are now slit into furious daggers glaring straight ahead at your mugger.

"What the hell..." the man mutters.

With no words, Seradiel reaches forward and grabs the assailant by the neck, throwing him across the road and into a wall like the assailant is merely paper trash.

Seradiel begins to stalk towards the mugger, who's coughing violently from the impact. "I usually hold empathy for criminals like yourself; just trying to survive. But then you decided to try and hurt my child," Seradiel growls. You've never seen such fury radiating from his usually calm appearance. He looks more than capable of murdering the mugger then and there.

The assailant scrambles backwards, attempting to stand. Unfortunately for him, before he can rise Seradiel is upon him again. The angel knocks the mugger off their feet and kicks them, sending them flying backwards.

He grabs the knife he dropped, twirling it between his fingers.

"Hmm. Should I kill him?" Seradiel asks, turning towards you. He doesn't even look remorseful. On the contrary, he looks emotionless; he doesn't care if the criminal lives or dies. It was like he was asking you to pass him salt on the dinner table.

"No," you whisper. "Please don't. I just want to go home. Let's just go home, please."

"Alright. As long as he apologizes." He turns back to the assailant. "Well?"

The attacker sobs and nods. "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!"

"And give them back their belongings," Seradiel adds.

The mugger obliges and hands all your belongings back to the angel. Once Seradiel steps aside, he scrambles away until you can't see him anymore.

He turns to face you again, his expression immediately softening. You instinctively take a step back. Seeing him switch demeanors so quickly is shocking.

"My love," Seradiel murmurs softly. "I told you it wasn't safe here. Are you okay?" He approaches you cautiously. He takes out his handkerchief to dab the bleeding scratch on your cheek. Then he inspects you, making sure you haven't sustained any other injuries. "See what happens when you walk alone? This is why I need to watch over you at all times. Does that not make sense to you yet?"

He puts his arms underneath your legs and back, picking you up. You bury your face in his robes.

"I don't like bars," you mumble quietly. "I promise I won't go to another one."

"Not just bars. Everywhere is dangerous. It's a good thing I'm your guardian angel; the world would eat you alive otherwise," he mumbles. "Oh, little lamb. What will Papa do with you?" He kisses the top of your head while carrying you.

It's not the first time he's referred to himself as that word. Papa.

In some ways, it makes sense; he does act very fatherly and treats you like his baby.

Still, you have mixed feelings about him. You still can't wipe the vision from your mind of him brutally beating up your mugger just minutes ago.

"Aren't angels against violence?" you rasp.

He shakes his head. "Not in cases such as those. Angels protect others. Most just happen to use violence as the last resort. And I will always protect my children."

"How many children do you have?"

"You're the only one," Seradiel coos. "And trust me, I love you very much. I hope this was a valuable lesson for you."

You fall into silence once again, clutching his robes.

When you finally arrive home, he opens the door for you. "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"...thank you, for protecting me," you mutter under your breath.

He gives you a smile, but it's far from gentle. No, it looks almost... proud, victorious. "Of course. Just remember that I'll always be here to keep you safe."

[garoujo]

saetoru is talking abt you on her private blog (@/clorindes) yuckkkkk

CW BULLYING, LITERALLY IMMATURE HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA, SUB POSTING.

hi nonnie, thank you for letting me know! since i’m leaving this blog & this platform for the foreseeable future i figured i might aswell get a few things off of my chest before i go. i apologise in advance for the vibes this post will probably bring, the discourse & the posts that will ofcourse follow, but i honestly i am not the first person to be targeted by this creator and i’m sure i won’t be the last considering the amount of creators that have been bullied off of this app by them.

first off i’ve had multiple blogs that would be considered bigger blogs such as @/hvnlydmn, @/atsymu + now this blog which is the biggest of all 3. i think there’s a sort of unspoken responsibility that comes with being a bigger blog which i know is no fun but it’s also because it can be super harmful on a site like this, when people weaponise their following.

on that note i’ll start this post by saying that i’ve known tee for probably around 3/4 years, maybe? we were mutuals on hvnlydmn & atsymu and we continued to talk on discord even when i was off of tumblr. i will honestly admit to this day i have never had a negative interaction with tee to my face and she was genuinely supportive of me during any discourse i was involved in. i am not some angel, i’ve had my fair share of crap on this app (of my own doing) but this post is not meant to come across like “oh she doesn’t like me so i’m calling her out” no. im sorry if this doesn’t line up with my brand and my ‘victim complex’ but i’m not gonna lie down and let someone on a power trip on a hobby app drag me through the mud.

first off i had began to get some off vibes from tee when i had started writing on garoujo, notably when i’d just hit my first milestone which was probably around 1k. during this i had decided to move my instagram theme from my main blog to my writing blog.

i’d noticed tee subposting (on main and on her personal blog which i followed at the time) about someone basically using the same theme as her, which after then clicking onto her blog i realised was an instagram theme. i didn’t think much of it, again me & tee were friends and she hadn’t came to me directly so ignored it. i was still a new blog and trying to solidly an aesthetic (before the beige lol) so i changed my theme / masterlists / layouts a lot.

a few more sub posts later i decided to message tee about it because with every thing i’d change / post on my blog, there always seemed to be another post. so i messaged her and got this response in: (i’ve blurred out my irl name btw) open up pics for convo!

so i let it slide, kept posting & that was that. probably a few days / a week later, tee had soft blocked me which then eventually led to me being hard blocked. i was upset ofcourse because i genuinely considered tee a good friend but i’ve always been a big advocate in controlling your space.

this was when, one of our mutuals in common (the first of many may i add) approached me on discord to say that just like now, i was being ripped to shreds on tee’s personal blog:

again i was notably upset about this because i was being accused of not only copying her theme but also her writing & masterlists, we did have a lot of mutuals in common so it was also upsetting knowing they would all be seeing these posts aswell. i allowed myself one sub post about “creating a narrative” because i was particularly frustrated but tee then also subposted about this, even though she had me blocked?

i would also like to say regarding our mutuals in common that this was not the first or last mutual to approach me regarding tee. i’ve had multiple people tell me that “they’re only mutuals with her because it would be more damaging not to be” “it’s easier to be on her side”. also i am not saying this is okay but i’ve had multiple of her current mutuals send me not only her posts, but screenshots of her private, personal instagram & also tell me about how all of them and their friends had a running joke / theory that tee made up her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) for attention.

regarding the accusations from tee i’d like to first comment on the instagram themes, again i had done an instagram theme on my main blog but it seemed to only be an issue when it was on my writing blog that was gaining traction. if the timing was off and it seemed like i copied her, i genuinely have nothing to say except it’s not the case— it’s instagram (which tee already admits she doesn’t own above) also the hanma writing? i’m still not 100% sure which drabbles she was referring to but i can only assume that 1. is when i posted a drabble about hanma fucking you outside of his subordinates house — this was a almost completely word by word rewrite of a suna drabble i done on my old blog @/atsymu i literally just changed the concept to fit tokyo revengers themes. i can post screenshots of this suna drabble also from my google docs dated February when i deactivated. the other one may have been some basic concept about him fucking you against the window.

she also mentions in the very first recent screenshot at the beginning of this post that i have apparently stolen concepts of fics / posts from her mutuals. what i want to say regarding this is, do you believe that i would have made it this far on stolen work? i don’t know any of the mutuals she’s referring to apart from 1 which i’ll get into. but every single accusation i’ve ever received has always come from someone associated or in contact with tee, she has always been at the root of it all but i have yet to receive a single anon or ask about me copying or taking inspiration from anyone’s work.

i know there was apparently a blog and an ex mutual of mine, who i had a lot of respect & time for who was under the impression i’d stolen their concept for this gojo fic. the whole premise of this fic is honestly not uncommon considering how many times people losing control of their techniques / powers / quirks during orgasm has been done in fanfiction. this concept was completely my own, i had originally posted shitposts about him losing control of his technique & also him putting you into a mating press / breeding before i’d decided to smoosh them together into a fic. we all read from the same workbook, we all have the same material to work off of — two people in a fanbase of THOUSANDS having a similar idea is not unheard of.

now onto the masterlist banners. the screenshot on the far left are the comparison photos that tee made herself— i’m sure you’ll be able to see them in better quality when she makes her own post about it; because obviously that’s going to come. first off i will say, i will admit i took inspiration from her official art masterlist banners — i thought hers looked good and i needed a masterlist so i used official art. fair game there although i only kept them for a few days before i changed again.

but onto the grey masterlist banners, i can honestly say i did not even know tee had this masterlist, also the only comparison i myself see is the colour. the only reason i chose grey was because i had started to use a grey / white overlay on my manga panels for my layout (as you can see far right), and as you know— i’ve always kept my colour scheme pretty consistent. on that note, regarding the actual layout of the masterlists— i’ve added screenshots from atsymu (that i could find due to it being deactivated) that shows the layout of my old masterlists, which was what i took inspiration from for my current. although the title font for each heading like headcanons is different, i had used the sort of old style, basic font that everyone uses before i had deactivated so it would match my fic headers i just don’t have photos obviously.

anyway on the back of this there was then discourse over me apparently copying tee’s kinktober masterlist, which again was not the case. but again due to tee’s following i had received multiple death threats into my asks the morning after i posted mine. as far as i was aware, the only similarities were the fact we both used gifs in our headers & the layout listing thirsts, hcs & fics (which is very common during kinktober but i admitted below i could see that similarity). unfortunately during all of this discourse was when ffflowers, my hate blog also came into the mix which then lead to tee reaching out to me in dm’s from her old blog.

the interaction between me & tee was pretty good, again she was nothing but nice to me directly despite the way she obviously spoke about me in private above. but as you can see below, tee herself told me that basically most of the similarities all made above were brushed off as basic. we spoke about the ig themes & i apologised, saying i could understand where she was coming from and that was that. i unblocked her & she unblocked me so i could reblog her post, it’s been that way since.

it is not my place to comment on other people’s experiences on this app but i would need more than 2 hands to list the amount of people that i’m sure have had similar if not worse experiences with tee. i know i have had multiple mutuals who have been bullied off of this platform & had their safe space ripped from them for little things such as: liking a character that this group selfship with, tee and her friends not liking their characterisation. they’ve even went as far as to go through other larger creators notes to check for minors so they can make excuses as to why they’re thriving.

i also know of a blog who was ‘blacklisted’ from tee & her mutuals as they self shipped with arataki itto at the time, one of tee’s friends also did, so they blacklisted this creator and had all of their mutuals block them for this which then in turn drove this creator off the app. there has been other notably bitchy things that i’ve heard but i have no receipts for therefore i don’t see any relevance in starting rumours.

i would also like to say i know plagiarism is a horrible thing, we have all been through it— myself included but it’s got to the point where being accused of copying tee has become a canon event. notably, bigger platforms have been ruined and driven off of this app for little things such as mdni dividers, similar colours schemes etc. and it’s the reason i’m also leaving.

i will say i have met some amazing people through my discourse with tee, notably people who have been in similar situations and i also apologise to any mutuals who we still have in common who are now sort of stuck inbetween. no hard feelings. although to tee: id be careful of the people you trust because it seems the loyalties they have to you are not as sincere as you may believe. you can also go to her personal & read the other things she was saying about me like how she was always so ? at how many people seemed to like me.

so that’s all i have to say, i’m sure dash will get a few responses from this but i’ll be logging out & turning off asks because honestly? couldnt care less. the only thing i’d change about my experience on this app would be i wish i’d blocked tee sooner.

i’d say have a nice day, but instead, have the day you deserve.

— emmie :)

[ivesambrose]

NOVEMBER 2024 MINI MESSAGES ❤️

1. 2. 3.

And we're in November and I feel everyone's a little overwhelmed, but I intend that you receive the guidance you need.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

Services offered

Reviews

Thanks for the tip!

Picture 1

You feel like you're struggling to make it up hill and maybe you're point blank exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. The theme of this month for you to lighten the burden you've been carrying in hopes that someone will lighten it. That someone is you. This month also calls for physical rest. I will admit there might be moments you'll feel like you have a bunch of stuff to sort out that do leave you feeling tired but trust that yourself to prioritise you. Take care of your back health some of you. You may also feel a bit emotionally distant or just plain bored or even be deep in contemplation as though you're missing something. However, I see a burst of new ideas, insights or information or clarity that lets you leave that apathetic energy you had been previously feeling, behind. It's as though out of the blue, the path clears. This month brings a positive transition which means you have to leave something behind. But what you do leave behind, won't be a loss. November ends on a more emotionally fulfulling month than it started on. Now whatever fulfills you emotionally, is innately personal to you. Trust that you'll have it and even if you can't right now, know that things will fall in place anyway.

Picture 2

Don't often say this, but it's truly your month if you're the 'I'll channel every emotion in me into getting everything done and becoming the best.' and even if you're someone who believes that slow and steady will win the race, it's still your month. You'll be working diligently into improving an aspect or multiple aspects of your life or just working hard towards your goals. By this I mean that you'll show up, you'll be consistent and you will improve. You've always been good at this now you'll be better and eventually great. Expect the rewards of your labour, especially financially. Be as ambitions as you wish to be instead of diluting yourself. If you can mentally the paint the picture then you can have it. Just make sure to not overwork and overwhelm yourself. You will be attracting influential individuals but also people who have an addictive or controlling personality, stay wary of those and keep your boundaries intact. Bit by bit, all your efforts, the dominant thoughts you have, what you say to yourself and others, what you share, what you consume etc all of it will add up. This month ends with you feeling like "A brand new person" and yes, I am referencing the Tame Impala song.

Picture 3

Oh you're fired up this month to the point even you're amused by it. Either it's a sudden burst of energy you'll feel or an opportunity that will be presented to you. You'll also be feeling excited, eager, curious and creative. Lot of planning, lot of risk taking, like you've decided to put your foot down on regards to something and you will be rather defensive of it because I'm seeing maybe some people might want to project their own ideas or limitations onto you or downplay your enthusiasm and determination. Don't let that get to you. In fact, do not overwhelm yourself this month since there is a risk of feeling burnt out. Try not to be too hot headed either and also avoid shopping as therapy (not too much, you can treat yourself though!) I do see there will be someone warm, kind and empathetic towards you. Extremely loving and understanding. Have the same energy towards yourself and those who care for you. Keep your heart a little open too. This month will end on you over coming a rather low point of your life is what I'm sensing. There's a feeling of isolation and defeat that you'll be overcoming and stepping into a version of you that's passionate and wants to experience life to their fullest.

[ikiprian]

Barbara Gordon's Coding & Computer Cram School is a popular YouTube series. Tucker Foley is a star student.

Barbara Gordon's Cram School posts free online courses for both coding and computer engineering. Think Crash Course in terms of entertainment, but college lecture in terms of depth. Hundreds of thousands of viewers flock to it— students who missed a class, people looking to add new skills to a resume, even simple hobbyists. It’s a project Barbara’s proud of.

Sometimes, when she wants to relax, she’ll even hop in the comments and spend an afternoon troubleshooting a viewer’s project with them.

User “Fryer-Tuck” has especially interesting ones. Barbara finds herself seeking out his comments, checking in on whatever this crazy kid is making next. An app for collecting GPS pings and assembling them on a map in real-time, an algorithm that connects geographic points to predict something’s movement taking a hundred other variables into account, simplified versions of incredibly complex homemade programs so they can run on incredibly limited CPU’s.

(Barbara wants to buy the kid a PC. It seems he’s got natural talent, but he keeps making reference to a PDA. Talk about 90’s! This guy’s hardware probably predates his birth.)

She chats with him more and more, switching to less public PM threads, and eventually, he opens up. His latest project, though, is not something Barbara has personal experience with.

FT: so if you found, hypothetically, a mysterious glowing substance that affects tech in weird and wacky ways that could totally have potential but might be vaguely sentient/otherworldly…. what would you do and how would you experiment with it. safely, of course. and hypothetically

BG: I’d make sure all my tests were in disposable devices and quarantined programs to keep it from infecting my important stuff. Dare I ask… how weird and wacky is it?

FT: uhhh. theoretically, a person composed of this substance once used it to enter a video game. like physical body, into the computer, onto the screen? moving around and talking and fighting enemies within the game?

FT: its been experimented with before, but not on any tech with a brain. just basic shields and blasters and stuff, its an energy source. also was put in a car once

FT: i wanna see how it affects software, yk? bc i already know it can. mess around and see how far i can push it

BG: […]

FT: … barbara?

BG: Sorry, thinking. Would you mind sharing more details? You said “blasters?”

Honestly. Kid genius with access to some truly wacky materials and even wackier weapons, she needs to start a file on him before he full sends to either hero or villain.

[OR: Tucker is a self-taught hacker, but if he were to credit a teacher, he'd name Barbara Gordon's Coding & Computer Cram School! He's even caught the attention of Dr. Gordon herself. She's full of sage advice, and with how she preaches the value of a good VPN, he's sure she's not pro-government. Maybe she'll help him as he studies the many applications of ecto-tech!]

[silverofthunder]

☆ serenity ☆

Copia (Frater Imperator) x F!Reader

summary: "Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is."

content: 850 words, fluff, mild hurt/comfort

well, i'm back to these reader inserts finally! it's been a while, sorry. this is just some silly little thing, inspired (shockingly) by the new stuff. 😊 hope you enjoy! 💜

You entered into your and Copia’s shared chambers, closing the door as quietly as possible as you thought that Copia might have been asleep already. You locked the door and dropped the keys to the small counter while kicking off your shoes, heading then straight to your bedroom. The lights were still on and Copia was sitting on the bed, reading a book, glasses balancing on his nose.

A smile, although tired one, rose to your lips as he didn’t look up when you got into the room. If the book was really good, you knew that he would have a hard time concentrating on anything else.

Without saying a word you climbed onto the bed, crawling to him and kissing his cheek. He smiled, gaze still glued to the book, and after a moment of consideration you positioned yourself so that you could rest your head on his stomach.

Copia let out a light ’oof ’ sound as you wiggled a little, searching for the most comfortable way to lay there. As you eventually found it, you let out a sigh, and felt Copia leaning the book against you.

You moved your hand, slipping it slowly under Copia’s shirt and starting to draw patterns onto the warm, soft flesh. Copia twitched a little, drawing out a light chuckle from you before you mumbled a quiet apology.

Copia just hummed and you continued to explore his skin, the weight of exhaustion starting to pull down your eyelids. It was the fight you couldn’t win – it had been a long day and with all the changes that were now happening it was no wonder that you were tired. However, while you were physically exhausted, you couldn’t say the same about your mind. It had a life of its own, and you just tried to keep up with it.

Now there was the new tune repeating over and over again – a very catchy one, you might add. It was kind of annoying but not really in the bad way.

”That song really got stuck into your head?”

”Huh?”

You felt Copia moving the book aside with a sigh, his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder while the other got buried in your hair.

”You were humming it again,” Copia said and you had to bite back the grin that threatened to rise on your lips. You hadn’t even realized that you had been humming it. But it certainly wasn’t the first time you did it.

”Oh, sorry.”

”It’s alright, dolcezza,” Copia spoke, his fingers caressing your head with slow movements. ”As much as I hate to admit it, it’s quite a catchy song.”

Now you couldn’t fight against the grin anymore and you could guess that Copia was rolling his eyes. You knew he didn’t actually hate the song but it was obvious this new era that had started was hard for him. A new position as Frater Imperator and duties that it had brought with, the new Papa and music was a lot to get to used to.

You lifted Copia’s shirt up a bit, revealing a bit more of his stomach, pressing a few light kisses on the happy trail. Another sigh escaped from Copia, this time more due to comfort, you hoped. Copia might have tried to hide it but you were quite good at reading him and knew when he was having some doubts. With everything new it wasn’t wonder he had them. But you also hated to see him thinking that he was useless or replaced just because he wasn’t good enough.

”I can hear you thinking, love.” Copia’s voice sounded a bit amused and you gently poked him to the stomach.

”As if you aren’t doing that, too,” you noted and Copia slid his hand from your shoulder to your face, taking a hold of your jaw and making you look at him.

”I know where this conversation is going,” he said, looking at you with a mix of softness and warning. You smiled at him, trying to look innocent despite knowing it wouldn’t work. He knew you too well, and before you had time to open your mouth, his fingers were on your lips, shushing you.

”No, no, we’re not having that again. I know you’re worried about me but you don’t have to be. I’ll be alright, eventually.”

With a slight nod you told him you understood and he withdrew his fingers from your lips, cupping your face instead. You had to trust his word and just let time pass.

”Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is,” Copia suggested, and you offered him a smile. He smiled back, then making a kissy face and you really wanted to move and kiss him properly. Too bad you were also pretty comfortable in your current position. So instead you did as you had done before, moved slightly to kiss his stomach and continued to give it extra caresses with your hand.

If Copia wanted some peace and quiet tonight, you would gladly give it to him. After all, these kind of moments were always the ones that meant the most.

[vanoilette]

ꪒꪒ synopsis. cuddling w the main four — how they cuddle !

disclaimers. pure fluff, brief mention reader being referred to as “doll”,

notes. motivation is backk : ]

eric cartman.

really comfy cuddler !

hes pretty warm, and when cuddling he clings onto you like a stuffed animal, though his grip on you is pretty light, enough to move around and or leave.

whenever you ask he pretends like he hates it, and its suchhh a big inconvenience to him, but he really likes laying with you, gives him a sense of comfort that you’ll never leave him.

eventually he gets used to the occasional cuddles, ends up actually admitting he likes it, if anything he expects it now.

everytime you sleep over or vice versa you will almost always wake up in his arms, whether you were sleeping on the other side of the bed, or fell asleep on the couch.

actually mutters out “love you”s beside you when cuddling, he becomes a lot more mushy, in his words when he cuddles.

after a short cudding nap, he kicks you out of his bed.

kyle broflovski.

lovesloves cuddling with you, hes the first one who initiated it, and he made sure everything was perfect.

hes usually pretty cold, so he relies on blankets or your warmth to keep himself warm.

lets you play with his hair while you fall asleep, it also helps him fall asleep, the feeling of your hands running through his hair just makes him feel comforted.

holds your hands the entire time, hes very physical during cuddles, his thumb is rubbing against your knuckles, hes pressing kisses against your neck, all of the above.

super lovey dovey when it comes to you, hes just happy to lay with you and feel your body against his own.

after those naps he usually just lays and stares at you for a bit with an adoring smile, before stopping because he felt like a weirdo for that.

nowadays, if hes in public with you and wants to cuddle, he just keeps you with an arm around and leans his head against you. If anything hes either romantic or a bit nonchalant about it.

kenny mccormick.

he wears a parka a majority of the time, so expect to be met with a warm embrace everytime you two cuddle, as well as the smell of weed and cologne mixed.

teases you the first time because to him he just loves to hold you im his arms while your flushed.

“You must’ve been dreaming of this moment, huh? Can’t blame ya.”

but truthfully, hes the one who’s been dreaming of this moment, and besides all the teasing, hes really gentle whilst cuddling you, loves just to lay there in silence with you.

carries you into the bed when you cuddle, and carries you out of the bed, he might be lean but he’s grown to be a bit buff.

says your his doll, especially says that when he carries you.

gives the best hugs and cuddles. :)

stan marsh.

most definitely has a playlist of songs while you cuddle, just thinks it makes the thing 10x better in his opinion. you two share the playlist so you both just add whatever music you think would be good.

its not intentional cuddling either, you two are usually on your phones a majority of the time, and then fall asleep.

but that does not mean hes not paying attention, he feels your presence is enough, but if you wanna talk or just nap he’s totally fine with that !

he likes to be held, gives him a big sense of comfort, especially since its you, but also doesn’t mind holding you. Hes kind of a nonchalant guy, so as long as its comfortable for both parties, he doesn’t care.

has a big bedd

tons of blankets too, not sure why—he doesn’t even use all of them, but he hides them in his closet when you come over so he can have an excuse for you to lay in his blanket with him.

a bad habit of his though is hogging the blanket, you could be sleeping and suddenly feel the blanket being snatched, he also drools, but thats not as often.

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count. 

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you. 

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment. 

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team. 

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys. 

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life. 

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it. 

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into. 

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray. 

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do. 

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time. 

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you. 

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission. 

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely. 

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system. 

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget. 

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise. 

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system.  You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised. 

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement. 

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks. 

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation. 

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it. 

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally. 

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death. 

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast. 

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank. 

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth. 

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay. 

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand. 

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience. 

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones. 

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs. 

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door. 

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio. 

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location. 

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind. 

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say. 

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion. 

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room. 

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs. 

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation. 

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce. 

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you. 

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly. 

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk. 

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain. 

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw. 

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs. 

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet. 

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart. 

[plaidconvers]

Slow Mornings~ C. Telford

Chibs Telford x fem!reader

Summary: Chibs wakes up in your bed, allowing for soft moments and vulnerability.

CW: Mentions of pain and injury, mild language, brief description of injury, tbh maybe some spelling mistakes lol, let me know if I left anything out!

A/N: Here's part 2 of Bleedin' Heart!! Maybe I'll make this into a series, but who knows? I'm so happy you've all liked it thus far. I love this mannnnnnnnn! Anywho, requests are open, hope you enjoy blah blah blah MWAH 🥰

You wake before him.

It's still early— barely enough light creeping through the blinds to paint the edges of the room in silver. The rains stopped, but the world outside is still wet and quiet, like it knows not to disturb what's inside.

Chibs is asleep beside you, one arm slung across your waist, breathing slow and steady. The scar on his cheek catches the light, and for once, he doesn't look like a man carrying hell behind his eyes.

You watch him for a moment. Just... let yourself look. He never lets his guard down like this. And even now, there's a furrow in his brow, like his body doesn't know how to fully rest— even when it's safe.

Eventually, he shifts. Breath catches. A faint groan slips out as he stretches.

"Mm. Fuck me," he mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Feel like I got hit by a fuckin' truck."

You smirk. "You kinda did."

His eyes finally crack open, bleary and bloodshot, but they find you immediately. And then he does that thing— softens catching in the corners, just for you.

"Morning, mo gràidh," he rasps, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "You still here, then? Thought maybe I dreamt the whole bloody thing."

"It's my house," you say with a playful smile.

You roll onto your side, elbow tucked up under your head. "But not a dream. You passed out mid-sentence after calling me a saint and askin' where I keep the whiskey."

He groans again, this time with more feeling. "Christ. Romantic bastard, aren't I?"

You grin. "A real poet."

He stretches once more, then he sits up slowly, wincing. "Shite... ribs're bruised to hell. Can feel every breath like it owes me money."

"Let me check 'em."

"I'm grand," he says on reflex.

You raise a brow. "Try again."

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head fondly. "Y'know, yer a right pain in the arse."

"And you still came back."

He doesn't answer right away. Just watches you, eyes a little too honest for the first thing in the morning.

"Aye,' he finally says. "I did."

You sit up beside him, fingers brushing over the bruise blooming along his side. He flinches slightly but doesn't pull away.

"Why?" You ask. "Why me?"

He looks down for a second, picking at a thread in your blanket. Then, without looking up: "Because I walk into a lotta rooms feelin' like a ghost. But when I walk into yours? I feel like I'm still... me."

You blink. It's not a big speech. Not a grand declaration. But coming from him, it might as well be a sonnet.

You rest your hand over his.

"I don't want you to be a ghost, Filip. I want you here. Present. Breathing."

He finally looks at you, eyes glassy but steady. "Then I'll try. I can't promise I'll be good at it— but for you? I'll try."

A pause. Then he adds, quieter:

"Fuck, you make it hard not to love you."

You don't say anything. Just lean in, press your lips gently to his temple, and let your forehead rest there.

In that little moment— warm skin, shared breath, silence broken only by the rain gutters outside— it feels like maybe, just maybe, the war can wait a little longer.

[driftawayomnichord]

Genshin men and sleeping habits (( _ _ ))..zzzZZ

Warnings : NOT proofread/SFW/Pure Fluff

Some scenarios are shorter than others, but I didn’t want force them into a specific length.

This includes : Kaveh, Kaeya, Zhongli

Kaveh

Kaveh would be a 3 in 1 package when it comes to him sleeping. In other words 3 different ways to torture you, but that’s fine because it’s always a surprise what you will be served tonight. But this night was different because it went through all 3 of his sleeping habits.

Finally Kaveh fell asleep around 3am (you definitely didn’t drag him to bed), cuddling next to you he was calm at first. But for some reason you couldn’t fall asleep, so you just stared blankly at the ceiling hoping you’d get tired eventually. You felt yourself drift off to dream world when-

“I will conquer them…all.”

“What the-“ you turned your head at the blonde man with a confused look on your face. That’s interesting…

Kaveh was dead asleep that’s for sure, but he was sleep talking.

“Oh dear, here we go again…”

“Bow down to me mortals…I’m your new god..”

“Kaveh…?” You questioned with an incredibly concerned look on your face.

That’s when he stood up from your bed and proceeded to stare blankly at the wardrobe for a minute with you starring at HIM completely baffled. He had never sleep walked before…

And if that wasn’t enough he turned sideways and (out of nowhere might I add) summoned his claymore and held it straight ahead, pointed at the door.

“Don’t…make me kill you…” he mumbled to literally nobody. It would’ve been funny to watch this unfold if it wasn’t almost 4 in the morning, in complete darkness, watching your boyfriend threaten…ghosts? The door? Who knew at this point…but you were NOT about to approach a man pointing a great sword at the door, no way.

He then turned towards the bed again, dropped his weapon and planted face first onto the bed. As if nothing had happened just now, he was sleeping as calm as a child.

“You are…something…” you said to no one in particular, and decided to just try and sleep a little bit.

Now 4:30 you had fallen asleep until you felt a rather uncomfortable breeze, stirring up you looked over and saw Kaveh in a cocoon he made of your shared blanket.

“You have to be kidding me.” You grumbled. If it wasn’t incredibly late and you weren’t half dead this would’ve been kind of cute. Not now. Nothing is cute and funny when exhausted.

Standing up you grabbed another blanket from the wardrobe and immediately collapsed in bed, falling asleep.

NOT EVEN 30 MINUTES LATER

You felt a hard kick on your back and got catapulted out of bed straight onto the floor. Trying to put together what happened took you a moment but after you realised that you basically got evicted from bed you went through the five stages of grief.

Defeated, you left that room and laid on the couch.

…

Next morning Kaveh woke up feeling a little better than usual. That was more sleep that what he is used to. But for some reason you were gone? Calling out for you resulted in absolutely nothing, so he headed to the living room expecting you to be awake, but he saw you on the couch still asleep.

“Hey, it’s late you should get up.”

You opened your eyes slowly and when you saw him an eye twitch followed.

“You- damned menace. I am NEVER sleeping in the same bed as you.” You said with so much seriousness that Kaveh actually got worried your next step would be for you to break up with him.

“What happened- I don’t understand.”

“You scared the holy hell out of me, then stole the damn blanket letting me freeze and get hypothermia! And then you KICKED ME! Off the bed! Do you imagine what force it took for me to end up on the other side of the room, Kaveh?!”

You were fuming. And from the study Alhaitham was listening, amused to say the least.

Later that day you received a beautiful bouquet of your favourite flowers and went on a dinner date. You still kicked him out that night to sleep on the couch.

Kaeya

Kaeya is the type of person that after a certain point at night, his brain ceases functioning. There is just no one up there when he is tired enough, which has lead to some midnight shenanigans. (Cue my other fic)

This particular night he was forced to work overtime and so you just went to bed, not feeling like waiting for him. As Kaeya says “I need my beauty sleep” you decided that perhaps you should let yourself get inspired by him. A few hours later you hear shuffling coming from behind you so you expect to see Kaeya, which you do, with him starring at a-….

“…why the f*** is there a cat in my bed Kaeya??”

“I was honestly about to ask you? I just arrived and was about to lay down, almost sat on the poor cat.”

“Just- put him downstairs. I will figure it out tomorrow-“ you say as you collapse again.

Put in short, that’s how you two got a cat. But after some time, you got used to him being weird after midnight. In fact, at this point you don’t pay him any mind.

It was late at night and Kaeya had already fallen asleep before you. You were simply enjoying a book, when you heard him shuffling around and turned to look at him. While sometimes you do hear him mumbling in his sleep he’s never sleep walked before so you assumed he is awake. After a few seconds he reached over to the side table to get some water, but sadly the glass was empty.

Kaeya sighed and wobbled up from the bed. “I’ll get some water.” He said to you, and headed towards the dark hallway. So you went back to your book when you suddenly heard a loud thud, followed by another and another. Basically a tumbling sound, coming from the dark hallway…from the direction of the stairs…

You jumped out of bed and yelled for Kaeya. “Kaeya? Are you ok??”

Silence.

You threw your book on the bed and sprinted towards the staircase to check up on Kaeya, to see him sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey! Kaeya, are you ok?!” You sprinted down to him and turned him over on his back.

Nothing. Complete silence…until-

“I’m fine, just…trying to collect the rest of my dignity from the floor.” He chuckled.

“You- dumbass! I thought you died!” You stood up from his side and headed towards the kitchen.

“Hey, cmon. I was messing around.” He stood up and dusted himself. Around the same time you came back from the kitchen with a wet towel.

“Freeze it and put it on your head, it will otherwise swell up even more.”

“Are you suggesting I have a big head?”

“I’m not “suggesting”. I’m stating it as a fact.” You replied groggily and headed to your bedroom once again.

A few minutes later Kaeya went up and into your shared room again, there he saw that you had put your book away and are now trying to fall asleep. He tiptoed to his side of the bed and laid down next to you.

“Are you still upset?”

“I wasn’t upset, I got worried.” You replied quietly.

“Don’t you worry, I have a thick head. Or did you say big?”

“Haha. Funny.”

“Maybe that fall messed with my memory, please enlighten me.”

“Shut up and sleep.”

Zhongli (( _ _ ))..zzzZZ

Zhongli and you don’t exactly ’require’ sleep. You can live off for months without resting for even a minute. But sleeping is an efficient way of letting some time pass, which you have an abundance of. Apart from that, you two also get a chance to relax.

But you, most of the time don’t let yourself. Instead you let your thoughts run wild, often come up with the craziest things Zhongli has heard, and he’s been alive for quite some time. Which, he would never complain that he is listening to you, he enjoys it in fact. But he is the type of man that if he sets his mind on something, he has to do it. So if he sets his mind on sleeping at night, he wouldn’t be happy if something someone is in his way of achieving that goal.

“Are we really immortal beings, or just really stubborn ones that refuse to die?” You ask, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“We can debate over that tomorrow.” He says, used to your late night ramblings. But this specific question leaves him wondering, you do kind of have a point.

5 minutes pass in complete silence, both of you just thinking about it. “Maybe anyone can be immortal if they put their mind to it.”

“Please, let’s not do this now. I’m still wondering about your last question.”

“If for a week, all gods switch their powers, who would handle it best? Who would cause the most chaos?”

“Barbados and chaos go together, no matter the circumstance.”

“How intelligent are slimes, really? Do they have basic necessities? Do they have family relations?”

Alright now this is becoming an issue. He loves you and all…but he is becoming irritated that he can’t do what he’s set his mind on doing. Also overthinking your internal debates. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that though, he would never. So he sits there listening to your rambles and taking notes on them, so he can further discuss them in the morning.

Suddenly you sat up in bed and looked over to him. You turned around for your back to face him, and laid down on his abdomen.

…

“Do you think that prayers have an expiration date?”

Oh archons, you are still at it.

“I’m unsure, dear.”

Another half hour passed, and you suddenly got up and out of bed. Zhongli got confused when you left out of nowhere but didn’t question you. He just closed his eyes and hoped he can drift off before you-

Clank

Oh dear, what now?

He got up and headed towards the origin of the loud noise and saw you standing in the kitchen with the stove on, boiling water, and looking for something in the cabinets.

“Isn’t it a little late for this? There will be time tomorrow for you to make your snacks.”

“Me? Oh, I’m not hungry.” You said, and went back to rummaging through the kitchen.

“Then…what is it you’re doing?” Zhongli further inquired.

“Your stomach was rumbling, I’m making something for you. Ah- there it is…Ahem, excuse me. I was about to doze off and noticed since my head was so close to your stomach.”

Zhongli felt horrible. There he was feeling irritated at you for keeping him awake, yet you were out here making dinner for him. So he just sat down on the dinner table and kept silent for a moment.

“I don’t believe slimes have family dynamics.”

“What?”

“You mentioned that earlier, or do you not remember?”

“I thought- you weren’t listening.”

“Of course, I listened.” He smiled at you.

“Even the part when I wondered if you could turn into a hilichurl?”

“You what-…when did you-“

“Well I guess you did fall asleep after all.” You chuckled and placed a bowl of noodles in front of him.

…

The next morning Zhongli headed for work early, at the end he didn’t sleep at all. You two sat in the living room and talked about all sorts of topics. When at some point he started sharing old stories that you knew very well, after all you had been there with him. But you just fell asleep without even noticing that you felt tired.

So he carried you to bed and since it was around 5 in the morning he just decided to go to the Funeral parlour. There, a few hours later people started to show up and questioned why he came to work this early, he just said that he was had a pleasant conversation that kept him up.

He definitely didn’t doze off on the couch when he came back.

Do I make a part 2???

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around. 

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university. 

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books. 

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel. 

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?”

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room. 

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?” 

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.” 

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all. 

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them. 

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up. 

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment. 

~

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match. 

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet. 

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!” 

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face. 

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you. 

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again. 

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

~

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party. 

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him. 

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it. 

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs. 

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed. 

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor. 

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his. 

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view. 

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does. 

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

~

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner. 

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch. 

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pyjamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pyjamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.” 

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.” 

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade. 

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit. 

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room. 

~

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now. 

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing. 

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur. 

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?” 

“Just noticed,” he shrugs. 

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry. 

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…” 

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?” 

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.” 

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you. 

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest. 

“Miguel?” 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?” 

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing. 

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you. 

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do. 

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble. 

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off. 

“Let’s get some air, huh?” 

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while. 

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party. 

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?”

He chuckles and nods. 

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle. 

“Wasn’t that many…” 

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names. 

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there. 

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified. 

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.” 

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side. 

~

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after. 

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag. 

“Fuck.” 

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium. 

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!” 

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a  bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright. 

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him. 

“You’re sick?” he asks. 

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering. 

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room. 

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him. 

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place. 

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat. 

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field. 

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.” 

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling. 

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…” 

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend. 

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” “What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.” 

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours. 

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated. 

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s. 

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.” 

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly. 

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile. 

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. 

[gr4c3fu111]

Sleepy. | Yang Jeongin x fem!reader

#—;; summary: you’re found sleeping somewhere you shouldnt (?) be. Who comes to deal with you?

#—;; word count: 1.1k

#—;; warnings: complete fluff

#—;; a/n: i might add more to this!! (officially edited, some changed text.)

————

Deciding on paying a visit to the boys, you knocked on their dormitory. But after not getting a response back you started to worried abit.

Being alone all day led you to your tiredness with the need of human interaction.

Rubbing your eyes, you knocked another time before pushing the door open concerningly.

“Hello..?” You called, stepping in and taking a look around only to be met with empty rooms—they must not be back from recording.

“Hmph.” Your arrival being for their entertaining shenanigans, but unfortunately you were left alone yet again.

Setting your bag down on the counter and slipping your shoes off you sat on their couch, deciding to watch a movie until they got home.

As you started the movie, you grabbed a blanket and laid down in the comfy and warm dorm. Even without the boys you still felt comforted and safe.

As time passed, you eventually succumbed to sleep due to your low-energy day.

—

The door SWUNG open at such a quick speed, it almost couldve woken you up if you werent in one of the deepest sleeps of your life.

Bangchan waltzed in unknowingly, almost throwing his bag ontop of you.

He noticed quick enough and gasped, tightening his grip on his bag and setting it down quietly as he swiftly ran out of the room, with the noise of bustling boys still down the hallway.

Running up to Jeongin, (obviously) because he was your best friend.. (but recently maybe a bit more…?)

“Hey! Y/N is asleep on the couch, you might wanna do something about that before yaknow.. they wake her.” He winked at the bleach-blonde boy.

“Huh? Shes in our dorm? How..—Did you forget to lock it again?!” He huffed at Bangchan, picking up the pace in his strut.

Upon arrival he set his things down while glancing at the ball of warmth curled on their couch.

He really didnt want to move her with the risk of waking her, but if he didnt the boys would indefinitely.

He sighed. Taking in your small figure breathing shallow, unbothered breaths.

he slid his hands under your body, scooping you up and carrying you bridal-style back to his room.

but what he didnt know, was Bangchan who was taking pictures (like a proud dad ofc) of the whole thing.

He snickered to himself before shutting his phone off and stealing your warmed spot that was now empty on the couch

Jeongin set you down on his bed, your head resting on his pillow while he pulled a blanket over you.

You stirred slightly, letting out a groan before repositioning.

Jeongin couldnt help but just watch. He took in your soft features and little breaths, and he hoped and prayed it was him you were dreaming about.

But the watching urged him. It urged him to hold you in this moment, or show you how he wanted to share this vulnerability with you.

As he climbed onto his own bed laying atop the comforter, soaking in your natural state

He stroked your hair, trailing his fingers over your cheeks, nose, and lips. He couldn’t help himself.

Sighing while playing with your hair, gently, it caused you to wake up.

However, you kept your eyes shut. Hearing him hum as you felt the pads of his fingers line your lips. You wanted to stay fake asleep to see what he’d do, but your body betrayed you as the corners of your mouth slowly turned upright, earning a slight gasp from the boy standing next to you.

he ripped his hand away, holding it close to his chest, the other was holding his head up.

“Did i wake you Y/nnie?” he frowned.

“No no.. dont worry” you chuckled, sitting up.

“I—.. don’t remember falling asleep on your bed?” Rubbing your eyes, you noted half serious half teasing.

“Oh yeah, Ba—“ he paused. rethinking his words. “i saw you asleep and i didnt want the boys to wake you up” he chuckled nervously. “But that clearly backfired..”

why was he all nervous? you guys are best friends after all. why did he lie? was he embarrassed that Chan found him to deal with you rather than himself? why was he admiring you in your sleep? is that what best friends do? It is, isnt it? Surely.

You responded with a sweet smile, full of gratitude.

“you’re reallt cute when you’re asleep, yaknow?” he teased.

“oh whatever..! I look like a dead fish.” you huffed into your hands.

He tugged at your hands that were placed on your face “C’mon, you know thats not true. if it was i wouldve already said that, but i didnt!” “you look more like a baby bird or something.”

“yeah jee, cuz that makes me feel so much better!” you scoffed teasingly.

He responded with a chuckle, before you fell into silence.

the quiet was comforting with a twinge of awkwardness from jeongins side. (..but also when is he not awkward?) your eyes trailed up and down his laid out body. The urge for him to touch you again bubbled up and the thought floated around your head.

but— not in a weird way, obviously. (well maybe that too, but not in this instance.) you wanted him to pull you closer and hold you. Tiredness still mingled and all you wanted were his arms around you with your face buried in his chest.

but what you didnt know was he was thinking the same thing. You wouldnt meet his eyes, but he was staring into yours.

Jeongins phone buzzed, and he checked it quickly.

“Do it.” read the message from Bangchan.

..how did he even know—?

He was peaking around the corner of the door into i.n’s room.

Jeongin shot him a glare while Chan shook his phone, the photo of him carrying you clear on his screen. Chan silently giggled while he ran off down the hall, so he wouldnt mess this up for his maknae.

Jeongin took his hand to your chin, tilting it up so you could catch gazes, as he did he grinned and pulled you in.

his strong arms pulling you flush against him, he laid on his back wrapping his arms around your waist as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“..ayen.. what are you doing” practically whispering.

God. Did he fuck up? Did he read this wrong? Maybe he could play it off. You guys have cuddled before, but why was this different??

“uh….—“ was all he could manage to get out before you kissed his jaw.

His eyes widened as he looked down to be greeted by your beaming face. He couldnt help but draw out a smile of his own.

“you’re so angelic y/n, i just couldnt help myself.” he practically whined

You wrapped a leg around the both of his, resting your hand on his chest, messing with his t-shirt before bringing it up to his grown out blonde hair.

“cute, huh? says you!” you teased.

“Wooow. Okay. There cant be 2 cute people in this equation” his thumb caressed your hip, drawing small circles.

“Who says??”

“Me.” He smiled wider which he didnt know was possible

Silence fell over the two best friends again, and this moment of romance hit you like a truck.

You loved him.

And he loved you.

More than friends. A lot more.

You had told him you loved him multiple times, but this time it felt different. It was different.

“Jeongin. i think im inlove with you.” you said breathlessly, as if the air around you wasnt breathable.

You never used his first time, always a list of numerous nicknames you and his group had gifted him.

“I love you more y/n. More than you’d ever know.” he said just above a whisper, leaning in the slightest bit to leave the sweetest and softest kiss to your lips.

And now, it was his turn to fall asleep.

[souyasbabyy]

• pairing: hanma x reader

• summary: he sees you with someone else long after your break up

• genre: angst!!!!!!

• note: i wanted to write angst and wanted to write something with hanma, this might be a little ooc idk

A heavy weight settled in his stomach as his heart sank at the sight of you with someone else, your hand in his while he helps you getting in the car. All this time, he thought he had moved on, that his feelings had disappeared. But now, they all came rushing back, hitting him like a punch in the face. For the next week, you're all he can think about, you and your shared memories, you and your smile. One night, after drinking with his friends, he stares at his phone, your contact looking back at him. He debates whether calling you is a good idea after all this time. His thumb hovers over the call button. Don't do it. He knows it won't change anything, probably make it worse even. But after a long minute he presses it. The phone rings once. Twice. "Hello?" you ask. He doesn't say a word as you repeat yourself "Hello? Hanma?", "Yes" he finally says, hating the way his heart beats fatser at the sound of his name leaving your lips "Are you okay? you inquire. He wants to say yes, act like this was just a casual call but he can't, the words that come out betraying him "I don't know". You sigh, already knowing where this was going, you hesitate, not knowing what to tell him. "Where are you?" you eventually ask "Home" he says. There's another silence, a longer one. "I saw you the other day" he admits, leaning back on his couch "You were with someone", "Is that why you're calling?" you ask him and he nods even though you can't see him. "Hanma you can't do this, you can't call me when you're drunk and-" you cut yourself, sighing loudly "I shouldn't have picked up" you mumble "But you did" he counters "Why?". You don't answer, the silence between you is tense, full of old feelings none of you want to face. "Where is he?" Hanma asks suddenly "The guy" "That's none of your business" you say. He clenches his jaw, wondering if he was in the appartment with you "I stopped seeing him" you then tell him and he's taken aback by the answer. "Why? I swear if he-" "No" you cut him, exhaling loudly "He just- He wasn't you" you add.

For a moment, Hanma says nothing. The words settle deep in his chest, sending a rush of emotions through him. Relief, confusion, something dangerously close to hope. His grip on the phone tightens. He wasn’t you. He wants to hold onto those words, let it mean something."What does that even mean..?" His voice is quieter now. You hesitate. "It means I tried, Hanma. I really did", there's heaviness in your voice, you're as tired as he is "I thought moving on would be easy. That if I found someone else, the memories would fade" A bitter laugh escapes you. "But they didn’t" His breath is unsteady. "Then why aren’t we-" He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to ask. "Because missing you doesn’t change what happened" you say softly. And there it is. The reality he was trying to ignore. The reason this call will never end the way he wants it to. Hanma leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He feels like a fool. Drunk and reckless "So what now?" he murmurs. There’s a long pause before you answer. "Now, we hang up" His chest tightens. "And then what?” he asks, almost desperate. "And then we let each other go" Silence. He doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t. But he also knows dragging this out will only hurt more. After what feels like forever, he exhales shakily "Goodbye then", "Goodbye Hanma" and just like that, the call ends. Hanma stares at his phone, the empty screen mocking him. He should feel relieved knowing you still miss him. But somehow, it only makes everything worse. Because it doesn’t matter. You’re still gone.

[promitto-amor]

Should Something Happen

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x You

Summary: While working as Jigsaw Apprentices, Amanda spoils some quality bonding time between yourself and Hoffman.

Warnings: Cursing!

Might this actually be a little bit of fluff? I wanted to do something involving the main Jigsaw crew and a protective Hoffman. 👀

Perhaps the only aspect of being an apprentice Mark enjoyed was the opportunity to work alongside you. Every trap crafted, every game played and every eventual death led Mark one step closer to his freedom. A life no longer in servitude for an impulsive act of vengeance. Mark had always struggled to quell his impulsiveness. It made him good in the field, Mark had earned a fair share of promotions for his quick actions, but his greatest mistake had cost him almost a year of servitude to Jigsaw himself. Until his sentence was up, until mark could be certain both John Kramer and his helper monkey were dead, he would carry out his part in the games with minimal complaint. In the meantime, he could find a steady contentment in watching the slackened, dream-like expression on your face as you fiddled with some shards of broken glass. 

“Careful,” Mark finds himself saying, “It’s not intended to spill your blood.”

You drop the shards back into the glass coffin and wander back to the workbench you’ve commandeered as a desk, “There’s so many traps,” You whine and if it were anyone else Mark would be grinding his teeth together. You flip your notebook onto a fresh page, “Who is this one for again?”

“I try not to make a habit of remembering names.” Mark answers, “Once you name something you get attached.”

You nod, “You’re right.” You pick up your pencil and hover it over the page. “Sadly I don’t have that luxury.” Mark keeps one eye on you as he cleans up his workbench, placing a set of screwdriver heads back in their assigned places. You think for a couple more minutes, your expression growing more pained till you drop the pencil again. “How can I write the tape for someone I know barely anything about?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mark says. “I’ve never been one for words.”

You give him a shrewd look, as if confirming his words. “You have special uses.” You say, jumping off your stool and heading over to a stack of boxes, freshly delivered.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

You send him a small smile, “Brawn, muscle, inside info…” 

“Is that all I am?” Mark can’t help the flicker of irritation he feels, “A meathead?”

“No,” You return to him, catching on you may have offended him. “You…” A couple teeth sink into your lip, “You’re the only one whose behaving.” 

Mark glances towards the open door, connecting the room to the rest of the Nerve Gas House, “Go on.”

You turn cagey, “Ever since Mexico…”

“Ah,” Mark nods, “Say no more.”

“I don’t like what I’ve been hearing.” You admit, “The aim of all this was never revenge.”

“Was it not?” Mark enjoys how your head lifts up to meet his gaze, “Was that not why you got mixed up in all this?”

You fix him with eyes of steel, “Maybe…” You admit, “But not anymore. Seems we’re cut from the same cloth, Detective.”

Mark likes how you say his title, pronouncing every syllable distinctly, “You don’t know me. Not really.”

“Maybe we should work on that?”

Something gives a leap inside Mark. Before he can answer you’re back at the delivery boxes and Amanda is thudding through the door. Her steel toe capped boots echo on the wood, little patches of dust springing up where she steps. She pauses on catching Mark stood in the centre of the room, “Admiring my work?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I thought John made this one?” You pipe up, before Mark can.

“He did.” Mark confirms, “That’s why this one has some refinement.”

“But it was my idea to add the…” Amanda’s points to the walls and then places her hands a couple inches apart. She presses them together slowly, applying pressure. The visual is enough for Mark to look away.

You busy yourself with the boxes again, “There’s nothing but syringes.” You take out one to show the two apprentices.

Mark tosses you a pair of gloves, “Put them on, they probably aren’t clean.”

You make a face and drop the syringe you’re holding, “Great. I’m going to need a check-up after this.”

“Be thankful you’re not the poor bastard diving in there.” Amanda smirks, heading over to inspect the coffin trap. “Is this one done yet?”

“Just needs a couple tests,” Mark says. “Any volunteers?”

“You first.” Amanda holds her arms up as if she’s a presenter, “Get in there, Detective.”

“What about you, babe?” Amanda slinks over to you and throws an arm around your shoulders, “The glass isn’t in yet, it’ll be like taking a good nap.”

“Stop trying to scare her.” Mark’s voice comes out with more bite than he expected. 

Amanda’s eyes flash, “Why you protective all of a sudden, Hoffman?”

Mark would never confess to the bitch before him, but he’s made a mistake and Amanda knows it. “We’re not testing anything without John here.”

Amanda makes a noncommittal noise.

“If John approves it, I’ll test it.” You offer, “I trust him.” Amanda jumps back into performance mode, “Aren’t they precious?”

“If you put this on.” You gingerly remove from another box a very familiar contraption and hold it out for Amanda to see. Mark grins behind Amanda’s back. He can just picture the colour draining from her face. Amanda doesn’t move as you walk past her with the Reverse Bear Trap in hand, “Very funny.” She calls, trying to reclaim some of her bravado.

“I thought so.” You counter, placing the device on the workbench.

Amanda’s scowl only becomes more prominent the longer she stares at her old trap, “Why is that here?” “Inventory.” You supply, “Or so I’m guessing.”

“Something old can always be re-used.” John wheels himself into the room. Wheelchair bound, he surveys the glass coffin standing pride of place in the middle of the room. “Is Laura’s test finished?”

“Almost,” Mark busies himself with checking over the gears situated behind the coffin.

“Laura,” You repeat, scribbling something on your pad. “I couldn’t for the life of me remember.”

John appears amused at your choice of words, “Writer’s block?” You look up as John wheels himself over to you. The Reverse Bear Trap is sat just a few feet away, Mark doesn’t like how close you are to something so barbaric. With you showing John your tape speeches and Mark still preoccupied with the gears, Amanda sulks in the middle. She makes her way over to Mark’s toolbox and grabs a wrench, right in John’s line of sight. Mark thinks it’s pathetic behaviour, how co-dependent she’s become since Mexico. He can see that your worries were justified. She makes her way over to the trap, but Mark has left her with nothing to do.

“There’s one glaring issue I see with this entire game,” You say in a low voice. You glance over to Amanda, “Won’t they all get suspicious if every one of them has a trap but her?”

“What did you say?”

“Amanda,” John cautions as his apprentice as she wheels round on the spot.

“I just worry that something will happen.” You say, closing your notebook and leaning against the workbench. “Are you really betting on all them failing and Daniel just being the last one left alive?”

“He doesn’t have a trap either.” Amanda points out, “I’m not the only one.”

“He isn’t being tested.” John states simply, “That is why you are there, Amanda. To protect him.” He turns back to you, “Nor is Amanda being tested.”

‘I still think we should put something in there.” You hold up your hands, “I think it’s foolish to leave it to chance.”

“Not if you can predict the outcome.”

Mark has heard it all before from John Kramer. He knows your attempts are futile, so he finishes up his work on the coffin and with nothing else to do, makes his way to the door. “I’m done for the night.”

“Thank you, Mark.” John says, “The game begins tomorrow. I presume you’ll be in position?”

“On the monitors.” He nods.

He’s been excused. Mark should go home and rest up for a long day ahead tomorrow. But he can’t quite bring himself to leave. John has resumed helping you with writing out the tape for the trap, but Mark doesn’t like how Amanda won’t leave the two of you alone. Her new behaviour has made him protective. Mark would have liked you to finish up at the same time as him. Perhaps he could offer to drop you home and they could work on getting to know each other.

“You want to put me in that.”

You, John and Mark all turn to Amanda, “What?” You ask.

Amanda nods, “That.” She points to the Reverse Bear Trap, “You want that to be my test. You want me to do it again?”

John glances imperceptibly to Mark. He swallows, so John shares their concern about his favourite apprentice. “Do you know how stupid you sound?” Mark cuts in, taking up what he hopes is a casual position beside you. “Everyone knows you already escaped it. 24/7 news coverage.” You’re still leaning against the workbench as Amanda walks around it, her eyes fixed on you as if you were prey. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” You taunt, “Some poetic justice”, but Amanda doesn’t find it clever. 

She shoves the Reverse Bear Trap toward you, “You don’t deserve to be here.” She hisses. Mark swears he can hear a ticking sound as you brace your arms on the table, “Of all the people to win, it had to be you didn’t it?” “Fair and square.” You return and Mark finds himself wondering for the umpteenth time just what your own game was. Before Amanda, before Mark himself joined Jigsaw, you were tested and won. His eyes fall on the scar on your neck, all that remains of your own brush with death.

“Use your brain,” You counter and your face is far too close to the trap as you glare back at Amanda Young. “You’d have to wake up in it, or someone would have to put you in it. I don’t think either of those are going to work in this game.”

“How about you wake up in it, you bitch?”

Mark’s hands snake around your middle and yank you back just as the trap rips open with a loud bang. The ferocity makes both you and Amanda jump. You would have fallen off your stool if not for Mark’s chest breaking your fall. He can feel the sharp breaths you take as the Reverse Bear Trap cools down and lies dormant once more.

“Amanda, take the trap and put it in my office.” John says. His apprentice turns wide, teary eyes on him, but John’s face is expressionless. “Now.”

She obeys instantly, taking the trap and striding out of the room.

Mark slides you back onto your stool, “Thank you.” You murmur, hand jumping instinctively to your neck.

“Are you alright?” John asks and you nod. Mark can see right through you, he could feel the tremors of your body against his. That was a close call. 

“She’s out of line, John.” Mark says, “I don’t know what the fuck happened over there, but it’s messed with her.”

“Amanda will be fine.” John insists, “She will play her part, so long as she isn’t provoked.” You nod, understanding your own fault but Mark refuses to admit to his own. “Now Detective, I believe we’re finished here. I will see you both tomorrow for the final preparations.”

Mark watches John wheel himself out. The moment he’s gone you rest your forearms on the workbench and place your head on them. You let out a deep sigh. Mark’s never been good at consoling anyone. It’s just not what he does. Not since Angelina…

He spots your fallen notebook and places it beside you, “Need a ride home?” “I don’t think I want to go home.” You say, your voice weak.

“You don’t want to stay here.” Mark says, “You can’t anyway. They all…arrive tomorrow.”

“How can you do that?” You lift up your head, “How can you willingly put people in here knowing they will probably die?” Mark meets your eyes, “I convince myself they deserve to suffer.”

“You don’t lie awake thinking about it?”

“No,” He’s being honest. “I think it’s one less shitty person out there.”

“Then you must think that about me.” You push some hair out of your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not…you know what I did-“

“And you know what I did.” Mark takes you by your forearms, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

Your eyes dart around the room and then land on the glass coffin, “Sometimes.” Mark allows himself time to digest that, it isn’t what he wanted to hear. But your hands come to rest on his own forearms and then you’re pressing your forehead into his chest, “But you make me feel safe. You help me.”

He didn’t expect to earn such close proximity again, this time deliberately. Mark pulls you closer, your hands slide up to rest on his chest and Mark curses his choice to remain in a jacket. Your warmth is tantalising as it seeps into him. Mark tucks you into his large frame and winds his arms back around you.

It feels good to be wanted.

With your face smushed into him, Mark rests his head atop yours. He doesn’t know what else he can do, so he lets his eyes close. “We can look out for each other.” He proposes, “Should something happen.”

“I’d like that.”

[bratbutcute]

A silent pact of silence

Hi! @theanonemu it is I, your secret Santa. I finally revealed myself to gift you… your gift.

Okay I’ll stop it ahah, I hope you have some free time because this fic got LONG.

Just a little reminder: English isn’t my first language, so you might find some grammar mistakes! If so please dm me or comment so I can fix them.

Now let’s dive right in.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Prompts: Lovingly wrecking with gentle & light tickles; Character A unknowingly tickling character B who tries to suffer through it but eventually gives way and hijinx ensue;

Disclaimer: other than this is a tickle fic (obviously I’d say) there is nothing more to add to it.

Words count: 4524

Lucifer goes to the library to run away from his worries; he likes being alone there, until Alastor arrives to disrupt his peace. Will they listen to Charlie’s notes and become friends or will their rivalry prevail?

Happy late Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Solstice, Kwanzaa, and all the other celebrations happening during these days ❤️

(tagging here you amazing @squealing-santa, thank you so much for your patience and for your amazing organisation. This was my first year participating but I really loved having you as a host)

~~~

“Dear guests I hope you’ll like this library! Read as much as you like but don’t forget to make new friends! -Charlie”

Books or, to be more precise, reading books is something quite unusual in Hell.

Sinners usually enjoy other kinds of activities in their afterlives.

Lucifer has always loved them, since the moment humans came up with the idea of putting words onto paper he's been engrossed by the thought of carrying knowledge in the palm of your hand.

He has read thousands of books, written by humans on Earth - smuggled by those who could go there -, written by sinners in Hell, and he himself has written some of them. Charlie has always loved hearing her father interpret a story by doing different voices and shapeshift to fit the characters.

The Hotel had a rather big library, not the greatest, but it was still a work in progress. A few armchairs and couches were arranged in the center of the room, next to a coffee table with mugs and cute post-its with inspirational quotes on them.

These post-it were scattered everywhere, on the chairs, on the table, between the pages of the books. They were cheesy and sometimes did’t make sense, trying to encourage sinners to discuss about books and share their ideas. Lucifer couldn’t help but smile every time he saw one, thinking about his daughter and her good naive heart.

He found solace in that place.

He went there by chance once, after finding himself wandering around the Hotel trying to run away from the mean words screaming inside his head. After that it had quickly become an habit to go there during the night, past the time when Angeldust or Husker would still be awake, in that limbo halfway between the night and the morning, when the lights of Heaven were still not visible, but they started to peak between the clouds.

It was always quite when he went there.

No thoughts, no worries.

“When you’re feeling lonely, ask for a friend to join you! Having friends is fun! -Charlie”

Night after night Lucifer had been dragging himself into the library, reading books in silence to quite the thoughts screaming into his head. As a result he hadn’t slept in weeks, but on the bright side he also hadn’t had a nightmare in a long while.

Everything was perfect before his little ritual got ruined by none other than Alastor. That bitch.

Alastor was already there when Lucifer arrived. He was standing next to a shelf, hand ready to grab a book when their sights intertwined.

Everything felt static for a second.

Lucifer was about to ask him what the Hell was he doing there, but his mind was too clouded and words felt heavy on his chest. They just proceeded to ignore each other, much to his confusion: that demon was known for loving to mess with him. Why wouldn’t the dear say something?

But he didn’t dwell on it too much though, hoping this would be a once in a lifetime situation

Unfortunately for him he was quickly proven wrong.

The next day Alastor was there, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, and so the following day and the one after.

Every single night Lucifer wanted a bit of peace, a place to recollect his thoughts, Alastor was there to ruin his evening.

He wouldn’t talk, but he would raise his eyebrows at every book Lucifer chose. He would turn his pages quicker than the king, creating an unspoken competition to finish first.

Lucifer came out of these nights even more exhausted than before, crashing onto the bed and waking up a few hours later, after a dreamless sleep.

“Good actions don’t need words! Try doing something good without taking the credit! -Charlie”

Lucifer had to admit something: having Alastor in the same room while dark thoughts stomped on his head was kind of therapeutic - although he would never say it to the other.

He always managed to distract him, even if it was with childish challenges and mischief, such as changing the place his current book was placed or steal the book the other wanted to read.

Words never left their mouths while they were there. They would stare at each other for a few seconds while entering the room, and then proceed to read in their designated spots: Lucifer on the couch, legs stretched on the coushions, his duck slippers on the floor next to him, and Alastor on the armchair, with his old school red nightclothes on and a tea cup in hand.

Lucifer started to think about those nights of theirs during his day, napping during the afternoon so he would be able to actually enjoy his silent time with the man.

Nothing had changed in front of Charlie or the Hotel crew. They would still bicker and fight like they hated each other, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he felt their arguments less animus than before. There were times he would find Alastor staring at him, his usual grin a bit softer on his lips.

He started looking forward to the night, feeling his heart pounding in his chest before opening the door of their secret place, hoping he wouldn’t be alone.

The reason was simple: he had spent the majority of his existence feeling alone, feeling casted out. The one who fell, the one who asked too many questions, the one who couldn’t handle a family. The one nobody really cared about and that frankly was had stopped caring.

But having someone share his worst moments with was… kind of comforting.

Then again, Alastor was still a peace of shit.

“When others choose to wrong you try confronting them with their actions! You might find that it was a misunderstanding! -Charlie”

It started after one of their fights during the day.

Lucifer wasn’t really sure what they were fighting about, but he could proudly remember how the argument ended: with him making fun of the deer. Angel had laughed, chanting a “Poor Bambi”, a nickname that was usually used by the former heavenly creature but was quickly catching up.

When Lucifer arrived at the library Alastor was already there - that wasn’t uncommon - but he wasn’t in his usual standing position, looking for a new book to devour in a few hours. This time he was in his armchair. Waiting.

Lucifer faltered before entering, a weird uneasy feeling slowly creeping behind his neck. He knew something was about to change.

He barely had time to pick a book and sit before shadows in the room started to morph, trembling and deforming the floor. The lights wobbled as if there was a earthquake (a hellquake?) and Lucifer would have probably screamed if only it hadn’t lasted more than just a few seconds.

Terrified and confused Lucifer stared at Alastor, forcing his mouth to remain shut, and found the sinner grinning ear to ear with pure amusement in his eyes.

As Lucifer started reading, one of those weird dark tentacles darted through the air right in front of the angel’s face, making him jump on the couch and drop his book. Needless to say Alastor was beaming in his place on the armchair. His stupid cup still in his hand, held with his pinky finger up.

Lucifer’s eye started to twitch. He wasn’t going to be the one breaking their pact of silence - ironic how that agreement was made… silently.

Alastor’s shadow retreated quickly with a book, only to dart back again, this time taking the most inconvenient road, purposefully knocking Lucifer’s book again the second he picked it up.

This did get a silent sight out of the king of Hell.

But the demon did not care enough to take his eyes off the tome.

This new annoying habit seemed to amuse Alastor a lot since he started to do it every single time they were there: Lucifer would arrive, think that nothing was wrong only to find a dark shadow scaring both Heaven and Hell out of him.

Three nights in a row and Lucifer was done with this.

He was the King of Hell, he was a powerful and fearful being: he was going to show it to that pompous prick.

When the tendril flew in front of him he moved quickly, grabbing the shadow with one hand, his eyes turning red and fire sparkling between his horns.

The movement was so fast that Alastor was caught off guard, but he was definitely impressed.

His cheeks burned bright as his smile trembled.

Since that day he never tried to use his shadows again.

“Hug someone today! Only after they agreed. Consent is important! -Charlie”

After the event nothing really changed, other than a small, but definitely important thing: they started greeting each other with a smile. Which wasn’t unusual for Alastor, since his smile was always shown on his face, but it felt as if that mask was slowly crumbling down.

Not only this, but Lucifer started looking forward to that smile, to that small act of kindness and intimacy the two of them shared.

And then one night came the touching.

Lucifer had seen Alastor touch pretty much every single hotel guest. Squeezing shoulders, pinching cheeks, being affectionate in a mocking kind of way, always using either his hands or his shadows to assert his dominance. And the king of Hell hated that behaviour: Alastor didn’t care if he crossed a boundary, he showed everybody that he could do whatever he wanted with them, regardless of their comfort.

The first time Lucifer and Alastor shook hands the latter cleaned it right after, so you can imagine how surprised and confused Lucifer found himself when Alastor decided to sit next to him, grazing their legs together.

His stomach churned and his head turned immediately to stare at the demon.

Alastor didn’t talk - again, nothing unusual for them in that room - but his smile twitched a bit.

Was he making fun of him? Was he trying to distract him from one of his schemes? Was he trying to get him back from the shadow situation?

The touch lasted a few seconds before Alastor repositioned himself, crossing one leg over the other, one foot making contact with Lucifer’s leg.

The king was so confused he didn’t flip a single page the entire night.

“Be sweet, be kind, be good! -Charlie”

Alastor started being more and more intimate with Lucifer.

He started offering him his tea by preparing two cups before the king arrived. He covered him with a blanket whenever he fell asleep on the couch.

It stopped being subtle when the cuddling started.

It had already been a few nights of sitting one next to the other, thighs or feet touching and eyes wandering over each other. The deer would casually touch him by grazing his hands, or by putting his hand on the king’s tight as a leverage to stand up.

But one evening his hand simply remained on the king’s leg. Fingers slowly moving. Before Lucifer could react Alastor was caressing him, as if they had been friends for their entire lives.

It lasted a few seconds - as soon as Lucifer’s brain registered the warmth it was already gone.

His heart was pounding in his chest, butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach. He felt lightheaded.

Whenever Alastor showed signs of kindness he felt like a young angel again, experiencing emotions for the very first time.

He’d find himself with golden cheeks and shaking hands.

And one night, after thinking about it the entire day, he finally made his move.

Alastor was already in the library, sitting down on the couch, nose buried in a book, his ears twitching every now and then, as if they were part of the action written on the pages.

Lucifer took a couple of breaths, trying to calm his nerves as he found the courage to sit down and take Alastor’s hand.

The action was very… awkward.

They stayed there in silence, staring at each other’s eyes while holding hands as if it was their first interaction since being created.

When he realised the absurdity of the situation his cheeks became golden. He tried to stand up again, ready to leave the room but Alastor tightened his grip.

He tilted his head as the touch morphed.

Alastor intertwined their fingers as nothing weird was happening.

Lucifer felt like falling for perdition all over again.

“Laughter is the best medicine! Laughing with your friends is the best antibiotic! -Charlie”

Six months had passed since the first time the two creatures had found themselves reading together.

Six months and nothing had changed: the hotel members still thought they hated each others - although Angel started whispering about the weird intense looks they sometimes exchanged.

Six months and, at the same time, everything was different.

Alastor and Lucifer had started by pestering each other every day and were now cuddling on the couch, Alastor’s hand scratching the king’s back, as the man had his head on the other’s lap.

They both pretended to read, but they would spend the majority of time plotting the next move, plying a game of chess to become more and more intimate.

Six months and not a single word had really left their lips. Until that day.

Alastor’s fingers were being gentle on the man’s soft pyjamas, soothing the skin underneath.

A bit too delicate for Lucifer’s taste.

Goosebumps were starting to form on his back and a maddening sensation was making him uneasy.

Al’s nails circled around the middle of the back, running up and down, switching between one finger and all four.

Lucifer was holding on, concentrating on not making a sound, focusing entirely on keeping his mouth shut.

He twitched when he felt the sensation move closer to his side. He gulped down some air and the bit his lips.

Alastor was reading, not realising the torture the other man was enduring. He was absentmindedly cuddling him, too focused on the words he was reading to notice the torture his ‘friend’ was enduring.

His fingers found the softness of Lucifer’s sides.

The king lost his battle.

A single uncontrollable giggle. So desperate to leave his lips, so cruel, so… liberating.

It was the first time Lucifer had made an actual sound in that place.

Alastor’s ears turned and his interest peaked.

His mouth opened, as to comment, but then he closed it, an evil grin on his face as soon as he realised what was happening.

This was interesting.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. He tried to sit down but Lucifer’s fingers travelled back to his skin, scratching and caressing teasingly his sides.

Lucifer put his hand on his mouth, feeling the giggles build up in his throat. His legs started shaking, his torso twitching, anything to stop the sensation.

He slowly lowered his hand, his mouth ready to talk for the first time but when the other demon realised what was happening he stopped immediately his attack.

He got a bit closer, breathing Lucifer’s air, and he out a finger on his pale lips.

So this was how it had to be: defeat at first word.

Lucifer gulped loudly.

Alastor’s fingers went back to work, ready to pinch his sides but the only thing they found was air and dust.

In a puff of glitter Lucifer transformed into a snake - he was still Lucifer Morningstar, the most proud being ever created, if he could run away from this humiliation he would - but Alastor reacted quickly and one of his shadows manifested around his tail, snatching him off the floor. He transformed back into his demon form, dangling upside down with his foot held by the tentacle. His face morphed into a “Are you kidding me?” kind of expression.

Alastor left his place from the couch, facing his victim. He looked composed - as always - but a glint of mischief shined in his eyes.

He was going to destroy him. Lucifer shivered as he watched Alastor’s hands caressing the air around his body, not picking a particular spot, but letting him suffer through his indecision. As Lucifer started to thrash around, thinking about how to run away again his shirt rose up and Alastor eyed his midriff with interest. Lucifer’s mind panicked so hard that he transformed into a bird and immediately tried to fly away.

But again, his opponent was very determined.

He reappeared right in front of the door - his only way out other than the very closed window - with a wider and more menacing grin. Lucifer crashed right into him, reappearing as his usual form in a cloud of sparkles.

Alastor didn’t leave him a single second to think this time, trapping his wrists with one of his dark shadows and heading them above his head.

His stomach was again in a very vulnerable position, since his shirt had risen from all the tossing around. He had a trembling smile on his face, giggles almost leaving his lips just because he could feel Alastor stare at his body.

Probably because of this expectation he would have never anticipated fingers gently caressing one of his underarms.

Lucifer gasped and a weak groan left his throat. The touch was gentle, delicate, the fingertips tenderly swirling on his armpit. And it was so, so, devious. He started drumming his feet on the floor.

His mind kept repeating a series of “no no no no” and “okay okay okay” that he would have said out loud to distract himself hadn’t there been that stupid game of silence between them.

Lucifer tried to think of all the way he could turn the tables, tried to think how to attack him but he lost it when Al started tickling his other armpit too.

His giggles started dancing around them, uncontrollable. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t ask for him to stop: he could only laugh.

Alastor grin widened, but he didn’t change the pace of his attack: he was going to be ruthless and methodical.

As the fingers teased his armpits, two dark shadows descended on his ribs, tracing small circles on the bones, making the fallen angel hiccup with laughter.

Lucifer really lost his battle, twisting his body to run away, too busy laughing to concentrate on shapeshifting. It was unbearable, a slow torture he knew he couldn’t endure by just letting himself laugh.

To confirm his suspicions, the moment Alastor brushed a single finger on his stomach he really gave up.

«Wahahaait!»

The room fell silent again. Alastor stopped moving. Lucifer stopped laughing. The books seemed frozen on their shelves, and the air was eager to listen to words.

«Your majesty,» it wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t meant as a title. The king’s brain stopped working as a goldish blush dusted his cheeks. He was not expecting those words and he was not expecting to react that way. «we’re in a library. Noise should be kept at a minimum.»

Okay, he was going to kill Alastor.

Sweet golden laughter poured out of the angelic creature as the demon attacked his stomach. His fingers caressed his navel, pinched his sides, walked around his skin.

He was so light that Lucifer felt conflicted about what to feel, as if this wasn’t a kind of torture to him but was a weird act of kindness.

«Alastohohohor-» he got lost in his laughter. Giggles and high pitched squeals echoed in the darkness of the room. He realised his hands were free to move the moment he found them holding onto Alastor’s wrists, not quite pushing him away, not quite remaining still. He wasn’t sure about what he wanted to do.

«Ahahahahl» he put one hand on his mouth only to slam it back again as a tendril attacked him on the armpit. He laughed louder, feeling every part of his being ticklish.

It felt embarrassing. It felt private. But it felt… safe.

They were alone in their personal room where no one could bother them.

He giggled louder: «Ahahahahllll! I- ihihi- I demand you to stohohohop!».

Alastor grinned.

«Why should I? My king didn’t seem to mind my hands on his body before.»

«Ahahahahalasthohohor!»

«What my dear? Isn’t that true?»

Lucifer dissolved in another fit of laughter as Alastor lovely pinched every bit of skin he could find from his sides to the middle of his navel.

As hiccups started to leave the king’s lips the tickling slowed down.

«Have you had enough my dear?»

Lucifer could only nod, titters leaving his throat.

Red lights stared shining through the window.

Lucifer sighed, laughter tinted on his lips. He stared at Alastor: he looked bright, shining of a unique and mischievous light that only he could radiate.

They were very close, Alastor on him, hands holding him still. Lucifer’s skin was still sensitive, at every little movement he felt like starting giggling again.

Their faces were few inches apart, so close they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

Lucifer found himself staring at the other’s lips; only to realise he wasn’t the only one.

It felt as if they were getting closer, as if he could taste Alastor’s lips had he only moved a bit.

«I guess I will see you tomorrow my dear.»

And just like that he was gone

“You can find friends everywhere! Even at the library! Ask the person next to you what are they reading! Who knows what might happen! - Charlie”

That night Lucifer arrived at the library before Al.

He arrived before midnight. Angel and Husk were still at the counter, chatting and giggling together. They greeted him, but he was too distracted to care.

He sat on the couch, twisting his hands and waited.

When Alastor arrived the king was so nervous he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

He immediately stood up, eager to talk right away, but Alastor went straight to the shelves, picking a book up.

Lucifer was confused to say the least.

Alastor sat down and started to flip pages as if nothing had happened between them the day before. When he picked his cup up Lucifer became furious.

«Are you kidding me?»

The sound of the king’s voice made Alastor jump. He probably thought that their pact of silence was back on because he looked confused.

«Is there anything wrong sir?»

Lucifer was fuming.

«I thought-» he shook his head and tried again «We’ve been coming here for six months. You’re the one who started messing with me. I came here just to read in peace and you-» he had to take a moment to recompose.

«I was fine. Then you arrived and disrupted my peace. You started to get closer and at first I thought it was to mock me but then… it seemed like you cared.»

Alastor sat there, staring.

«I thought you were starting to like me. I know in front of everybody you were your usual bitch self but- but here, here you were sweet and kind and.. and you started getting closer, touching me, putting your hand on my shoulder and- and yesterday I thought..» he put his fingers in his hair.

«Yesterday I felt something. And I know you felt it too because you were giving me that weird specific smile you have when you are actually happy and.. and now you just sit there, drinking your stupid tea and reading your stupid book as if nothing happened. And you have the courage to ask me if there is something wrong?»

Lucifer was out of breath, hands shaking.

It took the deer a few seconds to take it all in. Then he slowly closed his book, put his cup down and got up.

«Six months ago I came here to annoy you.» he began «Charlie told me that she was worried about you and asked me to check on you, as if I was some kind of nurse. My original plan was to hide every book you were reading.» he softly smiled avoiding the other’s eyes.

«But then when I saw you the first night you arrived... You looked miserable my dear. Charlie was right, I just couldn’t take advantage of a helpless puppy like that.» he tried to joke around his feelings, but the nickname didn’t feel derogatory as probably intended.

Alastor stood up and turned himself towards the books. He talked slowly, but each word was tinted with honesty.

«I decided to keep you company, to keep an eye on you so that if I helped you you’d be in debt. But then you started being… you again. After a few nights of pestering you I saw your face changing, I saw your smile coming back. And I found myself waiting for those moments.» he sighed facing Lucifer who was so shocked he didn’t know how to react.

«I am- I am sorry for hurting your feelings: that was not my intention.» his sight finally met Lucifer’s «But I wasn’t toying with you. Even if it started like that: adter all it was endearing to see you embarrassed.» Lucifer rolled his eyes at that.

«But I soon realised I wasn’t just having fun though: I was seeking out these meetings. Suddenly I found myself thinking about you during the day. Hoping we would fight so I could spend more time with you.»

Alastor feelings were shining around them now, dancing through the space between their bodies.

«It took me a while to understand and accept what was happening. And then yesterday when you were adorned with the most beautiful smile I felt something I thought I would never feel. Something resembling… more than just affection.» he whispered.

Lucifer felt himself moving without being able to control the motion. His hands brushed Alastor’s hands and their eyes locked just like the first day there.

Their library. Their sacred and demonic place. The only room that saw them as friends.

Everything felt so distant, but so alive, buzzing with energy.

Alastor took his hands, but Lucifer was the one who closed the gap between their lips.

All those days spent bickering, arguing over stupid shit, fighting one against the other, only to be defeated by a small environment full of books.

The kiss was small, soft, more than just brushing their lips, intense but not overwhelming. It was everything Lucifer needed to remind him how to breathe, how to feel, how to live.

It tasted like rivalry and play, like mischief and honesty. It simply tasted like them.

They smiled at each other, Lucifer’s hands shaking.

«Shall we go back to our readings my dear?» Alastor asked. He seemed composed as always but a hint of blush was dusted on his cheeks.

«Yeah, of course.»

Before leaving, Lucifer found a new little note on the table. This time it wasn’t on the usual yellow post-it.

Charlie’s words were written on a heart shaped red card.

He smiled before leaving the room.

“May this library always bring joy and love to whoever needs it.

P.s. love you dad

-Charlie”

~~~

This message is for AnonEmu. I really hope you like this fic, I swear I tried to honour your prompts, and I hope the length of the it didn’t scare you.

When I first read your pairings I thought about writing for a lee!Alastor ler!Vox fic but honestly I’m so happy I changed my mind.

Trying to write a cute, fluffy and lovingly tickle scene between two of the characters that hate each other the most was challenging, but this gave me the opportunity to actually focus on the story and not just the tickling part, which I realise it’s quite short, but I really hope you can still appreciate it.

The characters are probably a bit OOC but I swear I tried to give them at least the right vibes.

Having said that, I really have to thank you AnonEmu, I really want to thank you for your prompts, and I really really really want to thank @cantsaythetword. You’ve been an amazing host, you’ve done so much and you deserve all the love and recognition in the world.

Now you probably wont see or hear from me for a few months, but I wanted to thank all the people who reblog, comment or like my art and writing.

You make me proud of my work.