#or maybe this doesn’t make sense at all

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—“ Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.

[steddieas-shegoes]

stay the night

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘guard’

rated m | 532 words | cw: implied/referenced sexual content | tags: established relationship, Steve is self-conscious, they’re idiots

😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

They’ve been dating for nearly a month, fucking for even longer. Eddie practically spends every day with Steve, most evenings, too. But he never spends the night.

Steve doesn’t ask him to and Eddie’s too scared of this new thing they have to ask if he can. There must be a reason that Eddie doesn’t get the same treatment that so many girls used to get. It has to be a problem with him.

He tries not to think too much about it. It could still be nothing. It could just be that Steve prefers sleeping alone. Or maybe Steve thinks sleeping together is more important than, well, sleeping together. He’s a hell of a romantic, so that makes sense.

But even that seems strange because Eddie’s done everything to show how much he cares about Steve without actually saying that he loves him. He’s gone through all the stops. He’s done more flower buying, jacket sharing, hand holding, cuddling than he ever thought he’d do with a partner.

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, waiting for him to finish showering after a long work day, when he decides he’s gonna ask. Steve has the start of a migraine and he wants to be here to hold him and make sure he takes medicine and gets decent rest so it doesn’t get worse.

Steve comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, hair dripping onto his shoulders. Eddie’s human; He looks him over from head to toe.

“Can I wear your shirt to sleep?” Steve asks as he grab sweatpants from his drawer.

“The one on my body?” Eddie asks, looking down and back up. Steve nods. “Sure, if I can stay the night.”

Damn, that was easier than he thought it’d be. Steve left it wide open for him to be able to sneak it in.

“Oh,” Steve sounds unsure now. “Um.”

Eddie waits. He’s pretty sure saying anything to try convincing Steve will just make him more nervous and feel more pressure to say yes, and as much as he wants him to say yes, he doesn’t want him to feel like he has to.

“Yeah. I just, um.”

Eddie stands up and takes a few steps until he’s close enough to Steve to cup his face in his hands.

“It’s okay if not. I just wanted to see if you were ready for that,” Eddie offers. It really is okay, but it doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t gonna cry about it on the way home.

“No, no. I just have um.” Steve breathes out, closes his eyes. “I have to wear a mouth guard when I sleep?”

Eddie blinks slowly. “A mouth guard?”

“Yeah, uh. I had braces when I was younger and started grinding my teeth together and I had to start wearing a guard for my teeth,” Steve explains in one breath. “And it looks stupid so. I just didn’t want you to see that.”

“But. Other people have, right?”

Steve shakes his head. “I usually skipped it if I had someone over one night.”

“So-“

“I want you here all the nights, not just one.”

“Oh.” Eddie smiles. “So I can stay?”

“Yeah, please stay.”

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 5

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha grapples with your betrayal and her conflicted feelings about you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Warnings: angst, violence, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship/emotional manipulation (not from Natasha)

Words: 5017

Natasha groans softly as a dull pain pulses behind her temples, forcing her to squeeze her eyes tighter. She shifts, trying to burrow deeper into her pillow, seeking comfort, but instead, her forehead meets the cold surface of stone.

The icy touch jolts her, and her eyes snap open.

Reality crashes back.

Sneaking in with you Deactivating Widow’s bomb implant Being betrayed 

Her chest tightens, frustration bubbling under her skin as she presses her forehead harder into the ground, as if the pressure might somehow drown out the memories. 

But what frustrates her most isn’t the sting of betrayal—it’s the fact that she can't bring herself to truly blame you.

Not completely.

She huffs, closing her eyes again, trying to calm the whirlpool of conflicting emotions. 

Anger? Sure. Frustration? Definitely. But blame? It sticks in her throat, never fully forming. 

After all, you'd warned her. Multiple times. It was almost cruel how you’d tried to warn her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to stay away.

Taking a steadying breath, Natasha forces herself to focus. 

Her hands are tied behind her back—not tightly though, the knots already offering some slack. Her legs remain free, so she slowly shifts into a sitting position, bracing herself against the cold stone wall.

The room comes into sharper focus now: a dimly lit cell, the faint flicker of a light casting long, eerie shadows through the iron bars. The faint creaking of the light swinging lazily in the corridor beyond was the only sound besides her own breathing. 

No signs of guards. Not yet, anyway. 

Just as she starts working her hands free, a soft, familiar sound cuts through the silence—a tentative, quiet meow. 

Natasha freezes, her sharp gaze scanning the dim room, her heart lurching at the sound. Seeing no signs of a presence, she calls out softly.

“Widow?”

Silence stretches on, making her doubt her senses. Maybe it was the residual effects of the tranquilizer.

But then, out of the shadows, a pair of yellow eyes blink open, locking with hers.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other in silence until eventually, Natasha feels a small, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her lips, an unexpected feeling of relief emerging at the sight of the cat.

Seeing that, Widow hesitates before moving closer, her body language almost guilty as she pads cautiously toward the bars. 

When she reaches the edge of the barrier, Widow stops, meowing softly again, her eyes wide and pleading.

Natasha sighs at the sight, her frustration softening. 

“I’m not mad at you.” 

At her reassurance, Widow slips through the bars and scrambles onto Natasha’s lap, curling up against her with a low purr, her small body vibrating against Natasha’s chest. 

Natasha chuckles lightly, finally freeing her hands and reaching up to gently scratch behind the cat’s ears. 

“Your owner, though,” she mutters, her thoughts drifting back to you, “That’s another story.”

Widow tilts her head curiously in response, revealing something attached to her collar. 

Natasha reaches for it, relieved when Widow doesn’t resist as much as usual, but the cat must still feel guilty about what happened. 

She examines the small comms earpiece in her hand, easily guessing who it’s from. 

With a resigned sigh, Natasha slips the earpiece into her ear, the slight hum of static filling the silence. She doesn’t have to wait long before your voice cuts through.

“How was your nap, Miss Black Widow?”

The casualness in your tone makes Natasha scoff in disbelief. She moves to stand, with Widow hopping off her lap, and heads toward the bars of the cell. 

“That was unnecessary,” she replies flatly. 

Her fingers trace the metal, looking for any weaknesses. 

You hum thoughtfully, the low sound sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. 

Natasha clenches her jaw, hating how even now—after everything—you still manage to get under her skin. Her frustration manifests as a soft sigh, though it’s tinged with more than just anger. 

Your voice returns, gentler this time, as though you heard something in her sigh that makes you soften. 

“I really am sorry for using you again. Especially after your help with Widow.”

At your apology, Natasha presses her forehead against the cool bars, her thoughts swirling, confusion mixing with hurt and a quiet, burning need for answers. 

There’s so much she wants to ask you—so much she deserves to know. 

But there’s one question she needs the answer to more than the rest. 

“Was everything...just part of some plan?” she whispers, her voice barely audible. 

The vulnerability in her question surprises her, but it hangs there, heavy. The real question remains unspoken, but it echoes loud and clear.

Was she?

The quiet buzz of static from the earpiece is the only response for a long moment. Natasha’s heart pounds, each second stretching out longer than the last. 

Sensing the tension, Widow presses herself closer along Natasha’s legs, purring a small comfort in the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Then, finally, your voice comes through, quieter, stripped of its earlier nonchalance. 

“I never expected to find the Black Widow napping with my cat in the park.”

You pause, as if the memory brings a smile to your face, and Natasha feels the similar warmth curl in her chest. 

A small, exasperated huff follows as you continue.

“I definitely didn’t expect her to steal my cat again.”

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. 

Your tone softens further at the sound.

“I never expected to work with you. To rely on you.”

A beat of silence, and then, with a sincerity that cut through every last barrier of hers, you whisper softly.

“No, Natasha, I never expected you.”

The words settle over her like a balm, soothing the ache she hadn’t realized she was carrying in her heart. 

Natasha closes her eyes, leaning harder against the bars as a soft exhale escapes her lips. 

Relief, in some strange, bittersweet form, washes over her. 

But then your voice drops, and the rawness in it cuts deeper than anything else.

“…And you should’ve never met me.”

The sharp ache in Natasha’s chest tightens, your words sinking in like a blade. 

She wasn’t supposed to hear that edge of regret, wasn’t supposed to feel the quiet admission that whatever this is between you—whatever fragile thing you share—was never meant to be.

And yet, it happened. Against every warning and every logical thought, it happened.

“Maybe not,” she whispers, her voice trembling. 

The admission feels too honest, too exposed, but she can’t hold it back. 

Her own words linger between you, and she’s not sure what they mean. 

She’s caught between wishing she had stayed away and a terrible, exhilarating fear of how much she never wants to.

Widow’s small, warm body presses against Natasha’s leg, as if sensing her pain, her gentle purrs vibrating like a balm, soothing her frayed nerves. 

Natasha bends slightly, her hand drifting absently to the cat, fingers brushing through soft fur, grounding her. 

The cat’s presence is a reminder—a small, undeniable piece of you, of who you really are.

Someone who would risk herself to protect those she cared about.

Natasha takes a slow breath, her voice barely more than a murmur. 

“Or maybe some people just need a second chance.”

The static hums in her ear, silence stretching on, and Natasha wonders if you heard her. 

Finally, your voice returns, soft and laced with something between regret and acceptance.

“You don’t have much time before the guards return. You should take the chance to escape while you can.”

Natasha’s eyes search the cell, her gaze catching on the keyhole and a small piece of metal lying just outside the bars. 

Stretching her arm as far as it’ll go, she reaches for it, her fingertips grazing the piece, but it’s just barely out of reach.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, her voice quiet but loaded with the question of whether you’ll follow her—or choose the path you seem already resigned to.

There’s a beat of silence before your reply comes, tinged with a finality that sinks into her like lead. 

“Sorry, but I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

Closing her eyes briefly, Natasha sighs, both at your answer and her failed attempt, her hand falling as she gives up trying to reach the metal piece. 

But then, Widow nudges her hand gently for her attention. She looks up as the cat drops the metal piece into her open palm, meowing softly. 

Natasha’s lips curve into a faint smile, a moment of gratitude shared with the little creature. Her fingers scratch affectionately behind Widow’s ears before she begins to work the lock.

“You brought me here already. Let me help,” she says softly, hoping the offer might shift something and make you reconsider. 

Silence fills the line again. The only sound is the faint clicks of the lock as she works. 

Natasha’s heart pounds, wondering if the connection’s dropped or if maybe this is your way of closing yourself off completely. 

But just as she begins to lose hope, a low, rueful chuckle filters through, carrying a warmth that, despite the tension, eases something within her.

“I do have one more favor to ask,” you say, and there’s a heaviness in your voice that Natasha knows all too well.

“Take care of her…”

The lock finally clicks, the door creaking open as Natasha hesitates, her eyes drifting down to the cat who’s gazing up at her, oblivious to the weight of the conversation unfolding around her.

Before she can respond, your voice cuts through again, softer this time, almost pleading.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“...please,” you murmur as you finish picking the lock of the door in front of you. 

You don’t have the chance to hear Natasha’s response before a hand grabs the collar of your jacket, shoving you roughly against the doorframe. 

The impact knocks the earpiece out of your ear, sending it clattering to the ground. 

A low, taunting voice sends a chill through you. 

“There you are.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise as they lock onto the woman before you. 

A sleek, gold mask partially obscures her upper face, but it doesn’t hide the familiar, piercing gray eyes, staring back into yours. 

Her grip tightens, holding you still as she leans in, her lips dangerously close to your neck. The cold metal of the mask brushes against your skin, and you flinch at the touch, while her warm breath contrasts sharply, making you tense. 

“You know,” she murmurs, her voice almost a purr, “I would’ve opened this door for you if you’d just asked nicely.” 

Suppressing a shiver, you push against her shoulder, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. 

“Get off me, Whitney.” 

The name feels bitter on your tongue—Whitney Frost, the powerful leader of one of the East Coast’s most notorious crime families. 

Once an ally, maybe even more, but now… 

A scoff escapes her, though she releases your collar, stepping back just enough to still keep her hold on you. 

Her fingers trail along your collarbone, then slide up to your neck, stopping beneath your chin as she tilts your face to meet her gaze. 

Her grip tightens, cutting off any response. 

“You’ve really changed,” she observes with a hint of amusement. “The person I knew would never have said that to me.” 

You meet her gaze defiantly, your lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an apology. 

Her eyes narrow, her fingers digging in slightly as she studies you. 

Then her expression shifts, realization dawning on her. 

“Don’t tell me…” she scoff, her tone laced with disbelief, “you’re cocky because there’s an Avenger in the basement.” 

With a mocking laugh, she lets go of your chin, stepping past you and into the room. 

“Your favorite one, at that,” she adds without looking back, her tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. 

The implication lingers, stinging as you let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering down to the earpiece on the floor, a final connection you know you can’t afford to keep. 

With a resigned sigh, you crush it beneath your heel, the soft crack of the device echoing in the silence. Then, steeling yourself, you step into the room, closing the door behind you with a quiet finality.

The room is dim, shadows clinging to every corner, with just enough light from the window to make out the faint outline of your own hand in front of you.

Somewhere in the silence, you hear the quiet intake of breath, an untraceable whisper of movement that sets your pulse racing.

“I got you that cat,” her voice cuts through the quiet, echoing in the room. 

It’s hard to tell where she’s standing with how the darkness hides her so well. 

There’s a bitter edge to her words, her tone slipping between a calm accusation and a simmering frustration.

A slow, disapproving click of her tongue fills the silence. 

“And then you go and name it after that woman. Now I hear you’re going on heists together.”

Your body tenses as her words echo around you, her voice drawing closer, each syllable laced with an unspoken threat. 

“You really know how to make a girl jealous.” 

Her words carry a disturbing, almost amused undertone before she lets out a thoughtful hum. 

Then, a sharp snap echoes through the room, its cold finality hanging in the air. 

“Maybe I should just get rid of her.”

“No,” you respond immediately, your voice steady but betraying the urgency beneath. “It’s not like that.”

Silence falls, thick and pressing, as if she’s weighing the truth of your words.

“Isn’t it?” she asks, and suddenly, she steps forward, her silhouette emerging from the darkness. 

The gold mask is gone now, clearly revealing her piercing gray eyes that hold a glint of malice, though her face is still partially obscured by shadows and the loose waves of her jet-black hair. 

She steps in close, her fingers finding the back of your neck in an all-too-familiar grip, pulling you toward her while pushing until your back hits the doorframe.

Your breath catches at the impact, and your body stiffens as she presses close, leaving no space between you. She moves in as if to kiss you but stops just a breath short.

“Does this feel familiar?” she murmurs in challenge, her tone low and taunting.

A chill slides down your spine at her touch, at the feeling of being trapped beneath her gaze. 

The memory of Natasha’s touch flickers through your mind, her warmth and strength, the way her embrace had felt like a promise, something safe and fierce. 

This touch, though familiar, feels cold—sharp.

Possessive.

“What do you want me to say?” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

Whitney tilts her head, studying you with narrowed eyes, her grip tightening. 

“That you don’t take me for a fool,” she hisses, her voice low but venomous. “You really think I revealed my location to you just because you brought some Avenger to me?” 

Your eyes narrow, and you meet her glare with one of your own. 

“Don't act like she wasn’t a threat to you. She was close to uncovering your operations, and you know it.”

Whitney scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound, her gaze sharp with anger. 

“We wouldn’t have had to worry about her if that stupid cat hadn’t led her to the warehouses in the first place.” 

Her tone is accusatory, a simmering rage barely held in check. 

“She’s not stupid,” you defend, your jaw tightening. 

A rare note of defiance slips into your tone, and you can see her eyes flash with a dangerous warning. 

Whitney’s expression hardens, her fingers digging in more forcefully. 

“Neither am I,” she snaps, her tone cold and cutting. 

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, her eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as she continues, “I know you deactivated her implant.”

You swallow, trying to keep your expression neutral. 

There’s no point denying it; she obviously saw what happened between you and Natasha. It makes sense she’d know why you were there in the first place. 

Whitney lets out a disappointed click of her tongue, her head shaking slowly, her fingers tracing your cheek with a mocking tenderness.

“That implant was to keep you safe—so that I only have to use her instead,” she murmurs, her tone suddenly soft, almost soothing. “And yet, you chose to risk yourself to protect that cat.” 

A low, humorless chuckle escapes her as she drops her forehead onto your shoulder, the sound echoing with bitter disbelief. 

Her voice is softer now, but the sharp edge remains. 

“Sometimes, I think you love that little vermin more than you love me.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Widow darts forward, slipping nimbly between the guard’s legs, her small form a quick blur that grabs his attention.

“Hey!” he shouts, stumbling after the tiny intruder. 

In that split-second distraction, Natasha closes the distance. She seizes his arm, twisting her body with practiced precision, her legs locking around his neck like a vice. 

The guard stumbles, instinctively reaching up, but it’s already too late.

With a powerful twist of her hips, Natasha throws her entire weight into the move, flipping him backward. 

He crashes onto the floor with a resounding thud, his weapon skittering out of reach as the impact drives the air from his lungs. He lies there, unconscious, sprawled across the ground.

Without missing a beat, Natasha releases him, flipping herself upright in one seamless motion, barely breaking her rhythm. 

Ahead of her, down the hall, Widow pauses, looking back with an expectant meow, as if urging her to keep up.

Natasha huffs lightly, slipping the guard’s weapon into her belt before taking off after the cat, who maneuvers effortlessly through the winding maze of hallways. 

Her heart pounds, thoughts racing as she recalls her last contact with you. She’d heard the faint sound of your voice, a brief exchange with someone, but after that—silence. 

Worry twists in her stomach. Who was that person? And where are you now?

The moment they’d escaped from the cell floor, Widow had darted off purposefully, her small figure leading Natasha in a determined path. 

Natasha follows closely, trusting that Widow is guiding her toward you.

As she rounds a corner, Natasha spots the cat waiting beside a door, her gaze determined and expectant. 

Seeing Natasha approach, Widow lifts a paw, pressing it against the frame.

Natasha steps forward, keeping her movements silent, and notices that the lock on the door has already been picked open. She grips the weapon at her side, bracing herself for whatever awaits. 

With a steadying breath, she swings the door open, scanning the room with quick, assessing eyes.

But instead of finding you, she’s greeted by the low hum of electronics and the faint beeping of servers. 

The room is small, its walls lined with rows of humming machines and blinking lights. 

Lowering her weapon, Natasha frowns, glancing around in confusion, but Widow doesn’t seem fazed. 

Instead, she strides forward confidently, weaving through the narrow rows of servers as if she knows exactly where she’s going.

Natasha follows, watching as the cat stops at one specific row and licks at a treat already waiting for her on the floor nearby. 

Widow finishes it, then raises her gaze upward, her tail swishing with purpose. 

Natasha looks up to see what’s caught the cat’s attention.

A USB device is plugged into one of the servers, its tiny green light flashing steadily. 

Before Natasha can react, Widow springs upward in one fluid movement, scaling the side of the server with feline grace. She delicately grips the USB with her teeth, pulling it from its slot. 

Without a misstep, she lets go and lands gracefully on the ground, the device clutched in her mouth. 

The cat pads back to Natasha, her eyes gleaming triumphantly, as if proudly presenting her accomplishment. 

Widow meows, muffled around the USB, her posture exuding confidence and pride.

But Natasha can’t take the time to appreciate the adorable sight as she urgently shakes her head.

“No, this isn’t a mission, Widow. You’re supposed to lead me to her.”

Widow tilts her head, her expression shifting to confusion as she processes Natasha’s words, clearly unsure about this new request.

Natasha sighs but doesn’t let her frustration show against the cat. Still, its weight presses on her as she scans the room. 

There has to be a clue here, something that will lead her to you.

Her thoughts are cut short by the sound of many approaching footsteps.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Silence fills the room, thick and tense, as you search for a response. 

Eventually, you can tell her patience has already thinned when her fingers mindlessly trace your collarbone, dangerously slow, before she turns her head from where it rests on your shoulder and hovers her mouth close to your neck.

“This is the part where you tell me that what we have is more important than some silly little pet.” 

Her voice is a low murmur, coaxing, as if daring you to contradict her.

“Had,” you correct sharply, moving your body back, putting a breath of space between you and her touch.

She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. 

“You’re not still upset about that, are you?”

Your gaze hardens. 

“What did you expect, Whitney? You tricked me! People got hurt because of what I did.”

“Oh, baby,” she coos, mocking sympathy in her tone, “You didn’t hurt them. That’s my job.”

The words sting, laced with callousness, and her smirk sharpens, as if reveling in the power she once held over you. 

Her eyes glint with amusement. 

“Besides, you work for me. I found you when you were nothing more than a pickpocket on the streets. I saw your potential—saw how wonderful you could be.”

Your jaw clenches. 

“I never wanted to do anything like that.”

Her expression flickers, a hint of irritation breaking through her cool exterior. 

“So you decide to abandon me,” she remarks, her voice hardening. “Ran off in the middle of the night and left me to finish your job?”

She takes a step back, letting the moonlight illuminate her silhouette through the window. Slowly, she moves her hair from where it covers part of her face, showing you the scar that runs from the side of her forehead through her eye.

“Because you left, I got hurt in that last heist instead. Is that what you prefer?”

You swallow hard, a sense of guilt growing in you as you see the scar across her once-flawless skin. You personally know how much she valued her beauty.

“No,” you whisper, “I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. Not even you.”

“And yet,” she continues, “when I finally wake up, you’re gone. Disappeared with a generous cut of my funds too, I might add.”

Your jaw tightens at the painful memory of making that tough decision to betray someone you once cared so much about. 

“I just took back what I stole for you. Not everything.”

Whitney laughs, low and humorless. She steps closer and leans in until she rests her forehead against yours.

“Everything you steal is mine,” she clarifies, her voice dark and possessive. “You are mine. And no one takes what belongs to me.”

Her hand caresses your cheek as she continues.

“Not you—and especially not her.”

Her words hang in the air, cold and final, before an abrupt call sounds from a phone. Her eyes don't leave yours as she answers, putting it on speaker. 

A subordinate’s voice filters through, tense and urgent. 

“Black Widow has escaped! The cat’s with her, too. She’s already taken down several of our men. What’s the order, boss?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses Whitney’s face as she goes to respond, but you act quickly, clutching her collar and pulling her to you. 

Before she can say a word, you press your lips to hers. 

As if on instinct, she responds immediately, deepening the kiss, her fingers slipping into your hair, holding you with a fierce possessiveness as her lips move against yours, just as they have so many times before.

But before she can lose herself any further, you pull back and whisper, your voice breathless.

“Don’t…don’t hurt them.”

Whitney’s gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing as she searches your face, assessing your plea. 

You wait with bated breath, hoping she’ll listen this time.

Eventually, her lips curve in a slow, calculating smile, and something flickers in her expression, intrigued.

Finally, she raises the phone to her mouth, her voice steady and cold. 

“No lethal shots. Just keep them away.”

She tosses the phone away dismissively, her smirk deepening as she returns her attention solely to you.

“See? Just ask nicely, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha takes cover behind the corner, firing off the last few rounds from the weapon she’d picked up earlier. Each shot buys her a precious second, but then, the gun clicks empty. 

She curses under her breath, tossing the useless weapon aside as the guards return fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls around her, forcing her back.

Natasha scans her surroundings as she searches for an escape. Just as she’s about to make a break for it, she feels a sharp tug at her leg. 

Startled, she looks down to find Widow clawing at the fabric of her pants, her yellow eyes wide and urgent.

Once she had her attention, the cat releases her hold and pads over to a pile of empty boxes and debris stacked against the wall, pushing at the heap insistently. 

Natasha hesitates, but then she sees what Widow’s after: a narrow chute hidden behind the clutter. 

Acting fast, Natasha clears the debris aside, revealing the dark opening of the chute. 

Without hesitation, Widow jumps through, disappearing into the shadows below. 

Natasha spares only a split second to glance back at the approaching guards before following. She dives into the chute, her body dropping swiftly, darkness surrounding her as she slides down into the unknown. 

As the chute opens to a faint glow, Natasha tenses, bracing herself. She rolls as she lands, dropping into a crouch just as the two guards stationed there turn to her in shock. 

They barely have time to react before Natasha springs forward, her movements precise and lethal, taking them down in seconds. 

A soft meow echoes from an adjacent hallway, pulling her attention. Widow waits for her near the entrance before continuing on her way.

Natasha falls into step, following the cat through a maze of narrow hallways and hidden passages. 

But with every twist and turn, a mounting frustration gnaws at her, the growing realization that they’re being funneled further and further away from her goal—away from you. 

After a final sprint through a nondescript door, Natasha suddenly finds herself outside. 

The cool night air hits her skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating corridors inside. She spins around, instinctively reaching for the door, ready to plunge back in and continue her search. 

But the door remains locked, the handle unmoving under her grip. 

She yanks at it, a surge of anger flaring within her as she’s met with resistance. 

With a frustrated growl, Natasha slams her fist into the door, feeling the dull ache in her knuckles. But even the sting in her hand is nothing compared to the frustration coiling inside her chest. 

A soft, concerned meow sounds beside her. Natasha glances down to find Widow watching her, the cat’s small face tilted up, her eyes full of worry. 

For a moment, Natasha’s expression softens as she meets Widow’s gaze, recalling her promise to you. 

“It’s going to be okay, Widow,” she murmurs, though her voice feels hollow, more of a reassurance to herself than to the cat. 

Widow blinks, then leans against Natasha’s leg, her small, warm body a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself, even if only a little, in the gentle purrs vibrating under her hand. 

But the weight of the situation lingers heavily, her mind racing with the bitter knowledge that she’s been forced out, away from you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your hand finds the edge of the desk behind you, steadying yourself as Whitney presses in closer. Your fingers slip along the surface, accidentally brushing against the hidden panel. 

There’s a soft click, barely audible, and a small section of the desk slides open to reveal a concealed terminal.

But Whitney doesn’t notice, her focus entirely on you. 

Her lips trail down your neck, each kiss lingering, leaving a heated trail that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself. She finds a particularly sensitive spot, her mouth lingering there, and a gasp escapes you involuntarily.

Out of the corner of your eye, the terminal screen flickers to life, displaying the active status of the device with your name highlighted under it. 

The cold words remind you of the reality of your position. 

You take a steadying breath, summoning the courage to make your request, hoping that your past together would be enough to change her mind.

“Take it out of me. The implant.”

Her mouth freezes against your skin. 

For a moment, the only sound is your breath, quick and unsteady, mingling with her silence. Then she hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing against your skin in a deceptively gentle touch.

“Oh, I will…” Her words are soft, almost soothing, until her teeth sink harshly into your skin—a biting reprimand. 

You wince, but she only holds you tighter, as if daring you to pull away. 

“Once you’ve paid back every cent you stole. It’s only fair after what your little disappearing act did to me.”

Whitney lifts her gaze to meet yours, her eyes sharp and dangerous, an unmistakable warning glinting in their depths. She leans in closer, her lips brushing your ear, her voice a dark, possessive whisper that sends a chill down your spine.

“Until then,” she murmurs, pulling you firmly against her, “no more running away.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

a/n: thanks for reading! the back and forth style of the perspectives in this one was fun to do, different but still fun. Oh, and a new character too, any thoughts about her? There will be a small side story to give a snippet in the readers past coming soon before the next part releases, so look forward to that.

Side note: The next update for Everlasting Devotion is still in the process. I just wanted to reassure that I’m still working on that series. It’s just a new experience doing two series at once so I’m still trying to manage the time between the two, but we’ll see how this goes.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123-blog, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta

[starweed]

i feel like he’d have complicated feelings about it, depending on the types of artifacts the archives house, how they were obtained, and what the policy on repatriation of those artifacts is.

like, if the archives have a bunch of stuff from tarre viszla that was left to the jedi when they died by tarre themself then i feel he’d be pretty understanding of that due to the fact that tarre was of both the jedi and the mandalorians and that the artifacts were specifically left to the jedi

if they had a few things from before the dral'han besides the stuff left to them by tarre then i feel like his feelings would be more complicated, because the jedi were part of near total annihilation of mandalore and there are definitely going to be feelings about that. it all depends on the repatriation policy.

i think that the jedi’s policy would be “if the culture of origin asks for their stuff back make a holo-copy (if they’re okay with that) and make sure it gets back to them” the archives in my mind are about the sharing and preservation of knowledge, so it would be important to them to make sure that they aren’t destroying cultural knowledge by keeping stuff from the cultures they have artifacts of.

do i think jaster knows this? probably not, the galaxy as a whole doesn’t seem to know much about the inner workings of the jedi, let alone the policy that the coruscant temple’s archives have on the repatriation of artifacts.

but back to jaster’s feelings, i think it’d feel really shitty to have to request back cultural artifacts from the jedi, no matter how willing they are to give them to him. i think it would reignite this ever present grief he (and likely all mandalorians) feel regarding the dral'han. on one hand, there’s a part of him that’s so ecstatic that there are mandalorian artifacts (and maybe even texts about mandalorian cultural practices) that are still around and so carefully preserved, and he can get them back to manda'yaim!! on the other hand, they can’t help but feel resentful, because these things should be and would have been plentiful in manda'lase and on manda'yaim had the dral'han not happened. now, these beings, who were involved with the dral'han and are still loyal to the government that orchestrated it get to have these things. even the ones that tarre viszla had left them would likely instill this feeling in them.

idk, jedi-mando relations are interesting to think about, hope this kind of makes sense

I like how every time Jaster Mereel is written in fics it's always mentions in some form that he's trying to get in the Jedi Archives.

[vrystalius]

HELLOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Is it okk to ask for like Hashiras/upper moons reaction to a little kid having a crush on reader?? Sorry if this sounds weird btw 😖

Hashira’s reaction to a child having a crush on you

How will your husband react to a small boy having a sweet, innocent crush on their wife?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not let the crush slide. The first time Sanemi noticed the dreamy stare of the kid, how he was admiring you quietly from afar with a shy grin on their face, he stares at them with his usual intense glare, but didn’t do anything else about it. It’s just a small crush after all. But once the kid’s getting a little more hands-on by offering you a pretty flower he found on his way to the estate or shyly asking you to play with him during breaks, Sanemi would get more hands-on in return by playing along, as if fighting for your honour in a more childish way. He’d slip you into his arms and lift you above the ground, holstering you onto his shoulder and smirk at the surprised kid, watching you quite literally get kidnapped.

“She’s mine, kid. Get lost.”

Yet, once the child starts feeling heartbroken from you gently rejecting his advances, explaining how you are already married and how he should seek a nice partner of their own age, Sanemi’ll give them a small pep-talk while also slightly intimidating the poor boy at the same time by saying things like “You should become stronger, and maybe you’ll win her over one day” and “Still, be nice to my wife or else I’ll hear about it”. Despite everything, your husband respects the guts the kid has, confessing their love to you despite having a husband like him.

Kyojuro Rengoku

He finds it absolutely adorable! The kid actually confessed to Kyojuro about their crush first, seeking support and encouragement from him despite being the husband of yours. He can’t suppress his grin while they innocently explain all the things he likes about you; you’re pretty, you’re super nice, so strong and make super yummy snacks for them when he comes to visit. Kyojuro would start playing along with the kid, handing him small gifts he could give to you. Together, they once even made a handcrafted charm, both of them gifting it to you on Valentine’s day. In the evenings, you and your husband would quietly laugh about the adorableness of the kid, wondering if he’ll ever stop crushing on you.

“I might have competition! I’ll do everything in my power to convince you to stay married to me, my flame!”

Kyojuro greatly respects the child’s admiration for you, viewing it as an early sign of nobility. Whenever the kid gets shy or nervous around you, your husband might give him a pep-talk about bravery and kindness, saying that he’ll one day find his own wonderful partner, exactly how Kyojuro fell in love with you.

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to one day find a partner of your own, the woman you like so much sadly is already married to me.”

Gyomei Himejima

Your husband is soft-hearted about it, a little teary eyed by the innocence of the whole situation. You told him about the boy that always fights his way up the mountain just to come visit you and keep you company while you do boring tasks. He senses the pure heart of the child, never getting jealous or overprotective of you, instead Gyomei is calm and even entertained by the antics of the boy, how persistent and determined he is. He treats the kid and his feelings with respect and even sits him down to talk. One afternoon, your husband sits down with the child with some mochi for the boy to eat while he talks.

“When we care for someone, we do what is best for them. If you truly admire her, then always be kind, always be respectful. Even if she belongs to another, you can still honor her by being the best you can be.”

Giyu Tomioka

His reaction is a rather quiet one, as expected. Giyu is confused by the whole situation at first and doesn’t know how to react upon seeing the boy shyly approaching you with a bright blush and smile on his face, asking you to join him play. He watches as the kid’s innocent crush obviously shines through by stumbling over his words or by avoiding eye contact and kicking his feet around. Your husband feels a weird uncomfortableness pool in his stomach while watching from two afar, not quite understanding how he’s getting jealous over a child having a small crush on you. Is he seriously that insecure about himself?

As the boy’s antics continues, Giyu might start to show affection more openly when the kid is around, placing kisses on your cheek or holding you closer against his body by slipping an arm around your waist. It’s his silent way to “mark his territory”. Eventually, your husband would sit the kid down and have an awkward conversation with him about having crushes on people his own age and that you’re too old for him. Besides, you’re also married. To Giyu.

“You’re young, you’ll maybe understand one day.”

💠

I’m actually very sick right now and extremely nauseous, that’s why this fell a little short XD I hope you enjoyed this anyway, anon!! Today, my Tamagotchi evolved into Sanemi! He’s so adorable I can barely put it into words XD apparently if I do things right, he can also evolve into Genya in three days! Thank you for leaving all the kind comments and reblogs, I really love reading them all <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

Heyyy it’s time for what you guys asked for! ~{ and for the people just getting here I suggest that you read this⚔️Danny al-ghul⚔️ before you read this so it makes sense}~

⚔️Al-ghul⚔️

=====================================

So today I will go a bit more into this like with Danny and Tim’s relationship,and what the Batfam did to make Tim leave and now let’s get into this!

=====================================

Tim’s and Danny’s relationship

So lets start with how they met and work our way through, Starting with how they met in the first place : While Tim was going through the timeline and stuff looking for Bruce he gets thrown from the timeline and yeeted into a place where he properly past TF out and stayed that way for at least a few hours ( Do you know how long this boy hasn’t have slept at least days at this point, and it’s clockworks fault Tim got yeeted he wanted a meet-cute )

As he wakes up [when did he fall asleep?] he sees that he’s… somewhere it looks healthy he guesses but as he looks around he sees where this place begins and the other side looks like all the life was sucked out of it and left for dead [ and isn’t that a good sign ] but Tim walks on looking for a way to get back to where he was, he walks for a few minutes or hours he doesn’t really know at this point, Tim finds that time is odd here you can’t tell if it’s night or day due to trees covering the sky

but as Tim is thinking about this he comes across a very large temple that looks to be made out of obsidian or something close in color and appearance but completely different in strength it looks and feels stronger but that’s not catches his attention it’s the lagoons and lakes of Lazarus Water that surrounds the Temple and that’s a bad sign if Tim’s ever see one but as much as he needs to leave if this gets into the wrong hands this could be very bad in the future so a little detour to see if anyone or anything is here to make sure this doesn’t become a problem

So Tim enters the Temple but as he does so he doesn’t notice the pair of little green and black eyes that follow him from one of the lagoons and disappears a second later, As Tim is walking around he noises a few more concerning things such as Long scratch marks all around the walls old and new ones side by side and cracks in the floor and walls that shows that fighting happened here

But that train of thought is thrown out the window as he hears the sound of feet walking and the dragging of fabric [ most likely from a dress or robe ] coming his way and before he can hide or pull out a weapon he comes face to face with a boy…a very pretty boy and if Tim’s face looks redder than a tomato no it doesn’t [ and he’s a bit grateful he didn’t pull out his weapon, con’t ruin his chance with the pretty boy ]

And for the pretty boy in question he’s kinda freaking out and it’s not really his fault, he hasn’t seen or talked to someone who wasn’t a obsession-less or clockwork in what years? ( time is weird here and he doesn’t age anymore so it’s hard to keep track of time ) much less a human! How did a human get here anyway clockwork said that no one other than him can come here

And when Danny sees that the boy in question has a weapon he does what anyone with his past does and books it back to the cave under the temple where most of the pit demons / Ferals are if not in the lagoons and lake or fighting for whatever reason

Suddenly the pretty boy starts to run away and on i instinct Tim follows a few minutes later they are under the temple and there and more lagoons [ he didn’t think there would ever be this much of the stuff in existence at the same time ] and as he is about to catch up to the pretty boy he hears a scream while more like a wail as he is pin down by….is that a god damn Pit Demon. And as Danny sees this he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t give is boy [ not to mention the boy is pretty handsome ] and gets the demon off him but he doesn’t fully trust the boy so he’s staying in the cave and they start talking…

And this goes on for a while [Clockwork wants his ship] and time isn’t really an issue and feeling and stuff ~{ I really don’t know how to write romance and stuff I know what ships but no how to write it in that way}~ and they get together and Tim is still very scared of the Other as he knows the second he hurts Danny their going to get his heart as a trophy to Danny and probably eat his corpse after so that’s a thing and Tim has to get back to trying to find Bruce and Danny makes him promise that they will stay in contact and that he cames back to visit often or he’ll ask the Other to come get him and as they say good for now they both know they will see the other soon…

=====================================

What the Batfam did to make Tim dip

Let’s start with what they did and than their view:

This isn’t just one incident where the Batfam have blamed or accused Tim of one thing or the other [ and the time Dick said that he would put Tim in Arkham their relationship with each other haven’t recovered not that Dick noticed when he was busy with other stuff more important than Tim ] but when they all stop talking to him for a week because of a miscalculation when an a mission that wasn’t even his fault

That’s when he had it if they thought that giving him the silent treatment and leaving him alone like his parents did after everything that’s happened to him and not even getting a family that doesn’t pull shit like this??!! He would not have this when he had a partner that loved him and where he could be safe and happy

So he got everything he needed and start getting things ready for his leave like making the contingency plans able to access in case of an emergency and setting up a AI to take care of his job and cases that the Batfam in his help in

And leaves not expecting anyone to care that much..

=====================================

and that’s about it I hope you guys like it! Sorry the second part is shorter I am very tired and didn’t really have any other ideas an “ Batfam gives Tim silent treatment and Tim books it and the Batfam be guilty “ and that’s really all for now see you all later byeeee

[7ndipity]

Their S/O Suffers From Migraines

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would look after their S/O who suffers from migraines

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to @coffeedepressionsoup for this request! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: He would go into full caregiver mode at the first hints of an oncoming migraine, making sure that your space is as dark and peaceful as possible for you, that you have any medications that you need, bringing you tea or something to snack on, since he read that it can sometimes help, etc. He tries to get you set up and comfy as possible and then leaves you be, bc he doesn’t want to potentially bug you later during the worst of it. Afterwards, he’ll make you whatever foods you want and keep you comfy on the couch while you recoup.

Yoongi: I think he would be good at noticing the subtle shifts in your mood or behavior that are usually indicators of an impending migraine, quickly suggesting the two of you take a break from whatever you’re doing and maybe lie down, trying to hopefully catch it early and take precautionary measures to keep your pain to a minimum, keeping you as relaxed and comfortable as possible. Once the worst of it passes, he’ll bring you drinks and snacks and set up a cozy evening in bed for the two of you while you recover.

Hobi: At the first sign of your symptoms, he’s running around(as quietly as possible), closing curtains and shutting off the lights, and getting you whatever you need to feel comfortable. He refuses to let you do anything, wanting to be as helpful as he can be, tho he knows that for a large part of it, all he can do is just sit with you and ride it out. Afterwards, he lets you pick what y’all do, if you feel up to doing anything. Otherwise, he just curls up with you while you rest, playing with your hands or hair while you nap.

Namjoon: He has a tendency to get low-key panicked sometimes when you’re sick or hurt, so he would try and ask you as many questions as possible beforehand about ways he can help so that he’s prepared and ready to do whatever you need him to in order to help you feel better, whether that's bringing you cold/heat packs, or finishing up your work and tasks for you so that you can rest without worrying about them. Whatever he’s doing tho, he’s always super soft spoken and gentle with you, treating you so tenderly that it almost makes you cry.

Jimin: He would be the most dedicated caregiver during these times. It absolutely breaks his heart to see you in sort of pain or discomfort and not be able to fix it, but he does what he can to make you as comfortable as possible, fixing pillows and lights just to your needs, bringing you ice water or tea, double checking with you on everything as he goes. Once you start feeling better, he’ll set up a cozy movie night for the two of you, even tho you have to keep your eyes closed and the sound low bc your senses are sensitive, he just wants to cuddle you and keep you close. 

Taehyung: He's surprisingly good at reading your cues and handling your symptoms, even communicating through gestures and hand signals at times if talking is too painful or difficult. Half the time he just lays with you, not saying anything, just wanting to be near you in case you need anything, lowkey trying to manifest/project healing energy into you. Once you start to feel better, he’ll cuddle you close, making sure that you have whatever you need first, but just wanting you to give you as much love as possible.

Jungkook: He would constantly be researching and finding different things that are supposed to help you with the pain, like those cooling compression headband things and noise canceling headphones for sound sensitivity. He keeps extra heat/cold packs and pain meds at his place in case you need them. He hates seeing you in pain and not being able to do anything, so he tries to compensate with gadgets and preparedness. Afterwards, he’s always extra gentle and affectionate with you, giving you anything you want, from cuddles to takeout to album spoilers(don’t tell the others tho shh)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[n0tamused]

i request thy assistance. urgently.. needeth thee. is there any way thou can deliver some headcanons of what Mr. Reca would be like if his partner were studying for an extensive period of time and needed some loving after it?

much appreciated!

A/n: here you go bbg, I hope this is good enough, mwah! First time writing Reca, so I apologize if this is too short or a bit ooc. Thank you for the request.

Contents: Mr. Reca x GN reader, comfort fluff, not proof-read

-Mr. Reca is no stranger to burning the midnight oil as he has done it in the past himself more times than he cares to count. Often times this would be a result of him indulging a bit too much in his current project and forgetting about the passage of time, other times it was simply a necessity to get something done before the due date

-But he is truly not the biggest subscriber to seeing you burning yourself away. He’d click his tongue when he so much as senses the upcoming exams on your end, his usually cheshire smile replaced by an unamused frown.

-It distracts you so much from the wonders of life - and takes you away from him of course, how dare the exams do such a thing, how can those professors demand so much smh..

-This is too out of character.

-If he could clap his clapper board to re-do this entire segment of your life and trade it for something better and more easy on your mind and body, he would. But alas..

-He truly does admire your perseverance in the field, even with all the trials and tribulations you passed to get to where you are now. Don’t think for a second that he ever forgot; even the tiniest details cannot escape his memory. If his mind was a palace, he’d have a special room, a library, made just for the memories of you. Everything and anything related to you

-While he is busy himself he still feels the shift in the relationship - aka the lack of time spent together and while he doesn’t like it, he won’t distract you from it unless it is to check up on you or if you really burnt away the day at your books.

-While he is not the best at cooking a good meal for you, he will clean up the house while you’re studying, set the table up and clean after you two eat since this guy is gonna order your favorite meal and drinks and make sure you get some good nutrients and hydration in you. He can make simple things…like tea and coffee and maybe some scrambled eggs but honestly that is not good enough for your current situation. 

-He would make you tea before bed - something he also makes you do on time. He is not against using his memokeeper magic to make you come to bed sooner. At times he doesn’t even have to use that, he’d just move the hands on the big clock to make it seem as if hours passed and you’re just too tired to check your phone until you’re tucked away in his arms in bed. 

-If it is still early in the evening he does love to talk to you to pull you out of your study cave mood. Sometimes he can go on tangents about all the elements needed in preparation of a film or a certain aspect that makes a good character and why, other times he tells you about what happened on set last time, his frustrations and such all while having these very animated movements and gestures with his arms or even legs sometimes. He cannot sit still. But if he sees that his yapping is overwhelming you he knows to tone it down to a softer language and volume, just asking you simple questions if you’d like to cuddle or what you’d like to eat.

-He’d drag you over to him, tenderly by the arm and have you lay your head in his lap, cooing softly at how sweet you look like that while his hand goes to smooth through your hair. He would tease you if you were in any better spirits but he just smiles and watches how your lashes flutter shut, your cheeks lightly dusted with blush.

-Reca is very.. colorful with his words and quite creative, so besides the endless list of pet names, some of which are lowkey ridiculous, he is a pro at giving you encouraging words. He can be quite smug when he sees the effect he has on you

-Would definitely talk to you until you fall asleep too, whispering sweet nothings into the top of your head as his hand runs up and down your back, lulling you to sleep.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[black--sun]

He starts to raise his brows as he looks over to meet Shiro’s gaze. “Good. You have enough going on without having to worry about that. I hope he’s not.” Shiro is fragile enough without another boyfriend turning on him. “You could have someone check up on him.” He snorts, even though it’s not funny at all. “But you already know that.” If Shiro hasn’t done it already, it’s because he doesn’t want to know.

Ichigo tilts his head listening and then he nods. “You’ll get your life back. And you’ll get an answer about your cop one way or another. Either he’ll turn on you or he won’t. Everything will go back to the way you had it, just hopefully with fewer people trying to kill you. It’ll just take some time.”

“Right.” He’s barely listening as he button the jeans. “Next time sharpie.” Is there going to be a next time? It actually seems pretty likely if they’re going to attempt a friendship or work together.

He considers what he’d do with a maid. He doesn’t need the kind of services Shiro’s talking about often, but he can sympathize with a family trying to stay together. “Send it to me. I can find something for her to do. Normal stuff.” And if he ever has anything less normal come up, he can go from there.

Ichigo finds a mirror and decides his gun would still be out of sight and maybe he found the right outfit on the first try. Though Shiro still has a lot of great clothes. Ichigo looks over. Shiro never explained his clothing stinginess that directly or Ichigo wouldn’t have given him such a hard time about it. “Makes sense.” It’s not the first time he realizes they were probably running around the streets at the same time. Shiro trying to stay alive or stay high, and Ichigo trying to find a murderer. He wonders how they would’ve clicked if they’d met earlier. But Ichigo was so angry and defensive back then. He had a lot of walls. They wasted a lot of time not knowing each other.

Ichigo moves back to where he left his harness. The knife gets tucked into a boot, but the gun isn’t so easy. He pulls the sweater back off to buckle his harness on with the gun in its place before slipping it back on. The sweater doesn’t hide all of the straps, but it looks more like a sex thing than a legitimate piece of equipment, so he’s not worried about it. All the better to sell his nonthreatening story to Shiro’s men. He looks back to Shiro. “What are you wearing?”

Wandering his own halls by himself isn't exactly new or unusual, but it feels particularly hollow and lonely. He pauses to turn the temperature warmer by a couple of degrees when he passes the thermostat, but he's pretty sure it's not actually cold in his house. It's just him.

He detours to a sitting area he doesn't actually use often. It's used by party guests more than anything. But it has a needlessly large television, which he turns on just to flip through news stations for a few minutes, to see what's being said about him and the car bombing and the shooting. It pays to stay at least semi up to date on current events, especially the events that directly relate to him. He flips channels for fifteen minutes, but it's still so fresh that the stations are still mostly just replaying footage and describing the scene, not speculating or making things up. That'll change, he knows, but for now, replay after replay of what happened isn't really what he wants to see. It wasn't the first time his life has been threatened, nor the first time he's been shot at, but he's been feeling particularly fragile this whole day. He sighs, closes his eyes and scrubs at his face for a second, pushing away thoughts of everything he's got in this mansion that could help him slow down, mellow out. He told Ichigo he wouldn't. But Ichigo's another sore subject to think about.

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, glancing at the time absently as he dials. His on again/off again, not-boyfriend picks up on the first ring, sounding calm, but the kind of calm that comes from professionalism and not true calm. His voice is quiet, making Shiro think he must be either at work or around people that don't need to overhear who he's talking to.

Shiro feels distracted and isn't quite sure why he called. Because he needs a chaperone. Because he's stupid.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He says into the phone for a third time as he steps into his room to finally start digging out clothes for Ichigo.

His bathroom light is on and he pauses, free hand straying to the handle of his switch blade, before it occurs to him that it's probably Ichigo. There's a delay in his response that a cop wouldn't miss. "No, don't worry about it. I'm not gonna stay here." His not-boyfriend sounds worried in that controlled, trying not to sound worried way. It makes Shiro feel guilty as hell, especially when steps to a place in the room that lets him see into the bathroom and he confirms that it's Ichigo. "I dunno, I haven't decided. Might stay at the penthouse for a while, might get outta town for a few days- Yeah, I know... I'll text you, ok?" He waits a beat, then hangs up the call.

[cheqorb]

More Between Us.

You’ve always been just friends, but they can’t ignore how their heart races whenever you’re near.

FEAT. Isagi, Bachira

NOTES. probably my most tooth-rotting post yet! annnd I totally forgot I had this in my drafts Bring this duo back to me though pleasj

ISAGI is easygoing, and mild-mannered by nature (though perhaps his rivals disagree on that). It’s literally harder to not be friends with him. Your relationship was equally good, nothing particularly special and not abysmal. The type of friends who might talk on the way to class if you spot each other, but never go out of their way to do so either.

If asked, you wouldn’t even say best friends; he’s too busy with his teammates, and you have your own friend group.

See, Isagi enjoys thinking about stuff in a logical sense, using reason and evidence to support his ‘theory’. Both in real life and in football.

So before he even comes to the conclusion of a crush, firstly, there’s the small details he picks up about you.

Your eyes shift colour slightly if the sun hits them right. But, he reckons that happens with everyone’s eyes. Your eyes crinkle upwards when you smile, and maybe even dimples form on your cheeks as you do so. He likes seeing people smile, and yours is… in a way, cuter than anyone else’s? If he had to rank smiles, he’d put yours near the top. All hypothetical, obviously!

He’s always been observant, even as a kid, so Isagi figured he was just feeling a little more insightful as of late but it doesn’t stop there.

Suddenly, Isagi finds himself unconsciously lingering in places he knows you'll be. He tells himself it's just coincidence, but deep down, he has a feeling that he’s seeking you out more often.

Practicing with his team becomes a lot more strategic, with him making sure he's near your usual route home (not in a stalker way, at least, he hopes not), and just on time so that he can ‘bump into you’ and walk together.

And he lives in the complete opposite direction, so, while you don’t mind his presence, you find it a little odd.

Isagi begins to remember every little thing you mention, even the small stuff, like your favorite snack or the song you've been listening to on repeat. Next thing you know, he’s casually surprising you with them, acting like it’s no big deal but loves it when you get visibly excited about it.

He fumbles with his words a little more around you now, overthinking simple things that never used to bother him. It’s not like he’s shy (actually one of the best communicators out of everyone), he just doesn’t want to mess up or make you think he’s weird!

If he says something that could be interpreted as mildly creepy, he’s actually the first one to call it out and apologise over and over again. Beats himself up about it at home, even if you thought it was mildly funny that he knew what you were doing last week Tuesday at around 5:06PM…

When his teammates joke about him having a crush, he laughs it off, but there’s always a little pink in his cheeks that he hopes you don’t notice.

He'll start texting you first more often, just to share something funny or ask for your opinion on something trivial. It’s an excuse, really, just to have another reason to talk to you.

Also catches himself smiling whenever he sees a notification from you pop up on his phone, and his heart does a little flip when he reads your replies, no matter how mundane they are. Literally a “hey, I’m bored. Wanna hang out” is enough for him to lose sleep over it.

When you two do eventually go to said hang out, he pays extra attention to you: whether it's making sure you’re comfortable, or that you’ve got enough to eat, he’s always subtly looking out for you.

Despite all these signs, Isagi convinces himself it’s better this way — giving you small hints for you to understand rather than straight-up confessing. If you notice them and accept, great! If you notice and don’t accept, that’s fine too, he hopes you can remain friends though!

If you’re completely oblivious, well… he’ll muster up the courage to say it outright.

You and BACHIRA are like two peas in a pod together! Where there’s one, the other’s probably lurking nearby somewhere. Every second of every day seems to be spent with each other (and to anybody with common sense, you two already look like you’re dating).

When the crush starts, he thinks about you more than he already did, if that were even possible. Every little thing you do seems to make his heart race, but he sorta brushes it off as just excitement from being with his best friend.

Kind of a trickier situation than Isagi’s one this way though, because now you’re so close, Bachira doesn’t even feel that different about you. He might not even realise it’s romantic until his mother points it out in the midst of another one of his rambling sessions. About you, that is.

I won’t sugarcoat it; he’s nervous if anything. You’re one of the few friends he has and genuinely seem to care and like about him and if he ruins your friendship over his feelings, he’d be devastated.

But he’s back to his usual self and gains a little confidence after some encouragement from others!

Bachira’s clinginess ramps up a notch, but it’s so typical of him that you might not even notice. He’s constantly draping an arm around you, leaning on you, or just being in your personal space as much as possible.

Willing to share anything and everything with you. For example, if it’s snacks he’s got, he’s always picking out the best pieces just for you and handing them over with a cute smile.

Bachira finds himself staring at you a lot more now. Sometimes you’ll catch him and he’ll just laugh it off with a playful comment, but on the inside, his mind is racing with thoughts he can’t quite put into words.

When you talk, he listens with full attention, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more tender. He hangs onto your every word like it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard — and you could literally be talking about a bug you saw on the sidewalk this morning.

If you ever need anything, Bachira’s the first one to jump in and help, no questions asked. He’d go out of his way just to make you smile, even if it means a truckload of extra effort on his part.

Sometimes, he hints at deeper feelings in his usual roundabout way — in little jokes that might just have a hint of truth behind them. But he always plays it off as just that, a joke.

If you’re feeling down, he’s the first to notice, offering comfort in the form of goofy antics or just sitting with you in silence if that’s what you want.

If you ever confront him directly and ask if he feels something more than just being friends, Bachira might just spill everything in a rush of words; unable to keep his feelings hidden any longer. But until then, he’s content simply being by your side, even if it means he isn’t being entirely honest to himself.

[ghastlyfilters]

Pleeease write some headcanons of Art trying to cheer up a GN reader who's stressed over school/work/etc. 🥺🥺🥺 pretty please 🤧🤍🙂‍↕️

art with a s/o who’s struggling with work!!

pairings; implied art the clown x gn reader

warnings; mentions of violence (this is what ya get when your fictional crush is a murderer babe 😔) stress, and gotta add in fluff

gifs made by me!! :)

THE HEADCANONS:

• If there’s one thing about Art that everyone should know by now, is that he is INCREDIBLY curious. However, when it comes to anyone studying, this man is bored out of his little clown mind.

• He thrives off your happiness when you’re in a good mood, but when you’re stressed.. Art’s kinda at a loss..

• Despite Art absolutely living for other people’s misery, seeing you so stressed actually freaks him out in a sense. He’s a ticking time bomb. And his brain can’t handle shit when your brain also cannot handle shit 😭

• His horn’s practically his best buddy at this point, and if it cheers him up, it’ll maybe cheer you up? Right?

…. Right??

• Yeah, him honking his horn in your ear whilst you were trying to study your ass off did not seem to sit well with you. When you told him to stop, he gave you that sassy judgemental look, raising one drawn on brow. He knows the power he has over you. Art could’ve honked that fucking horn all day if he liked. It’s not as if you could stop him.

• But.. your boyfriend has respect for you.. sometimes. And he did in fact stop honking his horn whenever he noticed that you were studying.

• Art is awake literally ever single hour of the day. He doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, he more so sort of lounges around. But he can sleep if he really wants to. This makes him literally ideal for going out and getting you food if you’re up at three in the morning studying.

• He did it so much now that you didn’t even ask anymore. You’d be up in the early hours of the morning on your macbook, and Art was already out the door. He could care less if anyone saw him. Most people think he’s some asshole just dressing up as the Miles County clown.

And that’s the mistake the cashier at Subway made that night.

• Art is so SO prone to being insulted easily. So if someone does think he’s trying to dress up as himself, it pisses him off. BAD.

• You learnt this very quickly when he came home with two blood stained Subway bags. And when you went to open one.. dawg.. it wasn’t your food.. ☹️

• It had been the severed head of the cashier he killed. But at this point you weren’t even squeamish anymore. Art always walked around smelling like someone’s insides. But it just made it incredibly awkward when he stood in the doorway blinking at you, making that O shape with his mouth, realising your food was in the other bag..

• One night you’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from filling out all the files your professor had sent you. Art smiled down at you before waltzing past with his usual looney tune, cartoonish looking walk. He wanted to raid your snacks again from the kitchen. Art could be a fat shit when he wanted to be. Your laptop was on the dining table, wide open. He hadn’t noticed at first, before a notification sound filled the room in under a second. Art had snapped his head round and squinted, noticing your professor’s name pop up. The prick sent an email lecturing you regarding not enough work being sent back, despite the fact he was sending a shit ton of files. This caused Art to type a very lovely little email back. And when you awoke, he was gone.

… So was your professor apparently when the head of your college sent everyone emails that morning to note that he would not be returning.

• When Art came strolling back in, covered head to toe in that familiar red liquid, you immediately knew.

And this was your long awaited break.

• At last you weren’t having anymore documents sent to you for a while. Atleast until they found a replacement for your old professor. So finally you could relax, watching your lanky boyfriend on the couch across from you, grinning like the madman he is at the horror flick on the TV.

Maybe that clown could cheer you up with everything after all.

HII! this was so fun to write. i adore art so much and i’m desperate for more requests for him!! (also ik a 24hr subway isn’t that common, don’t come for me 😭)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

The car ride is silent. You don’t mind. You have nothing to say. 

Your thoughts race to a fury. This is it. It’s over. You’re in trouble. Not the sort that would have you sobbing under your blankets. No, it’s the kind you don’t walk away from. 

You replay that night in your head. Why did you do it? There was nothing different about that night. Nothing excessive. No, you were just tired of it.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe the solution isn’t getting rid of your father. Maybe it’s you. It’s always been. He always hated you. All of you. 

Shadows flow over the car like waves in the ocean. The sky dims as evening deepens around the city. The wheels roll on with the silence. Tense and wrought. Driver nor passengers make a noise. 

Rogers drives beyond the city limits. You’ve heard your father tell the stories. He laughs with his accomplices about the latest snitch or thief. They die alone and begging. 

The warehouse stands like a skeleton against the moonlit sky. The shattered windows twinkle like the stars and the desolate lot sprawls like a swathe of black satin beneath the tires. The brakes lurch you forward and you catch yourself against the seat. 

“Out.” Rogers says. 

You don’t linger. You undo your seat belt and get out. There’s someone waiting to take care of you. To end it. Your eyes fill with tears. You’re not sad for yourself, you’re sad for your sisters. They’ll miss you. You didn’t tell them you loved them. 

As you stand outside the car, Rogers drives away. You’re left alone in the midst of the cracked pavement. You hug yourself with one arm and look around.

Will it be a quick shot? Will you be tortured? You remember your dad cackling about a man who had his nails removed from his fingers and toes. 

You flinch and whimper as metals rolls on a pulley. You look over as a large door opens upwards on its gears. A dark figure stands before the low glow from within. He signals with a hand. 

You go to them. Your heart pounds as you think of running. Of racing into the nothingness of the land. You won’t fare any better. 

As you near Barnes, he watches you calmly. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t appear as a man about to murder you. He seems entirely unbothered by your misdeed. You went above one of his men. You showed disloyalty. The worse sin among his ilk. 

He touches your arm as if he were welcoming you into a house party, “doll.” 

You look at him in confusion. Your eyes skim away from him. There’s a sheet of plastic hung from the ceiling. Behind it, a light shines although the curtain obscures it like oil in water. There’s a chair on the other side. You notice another sheet on the floor. 

He’s silent as his hand slides down your arm. He squeezes and lets you go. He yanks the chain to lower the door. The squeak is jarring in the silence. There’s something else. Like a hiss and creak. 

You startle again as he places his hand against your lower back. He walks you forward. Your steps are rigid and clunky. He takes you closer to the plastic curtain. 

“Please, my sisters...” 

He hushes you. You sniff back your voice and your tears spill over. He leads you past the curtain. You turn to look at the chair and find more than that. A man sits, bound and gagged. Your father. 

Your heart plummets and your legs shake. Without meaning to, you lean on Barnes. He runs his hand up your back and clutches your shoulder before he draws away. He makes you stand on your own weight. 

He marches toward your father. He squirms in the chair as the boss rounds him and stands behind it. He faces you, his eyes mellow against the fraught scene he presents to you. 

“I thought on your request. I don’t often linger on things. I...” he pauses and thinks. “I make decisions. Tough ones and I make them quickly, otherwise, people get hurt.” He grips your father’s shoulders and pulls him to sit straight. The bound man grumbles and tries to thrash against the cord wrapped around him. 

“I can’t kill him for you,” Barnes declares. Another tide of confusion swells over you. Why are you here? 

Barnes steps away from the chair, his eyes pinpointed on you. He comes closer as he flips the small strap of his holster open. He slides out his pistol. You brace yourself. It’s a twisted game. 

“Doll, you don’t ask for stuff like that. That’s not how it works,” He lifts the gun, offering it with the muzzle down. “You do that shit yourself.” 

You bat away the tears as they dry up. You stare at him then look down at the gun. The silver but gleams under the glow of the hanging lightbulb above. The metal cage around it casts lines across you like a prison cell. He's dangling the key before you.

Your breath clogs in your throat. 

“I did what I could. He’s right here. You get what you want but I don’t do your dirty work, doll,” he pushes the gun toward you. “You know how to aim?” 

You shake your head and peel your dry lips apart. You look him in the face. You beg him with watery eyes. 

“I can’t-- I’m not--” 

“You came to my office and you said you want him dead. You don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” He snarls. 

“I’m sorry-” 

“Ain’t no apologies that can undo that,” he snips. “You get it?” 

Your lip trembles. You don’t know what to do. What to say. It’s you or him. You dreamed of, you wished your father dead for years, but it was never real. Barnes is right though. You don’t say it out loud. You can’t take back those words. 

“I saw what he did to you. It’s still there.” He lifts his free hand and touches the scab on your lip. “And he did the same to your sisters, didn’t he? And your ma before she died.” 

“Stop,” you beg him. 

“You got a choice. He knows what you asked for. He leaves this place and you won’t make it far,” he says. “Think about it. This is what you asked for. It’s what you didn’t say that night. If I do it, you get nothing. No closure. You been through of life of his torture. This is vendetta. He killed your ma. All those years, all those beatings...” 

“No,” you whisper. 

“No? So what happens? You go home to your sisters. I untie him. He’s not far behind. And they suffer too because he’s gonna think you worked together. Because you always do.” He says. “He won’t just get you, he’ll get them too.” 

“No,” you shove his chest without thinking as you shriek. “No!” 

He’s solid, unflinching against your force. You can tell by the grit in his jaw that he’s tolerating it for the sake of the moment. You pull your hands away and look past him. 

You stare at that man. At that monster. Your boogeyman. Your abuser. And you know that Barnes is right. Your mother died a slow death at his hands. You can’t let the same happen to you or your sisters. You prayed for a way out. This is it. One chance. 

One shot. 

“Show me,” you put your hand on the gun, teeth chattering. “I don’t know what to do...” 

He bows his head and pushes the gun against your hand. He looks down and moves your grip around it. “Like this.” He helps you grasp it and he moves around you. “Put your arms up.” He guides your arms up, “You wanna look down your arm, down the barrel.” 

You see your father at the other end of the gun. His eyes are wide and gleaming. He wriggles against the cords. He grunts around the gag. The chair does not move. He’s trapped. Just like the little girls hiding in their closet as he bangs on the outside. 

He’s scared. You’ve never seen him afraid. 

Barnes explains but you barely hear him. Your heart surges with adrenaline and you stiffen with instinct. You’re ready. You’re ready. 

“Then, you pull the trigger...” he says. 

He lets you go and backs up. You sense his shadow behind you, then it fades away with the rest of the place. It’s only you and your father. The end. 

You take a breath and move your finger to the trigger. You steady your hands as you brace the pistol with both, just like Barnes said. And you squeeze. 

The bang is deafening and the force knocks you back. Your father lurches then his head slouches to the side at an unnatural angle. You gape at the sight of the hole beneath his cheek. Your arm drops and the gun hits the floor. 

You stagger as your legs shake then fold beneath you. A new silence surrounds you in the echo of the single shot. The period at the end of the sentence. 

[jasmineandcedar]

The bargain

An Elriel one-shot (Elain’s POV).

This one-shot is inspired by @violetasteracademic's beautiful theory post about Azriel and Elain’s future bargain. You’ll find her post here.

My headcanon is that they can choose where to put their bargain tattoos, although it doesn’t seem like they can from canon. But if they could, this is one way I imagine Elain and Azriel entering a bargain could play out during a clandestine meeting in the townhouse garden…

I had so much fun writing this, although dialogue is difficult for me as English is not my native language. But I decided it was time to give it a go! I hope someone might like this as much as I liked writing it.

Warning: Fluff, kissing, sexual undertones.

-----

Elain laid sprawled across the soft grass of the townhouse garden. She knew there would probably be grass stains on her dusty pink dress. She didn’t mind that at all. That was one of the points of lying in the grass, after all. She had never liked when things were too perfect. She had secretly collected many grass stains throughout the years. Some of her favourites were the ones she had obtained during the times she spent in this particular garden with a particular shadowsinger, basking in the warmth of the sun.

She had left her shoes inside to feel the gentle touch of the lush grass under her feet. Her eyes were closed, afternoon sunlight caressing her skin like a warm blanket of the most delicate silk. The unique warmth of sunlight had a way of making her feel weightless, like she became part of the surroundings.

She opened her eyes just in time to see two starlings twirl and dance across the blue sky above, seamlessly shifting between sailing on the summer breeze and beating their wings with a cadence only nature could inspire. The hydrangea shrubs swayed in the gentle breeze to that same cadence. Heavy blossoms of crisp white weighed down their delicate branches, soft streams of hazy afternoon sunlight seeping through them to throw gentle shade across the warm grass.

Elain closed her eyes again and let the sound of the softly swaying shrubs and the delicate floral scents of the early summer blossoms connect with her senses.

Then, of course, there were those undertones of night-chilled mist and cedar, which could only mean one thing.

Azriel was sprawled on his side next to her, his head resting on a tattooed arm. Elain opened her eyes and turned to lie on her side to face him. Even surrounded by the wonders of the natural world, he was the most wondrous of them all. His dark hair caught the sunlight like a raven’s wing under moonlight. The black of his tattoos unfurled across his arms like intricate tree roots weaving across unscathed earth. His wings of jet black were sprawled gracefully behind him, illuminated by reds and golds in the early summer sun.

But most wondrous of all was that gentle soul of his that spoke to hers as tenderly as the stillness of early morning.

In this moment, sleep had finally found that gentle soul.

A soft breeze rippled through the rose bushes lining the walls of the town house, whispering of the blissfulness of early summer. It rustled lightly through Azriel’s dark hair. Elain studied his features. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing calm and slow. Rouge strands of midnight black fell across his brow, the furrow between them dissolved. He looked pristine in peaceful slumber against the floral backdrop. It was rare to find him so relaxed and for a moment Elain’s heart ached. She felt the vision of him softening her already melting heart.

How long they stayed like that she didn’t know. It could have been eons. She would have liked to stay there for eons. Maybe by then things would have changed, and a female’s choice would be enough to dictate her future.

She had made her choice already. She was looking at him.

It was unfortunate that the only acceptable choice was the one that was no choice at all.

If her choice wasn’t enough, she wished there was some other way to unravel the fabric of fate. She wanted to put a needle in it and stitch her own path across it. She was surrounded by bonds, magic, and threads but all of them seemed to just tie her in place.

Threads.

Something was tugging at her memory. A conversation Feyre had with her and Nesta shortly after they were Made.

Not threads...

Bindings. Magical ties.

Bargains.

Feyre had warned her of Fae bargains. Magical bargains that bound souls to each other, with the threat of great danger should the bargain be broken. Why Elain thought of that now she had no idea. Perhaps it was the Mother herself that gave her the idea. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking—the wish that love could trump a mating bond making her hope for things that could never be. Some would say she should have banished such foolish fantasies long ago.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

And perhaps this was it. Perhaps she could spin a new thread, superseding the stitches of fate.

Her heart soared at the thought.

Perhaps love could trump a mating bond. Her love, who was sleeping peacefully in front of her in the garden they had made theirs.

“Love,” she whispered, watching him carefully. Something stirred in the shadowsinger.

She was bursting with the need to tell him. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. So, she forced the thoughts aside as she waited for him to wake up. If being Made had robbed her of choice, it had given her plenty of time. They were immortal after all, a concept that had been so inconceivable from the human perspective she hadn’t yet fully grasped it.

She could wait until he woke up.

As if he had sensed her excitement, Azriel stirred again. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and Elain was met with a sleepy smile.

“Hello,” she whispered.

She let one hand travel slowly across the soft grass in the space between them.

“Hello,” he answered in a drowsy, tender voice. His hand mirrored the movements of hers.

There was freedom in the quiet collision of their fingers. The thrill of feeling his skin brush against hers was another form of weightlessness—an even better one.

“Let’s make a bargain,” Elain whispered after a few moments of silence.

“What?” Azriel said dazedly, still in that blissful space between sleep and awareness that had that sleepy smile plastered across his features. His hazel eyes moved lazily from her fingers grazing his hand to look into her eyes.

“A bargain,” she repeated.

Silence.

He blinked hard, in a way that made him scrunch his nose. Elain felt butterflies taking flight in her chest.

When he opened his eyes again, realization seemed to have dawned on him, and he narrowed his eyes to study Elain’s features.

“You do know about Fae bargains, right?”

“I do,” Elain said. “Feyre told me.”

Azriel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. He retrieved it, holding his index finger in the air between them, eyes focused on the ladybug that was climbing up his scarred finger.

“And you know about the consequences of not upholding one?” He asked hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Elain’s before returning to the ladybug.

“I do.” She responded, following the ladybug's ascent.

“And you are aware the bargain will be marked on your body in ink?” he continued.

“I am.”

“It won’t fade until the bargain is fulfilled,” he stated plainly, his gaze returning to study Elain as the ladybug took flight, aiming for the rose bushes lining the walls of the townhouse.

“I know that too.��

“And you want to make a bargain,” he said slowly.

“I want to make a bargain with you,” Elain corrected him. She reached out her hand and swept an ebony curl from his forehead.

They watched each other in silence. She knew there were 500 years of relentless restraint battling his heart in that moment. She waited until he was ready to speak.

Finally, he laced his fingers with hers again and broke the silence.

“Let’s make a bargain then,” he echoed, curiously indulging in her peculiar pursuit. Something sparkled in his usually shadowed eyes—shadows that were nowhere to be seen now.

It was perhaps a little mad, to enter into a magical bargain on a whim. But the normally prudent shadowsinger had a soft spot for the lovely seer. Elain knew it and treated it with great care.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

His thumb stroked hers gently. Elain knew of the demons he had battled to be able to do that.  These days, he seemed to be winning that battle.

She looked around. Her eyes fell upon the rose bushes. Then at the wrought-iron table beside them, where she had sat with a cup of tea as Azriel sprawled on the chaise longue, sunning his wings, that first time he had taken her to the garden. Two chubby house sparrows were strutting around the area beneath the table now, looking for even more sustenance to satiate them. She smiled. That first time in the garden she had no idea how much Azriel would come to mean to her. But those rose bushes were a constant reminder of where it all had started.

“How about this,” she started and inched a little closer to him in the grass, feeling as though she was about to convey something very secret.

He would always let her have the last word. So, she weighed her words carefully.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” she suggested, chestnut eyes wide.

He hesitated for a moment.

“As long as there are roses you will always be bound to that bargain,” he whispered. “It can’t be fulfilled.”

“Are you saying I would be tied to you as long as there are roses in the world?” Elain asked.

Azriel’s eyes fell upon their intertwined fingers.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said slowly, a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Then I’ll make sure there are always roses in the world.” Elain said through a smile of her own. “I’ve been told I’m very good at planting things and keeping them alive.”

“That, you are.” It was his turn to swipe a rouge strand of golden-brown from her face. She felt her skin warm at his tender touch.

His fingers lingered, caressing her cheek. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze landed on that blush that was undoubtedly spreading across her cheeks. Elain had always found her tendency to blush a particularly bothersome one. Azriel seemed to think otherwise.

His eyes were on hers again.

“How will you explain that you suddenly have a tattoo?” he murmured.

“I don’t intend to show it.” She smirked and saw it mirrored on his beautiful features.

“Sneaky seer,” he said lovingly through his smirk as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I could put it under my foot,” Elain mused.

Azriel chuckled softly. “Clever.”

Then he leaned over, and Elain felt herself fall back into the soft grass.

“Oh, goodness,” she gasped softly.

“Indeed,” said the still smirking shadowsinger.

Suddenly Elain was looking up into his hazel eyes. The dark hair falling on his brow contrasted with the blue summer sky above them, like the blue windflowers she had only seen in books, with their dark centers and delicate blue petals. Leaning on an elbow, he swept his free hand into her hair. His thumb drew soft strokes along her cheek as his eyes travelled over her features. Elain’s hand moved to gently rest on the back of his before her eyes fluttered close. Her lips parted in a silent yes to his invitation. She felt his breath gently whisper along her cheek before he moved to press a tender kiss to her lips in the way that always made her heart flutter.

“Any other ideas?” he husked, voice vibrating against her lips.

Another kiss.

There was no demand in his kisses when he kissed like this—when he kissed her like it was the first time. Not in the way his eyes closed before he slanted his mouth over hers and slowly, tenderly, pressed their lips together. Nor in the smooth rhythm of his movements, like the quiet pulsing of waves against the sunny shore. When Azriel kissed like this, his kisses were slow and enticing, intimate and inviting—a polite question mark at the end of a mischievous suggestion of something he knew they both desired. That desire, which they so rarely got to act on, swirled between them. It tangled around them like grapevines reaching for the sunlight, full of sweet fruit ready to be picked and tasted.

They deepened the kiss, falling into their perfect rhythm. Just like they did when he so often led her into a slow dance even without music to guide them. Under starry skies, safe from watchful eyes.

Elain felt his body settle against hers, their lips locked in dance like those starlings that twirled in the summer sky. She raised her fingers to graze the sensitive skin of his neck and felt him shudder at the touch.

She wanted to explore all the ways she could make Azriel shudder.

Slowly, she let her fingers travel upwards into those soft curls of midnight black. She could swear he was smiling. She knew she was.

His hand moved to tenderly stroke her neck before he leaned back slightly, lingering in the space where their lips barely touched. His nose brushed gently against hers.

It was so quiet, as if time itself had stopped, just so they could have this moment undisturbed.

“Mmm...” he murmured softly against her lips, and she felt the smile on his. “You were saying?”

For a moment, Elain had forgotten all about bargains and tattoos, except the ones underneath his clothes.

She collected herself.

“Perhaps we could make the tattoo a tiny one behind my ear,” she whispered breathlessly, still caressing the back of his neck. She opened her eyes, only to feel that familiar warmth spread across her cheeks at the sight of him.

He leaned in again and pressed a kiss to that flush on her cheek, so featherlight that Elain almost shivered at the touch.

She let one equally featherlight finger glide down his neck in reciprocation.

“I think you can do better than that.” His voice was husky against her skin. His teeth nipped playfully at her bottom lip. “I can think of a few places.”

So could the lovely seer.

“Perhaps…” She paused and locked his gaze with hers in the way she secretly knew could bring him to his knees. “On my inner thigh.”

Azriel stilled, his face barely an inch away, eyes an unblinking swirl of hazel on hers. There was a storm beneath that calm surface. The slight shift in his scent gave it away.

“Yes,” he breathed, a little too quickly.

Excitement overtaking her, Elain pressed a hand against his chest to push him back into the grass. Azriel’s eyes widened at the sudden movement. But as they lay there on their sides again, face to face, she simply hooked her pinkie with his.

“Promise?”

He chuckled softly and hooked his pinkie with hers, eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

Nothing happened.

He watched her in silent amusement.

“I know about Fae bargains, but I don’t know the details of how you enter one,” she admitted. “I was told I shouldn’t do such things.”

Azriel laughed—quietly but unrestrained. Elain's breath caught as she took in the sight of him, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

She would kill another king to keep him laughing like this.

He bit his lower lip to collect himself.

“Is this how humans bargain?” he chuckled and wiggled his pinkie against hers.

“Some of them,” Elain said through laughter of her own. “How do we do it?”

“This… would work, actually,” he said in surprise, perhaps mostly to himself, as he watched their interlinked pinkies.

“Repeat the bargain,” he commanded, hooking his pinkie more firmly around hers.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” Elain recited, eyes widening in anticipation.

“Agreed,” he said.

She was still staring into those hazel eyes of his as she felt what could only be magic zap between them. It rippled through their interlinked fingers and spread through her entire body. She let out a gasp as she felt a tingle on her inner thigh.

A few silent seconds passed.

“Is it done?” she asked.

Azriel only inclined his head.

She scanned his body, the already tattooed golden-brown skin visible on his neck and arms.

“Where is your tattoo?” she asked.

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” he said through another smirk. “But perhaps not here, because I would have to take my clothes off.”

Once upon a time, she would have blushed at the suggestion.

Now she laughed.

And blushed.

The townhouse may not be used much these days, but there was no guarantee of privacy.

“You would take your clothes off for me elsewhere then?” she asked cheekily.

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

Suddenly visions flashed before her eyes. Tanned skin under moonlight. Her back against his chest, his hand in her hair, lips on her neck and praise in her ear, the roll of his hips, and his name on her lips like a prayer.

Azriel.

Not visions. Memories.

His voice brought her back to the present.

“You only need to ask.”

Offer and permission.

She had a feeling he would do anything she asked of him. She vowed to never misuse that devotion. Azriel was far too precious to her for that.

After a long pause, his brows furrowed.

“Are there any roses that don’t look like normal roses?” he asked a little hesitantly. “What if I don’t recognize it’s a rose?”

“You will!” Elain said confidently. “I hear Fae bargains are very painful if you don’t adhere to them.”

She gave him a grave look before her smile broke free once more.

And there it was again. That unrestrained smile of his. She’d figure out all the ways to pull it out of him. She had come to find out she was quite good at that. Perhaps all that work in the gardens had taught her a thing or two about nurturing precious things to life in more ways than one. Those hazel eyes that hid so much kindness were made for smiles and laughter and love. She would make sure he knew of it.

There was also some self-indulgence in her desire to see more of that smile of his. But the way he stole glances from her, brushed his fingers against hers, or threw her wicked smirks when no one saw them had her thinking he wouldn’t mind that at all.

There was liberation in that smile.

For both of them.

“It won’t matter much, whether I know how to recognize all the roses of the world, I guess,” he said through that liberating smile of his after some contemplation, leaning over to pin her to the grass once more.

“It won’t?” Elain asked, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled against her neck as he spoke.

“I think about you all the time, anyway.”

[signanothername]

Question how do you draw the MTT or any other characters? What's your advice persay?

Ok first advice?

Draw them the way that feels right for you

I know this seems a bit cheesy, but it’s genuinely important, Like, what kinda quirks that makes sense to you and that you love in terms of looks?

You like to draw Horror as a giant? Go for it, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, you like to draw the skeletons with animalistic elements? go for it

It’s important that you’re satisfied with your art and designs first and foremost

Of course, sometimes, you’re not too sure about what you like specifically, or how to draw a character in a way that satisfies you, which is why experimenting is a fun way to figure that out

Draw the characters until it clicks with you, don’t be afraid to draw the character different each time, or go on the side and figure it out by yourself by making different designs for the characters

That doesn’t mean you have to figure it out right away either, you’re not going to have the perfect design that you love and that satisfies you immediately, it’s a process, you can draw a design that’s acceptable to you, then work your way up till you’ve figured it out

To give you an example, the first time I drew Nightmare when I got back to the fandom was with the canon design for him

Then that went to the first design I made for him, which I wasn’t really satisfied with at all but I was simply experimenting at the time, and used it as grounds to build upon my design of Nightmare, and a temporary stand in till I found my footing

Then finally the design you see today

And btw, none of these were done in private either, like you can literally see this progress with Nightmare’s design publicly on my blog

What I’m trying to say is that don’t get scared of changing the designs up even if you already drew a certain design and already published it before, keep changing it till you finally genuinely feel satisfied with it

Sometimes it’s not even the design itself that changes, but the way you draw the character itself

Take Horror as an example, look at the difference between the way I drew him before

And now

Big change right? That’s cause I was not sure how I wanted to present him art style wise at first, so I kinda just went for a more sans like style till I figured out how I wanted him to truly look, and eventually, I did figure it out

Again, I didn’t just magically draw these characters the way I wanted exactly the first time I did, it’s a process that needs patience, change up the characters you love every time if you have to till you actually feel satisfied, it’s gonna take time, but it’ll eventually click with you

Of course, that doesn’t even mean you have to draw them the way you like every time either, maybe what you like is to draw a character different each time, maybe you enjoy changing the character up from time to time, that’s ok too, it all goes back to my first advice, do what feels right for you

Uuh that’s all I can think of honestly dhdhhd, if you’d like advice on something more specific, feel free to ask, in the meantime, good luck! <3333

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 5

MDNI // 18+ content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 1400 (part 5)

Chapter Summary: Aftercare and kindness from one of the officers.

A/n: This was supposed to be the double pen with the Aussies, but I felt it really important for our y/n to have a breather after that sesh with Jeongin. I promise next chapter it will be them.

CW: aftercare, introspection, shame, comfort.

You lay on the wet, cold tiles alone, and begin to sob. What had just taken place was intense and now your body is shaking. You can’t make sense of it. You enjoyed what Jeongin did to you, but maybe your body couldn’t handle it?

A  little voice inside you says there must be something wrong with you if that’s the kind of interaction you craved.  

You pull your knees to your chest and will yourself to start counting, just like you were instructed.

One… two… three… 

You’re so fucking sick.

What’s wrong with you?

Four… five… six.

Freak! You’re a freak!

You try to ignore the voice in your head.

You barely get to the count of ten before the bathroom door violently opens. You look up, startled, to find Officer Minho holding a towel and large, thick blanket staring at you with concern.

He puts them down by the sink and immediately comes to crouch down in front of you. 

“You can stop counting now.” He whispers, reaching out to push the wet strands of hair out of your face. 

“Look at me.” He tilts your head up so you can’t do anything but look him in the eye. His expression held a tenderness, much like when he carefully took you to your cell earlier. 

“Fuck. You should have used your safe word, not just the colour system.” He clicks his tongue and stands, helping you to your feet. “Let’s wash you properly and get you warm.”

You know you’re out of it when you can barely stand, but Minho supports you carefully with strong arms. He washes you too, gently, all the while his clothes become more and more drenched.

”Turn around, I need to wash your back.” He says. You allow him to turn you to face the wall while he soaps up your back. You’re not sure what he must be thinking, but you don’t want him  getting the wrong idea about his - you’re not sure what they are to each other. Friend? Colleague?

”I wanted it.” You whisper ashamedly. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” You’re met with a grunt and silence.

”How did you know I was here?” You ask.

”Jeongin came and got me straight away.” He replied. “We’re not really going to leave you without aftercare. We’re not that bad.” He scoffs at the last part of the sentence, as though he doesn’t quite believe himself.

He shuts off the water and dries you down with the towel. Neither of you say anything, despite the fact you have so many questions. He is intriguing to you, and, for some reason, you feel safest with him. 

Sure Officer Han and Hyunjin seem safe and kind, but Minho? He feels protective, considerate. Even if he did do those extreme things to you in the interrogation room.

After he deems you dry enough, he wraps the thick blanket around you.

”Are we going straight to the Chief and-“

”You’re not in any state to go there yet. You’re going to rest.” He decides, and leads you back towards your cell. 

But that’s not where he’s taking you. You realize you’re headed to the interrogation rooms. Your heart picks up a gear, and you wonder if you’re in for a surprise scenario? Maybe Minho wants another turn of you? The thought makes you feel nervous in your stomach, but not in a fearful way. Oh god, you’re not feeling feelings are you?

Officer Minho opens the door to an interrogation room, and it can’t be any more different from the one you were in earlier. This one has painted walls, fresh, clean linoleum flooring, and a warm glow coming from the lamps around the room. A desk stands where the metal slab of a table was in the other room, and a couch on the far wall. 

“Come, sit. Rest.” Minho instructs, gesturing to the couch.

You do as you’re told, and sit on the couch, tucking your legs up and snuggling into the blanket.

Minho sits next to you, picking up a book from a side table and begins to read. 

You’re not sure what to do. He obviously doesn’t want to chat, or fuck, so you decide to close your eyes and rest just like he suggested.

You would love to ask him why he does this for a job, or even something as little as what his favorite food, or movie is. But you don’t. You’re far more tired than you thought, drifting off quickly.

You’re not sure how long you’d been asleep for when a soft knock at the door has you stirring, and you open an eye to watch Han enter the room with coffee cups. You let your eyes close again, listening to their conversation. 

“Looks like Jeongin really gave it to her?” He whispers in a shocked tone. 

“She’s fine. Just needs to rest. From what Jeongin said, she used the color code orange, then requested he use the real knife.”

Han let out a low whistle. “No wonder she needed to hire us if this is what her fantasies entail.” He pauses. “She looks so pretty when she’s asleep.” He coos.

“Absolutely not.” Minho says sternly.

“But,” he whines. “She was really into it before.”

“We’re not on the clock. She needs rest, and besides, you will get another chance tomorrow.”

“Ugh! I had to share her before, and tomorrow I’ll have to share her with everyone.” You can’t see him but you can tell by his tone he’s pouting. 

“Ya! I had to share too, remember.” He growls.

Their bickering is oddly comforting, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep again, dreaming of Minho taking you out for a meal and talking about normal, everyday things.

————-

You wake to the smell of coffee and a cooked breakfast, although you’re not sure whether it’s really morning or not. You lost track of time long ago.

“Here, y/n. Eat.” Minho hands you a plate of eggs, toast and sausages. “You’ll need your strength for your final two encounters.” 

You take the plate, smiling at the man who looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Was he watching over you?

He perches himself on the edge of the desk and watches you take a bite of toast. 

“What made you sign up for… this?” He asks curiously. 

You hesitate. “Well…” you set the slice of toast down on the plate. “ Oh god can you really share this? “It’s just…I’ve got these really intense fantasies. I don’t know why. I don’t know where they came from.” Tears begian to form in your eyes. “I guess I’m just some sick freak or something.”

You can’t hold back the tears and they spill down your cheeks and Minho is by your side in a heartbeat. 

“Hey, hey… shh.” He pulls your hands away from where you’re trying to hide your face. “Listen to me. You’re absolutely not a sick freak. Who the fuck made you believe that?” 

It was all your previous partners. Their words ring in your head. 

You’re too much.

Why would you want me to do that?

What’s wrong with you?

Every single one of them made you think there's something wrong with you. You tried to make the fantasies go away. You really did. But they wouldn’t. You couldn’t shake them. You tried to be satisfied with “regular” sex, and yes, that was enjoyable to a point. But you craved more.

“Why do you do this job?” You meet his eyes. He hesitates, eyes blinking rapidly. Maybe no one has ever asked him this?

“Because I have intense fantasies too.” He leans back on the couch. “I think all of us here do. I think all of us have felt different, or like as you said, a “freak”, but we’re not. None of us, including you, are freaks. As long as boundaries and rules are established, it’s perfectly fine.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “You’re the first person to make me feel like I’m normal.” You whisper.

He leans forward and wipes the last of your tears away, and you feel a tug in your chest. His eyes catch your lips, and there’s a flicker of want in his expression. Then you remember he doesn’t do “kissing on the lips”. Then why does he look like he wants to?

A silence hangs in the air, but the moment is lost when there’s a knock at the door.

“It’s time.” Minho whispers. 

————-

a/n: Okay, so I am not sure what happened, but Minho! He snuck in and made y/n's heart skip a beat.... and I feel like maybe his did too.

Next up: really, we will have Felix and Channie!

-----

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @lunearta @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @kavifornia @chuuyaobsessed @iadorethemskz @hyun-hwanj @courtnort455 @brimarie0512 @dwaekkicidal @kibs-and-bits @txa-r @minh0scat @the-sweet-rose @chrizzztopherbang @velvetmoonlght @youcanstayyeah @skzswife @stephanieeeyang @withnia @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ihrtlino

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @melochacco

[kinardsheart]

@marvelousbuckley prompt !!! buckley fights and whatnot

—————————

Everyone knew that when all the Buckley’s were at a table together, shit would go down.

Buck’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding against eachother in an effort to not snap. To not flip the table like some overdramatic movie scene and flee, get far away from whatever was happening right now.

Maddie’s worried eyes flicked from their parents to him, eyebrows furrowing as she no doubt was thinking of ways to de-escalate the situation, ever the mediator.

“What did you say?”

“We just think that you’re rushing into things. What, with all your past relationships, isn’t this a bit different?”

Pain surged through his body as he bit his tongue to bite back the venom he was about to hurl. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, keeping him from disassociating back into the same little boy that always came back.

“Mom, I think it’s a bit late. Jee-Yun’s asleep, I think we’re all a bit tired.”

His mother shook her head, bony hands resting over his fathers still ones moving to tuck a stray hair back into her neatly styled bob. Maddie sighed, leaning back in her chair uncomfortably, facial expression not moving from it’s worried state. This was happening.

“Why so?”

“Well… you know.”

An eyebrow raised as he stared them down intimidatingly, daring them to continue. “I don’t. Continue.”

Philip sighed wearily, as if Buck was the one who initiated the topic. As if Buck was the problem. Like always, his stupid son. Always causing problems. The thought made his stomach churn, queasy, nails digging deeper into his palms.

“Enough, Evan. This is just another rash decision like you always make. It won’t mean anything, you’ll snap out of it, son.”

Son. Like he was the one who taught him to tie a tie for his highschool formal. Ran around football fields with him as the sun glared above them, exhausted laughter as they collapsed on the fields and got ice cream on the way home. Held him as he cried and told him he was still a man. Images of makeshift father figures, his maths teacher, Bobby. Tears pricked at his waterline as he stood up, too exhausted to fight. They were never going to change.

Despite calls of his name as he walked out of the chilly apartment, maybe it wasn’t cold. maybe the chill came from the use of evan from mouths who didn’t deserve to it, he moved on autopilot. He was almost out; through the kitchen and about to open the front door when a smaller hand landed on his arm. Concerned, familiar brown eyes met his.

Memories of broken bikes, aching wounds, warm hugs and pinky promises swam around in his mind as he looked down at her.

“You know they’re just worried, right?”

His blood ran ice cold.

“Are you on their side?”

She flinched at his tone, shaking her head while her hand dropped from his arm, taking the warmth with it. “No, of course not. But they’re just worried, Evan. You don’t have to go, they don’t mean anything.”

The threat of his previous tears returned. “That’s the thing, Maddie. They never mean anything. They don’t care, and when they do, it’s never good.”

A deep breath, then he continued.

“You wanna know why they don’t like Tommy? Because I’m happy. They don’t like that. Why should I be happy when I’m not even the son they wanted? They said it themselves. I’m their reminder that the one they wanted is dead, looking them in the eyes.”

Her head tilted with her lips turning down in an upset frown.

There was nothing left to be said, he supposed. The bickering from the other room quietened as he opened the door, giving her one final look.

“Goodnight, Mads.”

——————

He doesn’t remember how he ended up here, at Tommy’s door. All he knows is that now there’s a dishevelled, clearly was just asleep firefighter in front of him, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

“Evan?”

Guilt flooded his senses. He shouldnt’ve come.

“Sorry, you’re tired. I’ll just go.”

Tiredness shifted into concern, a big hand reaching out for his as he turned to walk back to his jeep, no doubt in for a relentless night of tossing and turning.

“No, stay. You just woke me up, no need to go. What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? Everything, nothing?

His head hung low, the pang of pain from his nails digging into his palms returned. He flexed his hand, wincing in pain as the small wounds opened back up.

Tommy, ever so vigilant, didn’t miss this. The older man reached for his hands, gently bringing them up and turning them upright. A small frown formed, which was so wrong on his face. He deserved to smile. Buck was bringing him down.

“Oh, honey.”

The gentleness of the name, like Buck was something to care for. Something to be held, and loved. It broke him. Nobody deserved that burden, but maybe if Tommy wanted to carry it, he’d let him.

Buck fell forward into his outstretched arms, sobs wracking his body as he was just held, hands racking up and down his back soothingly.

Later, when he was settled, in a comfy bed full of content and love, he would tell him about the dinner. About Daniel. But for now, he could just cry. Tommy wouldn’t leave him for it.