#pens = inevitable mess

[caterpillarinacave]

32, 34,36, 45?<33

32. do you write better with a pen or a pencil

 I write almost entirely in cursive, so I am definitely best with a sharp mechanical pencil. I’m awful any thicker ballpoint pens, but I do well with my glass dip pens when writing letters. 

34. when you hear “ peace ” what do you think of.

Golden hour, warm wooden floors, sun streaming through trees, babbling creeks, quiet love, unity, contentment, safety, hope for the future, and what the world should strive for. 

36. how many alarms do you have set?

Depends on the day, I don’t keep any constantly. I’ve usually got a morning one, for anything between 4:00 and 8:30 am, and I use some random ones to remind myself of anything really important. 

45. favorite tea?

 As a tea enthusiast, it’s hard to pick one, but I usually lean towards black tea, and you can’t go wrong with a good earl gray, or lady gray. I’ve got three mixes from an afternoon tea place in the cities, that are just divine, even if I don’t remember what’s in them.

[erythristicbones]

usually at work all of the coffee bagging is split between two ppl, i do all the retail and the other guy does all the wholesale. but he's going home for a month on july 14th, which means for that month i will be the only one doing all the bagging

so like on one hand i feel "sweet more money/shifts, maybe i can actually afford that new phone soon" but on the other hand........yeah, it does mean that im gonna have a lot more responsibility on my shoulders alone huh

[sweetteainthesummerx]

⋆·˚ ༘ * oh, my, my, my ⋆·˚ ༘ *

nhl masterlist !

pairings: quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader, jack hughes x platonic best friend!reader, quinn x artist!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

summary: you and quinn throughout the years, and how you fall in love <3

song: mary's song (oh my my my) by taylor swift

word count: 4.4 k

notes: I love lake quinn sm :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love, our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

"oh, she's so tiny!" ellen cooes, cradling the little bundle of pink, "and she has your eyes, birdie."

your mother smiles at the nickname her college friend had given her freshman year, when a bird had pooped on her head during a girl's night out.

it stuck (literally), and almost 10 years later, as her best friend holds her babygirl, she's reminded of everything they'd been through together.

"congrats, man. the first girl in the family!" jim slaps your dad on the shoulder, the two men smiling at their wives.

"oh, she's just precious." you yawn, and all of the adults are reduced to an awwing mess.

quinn toddles over, chubby toddler legs still unsure. he lands on his butt half a foot away from ellen, who lifts him up with the hand that wasn't holding you.

"look, quinny."

quinn reaches out a finger towards you, and jim is about to chide him when your tiny little fist locks around it. his wide eyes widen even more. you gurgle happily at him, and for the first time in a while, he goes completely still, enraptured by the baby in front of him.

"oh." your father whispers.

"well, that's your son-in-law now," jim laughs.

"hey, don't count out jack! they're closer in age, after all."

your mom rolls her eyes, as ellen snorts, "let's not pre-write our kid's futures before they're five, please."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine

"y'know, birdie," ellen starts, "the boys might be right."

"no, they cannot eat four pb and j's and then go to the carnival-"

"no, not the little ones!", ellen laughs, "our husbands. they might be right."

"oh, that? the whole son-in-law thing?" your mom grins, as she watches luke chase after you with a worm.

the two women are silent and thoughtful as you - screaming at the top of your lungs - duck behind quinn, who sternly tells off his little brother. your sticky hands lace with his, naturally, albeit a bit awkward the way only kids can be.

you absolutely adore quinn. he's your protector, the one you turn to more often than not. jack is your best friend, and you remind her of that often. luke is your baby brother, the one you coddle and fuss over.

and the boys adore you just as much; jack plays pirates with you all day, Luke follows you like a puppy, and quinn...

he's staked a claim on you that makes your mom laugh, but worry a little when your older and you inevitably find someone who isn't him.

it never occurred to her that he might be the one.

"oh my god." your mom says as your dad walks in with jim.

"ha! see? I know I put money on my son for good reason." jim says gleefully, and quickly pipes down at ellen's dirty look.

"jack is also your son, man." your dad shakes his head.

"seriously? you guys made bets on the future love lives of your prepubescent kids?"

"birdie, it's just a joke!"

he eats his words as quinn leads you through the door. you're in tears, a nasty scrape on your knee. he's got your hand cradled in his.

ellen and your mom fawn over it, how brave you were, but all you could remember is how quinn held your hand the whole time.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back when our world was one block wide, i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

when you're ten, you almost have your first kiss.

you're going through a phase, really, when all you would wear were your overall jean shorts, a big t-shirt and your red converses. you have little pen drawings all over your shoes and shorts.

now, when you look at the photos from back then, you cringe a little at how lanky and young you look.

you're with the boys at one of the neighbouring lake houses, a couple of other girls and a few guys too.

everyone there lived on the same block, so it was odd that you hadn't all hung out together before.

quinn can tell you're uncomfortable around the other guys, who are loud and frankly very obnoxious. even his 12-year-old self can tell.

he tells you that you can all leave and go get ice cream near the boardwalk, but you refuse. you're 10 already, you can handle a few new strangers.

somehow, spin the bottle is brought up and you find yourself sitting cross-legged as one of the older girls - who's kind and much more grown than you - tellsdyou how to spin the bottle.

your hands shake and the backs of your knees are slick with sweat, but you spin anyways. you want to seem cool and older too.

you watch the root beer bottled patter as it turns, the ting, ting sound dissonant with your thumping heart.

it lands on quinn.

your quinn who knows all of the words to the spider man movies, who gives the last popsicle to you and lets you tuck your feet under his thighs when you get cold.

this is a disaster, you think, because you don't know how to kiss! are you supposed to use your tongue? you almost gag at the thought.

quinn can see your very apparent panic, and the only thing on his mind was to make it of away.

he wants to hold your hand, but when you turned nine you had decided that boys had cooties, so you refused to touch him or his brothers.

"...we don't have to," he offers, scratching his neck. one of the boys boo, and you flush.

you shook your head, "i want to."

he smiles, shy and boyish and your heart goes into overdrive.

his face matches yours in colour as he scoots forward awkwardly, cupping your face the way he'd seen his dad do to his mom.

as he leans forward, you burst into tears. if you kiss him, and he's disgusted by your kissing skills - or lack thereof - he wouldn't be your quinn anymore.

you run out embarrassed, leaving quinn's hand outstretched and the older girl from earlier confused and worried.

you think that you had ruined it all, but later that night when quinn offers to take you to get ice cream and lets you get two scoops, you know nothing can tear the two of you apart.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the creek beds we turned up, two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me

the year quinn turned 16, he gets his boating and drivers license.

when the first real day of summer - he doesn't count the days until he sees you and the lake house again - starts and he finds you making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he gives you an offer.

"hey, chickie." he tugs playfully at the string of your apron. jim had given you that nickname because of your mom's. chickie, like a baby bird. jack liked to call you chicklet, and Luke followed suit.

the adults think you've outgrown that name, and only call you chickie sporadically.

it's become special for you and quinn, sacred even,

"hi, quinny." you answer in the same tone, swatting him with the spatula in your hand.

"give me a piece of bacon and i'll take you out onto the water. i'll even let you drive a bit when we're far out." he murmurs as you turn the stove off.

"really?" you squeal, and he winces jokingly.

"yes, yes! finally!" you throw yourself at him, letting the older boy catch you around the waist. he grins into your hair, his cheek muscles unused by the seasons without you.

"okay, kid. pipe down. where's my bacon?" he grumbles, but he smiles when you turn around to fix him a whole plate.

you forget in all of your excitement that he doesn't even like bacon.

it's pathetic, really, but he missed you. he still does even though you're less than a foot away from him, salting your scrambled eggs.

he finishes his food faster than you do, and leaves to set up the boat with your promises that you would hurry.

he's excited; he hasn't seen you since christmas, and then, he had to share you with jack and luke and his parents too.

that year, you and jack had become decidedly closer, and quinn knows he has to establish that boat time was for you and him only.

so when jack and luke both follow you onto the boat, whooping and screaming, he's pissed.

and on top of that, he has to drive the boat while you and jack banter and threaten to shove each other off of the moving vessel.

it wasn't fair: you're his person. you guys did gas station runs together, you always looked at him with sad puppy eyes when you were cold.

he'd always grumbled and give you his sweatshirt when you refused to bring a jacket and ended up shivering. you always begged to braid his hair when the sun was at it's highest and there was nothing to do.

so yeah, excuse him if he was mad that your time together was interrupted by jack and luke of all people.

so when you walk up to him, hair messy and wearing nothing but your bathing suit and one of his old hockey jerseys, he tries his best to ignore you.

"quinny!" you exclaim, nudging his shoulder, and once more when he doesn't answer.

he glances quickly at you, but one look is enough to make his chest squeeze in that way that it started to do since last summer.

you had always been beautiful, but you were starting to be seriously gorgeous.

your hair is windblown, skin tanned and freckled with eyes bright from the sheer novelty of it being summer again.

you'd started to fill out more; the tiny bikinis you - and he - loved made something hot tug in his lower stomach.

tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow in the way that always makes him soften like butter, "I thought you were gonna let me drive!"

"ask jack to teach you," he snarks, and regrets it immediately at the hurt on your face.

his chest tightens, like someone has taken the hurt on your features and shoved it between his rib cage so he couldn't breathe.

the two of you don't talk for the rest of the day.

quinn feels like an asshole, and he really doesn't like how you refuse to sit in your normal spot next to him during movie night, instead opting to tuck yourself between the edge of the couch and luke.

and the salt on the wound was when you don't laugh at the stupid jokes he makes for you, especially.

his mom asks him what he had done when he goes to get more popcorn in the kitchen.

"what? why did you automatically assume I didn't something?" he asked, offended.

"because, that girl sticks to you like a magnet," ellen smooths his temple, "and because no one makes you smile and talk like she does. you've been silent all day."

the next night, he shows up at the door of your room in the lake house your two families shared.

he knocks, and pokes his head in, "chickie?

you're at your table, drawing again like you always were.

he keeps the little sketch of him you made last summer in his wallet, tucked under the picture of all of the hughes boys and you.

you ignore him, and he flops on your bed. the floral sheets your mom bought when you were 11 smells like you. he tries not to be creepy and inhale - at least too noticeably.

"gas station run?" he asks.

you finally spare him a glance, "quinny, it's past one o'clock, and it'll take at least 20 minuted to get there."

"please? I really want chips."

you sigh, ever the martyr, and agree. neither of you mention how the hughes stock up enough snacks to last at least 2 months the beginning of every summer.

the battle of who cracks first kept on, until finally, on the way back from the gas station, quinn sighs, "I'm sorry.

you frown, clearly not impressed, "I don't even know why you're sorry."

"god, this is embarrassing-"

"quintin, i swear-"

"i wanted the boat ride to be just us two!" he exclaims loudly.

there was a beat of silence, only the chirp of crickets that crept in the tall grass you could hear through the open windows of jim's truck.

the light on the radio shined, 1:59 AM.

"what?" you ask, a little confused and very much flustered.

"i missed you, chickie, and jack is always monopolizing your time! you're my person and-"

"are you jealous?"

"what?"

"oh my god, you are! you're jealous!"

"no!" he splutters, grateful that it's pitch black outside, because he can feel his ears heating up.

you laugh, tugging at one of his curls, as he grumbles something about not letting you eat any of his salt and vinegar chips.

"quinny?" you ask a little while later, when he's pulling back into the drive way, "y'know that you're my person too, right?"

you look soft and sleepy, under the light of the car, in one of his hoodies and sleep shorts.

he swears he turns into liquid in the drivers seat.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

well, i was sixteen when suddenly, i wasn't that little girl you used to see

"I wouldn't worry about that, chicklet." jack throws his arm around you, and you roll your eyes at the many girls starting to glare at you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." except you do.

there's a girl flirting with quinn, and she's pretty. she's got tattoos on her arms, and she's tall, almost tall at him.

you take a break from the self-deprecating comparison between yourself and her to admire quinn for one second.

he's gotten so tall and broad, all the signs of boyhood gone, except when he smiles that special smile for you. the one when his eyes get all squinty and he bares all of his pretty teeth.

your heart twists, because he hasn't smiled at you like that all summer.

you don't know what you did wrong. maybe he's outgrowing you. he'll be a college man next fall, and you're still in high school.

he's got the whole world in front of him, and well, you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to settle for you.

you realize your feelings for him the beginning of the summer.

or you uncover them, because if you're honest, they've always been there.

and right now, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve, because he looks so handsome in a tight black t-shirt and shorts, a backwards cap on his curls.

his biceps look huge, and between the teenage hormones and the two shots in your system, you want to climb him like a tree.

the more romantic side of you wished you had your charcoal and parchment, so you can copy down his likeness for when your old and greying and you can't remember how he looks illuminated by the moon and bonfire.

"yeah, sure. you're clueless." jack snorts, and he makes his way to the drink table at the party you're at.

you pass by Luke, who's preoccupied by a girl way too old for him, and go sit closer to the fire.

you're mad.

you're mad because you've dressed up real cute, in a tiny black tube top and denim shorts.

you're mad because your hair is curled the way quinn likes it.

you know that for a fact because every time it looks like that, he comes up behind you to wind his fingers through a strand. it was a hassle, and he won't even look at you.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

it's a boy with mussed, brown hair and a nice smile.

he's cute. peter, or pierre, he introduces himself. he reminds you a bit of the boyfriend you had first semester of sophomore year.

you've had boyfriends, and quinn has had his relationships, but summer was sacred.

that's why you felt ill when you flirted with him, not because quinn was a mere 20 feet away, starting to glance over and frown.

quinn has always been a jealous motherfucker; you'd give it 5 minutes before he comes over.

you try not to gloat when he comes over in 2.

"hey, chickie. time to go." he tells you, taking you cup and winding an arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, pushing him off, "no, I'm good here,"

quinn crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, biceps flexing in front of you.

the boy smiles - you've already forgotten his name, something p - and shrugs at quinn.

he's mad now, you can tell, but you wrap you're fingers around the other boy's elbow to egg him on.

"oh, for- that's it. c'mon."

suddenly, your feet are swept out from under you, and you're thrown over his shoulder.

you frown, realizing that you're in the air.

"hey!" you protest weakly as people turn to look at you. quinn continues his trudge all the way to where he's parked his dad's truck and dumps you on the hood like you weigh nothing.

"what are you doing?" he asks, eyes dark, "that guy is no good-"

"no! what are you doing?" all of your frustration pools in your throat, and embarrassing tears are starting to prick at your eyes.

"you won't even look at me all summer, you're flirting with some girl and you get mad at me? you're being such-"

he shakes his head, looking as exasperated as you feel.

"do you know how hard it is-" he breathes out shakily, "how difficult it is to control myself around you?"

"what?" you ask, heart beating in your ears, "what?"

"i have been in love with you since i was 12, chickie." his tone is begging, and so are his eyes.

he looks pained, and you want to relieve it so, so badly. but he still won't touch you. he's hovering away from you, like he has for the past month.

"i love you, and you see me nothing more than a brother, like how you see jack. and it hurts, here," he rubs the heel of his palm between his ribs, "to know that you'll never want me the same way."

"quinn-"

"no, let me talk. I've spent the past 6 years pining after you. I've tried to move on, but all...nothing compares to you. I want you so bad, chickie, but..." he turns from you, head in his hands.

now, if you weren't like 3 beers and 2 shots deep, you would realize that he can't really go anywhere because you're quite literally on the top of his car.

but drunk you is clearly a dumbass, because you think he's trying to leave. so you tell him what's actually on your mind.

"i love you!" you blurt out.

he turns slowly, "what?"

"i love you too. i thought you didn't want me because you're leaving for college, but i want you so bad, please-"

the next thing you know, he's between your legs, so warm and solid, pulling you in by your cheek like during that spin the bottle game 6 years ago.

you let him kiss you for real this time, you let him push up your shorts to feel more of your skin, you let him lick into your mouth.

he pulls away, and you whine, tugging him in again.

he laughs, which makes you laugh in turn, and you slide down the hood as you giggle. he catches you, because he always does.

"i love you." you tell him, and he flushes, nuzzling into your neck.

"say it again," he demands, just because he can.

"i love you, my quinny." you coo, and he wants to crawl into your skin and settle there forever.

"i love you too, chickie."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

oh, my, my, my

"told you so." Jim tells the rest of the parents.

the four of them - the weirdos - are on the second floor, leaning on the bannister as you make breakfast with quinn.

well, you make breakfast and he's distracting you.

he's got his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the back, and the two of you waddle like a pair of penguins around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.

you're giggling, and he's got a half-smile on his face.

you look so happy together than ellen and your mom are ignoring jim's gloating.

they are even kind enough to ignore the exchange of money between the two men, after all, your dad had bet on jack and lost.

"i can't wait for their wedding."

"hold on, now!"

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

a few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

you're on Quinn's lap, content and warm. the two of you had gotten up to watch the sunrise, first day of the summer at the lake house.

it's nice to have everyone in one place again, the two of you coming from vancouver, the boys from new jersey.

the past couple of years had been hard; a year or two long distance, until you went to study architecture at UBC after quinn had been drafted.

this year, 24 and 22, you finally get some rest and the promise of settling down more.

quinn's captain, and you have a good job that lets you work remote and do what you love.

and more importantly, the two of you are always together.

"babe?" quinn asks, running a hand down your arms, "c'mon, let's go to the dock?"

you don't protest, just happy to be at your childhood lake house.

he leads you there, like he always does.

"pretty." you stare out at the water, orange and pink sky meeting in the still horizon.

"yeah." quinn gives you a smile, rare for anyone else.

but he has always smiled for you, and you greedily hoard them in your memories.

"got something to show you," he pulls his wallet out, the two pictures in the clear flaps catch your eye.

one is a polaroid of you and your boys. quinn is 15, jack is 14, you're 13 and luke is 11. all of you are lanky and awkward, wrapped around each other and grinning ear to ear.

the other is also a polaroid, taken by ellen a year or two ago, when all of your parents came to visit your Vancouver apartment.

quinn's arm is around your shoulders and you're clinging to his side, one hand curled around his waist and the other on his chest. you're smiling at the camera, and quinn is smiling at you.

"cute," you tell him, but he digs a finger into the little pocket.

"fuck," he swears when whatever he's looking for doesn't come out.

"here, let me," you offer. you retrieve a piece of thick parchment with your smaller hands.

it's a sketch of quinn you did when you were in your early teens.

it's not great, you have to admit. the lines aren't smooth like how you sketch now, but the ink and paper is in pristine condition.

"quinn...you kept this?" you ask softly, oddly emotional.

when you look at him, he has a weird look on his face. he scratches his neck.

you stare at each other for a moment, the familiarity of your love almost stifling in the cool morning air.

and then he drops down on one knee.

you start crying, immediately.

that sets him off, and the two of you are blubbering as he tries to get through the speech he wrote in his notes 7 months ago after he got the ring and you were in the shower.

he tells you he loves you, how he's never going to leave you, that you're going to build a life together, just like how you've done everything together since you were kids.

you believe him, because your quinn is nothing if not earnest and steady.

you let him slip the simple ring onto your finger, and he lifts you up into strong arms to kiss you.

you're so deliriously happy that your teeth clash with his in a smiling kiss.

your families cheers from the porch, and you laugh, watery and heart full.

jack runs up first, swinging you around and clapping his hand down on quinn's shoulder.

Luke kisses your cheek and hugs his older brother, as ellen and your mom hug you together.

jim wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead, "thanks for helping me win the bet, chickie." you chuckle, reaching for your dad next.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle, our whole town came and our mamas cried, you said I do and I did too

the wedding takes place a year later, in a small winery near the house, because ellen and your mom refused to let you have the wedding on the dock.

this was your compromise, because it's a small affair.

your dad walks you down the aisle to quinn. you're smiling, like there's a hanger in your mouth because you're just so happy.

he cries when he sees you, and so do the other hughes boys.

you hear your mom and ellen, tears meeting shaky smiles on their faces.

your own college friend, your birdie, fixes your veil and holds your bouquet.

sweet promises are exchanged in your vows, and when you have your first kiss as mr. and mrs. hughes, all of your loved ones cheer.

quinn sweeps you off your feet and bridal carries you to a change room so you can switch into your reception dress.

he sees you later as jack, who volunteered to be the mc, announces you guys as mr. and mrs. hughes.

quinn's eyes are hot and dark as he sees your smooth skin under white lace, and whispers something into the shell of your ear that makes you pink.

you dance together, with his brothers and his dad, with your own too.

but the last dance is saved for the two of you.

"i can't wait to grow old with you, chickie." he whispers romantically.

"you'd make such a cute old man," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

you laugh, and so does he.

forever sounds real good to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[highvern]

The Boy is Mine

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings:  weed/alcohol consumption, exhibitionism, marking, oral sex, creampie, cum eating, jealous!reader, overstimulation/multiple orgasms, pussy whipped hoshi

Length: ~ 5.5k

Note: dedicated to @the-boy-meets-evil bc she likes to yell at me about this couple. also @gyuswhore beta reading this despite our divorce

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], YUCK [f], Talk [a, f, s], Casual [a, s, f], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

You won’t admit it under anything short of waterboarding but sometimes there’s a sharp sense of worry Soonyoung will inevitably ditch you for someone that shits rainbows like he does. The type of girl that probably deserves the infinite patience he treats you with because she can use big girl words to communicate her feelings rather than pretend they don’t exist or allude to them in vague shows of affection you pretend aren’t happening.

Weeks of exclusivity and you still don’t let him kiss you in public because the thought of anyone seeing those feelings you can’t name play out is terrifying. You aren’t embarrassed of him, he touches you plenty, hangs around like a shadow following your every move. You like him, he likes you. Even with the mess of your brain he’s made it clear you have nothing to worry about but that ounce of doubt always lingers.

The girl attempting to chat Soonyoung up against the wall sparks that feeling. 

He looks fine as you left him. Nodding to her questions, no rush to be anywhere else. He isn’t rude without provision, and to expect it from him is asking for a change to the core of his being. But it’s times like these you wish you liked him less so you wouldn’t worry more.

But you don’t have anything to worry about. Soonyoung asked for exclusivity weeks ago. He isn’t your boyfriend, the word physically makes your skin crawl to think about, but the expectation is there. You’re exclusive. It wasn’t an explicit directive for himself but it’s physically impossible for him to even be entertaining anyone else. There isn’t enough time in the day unless a high quality clone is running around somewhere out there. Soonyoung spends more time at your apartment than his own and when he’s not at your place he’s working. And even then, he’s texting you how much he loves the after school kids at the dance studio.

So you keep silently repeating the affirmations that there's nothing for you to worry about while pouring another drink. It’d be better to look away and not subject yourself to torture but then you’d miss little miss sunshine closing the space between them and signing her own death warrant. 

You know the dance well. Pretend to be coy, maintain a step too close to be polite, try to sneak in a casual touch and read the vibe from there. Blondie barely manages to lift a hand before you drop the half full cup of ice and liquor in favor of shouldering through whoever blindly wanders into your war path. 

Soonyoung catches your approach, smiling over the stranger's head like he’s missed you for longer than the five minutes you’ve been absent for another drink. You’d warm under it like a flower in the sun if murder wasn’t such a tempting thought. 

He catches your waist the second you’re in his orbit, a reflex. But what he isn’t ready for is your mouth on his with such unprecedented vigor for a public setting. 

The kiss tastes like cheap beer and his weed pen but you don’t care. Your only concern is making sure whatever-her-name is has a front row seat to how much he wants you, and how bad her odds are at convincing him otherwise. You don’t tease for access to his mouth, prefering to licking against his bottom lip with enough tongue to make his hips buck like he’s in the privacy of your room and not pinned to the wall during a house party.

With a steel willpower, you manage to pull away; if only to smirk at the disgust on her face at the vulgarity. But not before biting at his lower lip, pulling until it pops out from between your teeth. Soonyoung might pass out from that alone.

"Oh,” you announce like you had no idea someone was watching from only a foot away. She’s red in the face, shocked and horrored as you bare your teeth and push your cheek up to Soonyoung’s mouth for a series of wandering kisses. “And you are?"

An indignant hmph! and whirl of blonde hair announces her retreat.

"Who was she?" you ask, dodging his attempt for a repeat.

He takes it in stride, tongue tracing across your pulse like no one is watching. "Who?" 

"That girl,” you sigh. 

"What girl?” 

"Don't play stupid, she was flirting with you." 

“Didn’t notice," he mumbles into your jaw.

It isn’t much but the words bubble across your skin. The tightness in your jaw melts a fraction, allowing you to indulge in more touching. More of him. Soonyoung is always ready to play where you’re concerned; a weight on your thigh proves it. You press into it in hopes she is still watching from across the room.

Serves her right if she is. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

“Wait.” Sooyoung pulls back, mouth agape. “Is that why you kissed me? You were jealous?”

He reads you too easily for comfort. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god,” he squeals. You’re tangled in his arms, suctioned to his chest while he rubs the tip of his nose across yours. “You are.”

“Don’t make it weird.” 

You’re pouting but Soonyoung is weak for it and lets you go without interrogation because his next kiss lands right on the curve of your lower lip. “You just stuck your hand down my pants because some girl breathed in my direction and I’m making it weird?”

“I’m leaving.”

You barely manage to turn away before he’s got you in his arms. “No, you’re not. Come here.” 

He drags you over to the table his friends managed to snag, planting you firmly in his lap without a care. An invitation you couldn’t refuse if you tried. It’s not unusual for you two to be attached at the hip. But the difference this time is that Soonyoung keeps kissing you. Your skin burns under his lips, mouth finding whatever part of you he can reach; shoulder, cheek, the back of your hand. Nothing can stop him now that he’s got permission, not even his friends watching in disgust over a game of cards.

It’s nicer than anticipated.

“Three fours.”

A few shifts across Soonyoung’s crotch under the guise of getting more comfortable is all it takes for a firm pressure to rise against your ass once again. He has no shame in how easy he folds; likes you knowing what you do to him with some PG grinding in front of an audience; what you can anticipate later away from prying eyes. 

“Bullshit,” you argue, eying the stack of fours in your hand.

Wonwoo picks up the pile, grumbling the entire time. 

The hand on your thigh flies a little too close to the sun as you continue playing, the others unaware that you're naked under your skirt and Soonyoung just figured it out. 

The ghost of his fingertips through your folds shivers up your spine. He inhales sharply. “Babe.”

“Hmmm?” you smile, nipping at his ear. Another press and he’s teasing your entrance like no one's watching. You clamp your thighs to stop him from mindlessly starting something neither of you are strong enough to stop. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re—”

“I’m?” you trail off, looking back to your hand and throwing more cards down. “Two nines.”

“Bullshit,” Jun calls.

“Suck it.” You flip over the same two cards, a pair of nines greeting everyone’s view. It’s a good distraction from what Soonyoung is doing under the edge of the table. How he sweats around his collar and goes pink.

He doesn’t shy away from your clit swelling under weak circles. The brief thought of him fingering you to a boneless end right here crosses your mind, both of you fighting to keep quiet. But you’re sober enough to see the downfall of that particular idea.

As Jun collects the new stack of cards, you lean closer to Soonyoung’s ear. “Tell them you aren’t feeling well.”

“I’m not feeling well,” he parrots immediately. Curious glances shoot his way, estimating if he’s that drunk or if it’s something else. More likely calculating how far they can run before he starts planting drunk kisses on their cheeks.

Knowing looks from around the table watch you slap a hand to his forehead. “Oh no, baby, you’re heating up. Let’s get you some air.”

No one will believe it, not with the way his fingers shine in the dim light when they surface from under your skirt. But none are brave enough to say anything to your face. 

You usher Soonyoung away from the table and towards the hallway where you can hide away for his sake. His friends don’t need to know what you look like when he fingers you into gooey submission.

Wonwoo’s voice hits your back, not even pretending to whisper. “Thirty bucks they fuck in the bathroom.”

“Dude come on,” Jun responds. “Fifty bucks they fuck in someone’s room.”

“Thank fucking god its not one of ours this time.”

“At least you don’t share a wall with him. Did you know he lets her—”

You’re well out of earshot for the rest of their not so secret conversation. Soonyoung latches to your back without concern, eager to find out whatever you have planned.

You peek into a few rooms, distracted by a pair of lips following the slope of your shoulder. A bathroom won’t do and the next room is already occupied, door locked tight. Just as you fear your options are running out, the final door at the end of the hall reveals an empty bed. When you spot the framed photo on the dresser, you realize it's too perfect to go to waste.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Sooyoung groans, knee parting your legs as he forces you back against the door. “Should make you jealous more often.”

A hand up your skirt sets to work immediately, taking advantage of the lack of undergarments and teasing your entrance. He’s good at quick fucks where you’re not supposed to. Knows exactly how to work you into a panting mess with embarrassing ease.

"If you ever,” you gasp from a delicious scissor of his fingers. “Try to make me jealous, I will rip your balls off.”

He presses in a third finger like a branding iron. “Hot.” 

You snake your own grip over his zipper to provide something better than your thigh for him to grind against. Fucking against the door for anyone happening to stumble is alluring. But for what you have planned, the bed is a more convenient option. 

“Bed,” you demand. Soonyoung goes with a gentle shove, tripping over his own feet to keep you in his hold. His hand stays attached, fingers curling inside you without missing a beat.

You suck at his pulse, teeth razing against the skin with the sole purpose of marking him as yours. His hips kick enthusiastically in response. “Fuck, babe.”

He likes when you bite him; when you bruise a mark into his skin to find later. Enjoys the sting of your nails across his back when he fucks you limp into the mattress and vice versa. Soonyoung’s favorite thing to wear is evidence of you on his body. Even if he blushes when you point it out, he never complains. 

A swatch of red and purple framed by teeth marks blooms after you lean away and your insides throb at the sight. It’ll be a pain come tomorrow when he needs to go into the sweltering heat of the studio. But you want it to serve as a warning to anyone who takes a second glance in his direction. 

He’s yours.

Soonyoung wouldn’t splinter away so easily but it’s the first time you’ve felt anything like this. The nagging voice in the back of your head: jealous and possessive. Because now you’ve got something you’d care to lose.

“Want you,” you groan, forcing him onto the edge of the mattress and commanding his lap like a throne. Another bite at his neck, hard enough he winces and shutters through the initial sting but doesn’t shy away. “Wanna ride you.”

You clench around his fingers, the wet noise of your arousal a disgusting backing track to your kissing. This might be enough to make you cum but it isn’t the point. 

“You wanna fuck me?”

His forehead sweats. The initial evidence of a blush spreads across his neck, probably from booze but also the way you rock into his fingers like they’re soaking his cock. “God, yes. But here?”

“Yeah, here.” One hand abandons the grip you have on his shirt, aiming straight for his zipper and slipping beneath the fabric for a teasing squeeze. The fist in his hair is less forgiving when he doesn’t answer. 

“What if we get caught?”

“We won’t,” you coo. Soonyoung knows that tone. It’s the one you use when your sadistic streak is running hot and he can’t fathom refusing whatever you’ve got planned. “I want you.”

Dropping further in his lap, you guide the ridge of his cock to your clit, a messy mix of precum and your essence that makes you both blush brighter. 

“Does that feel good?”

He responds with a shaky “yeah.” His other hand, the one not knuckle deep in your pussy, gropes your ass, forcing your skirt further up your waist so he can watch himself stain the pink of your folds white. The good thing about fucking Soonyoung is he’s too weak not to give into whatever you want.

It’s good for you too. The press of his dick where it technically shouldn’t be; not without a condom. You’ve got half a mind to fuck him like this, using his cock to play with yourself until the sick feeling of his cum between your legs follows you out the door.

“Shit,” Soonyoung grunts.

Your teeth tease along his neck, another mark he’ll need to cover up rising to the surface.“What?” 

“Feels good,” he gasps, rolling into the firmness of your core with untamed need.

“Can you come like this? Cover my pussy in cum?” 

You struggle to stay even for the same reasons he does: you really want to feel him on your skin. 

“Fuck, yes.” He goes taunt, the pace of your fist growing rabid. His voice is broken, a rough edge under your mercy. “Gonna come.”

“Don’t.” You rut into him again; the slippery feel more tempting than you’d admit. 

“Please—” he whines at the next upstroke of your fist. “I’ll get you off too. I promise. Then we can fuck at home.”

“Or…you can fuck me now.”

Soonyoung cries at the offer. “I don’t have a condom.”

“That’s okay.”

“You mean…” Soonyoung eyes you with something like wonder. As if you’re a living goddess sitting in his lap and he has no idea how you got there. “Seriously?”

“I wanna feel you come inside me, baby.”

“Don’t tease me right now.”

“I mean, unless you don’t want—”

He doesn’t let you finish, flipping you on your back and shouldering between your legs without a word. Rough hands force your skirt up around your waist so he can taste you.

“Oh my god.” You roll into his eager tongue, fingers twisting into the short strands of hair to guide him just right. As if Soonyoung needs it after so many months of dedication to your pleasure. 

Your own fingers pinch across your chest, sharp pain you arch into for more. Soonyoung’s rubs you until your back stiffens; a harsh suck of his mouth making you warm all over.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to come inside you,” he grunts with a wet slide against your clit.

“Yeah?” you goad. “Want everyone to see it drip down my leg? Let ‘em know who fucks me this good?”

He responds with a pained groan, a telltale sign he’s touching himself to the thought. 

You're running on borrowed time in someone else’s room and can’t remember if either of you thought to lock the door. If you’re caught, you might as well make the shame worth it.

“Come here,” you beck, catching your own taste on his mouth. 

He rolls to the side without much direction, eager to have you back on top. “Take your shirt off.”

“No. I’m not getting caught with my tits out.” He humps between your legs, shoving his pants down far enough they’re a nonissue. “Is that really what gets you off?”

“You’ve got nice tits. Everyone should know.”

“Perv.” You suck at his earlobe.

“You’re the one that never wears panties but a little bit of nipple is a problem?”

You abandoned the grip in his hair to pinch his cheeks tight, lips puckered for your next kiss. “Yeah, at least you’re friends don’t have to see you sucking on my tits at the table.”

Soonyoung lurches again, nestled tight at your entrance. A simple tease, the head of his cock and nothing more. 

“Oh fuck,” he grunts. 

It’s pathetic to moan with such little contact but you can’t help it. He’s fucking hot. You fumble for his face, bringing him back into a kiss as he presses through the initial stretch. It’s a snug fit even with his fingers earlier.

There’s no time to play with him; torture him with slow descent, taking inch by inch. Instead, you bottom out with a silent promise that next time you’ll take all the time in the world.

He’s flush between your thighs with a little more movement; a sensation you’re accustomed to except now there’s nothing in between. It’s a good feeling. A great feeling. You’ve never let anyone have you like this; unabashedly bare, only for him. Soonyoung doesn’t have many of your firsts but he’s got the ones that carry the most weight. 

You sink a little deeper, gut caving. “Holy shit.”

Soonyoung’s head rolls back. “Stop that.”

“What?” Another squeeze, mold your insides to his shape, makes him whine.

You can see it. In the furrow of his brow. The twitch of his jaw. How frantic he is to stop you from dragging across his lap. Soonyoung could spend forever in your pussy and never grow accustomed to it. There’s no shame in his adoration either. If you don't want him to cum for hours then he’ll go insane to feed that hunger. You love it; revel in the flattery. But tonight, you crave to reap the benefits of his short fuse.

“Gimme a second,” he pleads. 

You give him exactly one and then grab for his hand, forcing it to rub at your clit as you start a shaky cadence in his lap. There’s a glow where his cock rests; nestled deeper after he starts thrusting up inside you on every downstroke.

Defiance floods to replace the desperation you felt before. Defying who is the real question. Soonyoung who’s begging for an inch of relief? Or defying the girl who started this whole thing out in the living room? Maybe it's less about ignoring rules and more about proving a point. 

You’re the one that gets to have him like this, you’re the one that gets to sit in his lap whenever you please, the person he cuddles up to at night and whispers secrets that will fade to dust come morning. It’s you at the beginning of the day and way past when the moon rises over the horizon. And he’s that for you. Now it’s time to prove it to an invisible audience who’ll never know.

“Tell me how it feels,” you demand, nails biting into his wrist.

He watches the contact with glassy eyes, refusing to blink lest he miss a single second.  “Tight. Wet. Oh my god. Wanna feel you come on me.”

You whine into the next upstroke, muscles shaking. Your insides feel used and dirty already. Back arching, Soonyoung mouths at your chest over the fabric over top as you focus on the sweet grind.

Soonyoung isn’t a cocky lover, he’s a submissive one. Likes to be taken care of; directed and praised for being a good boy who knows how to treat you well.

But you want him to be. Maybe it’s toxic but the itch to make him just as insane as you felt seeing that girl flirt with him is too hard to ignore.

A hand on his throat is what finally makes him look away from where he disappears inside you. Breathing hitching when you provide a gentle squeeze before asking, “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“Me,” he pants without missing a beat. 

“That's right. So fuck it like you own it.”

Soonyoung flips you underneath him, hips driving with unrestrained force at your command. He pulls you down to the edge of the bed, thrusting back inside without hesitation; forcing your ankles on his shoulders, flexibility stretched to the limit when he leans down to suck at your tongue.

“Fuck me, god yes,” you keen. You lay pliant; eager to take whatever Soonyoung will give when he’s a slave to his own pleasure. “You’re so big, might—ugh—break me in half.”

“So fucking tight,” he moans. His thrusts are sloppy, lost of the thought of your heat dragging against his cock. The fact he’s not just fucking you raw but gets to fuck his cum into you too makes anything beyond release an afterthought. 

“Fuck me harder,” you demand with your nails in his chest.

He drops a knee on the bed, using the leverage to press deeper; verging on that sweeter pain you crave.

“Oh—fuck. I’m cumming,” he groans into your neck. 

“Give it to me, wanna feel it,” you beg, nails scratching down his spine. “Please.” 

His warmth floods your insides and you clench tight around the feeling. Worn, used. Stretched out perfectly from Soonyoung’s cock. You feel like jelly even without the buzz of your own orgasm.

Soonyoung lands a sweet kiss to your pulse. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That was hot,” you pant. “God.”

“Soonyoung, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“Nope. Get off me.” You pretend to struggle underneath his weight, not enough for him to actually go anywhere but he flattens you into the mattress until you give up. “You’re so gross.”

“Babe,” he coos. “Be nice to me.”

“Be nice to me,” you mock. “I let you come inside me, how much nicer can I get?”

He kisses you, hips giving a languid roll to remind you he’s a dancer and can fuck like one even after spilling his load inside you. You shiver from the thought of another round with his spend as lube.

It’s a short lived fantasy. 

Soonyoung slips down your front, mouth cataloging your skin in sweltering passes. As his fingers replace his cock to prevent leaking onto the blanket neither of you are responsible for cleaning. Even worn from a hard fuck, you suck his fingers in, ready for more.

“Gonna keep it all right here for me, yeah?” He gawks at the reveal of his fingers, rapt attention on the lewd sheen.

You ignore the question in favor of goading him. “Take a picture.”

“What?” 

“I said take a picture,” you tempt him again, legs spreading wider, presenting the blush of your cunt for his inspection.

He eyes it wonder, fingers tracing through without concern for your sanity. “Seriously?” 

“Mhm.”

“Fuck.” He’s got his phone in hand in a flash, recording the streaks of white staining your folds. “Now that is a pretty pussy.”

“Wow, it’s only pretty now because you came in it?”

Soonyoung ignores the dig. His fingers glide through the mess, fingering it back inside. “Push it out for me.”

He snaps a few more pictures for you both to drool over later before abandoning his phone on the floor and getting his mouth back on you. His tongue circles your clit, groaning at the combination of fluids. No one has ever come inside you, which means no one has ever eaten their cum out of you. The deprived flare in your gut is one you’ll always associate with him.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, breaking under the curve of his digits between your worn walls. More violent shudders under the gentle passes of his mouth against your clit. Hopefully he’ll do this again next time in the privacy of your room; where he can lick you clean and spit the mess in your mouth for your own taste. “If you keep fingering me like that you’ll need to fuck me again.”

He takes the challenge for what it is, rubbing harshly on your inner walls, monitoring for tell tale signs. Sweat at your thighs, stomach dipping deep. The warmth in your veins flares dangerously.

“Stop that,” you grunt. He stops under the squeeze of your pussy, and has the nerve to pout.

“What?” he asks. The innocence is fake. Soonyoung found that spot long ago and it’s his favorite plaything when neither of you have a place to be and dirty sex is on the table.

“I’m not squirting in some strangers room, you freak.”

More firm grinds of his fingers against your g-spot, reveling in the clench of your jaw and how you get wetter. “Getting cummed in is better?”

“Keep doing that and you’ll never do it again.”

“You wouldn’t.” He knows you would. First hand experience when you locked him out of his own bathroom and moaned from the heavy flow of the faucet over your clit while he cried at the door after tried his hand at edging you. Or the times you’ve called him just to moan in his ear at the most inappropriate times because you felt like it.

“Try me. Don’t think I forgot about those cuffs in your dresser.” You force the hem of your top out of the way, tits on display just to torture him. “Now hurry up before someone catches us.”

Soonyoung wants to talk back but he won’t threaten his new privileges for some short lived satisfaction. He’s smart like that.

Tight suction on your clit has your eyes rolling, vision flared white. “F-fuck. That’s so good, baby. Just like that.”

You moan loud enough someone has definitely deduced what's happening in this corner of the house but you don’t care. Not with the laps at your core, or how he leans back to spit on it, adding to the mess. 

With a firm tongue, he rockets you into the abyss.

“I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum,” you chant.

He doesn’t stop. Not until your thighs tighten and hips buck into his waiting mouth, fingers deep to the hilt. You coil around the sparks in your veins. A gut punch to your nerves that’s more vicious thanks to the sick slide of his cum still lubing your insides.

“Oh my god, you’re a freak,” you mutter. Soonyoung already back to kissing, heady with your taste.

He indulges you with more touching, soft massaging up the back of your legs as you melt into the mattress. “Where are your panties?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because,” he mumbles into your thigh. “I’m not paying the fine from Uber for getting cum on the seat. Now hand them over.” 

You pull them from your pocket with an eye roll and force them into his chest. You weren’t kidding about walking outside with his cum dripping down your leg but Soonyoung’s need for a modicum of public decency wins.

He shimmies the fabric up your legs before landing a kiss right over the crotch. “I will be back for you later.”

“You’re so lame,” you laugh. 

He sits up, chasing the sound until it fizzes across his tongue. A lazy makeout blooms between you. Even after everything, you still want each other. 

Cock soaked in his lap, it’s presented like a gift for you and you only. You slip down to the carpet, on your knees as he stands over you.  “Can you cum again? For me?”

“I think so y-yeah—shit.” He chokes on another moan when you squeeze him in a tight hold.

The wet suck of your mouth on his cock is close to torture, nerves fried from all you’ve put him through tonight. The familiar taste of cum and your pussy, two things you’ve licked from his skin frequently but never together, greets you. Makes sense why he’d want more of it.

You don’t ease him into anything. Grip tight, you jerk him into the bobbing rhythm of your head, curving him down the back of your throat with ease. 

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. A hand comes to the back of your head, forcing you down until you choke. Soonyoung is more than familiar with your limits. Challenges them frequently but this isn’t one of those times. He’s giving you the exact treatment you love: fucking your throat raw.

His cum leaks across your tongue, growing thicker until he throbs with a weak spurt. 

Leaning back, you suck down air greedily. “Good?”

Soonyoung bends at the waist to savor the warmth of your lips against his. He pulls you back on the mattress for cuddling without concern for his cock laying out in the open.

Typical. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” he says. 

“Wow, twins,” you jest. “C’mon lets get out of here before someone comes looking.”

As soon as you say it someone knocks at the door like the police, thunderous raps against the wood that dislodges you from his hold and onto the floor.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” a shrill voice calls from behind the door coupled with a jiggle of the doorknob.

At least it’s locked.

“Uh oh,” you laugh. “Times up.”

Rushing to right your clothes, your thighs stick together from the tacky mess Soonyoung’s worked between them. Looks like everyone might see his cum on your leg after all.

Soonyoung is in shambles. A blushing sweating sight with a throat covered in bruises and lips swollen. There's a wet stain on his crotch from who knows what. You can’t possibly look any better but there’s nowhere to hide. Not with the subject of your revenge waiting.

When you open the door Blondie fumes on the other side. “Why the fuck—”

“My boyfriend wasn’t feeling well,” you smile. There’s cum at the corner of your mouth, thick and drying. You swipe a finger through it suck it away just to fuck with her. “Sorry.”

She gapes over your shoulder, finding your newly minted boyfriend she’d been flirting with thirty minutes earlier staring like a deer in headlights. Serves her right.  

Before she can rip your throat out, you snatch Soonyoung’s hand and pull him towards the exit.

“Oh my god,” you pant in the cool air of the street. “I thought she was gonna kill me.”

It’s quieter out here. The gentle woosh of the city takes over, tires rushing over raid soaked pavement and drunk laughter further up the road. 

Soonyoung is quiet next to you. Appraising you with hesitant curiosity as he speaks. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, preparing for rejection. “Got a problem with it?”

“No,” Soonyoung shakes his head with a squeeze to your fingers interlaced with his. “Just…gimme a second.”

“Oka—”

He turns around, arms thrown wide before bellowing, “YESSSSSSSSSS.”

A few lights come on, windows filled with the silhouettes of angry neighbors yelling back their discontent at the noise of Soonyoung’s cheers. 

He turns around with a proud smile you can’t help mimic.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m cool.”

“Mmmm,” you hum in agreement, next thought silenced by a sweet kiss from your boyfriend.

It’s a short trip home. The silence of the car provides room to dwell on the new developments of the night.

If Sooyoung is your boyfriend, then, by default, you’re his girlfriend. The idea is foreign and still makes your skin crawl but when you work through that layer of instinctual rejection, it’s actually nice. 

Soonyoung tugs you into his orbit before you can get your keys out. "Just so you know, you really don’t have anything to be jealous about. I haven’t looked at another woman since the day we met." 

"Thank you?" 

"I'm just saying, I really like you. Like, really like you.” he pauses to tangle his arms around your waist so you can’t shy away from the confession. “But if this is how you act everytime you're jealous I wouldn't be mad." 

“Awwww,” you gush, booping him on the noise with a smile like knives. “Make me jealous again and I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“Let's go upstairs and you can smother me with something else.”

“Freak.”

“Be nice to your boyfriend,” he chastises.

“My freak?”

His face softens, still glowing at the corners but something like fondness shines through. “Much better.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[maskedbyghost]

okaay, here's a longer fic about this, it was inspired by 'the hating game'. okay baaiii.

also look at this cute divider made by @gild-ui thank youuuu <33

MDNI!

The base always felt too small when Simon Riley was in the same room as you. Even with a desk separating you, his presence was suffocating, that familiar heat crawling up your neck every time his pen scratched against the paper. Two lieutenants forced to work side by side—Price’s brilliant idea. You hated every second of it.

And Simon wasn’t making it any easier.

“Maybe if you didn’t rush through the report like a rookie, it wouldn’t be full of mistakes,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the stack of papers in front of you.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Simon growled, his voice low, dangerous.

“You do when you’re trying to one-up me, Riley. It’s obvious you’re too focused on trying to be better than me rather than doing your job properly.” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you stared at him sitting at the other side of the office.

“What’s obvious is you overthinking every damn thing,” he shot back, his gaze unwavering. The tension between you thickened as the seconds dragged on in silence.

You clenched your jaw. “If I wasn’t here, you’d screw up half the paperwork.”

He scoffed, shaking his head like you said something stupid. “You think you’re that important?”

You leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to sound like a challenge. “I know I am.”

For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was trying to figure out if you actually believed the words coming out of your mouth.

You could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his hand flexing against the edge of the desk. That’s one point in your favor.

And that’s how you would spend those hours together in the office—locked in a battle of wills. Simon was relentless, always firing back, always pushing your buttons in ways that had your blood boiling.

But you weren’t any better. You knew just how to get under his skin, how to make him scowl, make him grit his teeth in frustration.

It was almost a game at this point.

A twisted game where neither of you ever won, but neither of you ever backed down.

Sometimes, the silence between you was worse. On those days when words felt too heavy, too dangerous, you’d catch yourself stealing glances at him from across the room. Watching the way his hand gripped the pen a little too tightly. The way his shoulders tensed every time you so much as sighed.

He felt it too—this invisible pull, this heat that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over. You hated it. You hated him.

But that didn’t stop your eyes from lingering a second too long on the way his jaw clenched when he was concentrating. Or how his voice dropped to that gravelly tone whenever he was pissed off at you, which, honestly, was most of the time.

You’d stare at the clock, counting the hours until you could escape the office, escape him. But when the end of the day came, and you packed up your things, the idea of walking out and leaving him behind? It didn’t feel as satisfying as it should.

And the worst part was, Simon was starting to notice it too. You could tell by the way his eyes followed you when you left the room, just for a beat longer than usual. Like he was waiting for something to happen.

Something that neither of you wanted to admit was inevitable.

-

One day, while grabbing coffee, you overheard a conversation near the mess hall.

“Yeah, Lieutenant Riley never takes his mask off. It’s weird, honestly—no one’s ever seen his face,” one of the soldiers was saying.

Another chimed in, laughing. “Guy’s is literally a ghost, I swear.”

Never takes his mask off? That couldn’t be right. They were probably exaggerating.

But as you walked back to the office, you thought about it. Simon always had his mask off when you were working together. His face was just… there. Bare. Frustratingly close. You had memorized the angles of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his mouth twisted into that infuriating smirk every time he thought he got the better of you.

And yet, apparently, no one else had seen it.

It didn’t make sense.

Why would he take his mask off in front of you, of all people? You were the one person he couldn’t stand.

Wouldn’t he want to hide his face from you too?

The question swirled around in your mind as you entered the office. You glanced at him from across the room. There he was, mask off, eyes focused on the documents in front of him. Just like always.

You couldn’t help but stare. It had become so normal, so routine, that you’d never even questioned it. But now it felt strange—like there was something you weren’t understanding.

And for the first time, you felt that heat in your chest morph into something different. Something closer to curiosity. You hated him, sure, but…

Why was he comfortable enough to show you his face?

You tried to shake it off, but as the hours ticked by, you couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe you had missed something. Maybe this… tension between you wasn’t just hatred after all.

Nope. It is. End of story.

-

If you weren’t stuck in the office together, there was always a mission that forced you to team up. And this mission had been a brutal one—hours of tension, pushing your body and mind to the brink. By the time you returned to the base, every muscle ached, and your throat felt like sandpaper. The adrenaline was still buzzing in your veins, but the exhaustion was creeping in fast.

You dropped your gear by the door, running a hand through your sweaty hair, trying to shake off the weight of it all.

Across the room, Simon was silent as always, stripping off his tactical vest without so much as a glance your way. Normally, the lack of acknowledgment would piss you off, like he was pretending you didn’t exist. But today, you didn’t have the energy to pick a fight. You just wanted a moment to breathe.

Just as you sat down, feeling the tension in your shoulders starting to ease, something flew through the air toward you. You blinked, catching it instinctively—a bottle of water.

Simon stood a few feet away, his face unreadable. He didn’t say a word, just resumed his routine, as if the small gesture didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

Coming from him, it felt almost significant, a crack in the cold, indifferent wall he always put up.

-

A few days later, another soldier swung by your office to drop off some paperwork, and as he handed it over, you exchanged a few lighthearted jokes. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Simon watching, his expression darkening as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

As soon as the soldier left, Simon’s glare was unmistakable. He didn’t even bother hiding it this time, the tension between you two cranking up a notch.

“You done playing the comedian?” he asked, his voice flat but carrying a sharp edge.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

Simon didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Didn’t realize you needed to put on a show every time someone walked into the room.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is being civil a crime now? Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Civil?” He finally looked at you, his eyes narrowing. “More like you were trying way too hard to impress him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not everyone walks around with a permanent scowl, Riley. Some of us actually know how to interact with other human beings.”

He let out a low, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘cause flirting’s definitely the way to do that.”

Your mouth dropped open, a mix of shock and annoyance flooding you. “Flirting? Seriously? That’s what you think that was?”

He shrugged, his gaze flicking back to the papers in front of him. “Call it whatever you want. Just do it on your own time.”

You stared at him, once again letting his words frustrate you. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

-

The tension in the office was high as you and Simon argued again, this time about mission details. Papers were scattered across the desk, and the air was thick with frustration.

“You can’t just disregard the protocol like that!” you snapped.

Simon leaned back, crossing his arms. “And you can’t keep overanalyzing everything! Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.”

“Instincts?” You shot him a look that could kill. “Is that what you call reckless decision-making? Because that’s how people get hurt.”

He stepped closer, his expression intense. “You think I don’t care about the team?”

“Right now, it looks like you’re more focused on proving you’re some kind of hero than actually doing your job,” you said, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Oh, please! Don’t act like you’re the moral authority here,” he fired back, his voice rising. “You’re so busy trying to play it safe that you’re missing the bigger picture!”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your heart race with anger. “The bigger picture? You mean the one where you get us all killed because you refuse to follow my plan?”

Simon’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken words. Then, as if a dam had broken, he surged forward, closing the distance between you.

“Maybe you need to realize that not everything goes according to plan,” he said, his voice low, intensity radiating off him. “Sometimes you have to adapt on the go.”

“And that’s supposed to justify your carelessness?” you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Carelessness? You think I’m careless?” His voice was sharp, but there was something deeper there, a flicker of something that made you hesitate. “You think you’re better than me just because you follow the rules?”

You glared at him, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “It’s not about being better. It’s about being smart.”

His gaze softened for just a moment, and in that moment, everything shifted. The air between you crackled with something more than anger, something raw and undeniable.

Before you had time to process it, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He pulled you closer, closing the distance until there was barely any space left between you. Your heart raced, caught between surprise and something dangerous.

And then, without another word, his lips crashed against yours, igniting everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. The kiss was fierce and urgent, a collision of emotions that sent your mind spinning. It was as if all the frustrations and tensions of the past had fused into this single moment, pouring into the way he held you, the way he kissed you.

You responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, and the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in a heated embrace, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. Everything felt right and completely wrong at the same time, but for that brief moment, nothing else mattered but the connection you shared.

When you pulled away, breathless and flushed, his hand still holding your neck, eyes dark and unreadable.

Finally, you smiled, breaking the tension. “Still hate you,” you whispered teasingly, leaning closer.

“Then you’re really going to hate how good this feels,” he shot back, his voice low, and before you could respond, he closed the distance again.

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

i think we need a smuty scene with these two. agree??

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

@daydreamerwoah

[miyukisu]

Talk Like That .ᐟ

❤︎ | Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc) ╰ feat. hiromi higuruma (jjk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 3 | kinktober masterlist

tags - degradation, office sex, semi-public sex, hiromi is very mean, paralegal! reader, spanking, punishment, p in v, blowjob, pussy eating, doggy, protected sex

minors do not interact

H I R O M I H I G U R U M A

You passed by those bold letters plastered across the matted glass of his office almost everyday. After all, your office was a little bit down the hall from his.

Everyone in the firm knew who Hiromi Higuruma was. For one, he was perhaps the most talented man working there. But also because he was the finest man you have ever laid your eyes upon.

Hiromi always came to work looking sleek and prepared for the day. You would never catch him dead with tousled hair or his suit disheveled.

In fact, people slowly became jealous of his secretary. She spent all hours of her working day right in front of his office, relaying calls to him, and accompanying him in several errands.

It was ridiculous. His secretary probably had grandchildren at her age. But you understood why anyone would be jealous.

Part of you wanted to spend time with the stoic and brooding man too. But it was tough. Too fucking tough.

He wasn't the type to engage in pleasantries or make himself available for too long at office events. You've been working at the firm for so long, yet you barely knew anything about him outside of his achievements. It was almost impossible, you thought.

That was until you, as a paralegal, were requested by him.

────────────

All those years of hard work finally paid off now that the biggest shot at the firm took notice of you. It was your chance to prove yourself at work and to Hiromi. Of course, it was a primary goal to impress him.

The case was demanding, a high-profile one at that as well. It was no surprise that you had to spend many sleepless nights at the office. But you weren't alone—Hiromi was often left to work late hours too.

Sometimes you'd drop off a file or two and discuss a bit. Ordinary stuff, all things considered. However, tonight was different; tensions were high.

You had made a mistake earlier today. You missed a detail and the client had to know about it. There was a whole scene in the office that afternoon. Hiromi had to clean up after your mess. None of it was his fault and he had to embarrass himself for the sake of some paralegal he probably only learned the existence of recently.

Usually, you'd be ecstatic to catch a glimpse of him so late at night. But right now, he was the last person you wanted to see. Hiromi didn't show it, but he was definitely angry.

────────────

You knocked slowly against the open glass door of his office. You were sure it was just the two of you in the building at this hour. At least, if he decides to reprimand you for your shitty performance—no one would have to hear a thing.

Hiromi didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and you let yourself in.

"Here are the files you were asking for earlier," you say as you hand it over to him. Hiromi uses the pen in his hand to point to an empty space of his desk.

It takes you a few seconds too late to understand, but you place the documents neatly before taking a step back. He continued skimming over the document he was currently holding, a bored expression painted on his face.

"Learned your lesson yet?" he asked flatly.

You were hoping not to go over this again, but it was inevitable. "Yes, sir... I'm terribly sorry for what happened earlier. It won't happen again."

"Words... always just words, but it never gets reflected in your performance," he retorts. Hiromi sets down the document in his hand before grabbing the papers that you brought. Still—he hasn't spared you a single glance.

Despite the impartial look on his face, you could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the moment. You nervously awaited for a comment or critique from him about your work as he proceeded to go over it quickly.

"Are you sure I won't find another mistake in here?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm certain."

He hummed lowly. "Then I better not see one. You know what'll happen if I do."

Right. You were going to be removed from the case and some other paralegal would take your place. Then, Hiromi would never ever look your way. That fact in particular made you the most anxious you've been thus far.

You watched as his weary eyes scrutinized your work. The black orbs darting quickly from one side to another, his lips still pressed into a thin line.

If you had hoped he would dismiss you without another scolding... oh, you were dead wrong.

Hiromi's eyes squinted at a particular line before dropping the documents on his desk and running his large hand over his face. You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop to your stomach. This wasn't good...

He finally looked at you, but with that kind of expression—you'd rather that he not looked at you at all. His dark eyes bore into your skull. No words were spoken yet, but you knew the thoughts running rampant in that head of his.

None of them were good.

"You were certain you made no mistakes—yes?"

"I'm sorry," was all you could mutter. What else was there to say? Nothing would soothe his wrath.

He slammed an open palm against his desk. "What the hell do you do all day in this office? Hm?"

Hiromi stands up, not letting you reply. "Come here," he commands. You had never heard me speak or had seen him look this way. But the stress and frustration at work—coupled with his personal affairs—simmered within him. He was only a man; he too had his limits.

You sheepishly shuffled closer to his desk, head hung low.

"Look at me."

And you do.

Your eyes meet and it stirs an emotion in you that you can't quite put a finger on. He leans in, his smell permeating your nostrils and down to your core. Hiromi smelled good, of course, that much was to be expected.

"Tell me—what the hell do you do all day in this office?"

"I don't know what..."

"You don't know what that means? Can't even answer a simple question?"

He grabs your jaw slowly, applying just enough force to make your lips pucker. "Do you know how humiliated I was earlier because of your mistake?"

You mutter another apology, albeit a bit muffled. Hiromi scoffed in response. "Is that all you can do? Say sorry for every stupid mistake that you make?"

"I'm starting to think all you do here is prance around in your tight clothes, batting your eyelashes at anyone who'd look at you. You like their attention, don't you?"

Hiromi lets go of your face, giving you a chance to speak. "I don't... I don't want their attention... I don't do the things you just said... I..."

"I only want your attention."

His taut expression seemingly softened, though traces of anger were still evident. You added, "Maybe I was trying too hard because I wanted to impress you and in the process I kept messing up more because... because..."

You were a stuttering mess; you weren't even sure why the hell you were telling all of this to him. It was pathetic and unprofessional. But it hardly mattered in an odd situation like this.

"You wanted to impress me?" he asked.

Everyone did; everyone wanted to look good in the eyes of the Hiromi Higuruma. You were no exception to that.

"Yes, sir..."

He takes a step back from his desk, sitting back down on his leather swivel chair. "Come over here," he says as his finger makes a come hither gesture.

You gulped down hard before going around his desk, standing right in front of him. Hiromi still had a bored expression plastered on his face. "On your knees."

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no mistaking his words. He was actually asking you to—

"O-okay," you replied shakily. You dropped down to your knees, but before you could get any closer, he leaned down and grabbed you by the hair; your messy bun became messier. He only did so—not to hurt you—but to make you look at him and to make sure you'd hear him loud and clear.

"You really want to make it up to me?" he asked lowly and you nod.

His fingers slowly detangle from your locks as he leans back in his chair. "You know what to do then. I'm sure you've been waiting to do something like this."

You'd be a fucking liar if you said you haven't dreamt of doing something filthy like this with the hottest man in the office. It only made it better that you were actually doing it inside his office.

You crawled closer to him until your head was between his thighs. It thrilled you straight to your core. Your fingers lightly traced the seam of his trousers before pulling his zipper down. After undoing the button, you slowly tugged the pants and boxers that were in the way. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of his cock—though it was only half hard.

Seeing how it was now—it made you wet thinking about it at its biggest. It was overwhelming now it was actually in your hand. Warmth radiated from it as you brought your face closer.

"You look famished. Fantasized about this before haven't you?"

In response, you simply kissed his tip—earning a hiss from him. You spat on it, letting the glob of saliva trickle down his length before your hand spread it all over. In one go, you took as much as you could in your mouth.

His girth made your eyes water. He relaxed in his chair as if he found peace in your warm mouth, a soft groan slipping from his chapped lips. You made sure to go at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. This might just be your last chance to impress him; you weren't about to fuck it up.

"Guess there is something you can do properly hm?"

A familiar set of fingers tangle in your strands again, slowly guiding your head. "Sucking it so enthusiastically—maybe paralegal work isn't your calling."

All the dirty talk went straight to your sopping cunt, making you moan around his length. He hisses again, "Fuck... you're enjoying this way too much."

He pulls your head away from your cock, taking the time to admire the fucked out expression on your face. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your half-lidded eyes stared back at him.

"Don't wanna cum in your mouth. Stand up," he orders again.

He stands up along with you. Before you could even gain your footing, he had bent you over on his desk—knocking over the stuff that littered the surface.

A gasp escapes you as he roughly pushes your black pencil skirt, bunching it up at your waist. He marveled at your stocking-clad ass. A harsh slap surprised you.

"O-ouch..."

He leans against you, his chest pressing into your back. Hiromi's hand snaked to your front, lightly gripping your neck. You could feel his minty breath against your neck as his nose jabbed your cheek. "That's for the first fuck up."

Then, another slap. "That's for your fuck up now."

Another slap. "And that's just for my own pleasure."

He pulled away, the abrupt absence of his warmth making you feel restless. Your senses were flooded by a plethora of things that you didn't notice how he knelt down in front of your heat. Hiromi wasted no time and ripped the barrier that was your black stockings.

"Fucking slut. You should see how drenched you are right now."

He presses a kiss over your clothed cunt, his nose poking at your hole. You let out a breathless groan, finally nearing some much needed stimulation.

His finger hooks into the gusset before pulling it out of the way. He found it pitiful how you clenched over nothing. He'd give you something to clamp on soon anyway.

Hiromi dove right in, lapping at your folds. He took his sweet time, much like you did with him. His tongue teased the length of your slit first before thrusting it into your neglected hole.

A desperate moan echoed through his office as you squirmed. But Hiromi held you by your ass, making sure you would stay still for him. He went faster and faster, not allowing you to adjust. And in no time, he had you cumming on his tongue.

God, it was unfair that an attractive and talented man like him had to be good at sex too.

The last bit of strength that held you up had disappeared, leaving you slumped over his desk. He reached for his drawer, looking for a condom. As much as he wanted to fuck you raw—let you know reaaaal well the consequences of your actions—Hiromi was still a rational man.

He'd have his fun, safely.

Hiromi wasn't in much of a hurry as he idly rolled the rubber down his cock. Besides, time was probably going slower for you right now. Who would've thought just a little bit of pussy eating would get you undone so quickly?

Pathetic. But Hiromi secretly liked it.

He lazily rubbed himself as he lined his cock against your dripping entrance. There wasn't a chance of him going slow now. Hiromi plunged his entire length into your cunt. Your soft moans came out in unison as the lawyer threw his head back a bit.

It had been a while since he let off some steam... and maybe the first time he had a cute little paralegal bent over his desk.

"Finally got what you wanted? Tell me how much you wanted this."

"Wanted this so much," you blabbered. You could hear yourself and even you were surprised by how shameless you were. Hell, if dick as good as this was going in and out of you—maybe it's not that surprising that he could coax out even the most deprived thoughts in your head.

"Fucking slut. You wore this pretty skirt for me, didn't you?"

"Y-yes. I did."

"Fuck right you did," he says. Hiromi takes your arms and crosses them behind you, grabbing it so he can slam harder into you. His grip was bruising, but the pain was easily overlooked by how good he was making you feel down there.

"Maybe I should keep you on this case—not as paralegal, but as my stress reliever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His question was only meant by a strangled moan, but it sufficed. The way you eagerly took him in was more than enough to let him know. "Such a perfect slut," he whispered under his breath.

The relentless snap of his hips had you clenching down and he was definitely feeling it with the way he would suck in through his teeth. He knew you were close and so was he.

"Fuck," he drawled out. "Pussy so good... making me cum too quickly for my liking."

Hiromi let go of your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Instead, he grabbed on to your hips, pulling you into his. The lewd squelching sounds along with your moans were certainly heard from beyond his glass office.

"Sir... I'm so close... shit."

He took that as a sign to keep up his maddening pace. Your orgasm came crashing and white spots flooded your vision. If it weren't for him holding up your hips, you would've been completely slouched on the wooden desk.

"Fuck... take it all," he says before his thrust become sloppy. Eventually, he released into the rubber. Hiromi rode out the last few seconds of his climax before slipping out of you. As he took his hands off your flesh, his hand prints were left as a souvenir.

He took the rubber off his sensitive length, tying it up and chucking it into the trash bin. Hiromi sat back down, exhausted, while you were still bent over his desk. Perhaps it'll be a while before you'd gain your strength again.

Until then, he'll admire your pretty pink pussy.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note 100% of my knowledge on law comes from Suits so don't come for me

[v33n4-c4rn1s]

"Promise."

Remy LeBeau x fem!reader

A/n: This is my first proper fanfic! it's over 2000 words lolol and it's just Angst/Comfort with everyone's favorite Cajun! I'm really proud of this and I'm happy Remy gets to be my very first proper fic..i hope you enjoy!! also tag for because they asked so nicely :3 @kaidan-z

Summary: When wade wilson dragged you into the mess you were miserable, mourning and utterly heartbroken but now, after following Wilson and Howlett around for hours, watching them fight you finally get your end of the deal. Seeing a man you thought you'd never see again.

────────────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────────

Maybe it’s the fact this was all so..confusing.

I mean how are you supposed to feel when you come face to face with a ghost? 

Well, not really. A ghost would still remember, clutching time in its weary hands, allowing freedom and the soft embrace of closure. A ghost would know. Instead you’re both faced with the haunting idea of a lost memory. Something to yearn and claw for, barely scratching the surface of remembrance. A flame of longing and desperation that’s snuffed out by the force of time. 

- - - - - - - 

You were forced into this mess, against your own will really. One minute you’re sitting in your own misery, clutching a pen and paper, biting back inevitable tears. You mourned the loss of a man who had been long gone, Remy Lebeau. Your Remy. God he was the brightest star, the sweetest man with a sharp tongue. You loved him. You loved him more than anything. The best part? He loved you. Of all the wonderful people in the world, he wanted you, always you. Only you. So that's why it hurt so much when he met his end. 

That's why it tore a hole in your heart. He was tied to you, so deeply rooted in your soul that nothing could pull him away, no gentle persuasion could remove him. Only brute force, A harsh tug that tore him away and left you burning. Painful rage that was so blinding that people cowered away. So in this moment..you just needed solace.

But the universe didn’t give you that, instead You're hauled over some guy's shoulder who's blabbering about how “relieved” he is to see you.

So..what the fuck?

You later learn that you're stranded in a trio, a pathetic one at most. A merc with a mouth, Anger issues in a little yellow bundle (he comes with claws too.) and of course...you.

To most, you weren’t anything special. A mutant? Yes. Despite that being heavy enough itself, your mutation wasn’t anything flashy, just simple enough to cope with.

So why the hell did this bloodstained bastard take you of all people? 

- - - - - - -

So here you are now, stalking behind the pair you now know as Logan Howlett and..Wade Wilborn?..no, Wilson. That's it. Wade Wilson. He was the reason you were here. The void. That’s what this place was..a void. An endless layout of trash and gunk. The TVA, who you later learned “preserved the Sacred Timeline and prevented the creation of alternate timelines.” 

Turns out Wade’s universe was fucked because it lost its “anchor being.” Which was his universe's version of the grouchy companion he’d brought with him..or well, forced with him. Paradox, the one responsible (sorta) for Wade's wonderful kidnapping plan did not seem too pleased..especially since wade had to be that tiny bit extra and break his nose. So he sent you all here..the void.

Wade seemed to be a bit too friendly in all the wrong aspects..seriously how many sex jokes are too many? He’s sweet, you’ll give him that. You found that out only after he attempted to use you as a human shield against some bald headed bitch that only existed to grind on your nerves..But hey, that Johnny guy definitely got it worse.

- - - - - - -

The two overgrown children further proved their hatred to each other by fighting all their tension out in a shitty honda odyssey..all night. They fought till the sun went down. You just sorta sat there, lazily trying to wipe the nose bleed you had received after Wade shoved you to the ground in order to reach a “precious angel.”

..A dog. She was cute but you didn’t take too kindly to him picking a slobbering dog over your mental stability. Still, now all you really had to do was sit and wait for the two to finish their very loud and sharp disagreements. 

- - - - - - -

So..now you’re all caught up? Good. Then let me jump back to our present time.

He could have been a ghost, hell he might as well have been considering how much he paled when he saw you. The way the cards in his hands fluttered to a gentle stop. Even when wielding his weapons he was a gentleman. His lips parted..He wanted to say something, anything..but words could not find him. He just starred. 

To say you felt sick was an understatement. You felt like your body was about to give up any second. Overcome with the heaviest wave of nausea you’ve ever experienced. Here he was..a dead man. Standing in front of your very eyes..and he was beautiful. A little different..but beautiful. From the hair to the tip of his boots, he was the most gorgeously sculpted man you have ever seen.

“Chere?..”

“Remy?”

  Oh fuck. You’re kidding right? So this..version of him had a version of you too? He knew you? He knew you and without even knowing what had happened to his version of you, just looking at his face you knew that something so unforgettable had happened that he was just as broken as you.

“Ooh shit!! Are you seeing this!? I gotta say..i expected all the flashy entrances but look at these two lost loves? Ugh it's like I'm drawing in their self deprecating..”

Remy gave a half glance at the merc, scowling immediadently. His eyes set on him for just a split second before the glare was gone and he was back to looking at you. A softness creeping into his gaze that you didn’t think you’d see ever again. His brows furrowed as he took a step closer.

He knew it wasn’t his lost love but still. From the tips of your hair to the flush in your cheeks, the tentative grasp of your fingers against the fabric of your suit, the way your eyes brimmed with uncertain tears..it didn’t matter. He could rebuild. As selfish as that sounded he could rebuild it all if you’d let him.

“it..it ain’t you but-”

He tried to speak, he really did but the way you flinched at the sound of his voice made him want to cower like a small child. Your eyes fell onto the set of cards in his hand that he soon tucked away into the pocket of his coat. The gentle rustle of the fabric brought you snapping back to the present, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as you carefully backed away, allowing Wade to take the lead again.

- - - - - - -

He watched you the whole time. He didn’t pay attention at all to whatever the hell the nuisance in the centre babbled on about. He watched you like a hawk. Eyes tracing over every piece of you. The way you bit down on the plush of your lip or how your lashes seemed to dampen everytime you blinked. He took note of the unsteady rhythm of your chest. He knew all the signs. When his eyes flicked back up to your face, he saw a tiny tear, barely visible but he could see it. It slipped down your cheek, resting on the curve of your jaw before it dropped onto the floor, seeping into the wood.

Remy had known you all his time in the void. He had no grasp on anything other than this wasteland and well..you. For a brief moment, he let himself daydream, just resting in the past, in the familiar sight of the sweetest smile he had ever seen. Yours.

- - - - - - -

“Don’t you think this is an awful idea?”

“Nonsense Chere, you think Remy doesn’t know a fine place when he sees one?”

His lips curled into a smile as he watched you glance at the rundown diner. It wasn’t exactly heaven, he knew that..but that didn’t matter, as cheesy as it sounds everywhere was heaven when he was with you. You laughed at the way he struggled to open a cabinet, the way he tugged at the wooden handle.

“Careful remy..it looks unsteady..maybe you should-”

“No need to worry about me Mon amour, what? You think Remy can’t handle a little push and pull? Dis is nothing, you just sit there and look- merde!!-”

It swung open, nearly taking him out in the process. You burst into fits of laughter, your knees buckling under how hard your laughter had hit you.

- - - - - - -

And that..bittersweet memory was the very thing that kept him pushing. Your laughter was the sweetest thing to him, he adored it more than anything and he’d longed to hear it once more.

He glanced over at you again, seriously he couldn’t stop. How could he? It was like looking into the past, the love of his life was a few steps away from him and he was doing nothing? What was wrong with him?

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore, the tension. He watched as you looked at his hands that were now nervously playing with his card deck. He carefully placed them all in one hand before pointing at you. He saw the way you jumped a little at being addressed. He then pointed to himself before pointing to the exit.

He wanted you alone, He wanted to talk.

Despite the ache in your chest, the tremble in your body, you followed him. You followed him out the arch and into the cool near evening. The sun was beginning to set, it casted the warmest glow over the wasteland. It was the prettiest thing about the whole dump.

The two of you walked in silence for a bit. The only sound filling the air were the gentle crunches of twigs beneath Remy’s shoes. It suddenly hit you. You were here, with an exact copy of your former lover. This was so fucked up.

He led you to a smaller campfire, letting you take a seat on the log before lighting the fire, sitting down with a soft grunt.

“Remy know’s dis is a bit..confusing and he’s damn sorry about it but..he’s gotta know, cher..”

His soft honesty brought warm butterflies to your stomach. The words rolled off his tongue, combed by his heavy accent. His knee bounced nervously as he watched your face, biting his lip slightly.

“It's..complicated, it would take a long time to even-”

“Remy’s got all the time in the world Chere, just talk t’him..”

You glanced at him one last time. He looked like a kicked puppy when you denied him. How the hell could you say no to such hopeful eyes?

And so you told him, you told him everything. The love, the loss, the pain. The way his absence had left a gaping wound on your being, leaving the ugliest scar and a hideous rage, a burning hatred. You spilled it all and it felt good. It felt good to finally just talk. You were so into explaining it all that you didn’t even notice the fact you were in floods of tears, droples streaking down your cheeks. Your breathing shortened as you forced more words out of your throat. You were too engrossed in the pain.

“Chere.”

His firm tone cut you off, he reached up, carefully swiping a tear away with the pad of his finger. It sent a range of sparks up your spine and you quivered under his gaze.

He watched you for just a moment before making up his mind. He knew he was overstepping the imaginary boundaries but he knew his Chere well enough to know what she needed. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other slid up to your shoulder, bringing you into a warm embrace. He was so different yet the exact same. He smelt like whiskey and leather. He smelt like home and it made you feel sick.

“Ma pauvre fille..”

He was so comfortable that he didn’t even realise the words that left his mouth, the soft claim he made..but you did. You heard it and it stung, it healed a tiny part of your wounded soul, to be addressed as his once more. You squeezed his shoulder, letting the last few tears fall. He pulled back, hesitantly cupping your cheek, relaxing a little as you leaned into his touch. This felt right, despite the gnaw of pain it felt right. To be here with him, to feel him.

Remy lifted his hand, capturing your smaller ones with a gentle touch. He pressed his lips to the back of it. A kiss, full of tender love and sweet affection. A rush of blood reached both of your cheeks. The cool air gently brushed against the heated skin. He leaned forward pressing another kiss to your forehead this time, letting his own rest against yours as he brought one of your hand to his chestplate, placing it above his heart.

“It’s yours Chere, mon coeur est à toi.”

You knew what he meant, he had promised you that despite all odds, if ever something went wrong, he would find you. He’d find you in every universe.

And he did.

Remy Lebeau was many things. He’d been branded as a scoundrel all his life..but if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was lie to you. He was an honest man who kept his promises to you.

He fulfilled each one. Including this one.

───────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────

[koolades-world]

this piece is based off this post, which you can find here. I had heard it as an audio at first actually and fell in love with it. it's kind of essential for this read. it's basically talking about how before their loved one guessed their favorite color was yellow, they didn't have one. after that, yellow was special! sooo cute and i though luci fit in perfectly as the speaker!!! if you were tuned yesterday for my solomon birthmarks fic, this is two out of my four ideas! i had one more in my drafts that i decided to throw in for fun

so so excited to write this. so fluffy!!!

the color of happiness

"Don't forget about your coffee, Mc." Lucifer nudged the cup towards you, acting as a gentle reminder of it's existance.

"Right, right. Just let me finish this thought." You were laser focused on the paper you were in the middle of planning. You were desperate to get all the thoughts out before you inevitable got distracted and forgot everything.

"I don't mean to dissuade you from your schoolwork, but it's getting cold." He chuckled at your half assed attempt to wave him off.

"You can just reheat it with magic." You stuck out your tongue ever so slightly as you scribbled.

"And what if I can't?" Lucifer was practically enchanted with your little mannerisms.

"You can and would. I know you. You'd find a way to make it happen for me." Despite how smug you sounded, he knew you were right. He'd jump through however many hoops as he had to for you.

There was no coming back from your words, so he went back to his own work. By the time he'd restarted, you'd stopped for a break, and were ready to bug him.

"On that note, I feel like I know so much about you, yet so little at the same time." You held the mug in one hand, the other underneath your chin as you gazed up at him.

"What prompted this?" Lucifer set down his pen despite just having gotten back to work. He'd felt like the two of you knew each other quite well. You'd been through thick and thin together, even defied death at each others side.

"Let's play twenty-one questions!" You ignored his question. Perhaps you just wanted an excuse to hear his voice.

"Alright. I can't say I've played before, but I know of it." He found himself smiling again, as he often did around you.

"It's easy! We just ask each other questions to get to know each other better."

"Which one of your brothers is your favorite?" You asked. He hadn't been expecting such a hard hitter of a question at first

"Must I answer?" He joked.

"Come on! Alright, then which do you hate the least?" You suppressed laughter.

"Do not shout this from the rooftops, but, Mammon." He already knew how'd you'd react, but he still found himself amused when you inevitably did.

"I knew it!" You celebrated, throwing your arms in the air. "Alright, your turn."

He absentmindedly messed with his gloves. "What is your favorite part of human world?" Lucifer had thought hard about that question. You seemed too enthusiastic about the entire thing, and he couldn't help but cave.

"That's an easy one! The sunrise. I would almost never wake up in time for it, but it's so beautiful." Your eyes sparkled. He made a mental note to plan a surprise trip to the human world for you. "I've actually been dying to know the answer to this next question for a while now."

"Oh? Ask away then." Lucifer was curious. There was a lot a human could want to ask the Lucifer Morningstar. You already knew his story, but there was a lot to be asked about what the Celestial Realm was like, or what having his power was like. But instead you asked him,

"What's your favorite color?"

The question hit him like a shot to the heart. He should've known you weren't interested in anything but him, for who he was. For once, he didn't know the answer a question as simple as that. He'd never really given it though. Maybe it was red? It was the color of his eyes, and the color of Diavolo. Maybe it was blue? That was the color of his sin. Maybe it was black? Everything he bought seemed to be in that color. Or, just maybe, it was that he didn't have one.

He floundered, his thoughts much more chaotic than what he let on. "Oh, wait! Let me guess!" He nodded, despite not knowing how he'd respond. You pursed your lips, deep in thought, when you burst out with what you thought was the answer.

"Yellow! It's yellow!" You placed a hand on his arm, eagerly awaiting his answer. You looked so full of joy, that somehow, made the answer seem correct to him.

"You're right." Lucifer nodded his head in confirmation.

"Knew it!" You threw your arms around him, pulling him into a side hug. After the inital shock, he hugged you back. "Yellow was already the best color, but now it's even better since it's your favorite too." The rest of your game, and break flew by.

But he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. How could he had been so blind to a color he saw everyday? After that, the color held a special meaning to him. Not only was it the color of his favorite brother, and the color of your favorite thing about the human world, it was also the color of you to him.

Yellow was never the same after that.

The runny yellow yolk of the sunny side up eggs tasted that little bit better. He wasn't upset when he saw a yellow ball of yarn roll out from Satan's room. The yellow umbrella you carried around always caught his eyes, and so did yellow devildom equivalent of roses he passed every day on his way to RAD in a way they hadn't before. He promptly bought them and presented them to you when you arrived after him. The smile you gave him and the way you buried your face in the flowers meant the world to him.

Yellow suited you.

[fionajames]

Always a sucker for Captain Rex so take my chaos request!

Rex is exhausted from working and just wants to go and sleep in his captain quarters, but once he gets there and washes up notices his bed is a mess of covers and pillows (we both know this boi makes his bed everyday) and finds reader had fallen asleep waiting for him to get back. Just fluffy wholesomeness and Tex wondering how the hell they didn’t get caught sneaking into his quarters but it ends in well deserved cuddles.

blankets

A/N: I'M SO SO SO SORRY THIS IS SO TERRIBLY SHORT, I'M VERY TIRED AND I'VE BEEN SWARMED WITH TESTS RN. I STILL HOPE YOU ENJOY !!!

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

Rex was exhausted, that much was plain to see. 

He’d overworked himself again and again and again, and now all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep. The thought itself was so tempting, but as his gaze fell to the slip of flimsi in front of him, he forced himself to return to filling it out.

Cody was inevitably the one who stopped him, pulling his fourth cup of caff from his fingers and taking the pen out of his grasp. He gave him an unimpressed look, and Rex sighed, giving in and leaving the room without uttering a word.

He stumbled his way to his Captain Barracks, sleep gnawing at his insides as his eyes stung brutally from being open for far too long. He opened the door, heading straight to the ‘fresher to get washed up and ready for bed. 

He was quick, in a desperate hurry to get to his bed and let sleep carry him away. But as he stood in the doorway between the ‘fresher and his small barracks, he noticed the messy state of his blanket and sheet. 

It was only then did he notice the small figure curled up in his bed.

A sigh escaped Rex’s lips as he turned off the lights, a soft smile coating his face as he moved to the bed. You shuffled in your sleep as he slipped under the covers, your eyes fluttering open lightly. “Hi,” came your soft sleepy whisper, and he smiled wider.

“Hi,” he murmured back, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier with sleep. “Were you waiting for me?” A yawn escaped him as he closed his eyes, waiting on your reply.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, and then an apology softly fell from his lips. But you didn’t even get the chance to reply as his arms wrapped around your torso tightly, pulling you into his warmth. Not even a moment later, his sleepy shuffling fell from his lips, and a grin burst across your face. “Goodnight, Rex.”

A/N: TYSM, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED, I LOVE YOU ALL!!!

(taglist: @techs-goggles9902, @skellymom)

[onceonafullmoon]

Meet Cute

Micheal Kaiser x GN! Reader

No warnings, just pure fluff! Reader is in college and from America. Reader is an anxious mess and a football fan. Apologies if the german is shit, I did my best. This fic is kinda scuffed but I wanted it to be done lol

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question. He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you peruse the selection of the ice cream tucked away in the freezer section, but you can’t help but smile to yourself at the welcome sight.

Yes, it was that time again, that familiar time in every college student’s life, the time to eat away your feelings after struggling your way through midterms.

Fuck midterms.

And fuck proper societal conventions as well.

Because here you are, in your pajamas, doing a late night grocery run and regretting it with every strange look served your way.

Sometimes you forget that you aren’t in America anymore, and your people-of-Walmart activities will inevitably lead to your downfall, but at least that day isn’t today.

Well, it was a small mercy that no matter where you were in the world, whether in Germany or America, that at least ice cream was a true constant that remained in your life.

You analyze the see-through fridges with slight disappointment as you realize the selection you have to work with is slightly smaller than what you’re used to, although maybe upon further inspection you’d find it refreshing not being swung at visually by 15 brands in one shelf, all desperately vying for your attention.

Either way, you find yourself drawn to the same flavor you always pick, a true creature of habit, and you pull open the fridge door to grasp at the item of your choosing.

At least you are until you find your hand colliding with another, a silent gasp parting your lips before you pull your hand back in surprise.

“Sorry!” You blurt out before realizing your mistake. “...err, I mean– entschuldigung!”

(Your German is hardly passable to be frank, but you figure you should at least try speaking the language of the country hosting you for the semester.)

Anyway, the sound of your stilted dialect is enough to bring out a light chuckle from the person, the man judging by the timbre of the voice, next to you and you finally look over to see…

Holy shit.

Is that Micheal fucking Kaiser?

You stare shell shocked at the blond superstar soccer (football, you correct in your head) player next to you, as he begins to speak.

“Kein Problem.” He says smoothly, and you have to make a conscious effort to shut your slightly parted mouth as you continue to stare at him with widened eyes.

At this point, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to grab your ice cream, pay and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but unfortunately for you, your mouth didn’t catch the memo.

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.

He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

You feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment as the realization dawns on you that you’re standing in front of a world class athlete in the middle of a grocery store in a wrinkly, old, oversized t-shirt and shorts.

“Sie möchte ein Autogramm?” He asks amusedly, giving you a subtle once over that you normally would have missed had you not been so self conscious.

“Ja, bitte.” You say, fishing for a pen and paper in your bag.

“...I don’t normally look like this, I swear.” You can’t help but add as you find your paper and pen, switching over to English out of a combination of embarrassment and lack of language knowledge.

“You don’t?” He asks lightly, humoring you and switching over to English before taking the pen and paper out of your hands. “I would have thought you looked like this everyday.”

“What, messy?” You ask in a light tone despite being slightly offended as he scribbles his name on the paper.

“No.” He says with a smirk as he finishes, handing you the paper. “Gorgeous.”

You blink at him for a moment before you feel your cheeks warm up again, averting your eyes to the side to avoid his gaze as you try to process the fact that a celebrity, more importantly, an attractive celebrity is flirting with you.

“Ah– um, well I– uh, thank you.” You eventually get out before willing yourself to look back at him, your stomach doing a flip as you see the same smirk on his lips that you’re used to seeing on TV.

“Kein Problem.” He repeats again, that same amused lilt in his voice. 

“I mean–” You start again and you feel yourself regretting the fact that you decided to speak again. “For both uhm, the autograph and the compliment.”

You pause for a bit, unbelievably flustered, before you blurt out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward, I’m just gonna leave now.”

He laughs at this, his eyes seeming to soften a bit before he speaks in a quieter tone, almost as if he’s afraid to scare you off. “No you’re fine… it’s cute.”

Your heart thumps in your chest rapidly, like you’ve just gotten done running a marathon, and you feel the heat rush to your face along with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. All these sensations combine to force a rather undignified sound from deep within yourself, sounding equivalent to a mouse caught in a glue trap.

You feel your face heat up further from the strangled sound that emitted from your very being and scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment away from Kaiser’s prying gaze.

When he laughs, you feel the embarrassment return tenfold, although the fluttering feeling in your heart might just be also because of the rich timbre of his chuckle.

“Hey, look at me.” He says after a few seconds, and despite your longing to keep your eyes closed you can’t help but obey his command.

So, slowly you open your eyes, taking in the sight of his handsome visage, his lips quirked up in a smile and it almost feels painful how your heart thuds.

“...what?” You question weakly.

“Just needed your eyes on me for a second while I do this.” He says before leaning over ever so slightly to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at the apex of where your ear meets your cheek before finally pulling away.

“...” You can’t help the way you gape at him, momentarily speechless as he takes in your facial expression with his signature smirk.

“Sorry Liebling, your hair was bothering me.” He offers up as an explanation, but you can tell from the delighted gleam in his eye that he’s lying.

“Y–yeah, right.” You stutter out despite your best efforts to remain unphased and straighten up. “Anyways, it was nice meeting you, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“No, it was a pleasure.” He says smoothly, and you can’t help the twinge of jealousy that runs through you at his composed demeanor. “Take care, would you?”

“Of course, y-you too.” You manage to get out, and he smirks at you one last time before confidently striding away from you, leaving you slightly shell shocked in the ice cream aisle.

It would be a while before you fully collected your thoughts after you paid and exited the store, and that’s why perhaps you didn’t notice three things in particular.

One, that you forgot to pick up the goddamn ice cream that you were so looking forward to getting. 

Two, that your beloved celebrity had also forgotten to get his ice cream that he was reaching for because he was also that flustered despite his confident demeanor.

And three, the little number written next to your autograph with the small written letters next to it “Ruf mich an <3”.

---

Taglist: @gigiiiiislife

[celestialprincesse]

pretty please can i have more Simon x nerdy girlfriend?

sincerely,

a college student studying biochemistry and biophysics

Of course!! Also?? plaudits to you because how. I dropped chemistry the minute they started talking about calculating moles🎀

This woman will stay awake all night working on her research. I mean it. All night for a good few days in a row until she becomes the grumpiest, grouchiest bitch that even coffee can't save.

Simon dreads when the time for group projects comes around, he knows that she's a huge overachiever and therefore anyone not working to her level is 'lazy' and they don't care about the course.

Her advisor was 'mean' (didn't shower her with praise) to her one time and she came home in tears because she thought that he hated her.

Her laptop is covered in cringey, subject related stickers that she's so proud of, thinks they're so funny even though literally no one else gets them.

She makes all her notes in glitter gel pens and covers them in stickers so that when she inevitably cries whilst she's studying she has something to cheer her up.

Simon really, really wants to help, desperately, which is easier said than done when he's trying to decipher her blubbering mess of panic about something or the other.

He ends up just being quietly supportive so he doesn't end up saying something that will make her more upset.

Simon militarises the whole thing to make sure she sleeps and eats and goes outside, because apparently, though academically smart, her big brain isn't quite lumpy bumpy enough to recognise that the reason she feels like she's going to puke is because of the three red bulls she's had on an empty stomach.

Kept this short n sweet because my brain is feeling smooth n silly😍Best of luck to u my genius science baby mwah mwah mwah 💕🎀 Sincerely, a struggling history student 🥴

[ww2yaoi]

[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

[serejae]

WE CANT BE FRIENDS | 17. YOU CLING TO YOUR PAPERS AND PENS, WAIT UNTIL YOU LIKE ME AGAIN

(written)

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paring : myung jae x fem!reader | wc: 700 ish | warnings : none (this chapter is bootycheeks next one is better trust!!!) | genre : fluff and angst @onedoornet

mstl

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its been 55 minutes since jaehyun was supposed to be here. orginally your solo shot was suppose to be shot today, but woonhak texted the group chats changing the plans. sure jaehyun couldve not seen the text but you doubted it, maybe he was embarrassed but you had a sense of deja vu.

you heard woonhak sigh making you look up. “we can just film your solo shot today” you nod and follow him as he walks out his door. as you follow him to the park he starts recording you.

“we have L/N Y/N here and in this segment you’ll be asked questions that you WILL answer without jaehyun around” he started “will?” you laughed at his phrasing “long story…anyways!”

“what are your opinions on myung jaehyun?”

you keep walking looking at the ground and something just blew up in you. “he hasnt changed like at all. cause for the viewers, jaehyun and i were suppose to be filming together again but he didn’t show up and this is what he always did! especially for dates, i’ll wait for hours alone just for him to be in his studio so i’m really not suprised that he isnt here. i swear his office saw him more than i did in our almosy 2 years of dating. its irresponsible no? just to ditch everything for your career and don’t get me wrong im all in for it but its just…” you paused, why were you so bothered? “next question please woonhak.”

“i thought you both ended on good terms?”

“pfft thats what you both tell everyone when you first end things but deep down there…well like you said before lingering feelings that you just cant express because it already ended and now since everyone thinks you both ended things well you start overthinking, ‘hm i shouldnt feel this way we ended things well’ , ‘theres no point on being stuck on him now because we’re friends’ but you both know damn well you ended things ‘on good terms’ because you both swept the conversation you needed to have about the breakup under the carpet due to the fact you and them are pussies who cant handle confrontation.”

“so what if the mess under the rug is too much to the point you cant sweep anymore?”

“um, well…

either you both stand on the elevated rug thats floating at this point ontop of both your guys mess and never talk to each other again because if you do, inevitably the conversation you tried to avoid will be brought up.

or you…

fix it?”

“do you think ending things on good terms is better than ending it on bad terms?”

“no. if you end on bad terms you have nothing to talk about, because youre too focused on hating each other, but good terms each time youre around that person your mind cant help but go ‘what if?’ and soon they start to fill up your mind the same way they did when you were crushing on them then the cycle repeats of you falling in love again but then again you cant do anything because you already broke up and once they move on you have a resentment or a heartbreak feeling towards them.

the same way it does when you both end on bad terms.”

“do you…” woonhak paused and noticed your neck area. “ive always seen the chain around your neck but i never seen the charm on the necklace before” he said examining the necklack, the charm was a heart pendant with mj+(l/n initial + f/n initial) on it with the date you both started dating under. shit, you forgot the tuck it into your shirt.

quickly you tuck it into your shirt and clear your throat

“do you ever have any ‘what if’s with jaehyun, and…theres no need to lie now” woonhak laughed

you smiled and bit and continued “uhm, i wonder where him and i would be if he didnt end things. like would we be together still? if yes is the love still pure, or what we would be together right now but if we still ended things i wonder if it wouldve been on bad terms.”

“do you think of him often?”

“yeah.” no. what?

yeah?

as in yes?

you turn to look at woonhak and he looks at you with wide eyes.

“oh look a music store!! woonhak i completely forgot i told a friend id meet them there, we can end this now!” you rushed out

“NO YN! I CAN COME INSIDE AND FILM-“

“BYE!”

you run inside of the music store and pant hiding behind a shelf. when you look up and see a pair of familiar eyes. you groan silently and rested your head against the shelf, its like he’s been spawning everywhere lately and its not for the better. you look up again and see he’s staring at your neck, looking down you realize the necklace that you tucked away somehow escaped and is now staring at jaehyun. you look back up with your cheeks hot and realized hes gone

[freak-accident419]

The Little Things

Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

Summary: Upset that Josh has been overly stressed and traumatized recently, you decide to surprise him with a short getaway, a temporary escape—you were going to take him to see a dinosaur.

WC: 1.8k

Content: fluff, mentions of death, gender neutral reader, short but sweet, kissing, listening to music, quiet yet comfortable company, few curse words

(A/n: this oneshot is heavily inspired by the movie Palm Springs which was brought to my attention from something @rynsfandomsfun reblogged—it was a sweet movie. Also, don’t play the preview of the song attached, but listen from the beginning when it plays in the fic :) )

-

“Hey. Wake up…”

Your gentle voice and light shaking seemed to do the trick as you sat patiently on the edge of his bed. “Y/n?” Josh grumbles drowsily, gradually waking up as he rubs his eyes with his fingers. “Shit… what time is it…?”

You chuckle amusedly at his demeanor. “Approximately two a.m. But that’s not so important,” you answer, watching him use his arms to lift himself up against his bed frame, now in a sitting position.

He faced you with groggy bewilderment until his eyes suddenly widened once they inevitably trailed over to your lap. “Shit—Y/n, is that the TTD?” Josh gasped. The revelation seemed to have woken him up completely, his shock clashing with your nonchalant smirk. “But that would mean—”

“Yes, I stole it from Tiger and Wolf while they were sleeping. And yeah, I’m aware they’d kill me if they ever found out, but they’ll never know we even left, ’cause lucky for us, now we have a damn time machine,” you grin softly.

“‘Left’? Wait, what—what are we doing?”

You chuckle, admiring the adorably confounded look on his face. You were so thrilled to break the news to him, anticipating his reaction. “I’m gonna take you to see a dinosaur.”

You didn’t mean to get tied into all of this. Well, technically, none of you were meant to. However, Josh was your best friend, and one day, you two hung out in his room as you watched him play and attempt to beat his favorite game Biotic Wars. And you never would’ve guessed the shit you both would go through after that.

As his best friend, you knew him very well and were able to read him even if he was across the room from you. Therefore, you could always sense when he was upset and miserably exhausted. So when those two airheaded dipshits from the future constantly mistreated and belittled him, you couldn’t help but feel resentment towards them and pity towards your best friend. And the moment you saw him covered in his co-workers’ blood after him witnessing his colleagues brutally chop them up to shove inside a possum incinerator, you were just about done with all of this bullshit.

So when the day became night, you snuck into Tiger and Wolf’s weird sewer hideout, stealing their TTD. And then you snuck into Josh’s house, planning to steal him too.

Josh’s face beams as he heard your proposal, and it was probably the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile ever since he got involved in that savior crap.

“I’m gonna see a dinosaur?” You answered him with a smug nod. “You’re not fucking with me? I’m gonna see a dinosaur? H-holy—holy shit!”

You knew he wanted this before, hell, you were right there when he begged Tiger and Wolf for it back in 1969. And so, because of all the bullshit he undeservingly had to deal with, you wanted to give him a break or reward. You just wanted to see your friend happy again, like how he was before this entire mess.

In life, you had to enjoy the little things—which says a lot about your lives right now, considering that traveling back in time to see a dinosaur could be considered as such. The two of you needed a break, even just for less than a day where you didn’t have to worry about saving the world or killing people.

You take out an index card and found a pen on his desk. “What time is it?” You ask him, taking the cap off of the pen with your teeth.

“Uh, two—uh, two thirty-four,” he answered after glancing at the clock. “Am I—Am I seriously going to see a dinosaur? Are—are we actually going to the jurassic period?”

You scribbled down the time so you’d know when exactly you should get back, just to avoid any complications. “Yes,” your answer was muffled as you laugh softly, taking the cap out of your mouth to place it back over the pen. You shoved the note in your pocket then took Josh’s hand, helping him get up from his bed to stand up in his room. You open the TTD and began to play around with the controls.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” He asked, looking over all the cryptic symbols and confusing interface, then back at you.

“Uhh, general idea,” you reply, clicking around the device some more until you finally placed your arm around his shoulder. “You ready, Josh?”

He blinked, then nodded eagerly. “Are you serious? Hell, yeah! Holy shit! No way! I’m gonna see an actual, fucking dinosaur!”

You weren’t quite used to the feeling of traveling through time, but at least it got easier every time you did. Bright blue lights and volts surrounded the two of you, feeling a gust of wind blow into your face and whole being, and even heat from the electrical currents. And then, in less than five seconds, you two appeared in a jungle, late at night, in the late jurassic period.

***

You two sat down on a thick branch of a tallish tree, the soft light of the moon kissing your faces. It was dangerous to be in such a wild and unpredictable time, surrounded by deadly, barbaric creatures, so the tree would be a pretty safe place to watch the dinosaurs from. Except the surrounding area was practically empty, so you just waited for them to emerge.

Your shoulders brushed as you enjoyed the silence between the two of you—which was actually ceased fairly quickly once Josh communicated a thought that had practically gnawed at him for days.

“Hey, I just wanna say I’m, uh… I’m sorry that I dragged you into this, Y/n,” he finally says, looking at you pitifully. He looked really nice in the moonlight, you thought. “Wolf and Tiger, they’re insane, and I—shit, if I never invited you over then none of this would fucking—”

“Hey, hey, shut up, will you?” You snickered, offering a forgiving grin. “You didn’t drag me into this. The both of us never would’ve expected any of this bullshit, okay? Like, genuinely.” Josh nodded, but you still sensed some remaining guilt in him. “Hey. If I was gonna be wrapped into this crazy fucking mess with somebody, I’m glad it was with you. You’re my best friend. My ride or die.”

The corner of his lips curled into a sweet, appreciative smile. “Thanks,” he replied coyly. “And, uh, thanks for this. I know there’s no dinosaurs right now, but… I really appreciate the gesture. Like, Tiger and Wolf, they would’ve—”

“They definitely would’ve killed me, yes,” you laughed softly. “But… you’re worth all the crazy fucking discipline.”

With this lighting, you could never see how his cheeks flushed pink. But you knew he was blushing, from how the corner of his eyes crease and the way his wide smile accentuated his cheeks, revealing his pearly white, perfect teeth. He lets out a quiet giggle, and the two of you continued to watch the horizon of the dark, yet mesmerizing prehistoric view.

You two held each other’s hands, interlocking one another’s fingers warmly, placing the clasped fists between each other. There was some kind of unspoken thing between you two that you never had time to figure out, mainly because of the recent things you’ve been dealing with. But it was still there, that strange, lingering feeling.

And then…

“Holy shit!” Josh gasped abruptly, sitting up, patting onto your shoulder repeatedly, then pointing his finger far out into the distance. “Y/n, look, shit, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n—”

“Wh—” Your breath hitched as you saw it in front of you. “Shit…”

The several long necks and small heads of brontosauruses were in the distance, peeking out of the whole jungle and its trees, walking slowly towards the left in front of the iridescent moon.

It was beautiful. You never expected it to be. Actually, you really didn’t expect anything, you thought it’d be too surreal to even process. But they were exactly like the history books. They were like the CGI graphics in film and games, the images displayed near their exhibits at museums, the small long, plastic figures that come in clear tubes, and hell, a scene from Spielberg’s Jurassic fucking Park.

“They’re beautiful…” Josh sighs in complete awe.

“They really are…” you mutter, still fascinated by it all, watching the family of dinosaurs walk slowly together, letting out low moans and stomps with each heavy step.

Abruptly, you take out your phone from your pocket, as well as some earbuds. You plug it in, help Josh with the left earpiece and put the right one in yours. And then, you clicked onto a song that you had downloaded prior.

The gentle song began to play softly in your ears. The two of you were mesmerized by the beauty and magnificence of these creatures that you never thought you’d ever see. Your head moves down to rest on Josh’s shoulder as you two admired the dinosaurs from afar. The light pressure of you against his shoulder tickled him slightly, which he gulped at, heat rising to his cheeks. Your contact against him felt warm and you felt safe. Even though this was a place where you would most likely get mauled brutally by ‘clever girl’s, you felt nearly invincible with your best friend by your side.

“This is amazing…” he whispered, astonished.

“Yeah,” you sigh, mocking his quiet speech.

A pause.

“You’re amazing…”

You slowly pull away from his shoulder curiously, your eyes leaving the direction of the large, majestic animals. Your eyes look deeply into his, again, the moonlight shining exquisitely on the side of his face, bright enough to reveal some of the hazel tint in his irises. You felt your eyelashes flutter each time you looked from his eyes to his lips. He, too, looked at you intimately and fondly. And then your eyes closed gently once you feel his lips press against yours, hearing the song continue in your ears. The entire moment felt so magical, that you weren’t sure if it was because of the fact that you were in a place where dinosaurs existed or that you were kissing the person you’ve always admired.

You pull away slowly, a silent exchange of eye contact, before kissing him again, with more passion and less hesitance, letting your hands rest behind his neck.

There were no more words between the two of you after. In a good, serene way. Parting from his lips, you rested your head back onto his shoulder, feeling his arm around you from the back and his hand holding your waist. And you two continued to watch the dinosaurs under the stars, holding each other’s hands once more. Enjoying the little things, for now.

You could let this moment go on forever. After all, with the TTD, you had all the time in the world.

[callofdudes]

I made more because... Because! @aidenlydia again, this is their au but I'm eating it like fish sticks on a plate of mac 'n cheese. Getting this scene out of my head because I love them and I have nothing else to do waiting for dinner.

More Viking SoapGhost.

Ghost watched, his eyes unmoving as John wrote with his charcoal wood pen on some old pages. Geez it must have been four pages with three drawings and eight life updates.

Finally John signed the bottom of the pages and rolled them up with a string.

"You done??" Ghost asked flatly when He finished.

"Yes, now I need these delivered back to Roach."

"You say that like I'm going to do it."

John looks at him, nodding. "You are."

Ghost sighs and groans. "I'm not your dumb messenger bird." He grumbles, shifting closer and standing. John pulls his cloak tighter and chuckles softly. "Actually, you are."

He holds out the folded papers to a pouty Simon. "Go on, shouldn't be long now if you get to it." John encouraged.

"Fine, but I'm bringing back a tab worth my while for it." He grumbled, looking up at the big man.

"Mhm, and I'll happily pay."

Ghost shifted, black wings flapping in the air, snatching the papers between his talons. He squawked at John, who could only smile softly, barely noticable.

And watched him head off. Simon didn't actually mind doing errands for John. If anything the combined stretching of his wings and the inevitable praise he was going to get for completing the assignment would be worth it.

Oh yes indeed.

John kept the fire lit, watching the open snowy land as Ghost's small form had left his sight. He poked the fire, watching the embers flock to the wind of the cave mouth, then over at Ghosts bedroll.

He sighed softly, placing his hand on it, noticing a stray feather stuck to the inside. He chuckled softly, picking it up and twirling it around.

"Be safe, Ghost."

Ghost did as he promised, he made the incredible eight hour journey in the shitty weather back to their small village. Fucking between houses to the main hall.

Stopping at the doors, his feet hit the ground, heading up the stairs and pushing the knocker open.

The large door swing, creaking when he entered. A head poked up, followed by a little smile. "Well well well, hunting season is barely started and you're already back."

Simon rolled his eyes softly, coming over and dropping the roll of papers. "From MacTavish."

"What is it??" Roach asked, undoing the twine.

"Hell if I know, I may be a crow but I do not snoop."

Roach gave him a look, and Simon sighed. "Ok not this time. But I was damn curious."

Roach chuckled softly. "Alright, I'll look these over, you go get some rest. Probably had a long trip."

"Well I got permission to run up a tab so I'm gonna go get my arse drunker than a bat in honey." He flipped the end of his cloth mask back over his shoulder to keep it secure. Heading back to the door and out to go get absolutely hammered.

And you don't want to see a shifter drunk, it's not always pretty. But Ghost has been starting to learn that eighteen drinks is when John has to cradle the poor crow with his talons straight out and wings a mess as he takes him home.

And of course, by the time Ghost had slept off the drunken night Roach had something new written up for him. Returning to the hall and taking the papers.

"Will you be alright to fly?? You look a little..."

"Mmm I'll be fine!" Ghost mumbled, heading from the hall and taking off again. Damn messenger bird. John better congratulate him at least or he's never running him these stupid errands ever again.

It was late when he returned, but he saw the familiar smoke and a crackling fire. Flapping his wings and stretching out his talons when he saw a dark figure among the casting, wobbling shadows.

He latched onto John's arm guard, crooning his neck and fluffing his feathers before tucking them in.

John noticed the letters and gently took them, noticing the scratchy pen writing of Roach.

"Thank you Ghost, you've done very well."

Simon melted, making a little noise and hopping up his arm, craning his head to peck at John's beard.

"Yes, good work." John put the papers down to run his large, calloused thumb over Simon's small head, gently smoothing the feathers down.

Oooh yeah, this is so worth it.

He fluffs his feathers, nipping at his hand when he attempted to pull away. "Alright then, if you insist... Get comfy."

Simon cawed at him. He wouldn't be getting comfortable. Hopping onto the ground and shifting, noticing his bedroll slightly closer.

"You miss me or something?"

"Only warming the place where my cold heart will go after I see that tab." He mumbles as he turns his attention mostly onto the letters.

Simon smiles a tad, laying down and getting comfy. He looks around, then at the fire, watching the flames dance. His head slowly coming down, resting against John's thigh.

It was hesitant, but then again peaceful. The silence only filled by the crackling fire. Simon's head feeling a mess from the last of the alcohol and the flight until Johns hand gently touched his head.

He didn't react, keeping himself stiff as Johns thumb absentmindedly stroked his hair. Eyes still glued on the letters, reading them through.

Simon relented to relaxing, curling up and pulling John's cloak over him slightly. His eyelids felt heavy, and the soothing warmth of John's hand slowly had him coming undone.

Letting himself fall asleep there, letting out soft breaths.

John's gaze finally flickered over to his partner, humming softly. "Good work, Simon. Can always count on you."

He put the papers aside and leaned back, watching the entrance of their camp as Simon slept. He would keep watch, he'd gotten enough of his own rest for now.

It's shorter but hell that first photo had me in a coma. Yes, I am insane, yes, I will make more, respectfully if I'm allowed to keep gobbling up these meals...

[moodymisty]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1 of 5 - Part 2

Author's Note: It's here! The first chapter of the Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord love triangle(corner) fic! It's going to be 4 chapters (5 actually you'll see tehe) and I drafted a good portion of it in advance so it should be smooth posting? We'll see. Enjoy!

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationship: Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 2068

Word travels fast aboard even the largest of ships, you had learned quite quickly.

Space marine legions are not fond of working with one another, was what you had learned first. Many times even different squads within this same Legion can butt heads, as different styles of commanding and battle conflict with one other. Salamanders often try and remain cordial when problems within them arise, but friction was and is inevitable.

The second, was Vulkan was apparently quite firm with his legion that they were to welcome their temporary allies with respect. At least that is what you’ve heard from any Salamander that you’ve heard mumbling as you pass by, or any that have given you a moment of their time. That’s all you know, and these tidbits of knowledge fail to put together a full picture that you can understand. Their lips have been quite tight other than the bare minimum they believe you need to know.

Or what you can get from them if you ask very nicely; Much like the Commissars and Lords you've dealt with over the years, it seems Salamanders aren't immune to a bit of flattery also. You just need to make sure he doesn't find out, as you know how displeased he gets whenever he finds out you went wandering around chattering with his brothers.

Speaking of...

You can ask him about it; You just need to wait for him.

He always visits you in the librarium, once his second round of training is concluded. He then goes for his five hours of rest, and the cycle restarts. Though even if it isn't that time, you know he still keeps a keen eye on you.

You don’t wish to bother him with an issue as seemingly meaningless as gossip, but none of your fellows have been able to piece together what's happening, as none of the Salamanders have loosened their lips about it in the slightest.

It's made you more than a bit unnerved; Knowing that something is wrong but no one will tell you what it is. The tenseness in your neck is worse, and sirens and calls once normal now make you jolt when they sound off.

The large piece of parchment in front of you remains nearly empty, apart from the crude outline. Commander Artellus's face is fresh in your mind, but you for some reason can't put it to parchment.

You hear the sound of harsh, heavy boots on the ground, and turn to see who you've been waiting for coming towards you. You shift in your seat and turn to see him coming.

“Ralkan; You’re back,”

You smile wide at him, a put down the pen you'd been fruitlessly trying to use. The way his eyes look down at you is warm, his helmet hanging on the side of his hip. He stands close to where you sit alone at the massive table, covered in a mess of materials. The ink in your well shakes with waves, when he steps closer.

“You should have been there this time. I feel like I'm missing something now without your curious looks.”

You smile even wider and laugh, remembering the time. He had outpreformed Salamanders his senior, and you wondered if he was overdue for an ascension in rank, or if he was simply showing off.

“I'll come next time. As long as your battle brothers don’t mind me seeing your training again.”

He places a massive gauntlet on your shoulderblades, thumb against the side of your neck.

"They won't, I am sure of it. Though I hope you'll reserve your cheering only for me again."

His hand brushes along the upper half of your back before it slides away, his chainsword hanging neatly on his back. He looks out the massive window to the vast reaches of space directly in front of your makeshift desk for a moment, before pulling his bolter off his thigh and checking it.

He’s always meticulous. He’s been trained into flawless discipline, and it shows in every aspect of his existence. From the way he keeps his thoughts closed to the way each piece of armor and each weapon must be meticulously maintained.

You can hear the mechanics of his armor shift as he moves, but you can only tolerate few more beats of the near silence before you can’t help it anymore. Your pen twirls in your hand as a soothing gesture before you speak up.

“Ralkan?”

You look up to him, sniffling from the disturbed dust in your nose. He turns to look at you as you abandon your parchment, and finally put pen down and place your ink stained hands in your lap.

You hesitate for a moment, pursing your lips and looking away from his hard gaze as he turns back to you.

“What is happening?”

He is genuinely confused by your question for a moment, before he realizes what it is you're asking about, and his face stiffens. But still he doesn't answer. It irks you; Thinking that he’s trying to keep this all from you. You add on to your earlier question.

“I know that you are going to be fighting alongside another legion, but why are all of you acting like it's something you're all dreading?”

Perhaps you might simply be a guest aboard this ship, gifted from Terra to a legion eager to put their deeds to written memory, but you wish to know more than the servitors do. You pull your hands from your lap and lightly slap the table with them, gripping the edge.

“Ralkan, Who are the Night Lords?”

It is so instantly apparent that you struck something in him, as his body visibly tenses and his face briefly flashes with anger as a legion's name other than his own leaves your tongue.

He makes eye contact with you, the burning red of his eyes making your curiosity waver. But you still want to know- need to know. He takes a step closer, and his left hand rests against the surface of the table. He lets out a tense breath.

“The Night Lords are the 8th legion. They," Ralkan tries to find the words, pausing for a moment. "The way they wage battle is in near direct opposition to us Salamanders."

He speaks the name with a stern, cold demeanor. It fills you with a hesitant sort of interest.

These legions; Have they really developed cultures so unique that they find themselves unrecognizable to each other?

“They have no respect. They will cull entire cities for the slightest infraction.” He looks to you, and he catches that your curiosity it still taking hold; You lack the fear that he's trying to instill in you.

He takes a step forward, and you can hear his armor hiss and grind as he lowers to a knee, now only a head taller than you as you sit. He puts his hand on your shoulder again, but it lacks the gentleness it had the last time, as he grabs tight and forces you to face him. You wouldn’t be able to pull away even if you wanted to; And while he is still trying to be gentle, his gauntlet still yearns to bruise your skin underneath your clothing. The seams of his armor dig into your flesh even through the fabric.

“They are going to be crawling over the ship soon. Do not let them even see you. You cannot run from them and they will know it.” His hand makes sure you can’t look even the tiniest bit away from him. “They will take advantage of your weakness. You must stay here, in your quarters, or close to me. I was charged with protecting you, and I will see it through.”

There’s not many places on this ship you go, at least without him. He is your guard, or perhaps more accurately your handler. He is in charge of making sure you don’t wander where you don’t belong, as even if the Salamanders have been welcoming to a remembrancer on their ship, they have their limits. For your safely and their privacy.

This ship- A world for giants, it isn't meant for someone like you either. Ralkan makes it a bit easier to navigate.

Though out of all the titles he's been given, he seems to enjoy calling himself your knight first and foremost. You assume it’s simply a part of their culture, you’ve heard other Salamanders call themselves knights as well. The tone is different, but you assume it’s simply Ralkan’s own brand of oddity. Perhaps he isn't fully cognizant of the intimate undertone behind saying such a thing to you.

Stuck in his grip, your nose wrinkles as you try to say something in defiance, to learn a bit more, but you know this it all you'll get from him. Even if you ask sweetly.

“I just wanted to know what was happening. I'll," You turn your face away from him and blow air from between your tight lips. "I'll stop the questions about it."

There isn’t much you can say otherwise in the matter anyhow. You want to trust him, and to listen to him, but perhaps it’s simply curiosity that makes you hesitate on the matter. Or naivety he probably assumes, as much as that irritates you.

He lets out an audible sigh of relief, and loosens the hand on your shoulder, it drifting up your neck before it cups your jaw. The other joins it on the opposite side, holding your face in his gauntlets. They're so gentle, even with cold ceramite between your skin and his.

“You know I do this to protect you, yes?” He continues, his eyes soft as they gaze over you. “I only want for you to be safe here. With me. I have seen these astartes before; I know what they are capable of.”

His eyes are warm, brow softened. You always enjoy when he looks at you this way, even if you might fear of what lays between you being far beyond the supposed title of knight and his charge. 

He leans forward, and his forehead touches your own. You feel like he wishes to do more, but is forcing it back. Your bare hand lays overtop of his gauntlet, and you smile at him.

But after a moment, he leans back away from you.

“I must leave now. My brothers and I are part of the battalion that is due to greet our temporary allies.” 

You so desperately don’t want him to leave, but at the same time, you wonder if the weight on your chest will finally dissipate if he does.

He rises, and in doing so also removes his hands from your jaw. His cape shifts behind him just barely brushing against the floor, and you swear you can hear the crackling of a vox channel in his helmet. His battalion must be calling for him.

“I will return soon. Please, do not forget what I have said.” You nod in understanding, and pick up your pen. He smiles at you after you do, and turns to leave. You turn to watch for a moment, until he's out of your sight. You turn back to face the table and let out a sigh, rubbing your jaw.

You didn’t want him to leave, but at times Ralkan can be so, suffocating. His very energy is that way, many of the astartes are, but Ralkan seems to have his grip around you particularly tight.

You sum it up to him being dedicated to the safely of their brand new remembrancer. The sheen of a new toy that hasn't worn off yet. Or perhaps him simply wishing to make sure you don't deviate from the path, and tread where you aren't welcome.

You assume the ladder, though the way he looks at you fills you with doubt.

You aren't opposed to him being fond, but he is so overwhelming. You might consider yourself lucky you think you feel the same way, as you don't know if you'd be able to get free of his grip if you didn't.

You don’t forget his words, but as you write word after word, and the drawing of Commander Artellus's face slowly forms, your mind begins to fall into the paper, and his voice becomes little more than a tickle in the back of your mind.