#should i keep my hair half black half pastel purple

[minty-splitends]

1: Fresh From The Oven

Possible content warnings: injury to a child, body horror, blood, child abandonment, dismemberment, alcoholism, (technically) homelessness, crying

Word count: 3580

I tripped and fell after stepping through the entryway. My body crumpled to the ground on its side, and I could feel my bones, organs, veins, all of me, ripping apart slowly. I screamed and sobbed, clutching my legs and pressing my face into my knees, before everything seemed to stop, and I felt nothing.

My hands reached up and squeezed at my forearms. Ice cold, with a consistency not unlike mochi. A soft, pastel green. I shivered.

The right arm pressed upwards to my left bicep, and it tasted of fresh, clear mint as the palm touched it. Almost familiar, and comforting.

My hands reached down again, to where the section supported by my lumbar spine should have been. However, when my ribcage ended, there was a gap. The flesh I could see inside the lower half was a deep viridian.

The dress I wore, while ruined, was still soft and fluttering in the soft breeze. I brushed my left hand on the fabric, and then to the bloody woundy. I saw that the skin on my fingertips and outer arm faded into the same dark green. My inner arm, however, was painted like that of my favourite ice cream.

My insides were cold, and soft. My right hand smiled at the mild tickling sensation from its index finger prodding at the wound, but it was only slightly. A light twitch, before returning to a straight line when the tickle morphed into pain.

Sitting up, and then kneeling afterwards, I easily turned my upper body a full 180° to look back at the door. However, it was no longer there. The ebony ground beneath me had been splattered with green, and far off from the field, I could barely see the beginning of a deep purple ocean.

I then stood and spun around, arms up, watching the black skirt attached to my sliced off pelvic area whirl up so high as I danced that it became a flat sheet of fabric around my hips. I wore shorts under it, I noticed. The little twitch became a large grin on my hand, and I laughed, my hair whipping around me. My irises bounced around the hair, and I could see everything. But the moment ended right when it began, and I had to clasp my hands together to stop the right one from vomiting.

Smoothing out my vest and stretching, I once again extended my arms towards the pink sky. It was covered in glistening sparkles. Inky clouds were painted across the blush heavens, and from them fell tiny black snowflakes. My vision was distorted, still twisting and turning. Melting.

Dizzy from the euphoria.

From existing.

My irises were free to roam across my hair then, but I quickly caught them. I pulled the dark tan scrunchies off of my wrists and tied my hair into two spherical buns near the top of my skull.

Focussing on the skyline in front of me, not letting it double again, my ombré fingers tidied the buns, and my pupils aligned. The now ball-shaped eyes looked down, and I realised that my legs were also separate, a good chunk of my upper thighs missing. The inner flesh was that same green, as well as the outer skin, which faded to a darker shade as it moved to my feet.

What remained of my legs were completely bare, except for where the back snow slowly rose in height towards my shins as it fell from the sky. Though for a regular sized person, it would more likely be ankle-deep.

My legs stepped forward, leaving the rest of me behind to float in midair. The right hand huffed and my torso reached down to let my arms grab the free limbs.

Slowly, I dragged myself through the snow, having affixed the legs firmly below my hips. My pelvis also moved independently, and I concentrated hard to keep it aligned with the movements of my torso. I fell once, and then another 300 times.

In the distance were little crayon sketches of blocks and squares. My heart yearned to pull me towards them, but, even though I made it a couple of metres, I collapsed from exhaustion before I could go any further. The warm, dark snow was a bed that stretched out for thousands of miles, and all I wanted was to curl up and sleep for lightyears.

Laying on my back, I stared up at the sky. A pain crawled into my stomach - a sharp, dull ache that tightened my abdomen into knots. I went to rub at it, before remembering that it didn't exist. It never had. I could move my whole arm through the gap in my middle without having to do any magician's manoeuvres. But the sting remained.

“Hey there, young lady-”

The echoed voice was raucous and deep, but I couldn't help but grin when I saw its source. A school of giant black betta fish, which had formed from the clouds, were swimming through the sky above me. It was the one with beady white eyes that had spoken. They bore into my bun eyes as he glided down to the floor, away from his brethren.

"-do you need a hand?”

“Oh, yes, please,” I said, my voice scratchy and quiet, “I don't have a map.”

“You would never need a silly map with me,” he said, “I can fly so high you can see everything; every road, every house, everyone.”

“Amazing! Can I do that too?”

“Not on your own sadly, your soul is way too young. But I can give you a ride on my back, free of charge. It will feel about the same.”

“Thank you,” I beamed and climbed up. The creature took off, and I stared up into the now hot pink sky. Night was almost here. The fish’s scales were fluffy when I rested my hands on them.

“My name is Payekha,” he said.

“That’s nice.”

There were mountains far out, spewing the clouds from their tops. Another school of fish, just born from that cotton candy, smiled at me.

“We only come around here when it snows, so you were lucky to arrive now instead of later.”

The light breeze became a stronger wind, its sound deepening as it smacked my bangs against my featureless face and the fish swam effortlessly through the air.

I looked up into the magenta galaxy, fixating on the glittering sequins which seemed so close then, as we rose above black cotton candy clouds. I stretched as far as I could and grazed my fingertips against one of the nearest stars. It was freezing, yet it burned.

“Would I have died back there?” I wondered out loud as I rested my hand back down on the fish's back, “if you hadn't offered to let me sit on you and carry me through the pink, would I have ceased to exist before my life had even started?”

“Don't dwell on what could have been. We're almost there.”

“That's good,” I said, “I don't want your friends to wait.”

“Oh, that doesn't matter,” said Payekha, “we are all one, in the sky and the ice sheets and the earth. No matter what happens, no matter where we are, we will reunite once the snow melts.”

“I'm happy to hear that.”

I repositioned myself as he continued to fly through the aether, and I realised that the hand I had reached towards the stars had left a glowing white handprint on his fishy fur.

My other hand reached down and rubbed away the remnants of it, my chest tightening. Payekha barely reacted except for a low, barely audible purr. I smiled.

The crayon squares gradually morphed into tall, thin buildings that stretched up so high that it almost seemed like they went on forever, extending past the clouds and stars into whatever sat above. They were still as jagged and disordered as a child's drawing, but they were now made of melded shards of broken glass.

He let me jump off his back, and I slid down the fin that he had laid down onto the sidewalk. I sat there for a moment on the concrete before standing, and turning to face him. He had already begun to fly away.

“Goodbye, Mr Payekha!” I waved, “thank you!”

“Have a good life, kid!" he called back and, as the snowflakes froze into inky raindrops, he melded back into the clouds.

I exhaled through the nostrils on my left palm and turned back around. The skyscrapers glared down at me from their infinitely high horses, and I gulped.

There were vehicles speeding down the iridescent roads, but their swirly windows obstructed my view of the drivers and passengers inside. The serenity of the sky ride was instantly pierced by the trillions of sounds of the city; talking, shrieking, crying, roaring, laughing, dying - they all squeezed at my skull.

Picking a random direction, I pressed my three parts together as tightly as I could, and ran.

-

The sky was a darker pink, but I could see remnants of white and orange on the horizon as the biggest ball of glitter disappeared under it. There were thousands of trees around me, just as tall and spiky as the buildings that had threatened me an hour ago, but they invited me into their arms instead, showing that their intimidating exterior was mostly a defence mechanism. Like capsaicin.

I finally let go of my legs and pelvis, and they flew away from my torso like an uncompressed spring. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed, slowly walking them back towards me. I moved the three-piece jigsaw back into a floating, loosely completed form.

Opening my double buns again, I realised some of the trees’ branches were soaked in my deep green liquid. Whatever the cause of this was already fizzling out of my memory. The overwhelming smell of mint assaulted any wildlife nearby. Ignoring it, and biting back an apology, I clumsily carried my parts along as I walked deeper into the woods.

It wasn't silent, but no longer noisy. A light breeze travelled through the trees, gentle and kind. The air smelled of blue raspberry.

“Oh dear! No, no no, no! No!” a high pitched squeaky voice echoed from another clump of trees. I could easily hear the cries, and peaked around a branch to see its source.

A little brown penguin-like thing, around my height, was kneeling facing a rock in between the trees; he was using his mouth-flippers, filled with human teeth, to slam two large sticks onto it, hastily scraping them along the stoney surface.

“Not again!”

I stared at the creature for a few seconds, the way his form shook with panic and tears captivating me. I realised that that was perhaps wrong, and my hand cleared its throat.

“...Excuse me, are you okay?”

The boy turned to look at me, his large, bloodshot human eyes instinctively stared at my blank face for a moment, until he then looked up at where my eyes actually were.

“Oh… hello,” his flippers moved with each word, his clearly taped-on beak unmoving, “are you lost too?”

“I don't know,” I said, “I ran from a spiny city just now. It was too noisy.”

“Ah, that's where I live!” his flippers grinned, “is it the way you came? Directly behind you?”

“What were you doing with the sticks?”

“I wanted to call home, I've been here for days.”

“It is the way I came. I was running for a while though, it might take you a long time to get to your parents.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “my name is Andrew.”

“That's nice,” I said again.

“What's yours?”

“I don't know,” I said again.

“Okay,” he said, again, “I like your leaves!”

“My what?”

“Your two leaves,” Andrew got up and poked his left flipper right above my head. It tickled, and I laughed. He grinned, again.

“They smell nice. All of you smells nice actually. Cool, and minty... Ooh, that could be your name!”

“‘Cool, and minty?’”

“No, just ‘Minty’, I mean. It's the colour of your skin too! It's a real name, and it would suit you.”

“Okay,” I, Minty, nodded.

“Can you walk me there please? The journey would be nicer with a friend to talk to.”

“Okay,” I nodded. Again. My right hand took his left flipper.

“Hold on,” he said abruptly, “your hair is loose.”

“Oh,” I felt some of the strands brush against my cheeks, "maybe it would be easier if I had the eyeballs lower, it would be harder for them to be pulled down then.”

“And they won't hit the tops of doorways when you're bigger and stronger,” he agreed.

Andrew gently fiddled with my hair for a minute. The locks fell out a few times and I had to hold back giggles at the child-friendly versions of curse words he whispered under his breath every time the scrunchies fell to the ground. Eventually, my eye-buns were fixed just above my shoulders.

Then, we were off, through the trees, passing velvet red rivers and blue leaves, chatting about nothing. The sky was the darkest pink now, nearly midnight. The glitter still shone.

“It's my first day, you know,” I mentioned at one point, “I came from a flesh door in the evening when the black snow fell.”

“What!” Andy yelled, “oh, I didn't know that! We must hurry then!” He gripped my hand and started running.

“Wait, why?” I tried to keep up with his pace, both of us pausing every once in a while for me to collect my other parts. My legs didn't like each other, and constantly tried to get away, like two North magnets being pressed together.

“You must sign up,” he said, “if you arrive through an entrance, you must get a family assigned to you. It's common courtesy.”

My chest tightened, “I don't want that.’

“Huh?”

“I want to be alone. Biologically, I mean.”

“Stay at my house then,” he insisted, “as a friend. Water, not blood. A very very very very very very long sleepover, maybe?”

“That sounds nice,” I smiled. We continued on. 7 hours later we saw the urban infinity again.

I stayed at Andrew's place for a couple of weeks after that. His parents, a floating 20-sided dice and a pizza man, welcomed me lovingly into their household. I couldn't stand it; it was too foggy, and warm. I felt like an outsider, intruding into a perfect family. Andy had only existed in the Peach Plains for a little over a year when I appeared, and his parents weren't ready for a newcomer, even if they themselves didn't know it. Even if they did love me, as a friend or something else, I knew I couldn't stay.

Hugging Andrew tightly on Movimbar 59th, I left for the woods again. He used to visit me every single day after that, with his parents sometimes accompanying him. We'd eat pizza and play board games for hours and hours. He once told me how he wanted to travel. To photograph real penguins. I told him about selfies.

It then became every other day,

Then every other week,

Then every few months,

And then I never saw him again.

They named me,

Fertilised me,

And sent me on my way to grow.

I hated it.

I regretted leaving their penthouse.

But my deal with the forest had been sealed. I was part of it now.

My thick gloopy tears were the same viridian as my flesh as they flooded the woods.

-

For years I stayed alone in a cottage that had grown around me in a clearing, birthed from the two little leaves floating above my head. From my mind.

Mint flowers sprouted in the bushes in front of the windows of my tiny mind palace, white and purple.

I found a laptop growing from a ginormous apple blossom tree a few couple of years after that. Teal vines connected it to the plant's roots, yet they were long and stretchy enough for me to leave the device on my window sill.

According to the computer, this world was expansive and, oh, so so wonderful. The skies were purple and blue elsewhere, far from my abode, though I still don't know why. There were videos and games to play. And many people. The computer told me how to talk to them, how to make myself loved.

Each day I tried to fly like Payekha, to see it all, but I would fall from the cliffs and lose my parts every time. But I'd never stop. I'll never stop.

7 years after I first walked through the door, I finally began to grow up.

-

University fees were expensive, I knew that much. I wasn't going to get far just lazing in my house everyday. Those things - they'd take me away, to somewhere I'd never come back from.

I began to go back to the glass city, to battle that debilitating terror. I was taller then, all those years later. Though the buildings still towered over my head, they no longer consumed me.

Then it happened, whilst I was standing at a bus stop, waiting to get carried to another end of the almost never ending city at an agonisingly slow pace. The snow had returned, deeper than ever, and the sky was a pastel pink.

Over the years I had managed to scavenge, collecting supplies from across the woods and fields. I learned how to create items of clothing other than the ruined black dress that welcomed me here. I pulled what I was wearing at that moment, a beanie and sweater vest, closer to my freezing skin.

My mind had wandered at some point, leaving the trisected body floating. Hours passed, it felt like, but eventually a familiar voice boomed above me.

“It's nice to see you again, kid.”

I gasped, shaken out of my trance, and looked up, seeing Payekha floating down to my level once again. A grin took over my right hand.

“Oh, hello!” I waved the same way I did last time I saw him, but my voice was higher, thanks to the tutorials, “I forgot the snow brings you here.”

“Yes,” he said, “you look like you've been waiting here for a while. Would you like another ride, like the one on your first day here?”

“Do I have to pay this time?” I grinned.

“Nah, I'll put it on your tab.”

My body clambered back up onto him, yet with less effort than the first time. He was just as soft as when I was newly born, and just as gentle. I almost fell once during my climb, when one of my hands failed to get a good grip on the scales. Before I could tumble to the ground, however, his fin was cradling my body, calmly setting me on him.

“Did you pick a name for yourself?” he had questioned later, as a form of small talk during the ride, right as we almost reached the stars once again.

“I'm… the name is- it's Minty.”

“Ah, that's good. It fits you well.”

“I'm looking for a job right now,” I changed the subject quickly, “but I can't find any businesses hiring near me. I don't want to get thrown out of my home...”

“How long has it been since you arrived? I don't have a calendar or a sense of the passage of time.”

“Er… 21 years, I think?”

“Hmm,” the fish thought for a moment, “I might know a place. Hold on tight.”

Before my hand could inhale we were speeding across the sky hundreds of times faster than in the trip I took. I barely blinked twice and we were at a completely different part of the city. The buildings were now short and stout and, directly in front of me, one stood out.

WaterWorks.

It was shorter and stouter than all the other buildings. The neon yellow sign was larger than the actual structure, yet it was crooked and the second W was barely hanging on.

“What's this?” I questioned as I slid off of Payekha’s back.

“You said you're 21, correct?”

“Yes?”

He didn't respond, so I brainstormed an answer in the silence for a short while, but right before I had my eureka moment a creature came stumbling out of the door, its jelly wings torn to pieces and frothing at the mouth. It collapsed to the ground and disappeared into a drain in the road.

“...Oh, it's that pub from the PeoLeo ad,” I craned my neck up to look into his beady eyes, “didn't someone get murdered here a couple of years ago?”

Payekha didn't seem fazed, “I'm sure you can handle it.”

I nodded silently and couldn't help but glance at the sewer that that inebriate had vanished to. Shiny light blue fragments of them had stuck to the drain’s metal bars.

We stood there, silent, before I finally realised. I perked up and rotated my eyes to look at Payekha.

“Wait, I don't have a-”

He was gone.

“-résumé… yet…”

Sighing, I looked back at the inn. Inside, I could hear all of the sounds of the city amplified by at least 1,000, especially the screaming. Not knowing why, I knelt down and scooped up a small amount of the sot’s blue jelly with my hand and shoved it into my hat before walking inside.

[abhainnwhump]

(Content warnings: Lady whump, both whumper and whumpee, multiple whumpees, conditioned whumpee, noncon body modification, escape attempt, implied human trafficking, hypnosis/mind control, gun violence)

It was hard enough to run in his state, but carrying someone else dragged him down even more.

Antonio panted as he pushed his way through the semi-abandoned town. He hasn't had a full night of sleep or a decent meal in weeks, just this weird paste to keep him alive. He kept the orange hoodie over his head and the light purple one over Lulu's. She was lighter than he was expecting, probably because she was essentially a living corpse. It was a huge risk to take her, but he wasn't going to leave her in that basement lab factory.

He looked around for a place to hide and spotted a gas station on his left. Only one car was in the driveway, good. No one should see him in this state; he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

The guy at the counter looked to be in his fifties and half-asleep; his baseball cap covered his face. He woke up a bit more at the sight of the two, but it couldn't have been the weirdest thing he's seen this week. This was California anyways.

"Sup," Antonio said quickly. He snuck behind one the shelves to rest, pretending he was shopping. He didn't have any money.

Antonio dug through his pocket and pulled out a phone. He stole it from Seren's drawer before he left, which made him a bit sick wondering who it once belonged to. Both wallpapers were of pastel frog artwork. He dialed his twin sister's number. He knew he should've called the police, but how the fuck would he explain what's going on? Is this 911? Yeah, I've got a problem. I was kidnapped by the woman who runs Coral Divine and she complained about my face not being symmetrical so she tore it apart and restitched it planning to sell me. Any advice?

The dial rang once. Twice. Too long. Antonio's breathing sped up. He didn't know how much time he had. "Come on, come on, pick up!"

Pop music blasted from the otherside, making Antonio more homesick than he already was. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Am, it's me!" He whisper-screamed. He kept looking around to make sure Seren wasn't close. It always felt like she was watching.

"Antonio?" Amber gasped, turning the music off. "Oh my god, you're alive! Where the hell have you been? I thought you were dead!"

"I don't have time to explain. I'm running from the person who kidnapped me and I need you to pick me up. I have another one of her victims with me and I don't have the energy keep going."

More noises shuffled from the other side. "Okay, okay, I got my keys. Where are you right now?"

Antonio ran his hand through his messy black hair. His fingers brushed upon the porcelain mask that was sewn onto the right side of his face. He wondered if there was some way to remove it, along with the patches on his arms and waist. His left hand was artificial too.

Lulu began to stir by his side and he readjusted her, silently hoping those tranquilizers would keep working. "I'm in that gas station on Shell avenue. Please hurry. She could be here any-"

A gunshot shattered the glass of the door and made him drop the phone. Amber's voice panicked from the otherside. Antonio's face drained of color. He recognized the shadowy form.

"Mierda!" Antonio cursed as he ducked down. Lulu shot awake. Her pupils went small in her emerald green eyes and she struggled in his grip.

Lulu reached her arms out and made grabby hands, reaching for Seren. "Mistress! Mistress, help me!"

"Shut up!" Antonio whisper-screamed, covering her mouth again. He knew he should've taken one of those gags when he had the chance. Thankfully, Lulu wasn't very strong being 85% made out of plastic.

His palms coated with sweat. It reminded him of when he was a kid watching horror movies in the basements. The Cthulhu monsters and evil clowns and killers seemed dumb to him at the time. But now they were real. And the supernatural monster was after him.

Seren stepped more into the light, pistol in hand. Her white eyes appeared to glow with fury, but the rest of her stance was calm and collected. Her face was marred with a diagonal cut from where he slashed her with a piece of glass. The blood had dried. Antonio stayed as still as he could, hoping she wouldn't see him. He couldn't go back to on that operating table. Out of curiosity, he peeked from behind the shelf.

The worker had ducked down under the counter when Seren fired the first bullet and searched for the phone.

"H-hello? We have a shooting at-"

"Ah, ah, ah, none of that now." Seren shot him through the skull and spun around, shooting the rest of the security camaras. The man fell on the floor with blood pooling around his head. Repressing a scream, Antonio searched around frantically for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on a pocket knife. Between holding down Lulu, who was still fighting and screaming, and trying to get the knife out of the safety cardboard with sweat-covered palms, it was a struggle.

Seren began to sing a soft tune as she walked through the store. It was a wordless melody, but one that would fill most musicians with envy.

Antonio's body struggled between fear and relaxation as he listened. His eyes began to glaze over and blur. It was like his stress was melting away. He had the urge to stop running and relax instead. He was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of being angry and afraid.

No! Not again! I'm not going to fall for her powers again!

On the bright side, Lulu successfully fell asleep to it and he could focus on freeing the knife. Covering his ears with his hood, Antonio whipped the knife out and turned around to slash, but it was too late. Seren kicked him in the ribs and flipped him over on his stomach. He was too weak to fight back; black spots danced in his vision. He said a silent prayer that if Amber was still coming, she would be safe. He only heard one more thing before he passed out.

"Found you."

Bonus Picrew of Antonio (pre and post whump):

Link

[paradoxiii]

So yesterday I spent a bunch of time recreating D&D characters in BG3 (after having downloaded a bunch of cc mods)

FYI I wasn't paying attention & didn't actually change Evie's stats/proficiencies/etc. to mimic her actual character sheet before taking the screenshot, but everyone else's info is as close to "canon" as I could get them.

1) Brenworne Flashwing - High Elf, Fighter (Eldritch Knight), Noble. I used her for a campaign in college that only had a couple sessions. One of my ironic characters (a high elf from a noble family but she slings around a big axe & hates nobility). I'd like to reuse her one day.

2) Carla - Hill Dwarf, Bard (College of Lore), Entertainer. Used in a completed campaign with friends from high school! She originally didn't have a beard but partway through the campaign I was like "she only shaves once it starts getting annoying to deal with" so she ended up with a bit of a beard.

3) Ebony Way - Tiefling, Fighter. Used in a two-shot modern campaign held over Roll20! Here she doesn't really look very close to "canon" at all but I originally designed her on Hero Forge. Another ironic character (tiefling fighter but she's sweet & kind & wears pastel clothes).

4) Evie - Changeling (usually disguised as human), Sorcerer (Death Touched), Haunted One. Also used in a two-shot campaign with college friends! And also another ironic character (Death Touched & Haunted but wears a pretty white dress and make her hair pink).

5) Isil - Half-Elf (half human, half high elf), Sorcerer (Draconic Bloodline - Black)/Rogue (Thief), Charlatan. Not yet used & one of the rare characters that actually has a fair bit of backstory already. Also her scales usually only look like purple makeup & become black scales when she's using magic. No particular campaign preference, she's just kind of a fugitive & a mercenary.

6) Kallisto - Tiefling, Druid (Circle of Stars)/Rogue (Swashbuckler), Sailor (Pirate). The newest edition to my roster & not yet used! She also has a fair bit of backstory; ideally I'd like to use her in a campaign that starts with all the player characters having amnesia since that's where my backstory for her ends, but I can always adjust.

7) Qelira - Water Genasi, Ranger, Charlatan. Used in one campaign in college that only had like one or two sessions, then reused for another campaign that was technically also a redo of another more modern campaign. Qelira is my ADHD gremlin child & I'd like to use her again someday

8) Singe - Tiefling, Warlock. Not yet used. Her patron is a celestial being that actually made a pact with Singe's mother while she was pregnant with her. She died in childbirth & the patron raised Singe themself. I'm not sure how exactly I would fit her into a campaign, as I'm not sure why she would leave her patron. Something to discuss with the DM should I end up in a campaign that I'd like to use her for.

9) Vhinn Do'mtor - Air Genasi (child of a drow and a djinn), Rogue (Thief)/Sorcerer (Shadow Magic), Urban Bounty Hunter. Used in a campaign in college that fizzled out in "season 2". Part of me wants to reuse her one day, but I also don't think I could; she's kinda attached to that particular world in my mind. I did, however, make an alternate version of her where her mother never left the Underdark & thus Vhinn was born full drow (and named Vhana for the sake of differentiation). Her mother, Chalnitra, never liked drow society or Lolth & raised her child in the hopes that she might one day leave. Vhana, despite becoming a Cleric of Lolth (she is still a shadow magic Sorcerer as well, she gets that from her mother regardless of who her father was), does leave the Underdark. I imagine there would be some tension between her & other part members, & she wouldn't blame them for not trusting her. Regardless, who knows how long she can keep calling on Lolth's power before the goddess rejects her for turning her back on everything the drow stand for...

[dyrewrites]

Character stuff, because why not

I'm sharing my notes on the two MCs of Pale Blood, but cutting out their abilities (because that would make this way too long) and anything spoiler-y.

So, allow me to introduce Delmas and Odea;

Del (Delmas Olren)

"Oh, I’ll get mine and then all those leeches will be begging to kiss my ass."

Half-fang bloodrunner. He looks about 30, give or take a few years depending on when he’s last fed (or slept) but is around 42 (which is young for a fang but he acts more like the middle aged man he is). He’s pale skinned with medium length, messy mouse brown hair that is always getting in his eyes. His bright hazel eyes. His face is rounded but his jaw and cheekbones are distinct with a thick mustache and beard that he tries to keep trimmed into a kind of shape—round is a shape. Build-wise he's a bit of a giant at 6'5” and a bit on the beefy side, with thick arms and a soft middle(he takes issue with the term “dad bod”, as he is not a father, but he is fond of men with daddy issues), all kept well hidden under a baggy shirt and a big leather coat—his jeans are more fitted around the back, and the coat is easy to toss to the side when he's feeling flirty. Delmas looks a bit like a bear, acts more like a horny raccoon and is probably closer to a red panda. He can puff up and knows plenty of tricks but he doesn't fight unless he needs to. He talks bigger than he seems capable of backing up, but he can back it up. which is why he's still alive. He's a charming smart mouth who uses a bit more slang than he should, most of it outdated, and is more than a little flirty with all the pretty men he meets.

Colors

Black everything, sometimes gray, maybe a stitch of white here and there—Delmas is a no muss no fuss kinda guy about most things but especially his wardrobe.

Mementos

Delmas wears a seashell bracelet that he rarely removes , which was a gift from a boyfriend he didn't mean to chase off. The shells are small, shaved round, soft white and speckled in faded pinks. They're strung on a thin band of braided prismatic hair.

Odea (Odearna Mal Forna)

“What did I do to earn the attention of every weirdo in this Gods-forsaken pit of a city?”

Half-witch (Sister of Dusk, Bloodbriar Coven) phlebotomist. She’s in her 30s—she’s not entirely sure of her birthdate, as her mother wasn’t, but she’s pretty sure she’s 34. She’s shorter than most everyone, at about 4’11”. Build-wise she’s petite but curvy, bit of a short stack, who ensures those curves disappear under oversized baggy sweaters and thick leggings. Her wavy auburn hair is cut to just below her ears with wispy bangs that get caught in the thick glasses she shouldn't need. There are easy fixes for eyes but she thought they'd deter handsy thugs. Her eyes are also hazel—something they laugh about—and while she is naturally tan, life in the smog pales most everyone and she’s a bit pastier than she outta be. Even her freckles have faded to a barely visible splatter of reddish brown across her nose. She's smol but fierce, preferring to fight than run or hide and she doesn't like anything that takes her choice to do so away. She's a mixed bag, with a lot of moods that she doesn't seem to notice. Speech wise, she curses like a sailor and doesn't pull punches but she's always sincere and that's why people put up with her. It is also why she's never allowed to work the dayshift again.

Colors

Grays and pinks, mostly, preference for pastels and anything big and comfy, bonus points if it has cats on it—Odea is all soft, snuggly comfort.

Mementos

Despite no longer practicing, Odea keeps her rotwood Daughter Dusk charm around her neck at all times. It sits tight in the center of a choker made from bleak purple witchvine, the short gray thorns permanently stained with her black blood. It protects her from most magic but broadcasts her dreams to her sisters—and the Daughter Dusk.

---

Side Characters and More

[lamponellatempesta]

Mayblade 2023 Day 3: Pets

It was a bit of a cold morning on that September day, and even though it was only dawn you could see a purple-haired boy, hair tied in a small pony-tail, running down the avenue by the sea, with his huge headphones, strictly black and definitely pop music blasting in to give him charge while running. He wasn’t a sports freak... or fan of playing sports with people, but he needed to vent his constant anxiety somehow, and running worked, so who was he to deprive himself of it. That day dawn was particularly gorgeous, made of beautiful pastel colors tinting the sky, surrounded by clouds that made them even more spectacular; there was only him, the dawn, the music and the adrenaline of the running that flowed in him. He needed it very much, it had been quite a restless study night; it was a bit complicated at school and things were not going very well. Apart from his musical practice, piano and bass, where he excelled without any problem, the rest of the subjects were giving him some anxiety. He was proud to be a Hiwatari, but apparently that created expectations of excellence in other people and it was starting to upset him, despite the fact that his father reassured him to not give a shit and that he should not be conditioned, but it was difficult, considering how much troubles he had from people at only 16 years just to be himself. He didn’t notice he had started to run faster, fueled with anxiety, and was forced to stop and take a breath. That's when he heard some meowing coming from... behind him? Gou took off his headphones and turned his head, realizing that he was being followed by two small balls of fur that meowed even more as they came close and started rubbing against his legs.

Gou smiled and lowered himself to their level to pet them.

"Mhm... they seem to be a bit thin... they are probably left without mom and are alone... I can’t leave them here... they are so adorable." He thought while the two small kittens had already climbed over him to ask even more pampering and looking for food as he smiled even more. "What harm can this do, old Twist will be pleased to have someone to keep him company, well. You little buggers come with me. And I’ll give you so so much good milk." The little ones meowed even louder at the words and the boy laughed "Yes, okay ahaha, calm down."

Gou reversed and ran home again, making sure that the two kittens did not risk falling during the run, but actually it seemed like it had a soporific effect and the two fell asleep.

A couple of hours later, a still half-asleep Kai found himself looking at the scene of his son giving milk to two kittens in the middle of their living room, without any warning. It was Saturday, he had thought he was still sleeping, but instead he was in his running clothes and with two kittens that would have been as big as his own hands in his arms.

"What can I tell him? Should I scold him? If he brought them I think he made sure they were alone and without a mother. Aaah... he’s my son..." Kai smiled,going to have a coffee before joining his son; Twist, their family cat, was still in bed sleeping with Takao, so there was no danger of a meeting with the small new guests for now.

"How adorable are you... yes,yes, it’s really good milk, mm? You are just two little gluttons. This is the best milk of Spa-" Gou interrupted his talking to the kittens when his father sit next to him with his usual cup of coffee and observed the little ones, stroking them with a finger, and then looked at him and he swallowed. "Dad I swear they were following me while I ran and I mean I couldn’t leave them alone they seemed very hungry and were alone so I took them home." Kai tried to talk. "I already called the vet, I asked them how much milk and everything else and later II take them to get checked if they’re okay, I know I shoul-"

"Gou, it’s okay, don’t get upset, if you decided to bring them here it’s because you’ve already considered all the options and besides they seem to love you already. You didn’t have to ask our permission if you thought it was the right thing. Later I’ll accompany you to the vet, however, two little pests are difficult to manage."

The boy smiled even more "Thanks Dad! I will take super care of them, they will have a super happy life I promise you! I will make them be accepted even byTwist!! Thank you thank you!!" He hugged his father and Kai hugged him back. "Come on, go take a shower and then let’s go, run up" Gou did not let it be repeated twice and ran upstairs, leaving Kai to take care of the two kittens with an already loving smile for the two little ones, he would explain later to Takao, Makoto and Dafne as of that day would have been two more members in the family, but not now. Now he just wanted to enjoy his morning peace, his coffee, and two kittens, which unfortunately for him, as with Gou, had already conquered his heart as the total cat-person that he was. He would have explained, but definitely not now.

[ayejayque]

How men should dress up for a corporate setting

Confidence would ooze out of you if you dress wellIn most companies around the world, employers expect their staff to dress according to the established decorum. If one dresses well, his/her pleasing personality will add to the culture within the organization. Expensive suits are not meant to be worn to work every single day.The basic dress of a crisp white shirt and well-stitched black trousers can also work wonders for you. Dressing up according to the culture of the company is referred to as corporate dressing. Casual dressing is highly discouraged. If you are well-dressed and well-groomed, it will reflect your positives on the whole organization.Some basic tips and tricks for men to dress well at the workplaceMen’s color palette vis-à-vis corporate dressing is limited to shades of blue, grey, khaki, white, and black. Do not wear party wear to the workplace. Avoid bright colors or patterns that are two over-powering to the eye. Pastel shades always work well in the office.Plain, solid-color shirts are always encouraged but you can expand into avenues with stripes, checks, or even smaller checks. Very bright shades of red, yellow, purple, orange, etc. are not preferred for the workplace.Polka dots, repeated motifs, and half-sleeve shirts are not advised to be worn to work. Full-sleeved shirts are always formal for the workplace. Your sleeves should not be short or long – they should rest on the base of your arm, where it joins the wrist.Avoid the habit of rolling sleeves to work. The trouser should also fit you perfectly. Too loose and it looks shabby. Too tight and it looks bad to say it mildly. Flat-front pleat-less trousers in the men’s color palette work best in the office. Your shirt should fit you well. Well enough so that you can button the collar without any visible loose gaps. At all times, your attire should be neat, clean, ironed, and preferably wrinkle-free.In one of my earlier blogs, I mentioned that shoes are the second thing a person notices in a man. Face being the first. Never forget to polish your shoes. Also, keep a shoe shiner with you at the workplace. Go for black, brown, or burgundy shoes. Casuals, sandals, and sporty shoes are out of the equation when dressing for work.Very large necklaces or flashy kinds of bracelets are a big no for me at work. There is room to wear only one ring, which is your wedding band. Keep in mind that there is a vast difference between your life as a student and your life as a professional.In your student life almost everything was ok, be it tattered jeans or a t-shirt, or even sporty shoes. The earring has to be removed. If you wear an earring, remove it immediately. Piercings on your body and tattoos are just not adequate in a work setting.If you sport a mustache, trim it neatly. Do not attend office with a beard or stubble of hair on your face. This may be relaxed in case of an emergency.A tie is your personal statement that compliments your overall look. Silk and paisley are preferred materials. Avoid wearing ties with abstracts on them or even with bright loud colors or overpowering patterns. The tip of your tie should reside on the top of your belt buckle.Your hair should be neatly made up for a look that is apt for the workplace. Short and manageable hair is advised at all times.Never wear an overpowering perfume or aftershave. It is no point announcing your arrival at the office with a very strong scent.Don’t chew gum at work. It gives an impression that you are just not too serious about work at all. Secondly, it gives out an unprofessional message to the onlookers.Avoid hippy-style two-tone or flashy belts at the office. The belts should be black or brown simply to go with the color of your shoes. These days it is easy to find a reversible belt that houses both these colors.A fat wallet and your keys create an unwanted bulge that looks unpleasing to the eye. Avoid it. Read the full article

[yslglasses]

.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

--

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor. 

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you. 

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall. 

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud. 

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though. 

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself. 

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for. 

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts. 

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch. 

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours. 

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast. 

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin. 

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting. 

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week. 

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role. 

You almost burst out laughing. 

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure. 

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking. 

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop. 

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?" 

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud. 

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table. 

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t. 

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression. 

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back. 

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh. 

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty. 

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness. 

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises. 

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never. 

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response. 

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually. 

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it. 

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it. 

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck. 

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you. 

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue. 

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's. 

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss. 

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away. 

It started out with a kiss. 

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss. 

It was only a kiss. 

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it. 

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face." 

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over. 

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace. 

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his. 

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name." 

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip. 

"I doubt it," he purred. 

Yeah. 

Jungkook was right. 

Ah, well. 

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms. 

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips. 

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm. 

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand. 

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm. 

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name. 

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed. 

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him. 

Oh, fuck. 

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his. 

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered. 

Yours. 

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk. 

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin. 

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd. 

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick. 

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far. 

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl. 

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin. 

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat. 

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do. 

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled. 

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you. 

--

masterpost

[mxvladdy]

Hi! just finished reading your Tumblr request on AO3 and I just looooove your writing ;; if it's not a problem I wanted to ask how you imagine that Lucifer, Mammon and Beel would react to a MC who is usually very quiet and not very expressive, impossible to embarrass or make nervous, to suddenly, one day manage to make her blush for the first time (Also, English is not my first language, so I hope this is okey) I wish you a lovely week ❤

A/N: This is adorable! Sorry for the slow turn around, I hope you enjoy!❤

Lucifer

Stoicism is something he normally finds very attractive in a woman. To be able to keep such a level of calm outlook during even times that might even shake him. He loves the idea of a power couple, and the way you hold yourself. You definitely make one.

It does grate him that he can’t fluster you like you do him, especially during your time together in private. He tries multiple ways to even just draw some color to your cheeks. Flowers in the classroom, hand written invitations to private dining establishments and venues, he even went to the human realm just to find some kind of familiar comfort to give to you. You love them all he knows but he wants, craves to see an uninhibited reaction from you. He’ll get it one day, his pride depends on it at this point.

Luck graces him one evening after a hellish work day. A fight in the school yard leading to property damage he had to do extra paper work for. The only saving grace of that was it wasn’t one of his brothers, this time. Only followed soon after by a report of yet another racket engineered by Mammon. Then, to top off a horrible day one of Belphie and Satan’s little “pranks” blew up half his office.

All his loose or unprotected paperwork, gone. Nothing but smoldering bits of ash. He was now more than ever thankful to have you by his side. Before he could get his hands on the two you stepped in shooing him away to deal with the other fires that needed to be put out while you handled his office.

Things got done, in record time for once. He was able to rewrite his notes for the next council meeting, but at the cost of your weekday dinner together. A pity, but he knew you understood. Trudging up to his room he looked forward to perhaps a few hours of sleep before the next crisis struck. Then he found you.

He chuckles to himself quietly leaning against his door frame. You had beaten him to his favorite resting roost. You sat on his favorite armchair, rolled up tight in his comforter. All he could see was a tuft of hair and the very tip of your nose. Beautiful as always, but he wanted to rest. Well-two birds, one stone and all…

He scoops you up envious of how deeply you could slumber and places you on his lap. Kicking off his shoes he sighs blissfully before resting his head back on worn leather.

Mini fic

You didn’t expect to see Lucifer tonight. Today has been the absolute definition of a shit show, on nights like these it wasn’t uncommon for you not to see him at all. You would normally place your bets on him being unconscious at his desk. Though, he couldn’t really do that tonight. You pat yourself on the back mentally knowing that he would be pleased with the work you and the brothers did cleaning up his office. While you couldn’t get them to apologize to Lucifer you at least got them to clean up what was salvageable in his study.

After a few hours of cleaning his office was back in working order and your feet were screaming for a break. Bidding the two miscreants farewell and making them promise to hold off on the pranks for at least a week you let your body lead you to Lucifer’s room. The room was how you left it that morning. Your slippers next to his by the door and your robe tossed haphazardly on his linen sheets. You make a beeline for the only piece of furniture Lucifer loved dearly. How many nights had you snuck in only to see him melting into the old chain. His long legs sprawled out and tangled in his foot rest, while his body sinks into the imprints he has left from years of use like a lover's embrace.

Yanking the thin comforter from his bed you curl into the divots with a yawn. Before you know it your eyes close and the crackling of the fireplace lulls you to sleep. You awake with a jolt, confused and disoriented for a moment before your sleepy brain catches up. You fell asleep alone on the soft leather but woke to something unyielding beneath you now.

Lucifer sits underneath you snoring softly. His arms rest around your blanketed body. His head tilts down over you, his nose tickling your hairline. Like always he sports a mild look of annoyance. His lips were drawn in a scowl, brows crinkling in displease. You could tell his jaw was tense even while he slept.

Freeing your arms from your cocoon you reach up from him moving to cup his twitching jaw. With practiced ease you began to message the pin joints. You smile to yourself moving down to his tense neck and shoulders. This had become a nightly ritual for you when you shared a bed. When you knew he was asleep you would start trying to work away some of his tension from the previous day. You swear in the morning that he looks better on the nights you get the chance to.

This was your little secret though. You couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing you did this. Not that you thought he would disapprove. Lucifer appreciated acts of service, but just the thought of him knowing made your whole body heat in a flush. You push the thoughts away focusing instead on the extremely tight muscles underneath his brow line. It amazed you that he didn’t have any wrinkles after all this.

So engrossed in your perusal of his features you didn’t notice him stirring till his warm palm traps your hand to his cheek. Before you realize it his lips push a firm kiss into the flesh of your palm. Scarlet eyes meet yours crinkling around the edges. They were warm and radiant. “You’re blushing.” His voice was deep and husky from what little sleep he got.

“What?” You stammer.

Lucifer leans in tapping his forehead on yours. He studies your wide eyes and pink face for a moment before cracking a smug grin. “I’ve never seen you flustered before. Your blush looks good on you.”

“You caught me off guard.” He nods, kissing the tip of your nose tenderly taking impish glee in your squirming.

“Good-I will strive to do so more often. I wish to see you as undone as you make me.”

Mammon

Stoic MC? Rare pair? Rare pair. Mammon wears his heart on his sleeve. Nothing about him is slick. From week one everyone knew he had it bad for you. He is so open with his affections whether he likes it or not. Unlike you.

Honestly, how were you always so controlled. Ain’t the dame supposed to be all blushy and giggly too? It-it makes him think he isn’t doing something right. Is he not treating you right? Were you unhappy?

So he goes to do what he does best. Scheme. There has to be someway to crack that stoic disposition of yours. He gets clingy-well clingier now. He starts springing random vacations on you. Expect to skip class whenever he thinks he won’t get skinned alive for it.

He’ll take you anywhere all his internet research tells him to. Black sand beaches, crowded boardwalks to see the lights, deserted hiking trails late in the evening to watch the fireflies. He is sure it will work. But nope, nada. You love every moment of it and show him with a soul searing kiss and sweet words of praise. But damn you if you aren’t always so cool about it.

He is about to throw in the towel when he finally gets what he wants. At work no less. It was completely by accident but he isn’t one to complain. Perhaps he should go to work more often.

Mini Fic

“Pucker up!” Mammon’s make-up artist orders, squeezing his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “And for Diavolo’s sake put your phone down.”

“Shove off Cazzin.” Mammon sputters around the sour tasting lip stain and plumper. His eyes still glued to his screen. His freshly done nails swiping at picture after picture of fancy hotels and spas. Just thinking about taking you a private spring got his blood boiling in the best ways.

“Woooow.” Cazz whistles through her fangs looking at his screen. “Who is the lucky lady you are trying to impress this time?

“Mammon bristles, shooting her a murderous glance. The smaller demon blanches, purple skin turning ashy with fear. Her eyes drop to the floor immediately in submission, a sincere apology falling from her lips. “My girlfriend.” He says finally after cooling down. “I’m-I’m trying to impress her or something.”

“Well, pretty sure with a price tag like that anyone would be impressed.” Mammon only grunts barely glancing at the excessive amount of zeros on the page. Any other girl he knew would be a blushing mess after getting a gift like this. Hells, even Cazz was eyeing the site with open envy and excitement. Yet, this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this with you. Every time he did all he got was a blisteringly radiant smile and kisses that probably could send him back to heaven if he didn’t have a life long ban there. Not that that was a bad thing...but he just wanted more.

“You would think so…” He trails off clicking his phone off to focus on the rest of his routine. No sooner had his hair and make-up artist finished then his director was stomping and shouting down the hall for him to get his ass on set. Grimacing Mammon slides off his seat stretching to spare himself a few more seconds of peace. He stops at the door taking one last look at his get up for this shoot.

Damn, he looks good. It was time for a new spring collection, but more importantly, his most popular season. The light spring colors always brought out his best features. The pastel cotton shirt they “fashionably” threw him in hung casually around his frame. Buttons “tastefully” undone to show the smooth planes of his freely waxed and oiled skin. The linen board shorts and finishing touch of leather sandals gave him the perfect beach vibe. At top dollar mind you.

Hmmm-perhaps he could borrow this outfit for your next beach outing.

Unable to tone out his bosses shouting anymore Mammon makes his way to set. He thinks hard on what else he can go or take you to impress you, ignoring the poking and prodding of his camera men and set designers. His partners today, two incubus twins stood sourly next to him. They had been at this for hours and even he was ready for a break from the sweltering heat of the lights.

“Alright! Alright!” The director broke an hour later tired of the twins whining. He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “We’ll break for an hour for lunch- lost the light as is.” He huffs stumping off for a smoke break.

“Finally,” Mammon sighs from his pose on the ground. “Think I got sand in my ass.” He gets up from the ground grimacing as he tries to brush the grit off his legs. “Shit starts to burn when they get hot.” One of the twins nods looking down at their own arms. Tiny burn marks showing on their fair skin, they will heal by the time the shoot resumes, doesn’t mean they will be happy about it.

“Want to grab lunch?” The twins ask tossing him a towel to blot at his sweating brow. “New food truck is coming in today.” Mammon shakes his head. You had packed him something to eat this morning and he kind of wanted to enjoy it in peace for once.

Waving the two off he hurries back to his room already salivating at whatever tasty food you got him. Halfway to the door he stops, the fine hairs on his neck standing up. Someone was in his dressing room. Devil’s please don’t let it be another rabid fan. He pleads before creeping forward to check. Whoever it was left the door ajar, peaking in he stares enraptured.

When did you get here? It wasn’t abnormal for you to just drop by while he was working, but you usually waited for him on set behind the cameras. You sit humming to yourself reading something on your lap, feet kicking out innocently while you wait for him. Flipping a page he gets a glimpse of what you’re reading. His feathers ruffle in satisfaction. He had plans on showing you these shots before their release date. They still needed approval from his director but he knew they were great. You flip through shot after shot humming or nodding at some. One shot makes you stop fully, eyes growing wide.

Mammon snorts to himself, knowing exactly which photo you stopped on. The next issue was focusing on “Elegance in the work space”, whatever that means. His designer for the projects went a little overboard with the cuts and designs of the business suites he was to model. The sketches and drafts she had thrust at him had made his head spin. They were all amazing in his opinion, but one had been killer, everyone had agreed on that. If he didn’t know any better he was certain that it would put him on the cover. By the way you were looking at it, he was hoping it would.

That suit really complimented all of his features. It was form fitting accenting his slim waist but hid the slight sloping of his shoulders. The gold of the threading of his vest was done up in soft floral patterns that popped against the dark navy blue of the suit's fabric. The dark blue really brought out the lightness of his eyes. The look was topped off with a bright yellow silk pocket square, polished leather wingtips and gold cufflinks. He was about to interrupt you when he saw it, that one thing he wanted more than anything.

The pink starts at your ears swiping across the bridge of your nose before blooming on your round cheeks. It was breathtaking. Thinking he was being sneaky, Mammon whips out his phone for a quick picture, no one would believe him unless he had solid evidence. But the flash gives him away.

“Mammon!” You jump caught, hands flying to cover your warm face.

“Oi! None of that!” Mammon moves quickly snatching your hands away from your face beaming. “I’ve been waiting for ages to see this face on ya, an’ all it took was a picture of me?”

“You- you clean up really nicely, Mammon.” His hearts flutter at your soft admission.

“Huh,” Mammon scratches his neck, feeling his own blush coming forth. “Well- I mean I could do that more often, so long as you keep looking at me like this when I do.” He picks up the stack of photos from the floor where you dropped them in surprise. “Ya know- I still got that suit.”

Your face turns molten- oh he was going to have a field day with this.

Beelzebub

Doesn’t even notice at first. He is kind of the same way with expressing himself too- unless food is involved. So if you are content then he is content, so who cares if you don’t show it on your face?

Well- he didn’t care, until Belphie brought it up. His twin didn’t mean anything by it; he knew that, but it made him wonder. He trusts you when you say you are happy, you have no reason to lie to him. But date nights, game nights, and family dinners you were always so impassive.

It makes him wonder, not enough to ask you though. Truthfully, he is a little embarrassed that he can’t read you as you do him. He won’t force it like his brothers might. He is patient and hopes one day it will just come naturally like it does for him around you.

Mini Fic

Beel watches you over his lunch. You two were silent as you ate, but that was to be expected on days like these. The school cafe was packed with students all jockeying to get a place in line for today’s special. He had gotten there early for the both of you to gap a few of the specials and sides before they were gone. “Are you ok?” He puts his fork down leaning in close to speak to you across the small table. It creaks dangerously under the weight of his elbows on it. You look up from your tea mug. He smiles at your perpetually mild expression, your eyes were hard but your lips and brows were relaxed giving away nothing.

“Of course.” You smile up at him, face smooth and controlled. “Just excited about tonight.”

Hmph, could have fooled him. Beel leans back, studying you intently. He hopes you were as excited as he was for tonight. A new arcade had opened on the edge of town last week and he thought it would be a great date night for the two of you. He had expressed to you on several occasions how he was looking forward to the roller rink and the hoop games. You seemed eager, giving him a closed lip grin every time he brought it up. “Me too.” Beel says finally turning back to his food. “Think we will win any prizes?”

You snort dismissively. “Us? The dream team? I would be surprised if we didn’t win something. Have you seen the plushies?” You pull out your phone and show him their Devilgram. “I want to try and get the hydra one…” You prattle on and scroll through all the cute prizes on their site. He nods along taking a mental note of all the ones that you pointed at, determined to get each and every one for you.

School goes by quickly, far too quickly for him. Each tick of the clock caught him by surprise, jacking his nerves up more and more. It wasn’t like it was his first date with you, but it never stopped the butterflies from starting in his stomach. After school he changes quickly and waits for you by your bedroom door. He fiddles with the zipper of his jacket until you finally open your door.

“Ready?” The smile you throw up at him is breathtaking. “Hope you don’t mind my get up. You mentioned a roller ring so I figured something sporty and functional would be appropriate.” You kick out a leg waving a hand over your bright sport leggings.

Beel chuckles offering you his large hand. “You look adorable as always.”

Being with you was as easy as breathing to him now. After all your time together in the house getting to know you you became one of his closest friends, even before you started dating. You shared many of his interests and wasn’t afraid to argue your point if you saw fit. You fill the train ride to the arcade with idle chatter, goofy selfies to send to his siblings, and annoying the other passengers with your ill-contained chuckles.

The place itself was packed but well spread out to handle the massive throngs of demons and beasts coming for drinks and a good time. “Come on!” You shout over the other very drunk and very loud customers tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s get some coins and find an empty station.” He lets you lead. You take full advantage of his impressive frame to part the crowds around you as you hunt for a free spot. “See anything?”

Beel peers over the heads of most of the demons and looks out. In the far corner sat a few jump rope games that were free. “Stay close.” He murmurs in your ear wrapping a protective arm your shoulders so you wouldn’t be swept away in the flow of the crowd. The games were...hard. Mentally Beel kicks himself. Of course an arcade in the Devildom wouldn’t be geared for humans. They were built for demons' fast reflexes and inhuman strength. You were a good sport about it though, cheering him on when the games began to move too fast for your senses. If a game broke in his zeal to get you tickets, well you were both fast walkers.

“Think we have enough?” Beelzebub asks hours later around a popsicle. His jacket pockets bulge with multicolored tickets screaming to be spent.

You hum around a scoop of ice cream. “Possibly-” Your eyes flick to the prize booth. “And extra, you want a plushie too?” He shrugs. No doubt the moment it got into his room Belphie will steal it to add to his horde.

You end up getting your stuffed hydra and a giant fuzzy minotaur to keep it “company”. You clutch them close to your chest, seemingly happy with your bounties. After that you spend a bit at the roller ring before you finally had to call it a night. Exhausted you lag behind Beel as you make your way back to the train station, feet dragging with each step.

Wordlessly, Beel stops just in front of you. “Here,” He squats, offering you his back, arms stretched out behind him. “I can take us the rest of the way to the stop.” He feels you hesitate for a moment before climbing on to his back.

“Thank you.” He thinks nothing of how soft your voice was, just barely a tickle at the base of his neck. Beel treks one once you are secure, stuffing his hands in his pockets to lock you in place. The rest of the walk was quiet but he didn’t mind it, your warm body and soft breathing in his ear was a comfort.

He stops at the benches with a few minutes to spare before your train. “We are here. Do you want-” He gasps quietly, cutting himself off before he could accidentally wake you. You sleep on unperturbed by his voice. Your hold on around his neck was tight, your head buried in his neck.

It seems only when you're sleeping do you let your guard down. A blush sweeps across your face, your lips pulled up into a serene smile. You looked-happy. Happy in a way he never saw before. He won’t say anything about it, he decides. He’ll cherish this tiny expression all the same. Perhaps one day he’ll see when you're awake too.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (2/???)

Should tw be a thing for a bit of mind-control? Oh well, I'll put it as a warning here just to be safe.  

Three weeks have passed. I've been informed by Eri that Shinsou has a mind control quirk. In all honesty? That doesn't change anything with the way I see him. He doesn't know I know his quirk. He doesn't need to since it wouldn't really change anything. He still seems rather untrusting of me though. I wish to change that, but how? More progress has been made with one of the adults, and he's around the least amount from working three jobs! Ugh, this is rather frustrating.

There is still plenty of time for that to change though. Remember Y/N, it's only been three weeks. At least the bond between Eri and I has grown substantially. We even already made our own little code thing by putting our right pointer finger on our nose, closing our left eye, and slightly poking out our tongues in a silly manner. It makes her giggle every time. We haven't shown that to the others yet. Not because there's anything wrong with it, it just never came up since I leave right after they come home. Shinsou almost saw it twice. No big deal if he does.

I even got to meet the two she thinks so highly of, and they're both adorable rays of sunshine themselves. They even brought dresses for an extra interesting tea party we had that day. The green one- the one whom of which I found out is named Deku, or Midoriya- is rather uncomfortable with wearing the dress, but seems to do it for Eri. The blond, Togata, has a short strapless pastel blue one that he doesn't seem to mind wearing in the slightest. He told me it's because he's rather used to suddenly being naked from his quirk. I can only wish to have that confidence. They told me more about their school, which honestly makes me wish to visit them and their friends someday. Sadly, that's not my place though.

Tonight is a night that I have to babysit them a bit longer, and have to put Eri to bed. Something about extra paperwork. I decided to be good for them and do some cleaning of their house. Nothing major, just the dishes that seem to of been sitting for a bit longer than they should have, and maybe even sweep the living room since there are a few visual piles of cat hair.

I start with sweeping the living room now while Eri watched more of her favorite show with her stuffed animals. It took a bit longer than it should have taken to find the broom in the utility closet. Oreo comes up to me and starts trying to swat at the broom, catching Eri's attention.

A smile starts to form on my face. Why not have a little fun with this? I start to drag the broom around, making him chase it. It doesn't take long for the other two on the cat tree to catch interest. I lean down and shake the broom side to side. Sundae jumps off from the highest point of the cat tree and lunges towards the brush of it, scaring Oreo in the process. Oreo jumps high in the air and angrily starts to bat at his brother.

Eri starts giggling and I get rather close to joining her. Mochi comes over from his box on the floor of the cat tree and starts to lazily bat at the broom as well. Oreo didn't seem to like that, so they jump onto Mochi. He wasn't being aggressive, just playful. I use the broom and gently sweep it on the two of them. They start trying to bite the bristles of it.

Their attention wasn't kept by the broom long though sadly. Sundae attacked Oreo, who was still focused on Mochi, then took off out of the room. Oreo then follows in hot pursuit. Mochi surprisingly trudges after the two of them. I laugh and shake my head while locking eyes with Eri. "They're sure lively today!" She giggles in reply.

There was a giant pile of fur after sweeping the living room. A ball of it big enough to barely fit in my palm. Nothing but a fluffy swirl of black, white, and orange. It's not in my palm though since there's most likely a bunch of other dirt too that wouldn't be pleasant to touch. I get it all in the dustpan and go to dump it in the garbage.

Eri is still rather interested in her show, so I decide to let her watch it a bit longer before cooking and having to put her to bed. Shinsou stayed at his school for a while longer today. My guess is he helps Aizawa or maybe even trains with him there since he doesn't seem like he'd have much time here.

I start doing the dishes, which doesn't take too long. A bit of green mold on one of the dishes makes me recoil in disgust a bit though. Okay, maybe they've been here a bit longer than I thought. Eri came into the kitchen half-way through me doing the dishes and sat on one of the chairs at the table to be by me. "Eri, you don't have to be in here you know. You can keep watching your show."

She shakes her head. "But I like being with you. I get so sad when you leave."

A quick twinge panged through my chest at that information. "Aw, I miss you when I leave too. Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite to be around!" I inform and see her being really happy about that.

It's true though. She's been incredibly easy to take care of compared to so many others from before. Like the brother who kept ripping the heads off the dolls of his younger sister, or the one I kept having to keep a very sharp eye on to not find the hammer to test out how durable the windows of the house were. Or even the one who kept trying to put Play-Doh in their hair. Her past might have some to do with it. I focus my sudden new anger on thinking about the vile man to scrub the stained dishes more thoroughly.

It doesn't take too long to finish the dishes and start dinner. I decided to make dinner for the others too, even though it might be cold by the time they get to their home. Keeping it in the oven for a while might work. I get it ready and put it inside the oven. My stomach growls a bit at thinking about food. I don't feel right eating their food though, so I always bring snacks to eat while Eri eats what gets made. Luckily, she doesn't seem to be picky and sometimes asks for something that can be made. They told me anything for her is fine so that just makes it all the easier.

A familiar purple-haired teen enters the kitchen in the corner of my eye. "Ah, Shinsou! You're back! Your dads told me they wouldn't be back for a while. Hope you don't mind what I'm making for dinner. Eri said she wanted it."

He only replies with an uncaring shrug. He sets his backpack on the table and takes out homework to start on. Ah, homework. Don't miss it. Sadly though, even as an adult homework is still a thing, just in a different way. A part of me also likes to think he's only in here to watch me with Eri again. That's a very common thing I've noticed. He'll be around, but never want to join us. He'd probably hate me more if I told him, but I find him rather adorable in that aspect.

"Hey, Eri. Did you have fun again today?" I pretend not to see it, but that caring smile towards her didn't go past me, boy!

Eri goes over and hugs him. He hugs her back, and I'm pretty sure my heart melted a little again. I can get behind this being a common occurrence. I'm so happy to be the one gifted with taking care of these two children.

I must have lost track of time focusing on the two of them since the stove starts beeping, informing me the food is ready. I mumble out an "already?" and go over to the stove, taking it out. It gets placed on the stove to cool a bit as I grab hot pads, cups, silverware, and everything else needed for the table for the two of them.

Shinsou looks at me quizzically. Eri seems to notice his look too. "They never eat the food they make. Don't know why. It tastes so good!" His eyes narrow at me accusingly.

"I just don't feel comfortable eating your guys' food, you know? I usually just make Eri something and bring a few snacks with me to eat instead," I go off to think in space a little bit. "Okay, maybe that does seem rather suspicious now that I think about it."

"Suspicious?" Eri questions.

"Means like something is not right. Like if a person kept the following someone. A person watching the two would find that suspicious." She tilts her head, maybe more confused. "What does that do with food?" Oh, her dear innocence.

"Don't worry about it, Eri. It's nothing important right now. How about we just eat, and this time I guess I'll join you?" She looks down for a second at her empty plate, then back up at me. "Okay!"

I bring the food to the table and grab another plate, sitting down next to Eri despite Shinsou's glare at me again. Shinsou puts some on his plate. He only seemed keen on eating it after I took a few bites of it.

"Oh yeah, Shinsou?" He looks at me questioningly. "Could you wait here after dinner? I need to talk to you."

He replies with a nod and continues eating. Eri smiles at him. "See Toshi! It's so good!" He gives her a toothy smile. "Maybe even better than Hizashi's." Um... which one is that? I only finally memorized their last names!

Don't think he will tell me, so I decided to pretend to know which one it was. Either way is a 50-50 chance. Maybe I should ask Eri to remind me of which is which.

Eri nods. "Much better than the time daddy tried to make that gross stuff."

Shinsou gets an amused smirk. "You mean that homemade dish he burned beyond belief? heh, he wouldn't let it down for weeks."

I stay silent as I let the two of them talk. Hopefully, I'm not coming off as creepy just by still being here. I do wonder why they want me to stay with the two of them. Shinsou seems much more than capable of taking care of Eri himself. Even if he doesn't know how to cook, it could be learned.

"Y/N?" Eri's voice saying my name snaps me out of the thought of Shinsou cooking and struggling by burning it. "Yes, Eri?" I ask. "Could you read me the princess and the frog tonight?"

"Of course!" I smile at her. "You must be really excited, huh? I've never read to you yet, have I?"

She shakes her head. "Alright, grab the book after dinner and I'll be up there soon after." Her hands shake in excitement. She starts eating her food faster.

"Slow down! It's not going anywhere." I tease.

She only replies by slowing down slightly.

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

I tuck her in and started to read the story to her while laying on the bed above the covers so she could look at the pictures in the book too.

We start to read the book. Well, mostly me reading it out loud to her. I don't even get halfway through the book to notice her falling asleep leaning against my shoulder.

She's rather stubborn though and refused to fall asleep until the book was finished. Laying her down fully, she falls asleep almost instantly.

Turning off the light, I then proceed back to the kitchen. There Shinsou sat, still doing his homework.

It's quiet between us with me sitting in the same chair as earlier. The only sound being the scratching of the pencil he's using on paper. Now is the best time to bond with him, but how? Could talking about his quirk work? Maybe him knowing I'm not afraid would help?

He looks up from the paper, straight into my eyes. "Do you truly like Eri?"

What's with that sudden question? Hasn't it been shown well with my interactions with her? "Of cour-" Something akin to icy claws felt like were wrapped around my head, leaving a numbing and foggy feeling over my body. My body is no longer in control of itself. The only explanation is it's his quirk. So this is his quirk in play. Does he want truthful answers? Then so be it. I've got nothing to hide.

"Be honest," His voice takes a sharp tone. "Do you like Eri?"

"Yes." my voice is monotone, and it honestly sounds rather strange.

He becomes ever-so-slightly less tense. "What is your goal?"

"To take care of you and Eri."

"In what way?" His eyes narrow. "Are you secretly hired to take Eri?"

"No. I am doing my job, and more." His brows furrowed into a look of confusion instead of accusing. "More?"

"My goal is to befriend you and take care of Eri." The foggy feeling goes away from my mind, most likely his quirk losing control as his eyes widen. It's hard to tell whether he willingly stopped, or it was caused by shock. "I'm also aware of your quirk. You should know that makes you no different to me."

He abruptly stands up from his chair like he's never been told such a thing before and can't believe it. I can only imagine how many children probably tell him it's a villain's quirk or something. Poor kid. Er, well... Teenager. In all honesty, that makes it worse. "How long have you known?"

"A week maybe? I'm not afraid of you or your quirk. I know you're trying hard to be a hero, and you'd never do anything that would harm me unless needed. You've most likely been told before, but you're not a villain, nor will you ever be," I smirk at him. "If you are, you're doing a terrible job at being one."

He gives a small and rather happy smile in return. There we go! We're getting somewhere! "Your guardians are usually around, but if you ever need anything and they can't help, you can always come ask or tell me, Shinsou."

He remains quiet for a moment. "Hitoshi."

"Pardon?"

"My name. Call me Hitoshi," He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. "If you're serious about being with us, then I suppose it wouldn't hurt to call me by my first name," he lets out a sigh. "I also suppose it would also be problematic to find another sitter since Eri is rather attached to you already."

Well, he changed his mind rather suddenly. I'm not complaining though! I nod. "Hopefully I can be close with you as well someday. I know we're still rather rocky, but thanks for giving me the chance to grow better with you."

He replies with a nod in return. The pencil still in his hand writes down a few more things, then he puts it back into his backpack and looks at the time on the stove. "We might as well wait in the living room for their return."

I nod, and we both go into the living room. Shin- Hitoshi is much more relaxed around me now. Man, wish he could have used his quirk for confirmation earlier. Then again, this is the first time Eri hasn't been around, and she probably wouldn't be too happy to see him use his quirk on me.

The T.V. is mostly background noise as the two of us sit in silence. "So, Shin- Hitoshi. Are you more of a comedy person or a horror person?"

He shrugs. "Comedy can help me get into the minds of others by saying things that might make them reply, but horror is more interesting."

"Ooh! that's actually really smart to do! I didn't think of that until you mentioned it!" He smiles and rubs the back of his neck again.

A hand is suddenly placed on my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin. I sharply tilt my head up to lock eyes with Yamada. Seriously! How is their door so silent when it opens!? And more importantly, how can such a loud man be silent enough to sneak up on someone!?

"Glad to see the two of ya gettin' along!" He says with Aizawa slouched beside him.

I smirk at him. "It's been a bit of a challenge, but nothing I'm not willing to try going up against! Also, you scared the daylights outta me! How could you sneak up so well?"

He laughs. "All in a hero's work, even if I'm supposed to be a more noisy one!"

"I bet! Oh! Also, I did the dishes for you and made dinner, which is in the oven. I did it to keep it at least a little warm for when you guys got back to your home. Hopefully, you guys don't mind." They seemed rather surprised by that. Checking the time, it's almost midnight. There isn't school for them tomorrow.  Eri told me they always take non-school days as family days. Well, unless either of them are called in for a patrol.  

I get up and put my shoes on and look at Hitoshi before I go. "It was great getting closer with you today! See you soon, Hitoshi!" The adults' eyes widen greatly, and Yamada's mouth hangs so far open he might as well be a pelican. It makes Hitoshi laugh. Huh, he must not let many call him by his first name or something.

I leave, even more excited for what the future holds with this family than before.

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

[livexdolan]

The Cage - Part One

A/n: so hi! This is a UFC based fic about Grayson Dolan. This is an AU with an OC. There is no face claim as of now but they might change idk. I’m not going to ramble lol I’m just very very nervous. Anywho please enjoy and let me know what you think! There will be many parts to this series by the way lol so this part is kind of slow but just wait aha

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, explicit language, and triggering topics (maybe?) mentioned

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be famous- never telling anyone but I’ve always wanted to know- wanted to get in the head of someone famous and see what they go through- but I could’ve never guessed this was how I was going to find out.

It all started when I was 22, fresh out of college, with a crappy assistant job at a publishing company in Los Angeles, California. Having been stuck at this job for almost three years and never even having my articles read, I was starting to lose hope that I would never be more than an assistant. Until one day…”

“Lily! Get in here! And bring me a coffee!” I scurry to Mr. Lane’s office, clutching the coffee I had just gone and grabbed for him, stopping by my desk to grab my notebook and pen.

I opened his glass door and put his coffee down on his desk, pushing up my glasses as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say what he needed me to do. He looks at me, his eyes bright at first but quickly losing their color and he sighs as though he’s already exasperated, “What is this?” He holds up a copy of a story I had put on his desk.

Oh jeez, another rejection. I push my glasses up again and start to stutter out an explanation in a quiet voice, “Well, I-I heard you talking to some of the reporters about need-needing a new story for next week's issue and well, I-I already had an idea so I thought I’d-” He cuts me off with a quick raise of his hand and a stoic look on his face, giving nothing away.

“Look,” he sighs and rubs his face with both hands before continuing, “It’s not a bad story, but it’s a half-baked idea. That’s your problem. That’s why you haven’t gotten a byline yet- you can never deliver a full idea- let alone a full article, do you understand?”

I look down, refusing to let him see my cheeks burn red and my eyes water. This is what he says every time I give him an idea. “Do you want to be a journalist?” He questions.

I make eye contact with him quickly lifting my head and squaring my shoulders to try and seem more confident, “More than anything, sir.”

“Well then, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from his chair, his tall, lean body going to perch on the corner of his desk as he looks up at me his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’ll give you a lead, and if you can follow through and get me a full 12000-word article by Monday, you can keep your job and I might throw you a lead here and there. But if you fail to deliver…” He pauses momentarily, thinking over his next words carefully, “you lose your job.”

I gasp and try to reason with myself for a second, making a mental pro-con list before replying quietly, “What’s the article on?”

He shakes his head and smirks lightly, filling my stomach with more unease, “No, you have to agree to the proposition. Then, I will tell you the story.”

Can I do this? Can I risk everything? I mean, that’s what my life’s been so far, a lot of risks and sacrifices. But is this a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

What would mom do? I sigh, “O-ok. Okay, I accept. Now, what’s the story?”

He claps his hands together excitedly and looks up at me with a boyish grin, he moves swiftly behind his desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to my shaky hands, “Grayson Dolan, he fights tonight here at the arena, go with a press pass, get an interview with him and ask him a couple of questions. Oh, and make sure we get a quote.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, frozen to my spot, “What? The Grayson Dolan?! You and I are both very aware that he refuses to do interviews. This isn’t even possible.” I say without trying to raise my voice too much.

Jace just leans back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together and putting them behind his head, “Not my problem- it’s yours now. If I don’t have that story in my hand Monday morning, just pack your things up and leave, got it?” He smirks up at me.

I just silently walk out of his office and back to my desk, sitting down and putting my head against the cool wood surface. I don’t know if I want to cry or punch myself in the face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And then he told me that if I accept- but fail to give him a story- I lose my job!”

“Wow! I never liked that guy, you know. He gives off such- such a douchebag vibe.”

I can’t help but chuckle at my dad’s voice dropping a little, he hasn’t been big on cursing since mom passed. At first, it was weird because both my parents cussed when I was growing up. But after mom passed, dad decided that, ‘there’s enough hate in the world’ and that he’s not going to add to it with foul language.’

“I know Dad, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t accept it! You should never risk your whole career on whether or not some guy is feeling up to an interview!”

“Ok, one-” I start, “it is not just some guy! This is Grayson Dolan! And two,” I lower my voice and chew my lip, a bad habit I picked up in middle school, “I already agreed.”

“Of course you did!” he sounds exasperated and I pull my phone away from my ear a little out of reflex, “You are just like your mother, you know that?” he sighs and the line goes quiet.

“Daddy?” I whisper into the phone. He stays silent. It’s my turn to sigh and fall back onto my couch. I mutter into the phone, “He wouldn’t tell me the story until I accepted. I have to go get ready, I’ll talk to you after the match. I’ll be sitting ringside so look for me, ok?”

“Ok, I will. I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know Dad, you’re not happy with two-thirds of the things I do.”

That gets a reluctant chuckle out of him, “I guess you’re right. Good luck, by the way. If anyone can get an interview out of Dolan- it’d be you. And if you can’t, your childhood bedroom would love to have you back.”

“Ha-ha. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too baby, I’ll see you soon?”

“Dad,” my stomach drops at his hopeful voice and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, “Maybe, bye.”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything and I sink into the couch.

I wake with a start, my neck sore from the back of the couch. Oh no. I grab my phone in a haste, I turn it on and my whole body sags in relief when the time shows up; 6:45.

I have about an hour and a half to get ready, that’s enough time!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wrong. Very wrong. I feel a wave of heat wash over me, igniting my anxiety as I look at the time on my phone; 7:45.

I quickly put on my normal, light makeup consisting of moisturizer, skin tint, blush on my cheeks and nose, giving me an almost sunburnt look. I shape my eyebrows a little, fix my glasses, and put on my chapstick. I quickly brush out my short, wavy hair and clip back the front parts. I shake my head slightly to get my bangs in place and do one last check in the mirror before heading to my closet.

Too pink. Too casual. Too tight. Too- ugh where did I even get that from? I start moving the hangers faster, getting frustrated with my lack of options. I move past a pastel purple dress- wait. I go back to the dress and grab it off the rod, holding it up in the light.

When did I buy this? My eyebrows furrow as I look at the beautiful and delicate dress that I must’ve forgotten about. I pull it off the hanger and slowly put it on, saying a silent prayer that it fits.

I smooth the soft material out and look in the mirror. I’m pleasantly surprised by how the dress fits. It’s silk with spaghetti straps and is a lilac color with little flowers all over it.

I don’t have time to overthink my outfit now. I throw on my roommate’s white Timberlands, grab my black purse, making sure my ID, wallet, and phone are all tucked safely inside. I grab my press pass and put the lanyard around my head carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the living room where my roommate is sitting waiting for me to come out.

I clear my throat and try not to look too awkward. Ryan looks up from her MacBook and gasps, tossing her laptop onto the couch next to her, she moves over to me, her long legs gracefully walking around the coffee table.

She investigates every part of my outfit, making me feel small and self-conscious. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling in a quiet tone, “Is-is this too much? Do you th-think it looks okay?”

She grasps my shoulders and a wide smile makes its way onto her face, “Of course, you look amazing!” I smile at her and she winks at me, “When that pretentious ass sees you- he might want to do more than just let you interview him.”

I snort and roll my eyes and she laughs, “Yeah right,” I mumble.

She walks over to our coat rack and pulls off a small black cardigan, “Here, I know it gets cold in there,” I smile gratefully and take it from her, folding it over the crook of my arm and taking a deep breath.

I start to walk towards the door and she calls my name, I look back at her as I open the door, “You look hot Lil- knock ‘em dead,” I smile at her and nod, walking out before I get sappy.

I pull into the busy parking lot of the arena and gulp down my bubbling anxiety. I find a parking spot, towards the back of the lot seeing as I don’t get bothered by having to walk a little. I go up to the line, seeing a sign that says, ‘PRESS ENTRANCE HERE’ I smile at the worker looking at me and pointing to the Press sign and then at my pass hanging around my neck, he nods.

I go towards the other entrance and show a different security guard my pass and he opens a door for me, I smile up at him, “Thank you-” I glance at the small name tag, “Don.” He blushes slightly and coughs.

I blush too and walk through the door quickly. I realize that I’m ‘backstage’ and can hear the fans cheering for one of the main card fights happening. I check my small watch and see that it’s going to be another hour or so before Grayson Dolan fights.

I take another deep breath and start walking forward, trying not to look like a lost puppy and failing when a man wearing a UFC crew shirt comes over to me with furrowed brows, “Who’re you looking for?”

I look at him, his deep voice vibrating against the walls, “Grayson Dolan,” I answer back.

He gives me a once-over and I try not to make a face when he meets my eyes and smirks, “Oh, he’ll like you.” I furrow my brows but decide not to question it as he points down a long hallway, “Four doors down, take a right, then the last door on the left is him- the one that’ll say, Grayson Dolan.” I thanked him even though he was a bit rude, and made my way down.

Once I turn down the hallway I see someone sitting outside one of the rooms on a single chair. I make my way closer and my heart drops into my stomach when I see it’s a girl sitting outside Grayson Dolan’s room, “Hello? Are-Are you okay?”

The girl looks up at me from her phone and gives me a once-over, except it’s different from the way the worker did- she looks annoyed with me. She stands up, her high heels making her about an inch or two taller than me, “Who are you?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up.

I cough to clear my throat a little, taken back by her abrasive tone, “I’m a reporter- Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and if you’re here for Grayson Dolan- he won’t talk to you.”

“I- I’m sorry, why do you say that?” The woman steps closer to me and I try not to gag at the smell of her cheap, overused perfume. I step back from her and she straightens up slightly, glowering at me.

“Just run along, maybe you’ll understand when you’re grown,” She says, looking back at her phone, when she glances up and sees I’m not leaving she rolls her eyes, “Grayson Dolan doesn’t talk to reporters. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t actually a reporter anyway, you’re probably just here to fuck him, huh? Get in line,” She laughs.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I don’t understand why she’s being so rude and malicious towards me but I have to get this interview. I can’t let people like her bring me down anymore. When she gives me a fake smile and sits back down, I decide to be the bigger person. Not snapping back at her and ignoring her. Because she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

The door opens before I can say anything anyways and we both look over, startled. A man looks over at us, then turn and glances back inside the room before he nods, looking at me, and asking what my name is, “Lily Taylor, here with Ace Publis-” I try to tell him but he cuts me off opening the door wider and my eyes widen as he tells me to come in. I try to keep from laughing when the girl asks if she can come in but he just shakes his head at her, I turn around quickly before he shuts the door, “If I were you- I wouldn’t lie to others and say you’re around his age, it’s very obvious that you’re old enough to be his mom,” And the door shuts on her shocked face.

I realize my heart is pounding in my ears and that is probably the meanest thing I’ve ever done, “I should probably apologize,” I whisper to myself and jump slightly when I hear a deep chuckle.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Taylor?” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice and I turn around slowly, facing a couch with a very amused Grayson Dolan sitting on it.

“I- I’m so sorry for being so rude to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why do you think I’d care about her? She’s been sitting out there for two hours,” He laughs and I think he caught the raise of my eyebrow but ignores it, “I asked you once, Ms. Taylor, I don’t like repeating myself.” He reminds me of his question.

I square my shoulders, “I’m here with Ace Publishing & Co., I would love if you could answer some questions for me,” I smile at him, trying to come off as friendly.

His amused expression drops and he scoffs, “You’re one of them? God- here I was hoping you were a die-hard fan. Was going to make you feel very special,” He smirks at me and I scrunch my nose out of habit at his gross words. I quickly stop, realizing I need this, “Frank- show Ms. Taylor out please,” He sighs, and my eyes widen and I stick my hands out and Frank stops moving for a second.

“Wait! Wait! Please I-” Frank huffs at my refusal to move and grabs my arm as I move closer to Grayson, “Please. I wouldn’t be this adamant if I didn’t need this. Please. My career is counting on this moment. Please, I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please,” I put my hands in a pleading gesture, hoping he’d take pity.

He holds his hand up to Frank and he lets go of my arm, I sigh and straighten up a little, hoping to gain back some of the dignity I seemed to have lost, “What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side curiously and I blush, glancing at the ground.

“My boss he uh- he told me that if I don’t get at least a quote from you I can kiss my job goodbye and well, it’s not the best job but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I’m at and he’s being unfair and I understand that this isn’t your problem and I understand why you don’t like to talk to interviewers-”

He cuts me off, “You know why I don’t talk to interviewers?” I look up at him and nod meekly, “Why? Explain it to me,” he crosses his arms and I think he might be upset with me.

I look back down at the ground and take a breath, glancing back up at him through my lashes, “You don’t do interviews because doing an interview is personal and revealing. You’re scar- scared to let the world see who the Grayson Dolan is because you don’t think they’ll like you as much.”

He cocks his eyebrow and uncrosses his arm, sighing, looking away from me to the wall, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he contemplates for a minute, “You got like 20 minutes to ask me whatever you want, and no stupid questions that all the interviewers ask, okay?” I nod and move to sit in the chair next to the couch.

“Do you mind if I record this? I’d like to keep this paper-free, meaning I don’t have a notebook out and try to write everything down. We’re just going to have a conversation and let it flow. I can stop recording at any time if you say something you’d like erased. I’m not here to expose you, just here to get to know you. As a person. Not as a fighter. I’m not going to ask you anything about how being a fighter’s been or what your inspiration is. I’m going to ask you about you. As a whole. Because the UFC is not your personality,” I explain to him, pulling my phone out and pulling up my voice memos app and looking back up to him, waiting for an answer.

He stares at me until finally, I say his name quietly, hoping he’s okay, he blinks and flushes, shifting, “Sorry, y-yeah, that’s okay. I just- I didn’t expect you to be like- acting like a human.”

I laugh and start recording, “Maybe that means I’m a bad journalist? I don’t know- I feel like it’s easier to connect and get the questions in without papers and cameras and all that other stuff.”

(this part is going to be a dialogue as though we are just listening to the recording)

“That makes sense, and no I can tell you’re going to be great, you treat me like I’m just- a guy, which doesn’t happen often.”

“I bet, you don’t deserve that though. Okay, I’m going to start us off with some icebreakers- so tell me what your childhood dream job was, your favorite ice cream flavor, and 3 things you do on the weekends.”

“Oh, jeez, what is this- first day of 6th grade? Fine- Uh, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler, that was my dream job as a kid. My favorite- vegan- ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip. And, uhm, three things I do on the weekends...okay okay I got it; eat, sleep, workout. Now you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Reporter. If you want this to flow you gotta participate as well.”

“Okay, fine. Uh- as a kid I always wanted to be a veterinarian, and then when I was like 10 I realized I wanted to be a writer. My favorite ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip as well. And on the weekends...I’d probably say; read, watch fights with my dad, and drink tea with my best friend at a cafe.”

“Every single weekend?”

“Yeah, my dad lives on the other side of the country so we do a FaceTime call and watch UFC together. My roommate has a job that takes up a lot of her time during the week so we go to this small cafe by our house every weekend.”

“Wow.”

(this is where the rest of the interview would be but, for later in the timeline, we aren’t going to cover every question she asks him :))

“Okay, now tell me about your family. Where you grew up, were your parents married, did you have a dog, and how do you think this all helped make you the man you are today?”

“I grew up in New Jersey; my dad left when I was 10. I’m allergic to dogs and cats, so I have a parrot named Gizmo. My mom never remarried and my sister lives with her. My brother and I moved to LA when we were 18, with no money, no job, just hope. We went to a gym and asked them if they’d train us. The next thing I knew, my brother was getting a job working at the gym and becoming one of my trainers. I learned how to fight and used my wrestling experience and worked my way into the UFC.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you told me how you got started in the UFC. I don’t want to know about that- everyone knows that story already. I want to know how you think the things you went through as a child have shaped you as a person.”

“I- I guess- I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think much of who I’ve become so that question is hard to answer.”

“Why do you say that? You are one of the most accomplished men in America.”

“To others, but this- I wasn’t supposed to be a fighter. Everyone sees me as accomplished but I just feel like this was an accident. There was no great event in my life that caused me to become an MMA fighter- it just happened.”

“You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Dolan?”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes, I believe that we all have a path we are meant to follow and that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know- it’s nicer than the alternative to me, I guess. I don’t want to live in a world where nothing has a reason behind it. We’ll move on to the next question. You don’t disclose personal information; relationships, family, children, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Why is that? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“The same reason I said earlier as to why you don’t like interviews; you are scared people will see the real Grayson Dolan and not like you as much or think you’re different.”

“Are you like- a profiler or something? Why do you think that?”

“I’m not a profiler- I’m a journalist. It’s my job to look for clues, pick up on the small things about someone no one else would notice.”

“Ok, I’ll accept that. Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“No that’s not how this works.”

“You said you wanted this to be like a normal conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, I did say that, but-”

“Okay, well, I don’t know about you but normally when I’m getting to know someone- I get to ask questions just like they do.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know...if you’ll go out with me?”

“What? Like on a- like on a date?”

“Yes, a date, Ms. Taylor.”

“Uh- I don’t know, maybe, I-”

“30 minutes to the fight, Dolan! Gotta get you warmed-up!”

(the story is back to normal now)

“So?” He questions as he stands up and I try to gather all my stuff. Trying to push down the butterflies while I stop the recording. I just continue to get more flustered, especially when he puts his hand out for me and I shyly take it, he pulls me to my feet and I stare at him through my lashes.

“I- sure. On one condition,” I smile slyly up at him and he raises an eyebrow at me, I ignore the unfamiliar feeling between my thighs at the look on his face and continue quickly, “You have to win this fight. I’ll be in the front row watching. If you win- I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles and then chuckles, “I thought you were going to make it hard? I could win this fight in my sleep baby, I’ll let you know the time after the fight, just stick around, yeah?”

I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring the pull on my heart when he calls me baby, “I’ll be there,” He smiles at me again and I jump a little in surprise when I feel his warm, large hand on the small of my back, he opens the door for me and leads me into the hallway.

I try not to laugh at the face of the Instagram model when she sees Grayson’s hand on me, “I’ll be looking for you in the front row, just so you know.” He teases.

I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. Knock Em dead!” I walk away quickly and glance back seeing him standing there, his right hand gently going up to touch the spot I kissed and we both blush. My heart drops into my stomach when he looks over and sees the model. I have to turn the corner and get to my seat so I don’t see how he reacted. He wouldn’t sleep with her right after asking me out, would he? My subconscious snaps back; you barely know the man! Maybe he does this all the time! I push her down and ignore the bad feeling in my gut.

As I sit down in my seat, everything that just happened hits me and I slouch into my seat, what. the. fuck. I’m going on a date with Grayson Dolan! I got an interview with Grayson Dolan! I kissed Grayson Dolan on the cheek! I bite back a smile and take out my phone, taking a video showing me smiling at the camera, then flipping the camera around and showing off how close I am to the octagon. I sent it to my dad quickly.

He responds almost immediately.

*From Daddy: Wow!! So cool! Have tons of fun! Not too much though! Not ready to be a grandpa...yet ;)

I snort and roll my eyes, responding and then turning my phone off when the lights in the arena dim.

*To Daddy: Lmao, shut up. I’ll try to have fun though! The main card is starting! I’ll talk to you later, love you <3

After I watch a few of the fights before Graysons’, I take some pictures and jot down some information about the fights and who won, knowing it’ll add more substance to my piece.

I watch as the whole arena transforms and the whole place is bursting with barely-contained energy and the place goes dark. Suddenly, lights start beaming and music starts playing, I smile at the Kid Cudi (each fight he uses a different Cudi song) choice for tonight- Enter Galactic as it blasts through the speakers everyone goes wild, Grayson moving swiftly to the octagon with his head low and singing the song softly to himself. I can tell he’s not the same Grayson I was talking to, he has flipped the switch- as he told me he does- and is now The Grayson Dolan- UFC Fighter and Champion.

He takes his shirt off and I blush at his tan skin, the rippling muscles making my brain go straight in the gutter. The ‘doc’ pats him down and puts vaseline on his face. I try not to laugh at how weird he looks with his eyebrows slicked down.

He makes his way into the octagon and I see him scanning the front row when his eyes land on mine. I smile at him but he just gives me a curt nod in response before turning away. I’m taken aback by his attitude but I know he has to stay in his fighter mentality.

The other fighter, Dominick Reyes, comes in and he has a good amount of people cheer for him but the majority of the arena boos when he comes out. I know that having some of how this fight goes in my article will make it look better because it’s such a big deal, so I jot some notes down, some about Grayson and some about Reyes.

I subconsciously chew on my nail, scolding myself when I realize what I’m doing. He’s going to win. I tell myself to calm down, I’ve never been to a fight before so the chaotic and anxiety-filled energy around me must be getting to my head.

The ref announces them both, and then they go to the middle, Grayson goes to touch Reyes’ fist, but Reyes pulls back and smirks at Grayson, “C’mon pretty boy,” he sings.

Grayson’s jaw clenches and he starts moving around the octagon, Reyes slowly falling into a pattern of chasing him around. Grayson continues to step to the right until suddenly, he moves to the left, and Reyes doesn’t see it. I watch in astonishment as he puts all of his power into the punch, hitting Reyes perfectly on the temple. Reyes drops to the ground and Grayson’s about to follow him to the mat but the ref stops him, officially calling the fight. Grayson looks over at me, my mouth hanging wide open and he smirks, winking at me.

That asshole just winked at me.

I stand up quickly, cheering loudly with everyone else and he shakes his head, turning back to his team as they run into the octagon to hug him. Once Grayson is done with everything and the crowd starts shuffling out, Grayson comes over to me, “D’you see that?” He smiles and I smile back.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” He chuckles and grabs my arm pulling me into him.

I gasp as I hit his hard, sweaty chest, “You’re sweaty,” I scrunch my nose up and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, staring down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You owe me a date,” He responds and I roll my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart at how close we are to each other.

“What time and where?” I say, acting bored.

He chuckles down at me, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30. This Saturday. Just bring your beautiful self and don’t worry about anything else.”

“What’s the dress code?” I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Whatever you want to wear, although I’ll tell you right now they might frown upon you wearing lingerie or something like that.”

I snort and as he moves away from me a little and we start walking behind his team I realize that I’m a lot colder than I realized, rubbing my arms subconsciously and realizing that I left my sweater in the car damn it.

Grayson notices me rubbing my arms and bumps my shoulder, “You cold?”

“A little. I have a sweater in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowns as he opens the door to his dressing(?) room, “I have a jacket you can wear.”

He goes over to a chair in the corner and grabs a big, soft black jacket with DOLAN on the back and the UFC and Reebok logo on the front. I shake my head, “No, r-really it’s- it’s okay,”

“Just take it, you can give it back later, s’not a big deal, I don’t need it. I’m way too hot right now.”

He hands it over to me and I look down at it in his hands and then glance back at him, crossing my arms. He rolls his eyes and comes over to me, putting it on my shoulders and looking down at me, “Just wear it. Please?” He whispers and I flush, seeing that if I moved too fast our lips would be touching.

I nod softly and he steps back. I take a deep breath and put my arms through the sleeves and the jacket immediately warms me. I relax into the warmth and pull it tighter around me and he smirks, “Like you in my clothes.”

I blush and look down, “I- I should be goi-going,” I point my thumb at the door and he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday then?”

I nod and stutter out a response as I walk back to the door, “Y-yep! 5:30! Wait- I didn’t give you my address o-or my phone num-Ow!” I yelp in surprise when the door handle digs into my lower back and he can’t hold back his laugh as he walks over to me, trapping me between him and the door.

I swallow at his large frame covering me up, his arms resting on each side of the wall by my head, I can see his large biceps and the veins running up his arms in my peripheral vision. He smirks and leans down, “Check your pocket,” he says softly and I look up at him with furrowed brows.

I slowly move my hands to the jacket pockets and after digging around a little I feel a small piece of paper in the right pocket. I pull it out and open it up. I glance up at him in surprise at the digits scribbled onto the paper.

“H-How did you- why-” He cuts me off by moving away from me, my body on fire from how close he had been to me.

I move off the door when he motions for me to move and he opens the door, “Ms. Taylor,” He says, trying to hide a smirk.

I scoff incredulously and walk past him, stopping outside the door in the cold hallway, I turn back to look at him before I walk away to go have a panic attack in my car, “Mr. Dolan.”

A/n: okayyy so I know it’s bad and I’ll be editing it soon but I’m posting this on an ipad lmfao so please cut me some slack.

Tag List:

@pineappledols @episkygrant @georgia302 @dolan-habits @leahs-existentialcrisis @persistence-ofmemories @bubsdolan @ohdolans @vinylhazza​ @vintagedolan​​ @astrodolan @zeusgrayson @deeperdolan @blindedbythelightt @dolsobsessionz @evergreendolan​ @dicedols @plantbasedgray

[aquaticstyles]

the five senses

hello everyone! while a separate 13k fic is in the works, as promised, here is a lil 2k piece i miraculously came up with at midnight. as always, feedback is happily welcomed!!! happy reading lovies x 

it's been five months since it ended.

you should hate him. you should utterly and fascinatingly despise him. you should hate the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, and the way the sounded. you should forget him—rip every page, crumple him up, and strike a match.

key word: should.

but you don't hate him. you couldn't if you tried. you are utterly and fascinatingly still wrapped around his perfect, ring-encircled fingers. you love the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he sounded. you can't forget him, no matter how much you want to. his ink is still scattered in the novels of your memories, proving to be permanent and stubborn as you try desperately to put fire to its pools.

you are still utterly and fascinatingly not over him.

and you suppose that is why your mind has chosen to drift off to candy land, marshmallow puff trees and gooey caramel lakes, visions of him swimming around, around, and around.

and you also suppose that you shouldn't be thinking of him while another man touches your skin.

key word: shouldn't.

but you can't help it. not when you're reminded of just how differently harry captured your senses and locked them away in the thumping of his chest, throwing away the key.

sight

you can still see him.

his dimples popping, inviting you to curl up inside one of them for just a moment, bunny teeth displayed in an ear to ear grin when he sees you, his lover, his everything, finally in 3D again, because boy oh boy pixelated facetime does not do you justice.

those two endless forests of green paired with wispy eyelashes, billboards for his every emotion, reeling you in and casting you back over and over and over again.

that body of his that makes you positively drool—fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, those ferns that if you had it your way, would never be covered, tempting your eyes to what's below, other markings of ink scattered across a toned bicep, chest, thigh, an endless coloring book for you and only you to paint with your lips, diamond water droplets clinging onto tanned, sun-kissed skin, mimicking your fingers as they slide down the tight muscles, ridges and valleys, of his back, the velvet, rose scrunchie of yours that he has claimed as his own cozying up around those stubborn, chestnut curls atop his head, the ones that cause eyes to roll and skin to furrow between his brows because "they're always in my fuckin' way."

the way he looks when he's napping in the summer heat after taking a refreshing dip in the pool—cheek smushed against a lawn chair, causing his bubble-gum pink lips to pucker unintentionally, begging for a slow, lazy, warm kiss, a van gogh masterpiece of bright blues, oranges, yellows, reds, whites, greens, browns, swirling together in his canvas, those green forests peacefully hidden as his pure, innocent relaxation melts into a scene of serenity before you (you're guilty of laying directly on top of him one too many times, pressing your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and sneaking in a cat nap as well).

how he looks when he enters a room, especially those rooms with a stage and thousands of fans bubbling over with excitement, confidence and swagger exuding from his pores as the spotlights hit him in all the right places, bouncing off the numerous gems and glitter of that night's glamorous get-up. then later the way he looks as his face twists in pleasure during a post-show-adrenaline-rush-dressing-room-quickie.

his reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you do your makeup, broad shoulders leant up against the doorframe, watching you as you carefully add sparkles here and powder there, the glint of curiosity and pure infatuation in his eye, his fingers toying with the smirk on his lips when you meticulously swipe on your favorite his favorite red lipstick, knowing good and well that once he's finished with you there won't be a single trace of crimson left on your lips.

you can see all of him, from the tufts of hair you love to tug and pull and sink your hands into, to the perfect slope of his nose, the sharp pinch of his jawline, his cute ears you poke fun at much to his annoyance, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect, perfect lips, his neck that always seems readily accessible to leave bites and red stains along, the ship stamped on his bicep, his abdomen that isn't too tight or too soft under your touch, just right, the happy trails leading to that one part of him that leaves you aching for days, his thighs, all the way down to his toe permanently labeled "Big."

touch

you can still feel him.

the tips of his calloused fingers tracing down your spine, a valley of goosebumps following in their tracks, a sea of comfort washing over you. fingers intertwined between yours, squeezing your palm, fresh autumn air and central park and new coats and steaming, black coffee. fingers fanned out across your thigh, splashes of pastel purple polish on cuticles and knuckles (he was shaking too much from laughing at something on twitter like an avocado in a top hat or a dog in gucci loafers). fingers following directions on a well-traveled map, tracing over the outline of your chapped lips, up to the apples of your rosy cheeks, to your temples, and entangling into long locks of tangled hair, braiding, massaging and scratching when you've had a tough day, exhausted, hypnotized, harry.

lips against your ear, hushed whispers meant for only you in the midst of a thundering crowd (one too many neat tequilas and risky texts), cold rings sneaking underneath your shirt and spanning out against a piping hot back, the vibrations from the bass thumping beneath you joined by the organ in your chest, sweaty palms and shaky knees as rivers of suggestions flood from his earth to yours, promises that will be proven true later in seductive, blue moonlight.

his sudsy chest cuddled snugly behind your back, sinking beneath bubbles of lavender and rose because he couldn't just pick one scent, your missing puzzle piece, pruny fingers tracing shapes onto your knee beneath the water, vibrations from his giggles when you mistakenly guessed the shape as a dinosaur (it was a banana), warm puffs of breath against your neck, sopping scrunchies stacked on the ledge next to a half empty bottle of red, lips painting across your shoulder down your arm to your fingertips coating you in bright yellow, affection, admiration, addiction.

the prickles of the new addition to his face scratching up against you in the most agonizingly amazing way as his face buries between your thighs, the magic of that mouth of his, pixie dust, an arched back, an eager tongue accompanied by glistening, cherry lips, pleadings of "never shave again."

him buried inside you in the early hours of the morning, legs anchored around his waist, miles and miles of his soft, tanned skin washing against your own, nails digging into the toned ridges of his back, chestnut locks falling onto a sweaty forehead, scorching lips dancing over every inch of you over and over until he reaches that one spot, moans and exhales and crumpled sheets, your temple resting on a swallow, fingertips tracing a lone butterfly, clutching onto the cold metal of a cross, lazy smiles, bed head, halfway closed eyelids, a tranced daze basking in fresh, crisp sunlight.

taste

you can still taste him.

the bitter taste of whiskey coating his tongue as it encircles your own in the back of a taxi, wrinkled suit jackets and bunched up satin, fingers toying with buttons and zippers, giggles when his nose bumps against yours carelessly, a clouded drunken haze of city lights and sparkling sequins.

minty toothpaste covered lips smushing against yours because he just "couldn't wait," spearmint, foamy smiles wiped away on plush towels.

juice from a ripe watermelon dribbling down his chin and leaving a sugary path along his exposed neck and chest, glistening in the afternoon, summer heat, lapped up teasingly by your tongue, causing widened eyes and a harsh gulp, the reflection of heart shaped sunglasses rippling in a crystal clear pool.

a warm cup of coffee sitting on your bedside table, placed there by your lover before he leaves for a run, waiting for you in the early morning glow of your bedroom, the scent from a fresh pot still lingering in the air, the steaming liquid slowly cascading down your throat during his absence.

coconut chapstick coating his lips, stolen from your side of the vanity, even though he has countless of tubes himself he claims using yours "is more moisturizing" when in reality he just likes keeping a part of you with him at all times.

saltwater droplets clinging onto his skin, coating your lips as you leave trails of kisses along his chest and sunburnt cheeks, awaking him from his nap in the shade, waves crashing behind you, seagulls chirping and trying to steal crisps, low grumblings of "what's this fo?" accompanied by a dimple and a smirk ("just cause").

smell

you can still smell him.

the candle burning in his dressing room on tour, the one you bought him that you immediately recognize when you visit him for the first time since he left, a warm batch of butterflies brewing in your tummy when you notice the almost completely burnt through wick, apples and cinnamon.

his detergent, leaving your clothes coated in a fresh linen scent because "no way yeh leaving mine with laundry to do, love" a pair of his boxers that he knows you love to wear folded neatly on top of the rest of your belongings and sent off with a pillowy peck to your lips and promises of "see you tomorrow."

his body wash and hair product duplicates in your shower, dancing with daisies in the steam surrounding him, persisting in the small, tiled space for most of the week, even in his vacancy. sometimes you'll accidentally on purpose grab his bottle of shampoo with your eyes closed, using more than intended (harry goes through shampoo much quicker now).

the diffuser in his bedroom, spewing out vapors of a eucalyptus blend he ordered online after extensive research ("it helps with clear breathin' and relaxation"), another scent that can only be described as pure harry, later encompassing your abode as well due to your incessant claims of how much you love it (one night you came home from work to a perfectly wrapped package on the foot of your bed, a diffuser and the same eucalyptus blend hidden inside).

his cologne perched on your dresser, tom ford, tobacco vanille, harry in a bottle, sneakily spritzed on your sweatshirt when he's not looking (he notices every time), lingering on your pillow case, his purple robe hanging next to yours, and your hand towels, tokens of him dolloped throughout your apartment, a tornado of familiarity swirling you into his galaxy. the same scent filling your nose as it buries into his neck, arms wrapped around him in an ages-long bear hug, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the soft fibers of his sweater tickling your skin.

sound

you can still hear him.

the warm drip of his honey voice in the early hours of the morning, raspy and deep from his slumber, pooling in the pit of your stomach growing thick and heavy until releasing with moans and whispers lost in the rising sun.

that laugh of his that doesn't bubble up often, the one you cause more than anyone else, buckets of giggles that leaves behind tears, crinkled eyes, and hands over tummies.

his thick accent that repolishes itself after he's made a trip to london, mumbles of "bugger," "oi love," "rubbish," and your favorite, "absobloodylutely" leaving his cherry lips more often than he realizes.

his moans. your favorite kind is when you're riding him, locked in a sweaty, pulsating embrace—twisting here and turning there and doing the things you know drive him absolutely mad—those moans that erupt from deep inside him and uncharacteristically replace his typical, filthy language because you're doing him so good that he's left speechless in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths.

his voice as it echoes in the acoustics of the shower, the soft patter of the water serving as his own orchestra, notes belonging to rock anthems of the 70s or sometimes his own verses that have been freshly inked in his worn-in journal (occasionally you'll record him singing the new ones—unbeknownst to him—to listen to when he's away for too long).

the clinking of his rings together when he's in full-on discussion mode—using his hands as he elaborately details a story of his childhood or a conversation he had with jeff today or why he thinks salsa shouldn't go in the fridge or the reason behind this lyric and that chord progression.

his keys clanking against the ceramic dish by the door, the sweetest symphony to your ears because he's home.

and finally, the sound of those three words—smooth as butter rolling off his tongue effortlessly, a hurricane crashing and splashing against you, three strings lifting you off your feet and soaring into the clouds, green eyes and rosy cheeks pulling your heart strings, sweet sugar crystals floating from his lips to yours—"i love you."

physically, he's gone, probably off writing another album, undoubtedly doing much better than you are. maybe he's even moved on, cuddled up into another woman's side, whispering things in her ear, tangled up in her sheets.

but in every other way imaginable, he's still with you.

five senses, five million memories.

[nomimits7]

mafia drabble

“What? You sold my child to them because you some how managed to piss them off? He’s not ever your son! Who gave you any right over him?” So-Ann yelled as she clung to her only son. Hoseok had no idea what was happening, all he knew was that his mother was in tears and that this pig of a man in front of him is to blame. No one makes his mother cry and gets away with it.

“I had no choice. If I did not give them something worth their time, all of us would be dead. I’m trying to save us” Xavier argued, sending daggers toward Hoseok. He never liked him. He was a mistake that should never have happened. His mother decided to keep him even if he was created from a horrible event. There’s nothing physically wrong with Hoseok that makes Xavier hate him. He’s actually a very pleasant boy. Always polite and well mannered, his mothers little ray of sunshine. But Xavier could never forget the fact that this beautiful boy wasn’t his. He hated the fact that another man or men where responsible for creating him. He tried to like the boy, but every time Hoseok would smile it reminded him of that night some pigs came into his home and took advantage of his wife. So-Ann is a good woman, but why did she have to raise this child? Xavier was rather proud of his little scheme to get rid of Hoseok. The people who would take him away weren’t good, but one of them was indeed the boy’s real father. Xavier even went as far as to threaten Hoseoks life. Mafia would never allow one of their own to die, not even those that weren’t even supposed to be born. Of course this deal only had upsides in Xaviers eyes. The mafia are going to take Hoseok in, yes, but they were obviously going to double check Xaviers claims and if they do turn out to be false, the boy dies. By that time he plans to be half way across the Atlantic ocean. Finally free of the cursed sunshine boy. Yes, So-Ann would be sad, mad even if she ever found out, but they could and would make a new little human. He waited seventeen years to get his family and he’s so close to finally having one. “So-Ann, You know it is better this way. He would be safe with them, they look after their people. Even if they make him just a maid he would be living lavishly. I had to save us all and this was the only way. Now, please pack his things they’ll be here for him soon” Xavier said, fighting hard to hide his smirk. Just as So-Ann was about to protest once again, there was a knock on their door. Xavier happily skipped over and opened the door revealing six young looking men, all dressed in some shade of black. They could not have been any older than Hoseok himself. “Uh, Are you here from the Dawn mafia?” Xavier asked confused. “Yes, where is he?” one of the boys spoke up. He had grey hair peaking out from his bucket hat. There wasn’t really much else to describe any of them. they all wore masks. “He’s in the living room. He was just about to pack his thing” Xavier said, inviting them in. All six of the boys stepped in, their eyes scanning and analysing their surroundings carefully. Hoseok nearly pissed himself when he saw the others. They all wore such intimidating auras, he nearly whimpered in submission as they all took in his small frame. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that the boy was timid. One might even suspect him to be a little or very susceptible to fall into little space. It wouldn’t surprise them if he had pretty pastel clothes or even feminine clothes. “Before you pack his things” the boy with light purple hair spoke up. “We need to confirm if he is part of the mafia or not. He did look through the logbooks of that particular evening seventeen almost eighteen years ago and concluded that there were three possible matches” At this So-Ann gasped. Xavier knew he fucked up when she faced him with hard eyes. Before anyone could do anything she landed a harsh slap on his face. The six mafia members stood frozen as they tried to asses the situation, but her next words made it clear what was happening. “You never owed them anything, did you? You just wanted to get rid of MY son because he wasn’t yours. YOU LIED TO ME XAVIER! You helped raise this boy as your own, how could you be so heartless and just give him up like this? Where you ever going to tell me the truth? I hate you. I HATE YOU!” So-Ann sobbed as she clung to Hoseok who just stared at his supposed ‘dad’ with a broken expression. Even if Hoseok knew his so called ‘father’ never truly loved him, he still looked up to the man. He always wanted to be just like Xavier. A man that would sacrifice anything for his loved ones. Apparently Hoseok himself was included in that package. “You motherfucker, you told us that both you and the boys mother agreed to the deal” a very pale boy chuckled. Xavier stood still, not knowing what to say to make the situation better. Luckily for him one of the boys stepped towards the scared teen. He gently took hold of his arm, careful not to hurt the boy anymore than he already did. “I am so sorry, but this is going to sting a bit” he said as he inserted a needle into the boys arm. So-Ann desperately tried to get Hoseok away from the halfmoon eyed boy, but two of the other boys restrained her. As the needle pierced Hoseoks skin he mewled in pain, immediately looking away, sobbing his heart out at the pain. “Leave him alone! He doesn’t like pain. Please~” So-Ann cried as she clung to the sobbing boy to try and ease his pain. “I do apologize but we need to do the test now before we can take him” One of the boys behind So-Ann explained. “W-what will you d-do if he isn’t one of-f theirs?” So-Ann whispered “We’ll have to kill him and both of you” the light purple haired boy answered. No emotion, no remorse in his voice. So-Ann sobbed even harder as Hoseok looked up with teary eyes. Xavier nearly choked on air as he heard what the boy said. One of the other boys left the room to take a phone call as the halfmoon eyed boy lifted the syringe, now filled with blood and turned around to do the test. Hoseok immediately fainted at the sight of his own blood. The boy with the grey hair was quick to act as he caught Hoseok before he could hit the ground. One thing he did notice was how light the boy was, especially for a seventeen-year-old boy. He was as light as a feather. If this boy did turn out to be one of them, in any sense of the word, he would need protection. All of them silently made a promise to never allow this precious soul to get tainted by the way of the mafia. He would be treated as a precious gem, locked away and safe from any preying eyes. So-Ann, Xavier and all of the boys silently prayed for the results to be in their favour.

[rainsongdean]

you’re always golden to me

post-mockingjay / pre-epilogue everlark healing together, appreciating the sunset, and maybe even falling in love

"We should head back before it gets dark." Peeta's words rang out in the open air between them, but they were not enough to pull Katniss from her trance-like state.

It had been a rough day. Not enough so to be classified as a bad day, seeing as Katniss had found the motivation to move from the bed to the couch at some point in the afternoon. Now, though, watching the clouds paint watercolors in the sky seemed to bring her back to life. She was encapsulated by the sight.

"Not yet," she eventually spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse from not using it for a while. "I want to stay until it's over. Besides, we could walk home blindfolded from here."

It was true. Katniss had discovered the hill nestled in the woods behind Victor's Village not long after returning from the Capitol. She found solace in being embraced by the wilderness rather than being suffocated in her old home, so when she accidentally stumbled upon the tall mount that overlooked the wide plains and open sky, she knew she had found what she had subconsciously been searching for.

It had taken a few months before she brought Peeta to her secret spot. He'd only returned to District 12 a few days before she had found the hill, and they both needed some time to warm up to each other again. But one day, after suffering through a particularly vivid flashback that ended with him handcuffed to one of Haymitch's spare cages for his geese, Katniss figured it would do them both good to escape into the forest for a while.

That was the first night they watched the sunset from the hill. It had been slightly uncomfortable, sitting inches apart on the dewy grass, no attempt at conversation made by either party. Eventually, Peeta suggested they return home to make dinner before it got too late, but Katniss insisted that she could tell by the shape of the clouds that they would put on an impressive show.

As usual, she was not wrong.

It was the most vibrant spectacle either of them had seen - far more breathtaking than any Capitol party or fireworks display. Sure, they had both watched the sun go down in 12 before, but their view had always been clouded by the thick layer of dust in the air from the mines or obstructed by the cluster of buildings stacked practically on top of one another. Here on their hill, nothing stood between them and the sky. Beyond that, the best part was they got to share it together, just the two of them. 

Since that night, the pair made an effort to hike the two-mile trek to the hill at least once a week, though they typically found themselves there more often than that. Katniss still liked to visit the spot alone, sometimes using the safe space to speak aloud to Prim or Finnick and imagine what they would say back. Other times she just enjoyed the silence.

Peeta, too, ventured to the hill a few times by himself. He had tried on several occasions to paint the landscape, and while he was able to perfect the morning glow and mid-afternoon sun, he couldn't capture the colors of nightfall that he most desired to paint.

Despite the significance that the holy ground held for each of them individually, neither one could deny that they preferred to visit the hill together. Katniss had been unofficially living with Peeta for weeks now, and they even shared a bed most nights, but there was a different breed of intimacy that came with being in the woods, nestled in their own little corner of the universe. 

"Fine," Peeta sighed contentedly, breaking the silence again. "We can stay as long as you'd like." With that, he leaned toward the picnic basket they had brought and reached in, shoving aside the empty containers that once held a selection of berries, cheeses, and breads to reveal a neatly folded fleece blanket he had stashed in the bottom. "I came prepared," he announced with a sense of pride.

Katniss briefly pulled her gaze from the view for the first time since the sun had begun its descent to offer Peeta a small smile of gratitude. The gesture warmed his heart with the blaze of ten thousand sunsets.

Taking care to wrap the soft cover around their legs, Peeta pulled the fabric up to their chests and then eased his back to the ground until he was laying horizontal on the hill. Katniss followed suit so they were both engulfed by the blanket.

Their new angle only served to better showcase the colors stretching endlessly above them. One hue in particular transported Katniss back to a seemingly ancient memory of the two of them.

"Orange. Muted... like a sunset." Katniss didn't break her eye contact with the sky but smirked to herself as she spoke.

Peeta nudged her shoulder playfully in response, easily picking up on what she was referring to. Their conversation on the train about favorite colors was one of the first to come back to him after he had been rescued from the Capitol. Shifting slightly toward Katniss, he reached out and twisted his finger gently around a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. "You're so poetic when you quote me," he mused sarcastically.

"Well, your choice of favorite color is much more poetic than Effie’s choice of wig," she quipped. It was ironic how some of her and Peeta's best conversations had happened in the midst of some of the worst times of their lives. And yet, there they were: safe and relatively happy, just two kids trying to piece themselves back together with some pastel paints, cheese buns, and hidden hills. It may not have been anything profound, but it was living, and Katniss figured that, for time being, that would be enough.

She inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the moment. They had reached the peak of the sunset when every particle in the air seemed to glisten from the giant star's final attempt to remain on the topside of the world. There was only one word to describe it.

"Everything is golden."

And, for an instant, it was.

But as the sun succumbed to the pull of dusk, the raging reds and oranges that had scorched the sky swiftly turned to delicate pinks and purples, paving the way for the black of night.

It was then that Katniss realized Peeta had been uncharacteristically quiet, his sunset commentary usually being much more prolific than hers. When she turned her head to the left to face him, she found he was already staring back at her, still toying with her hair. His deep blue eyes twinkled like he knew a secret and was about to let her in on it.

When they first met, that kind of look from Peeta overwhelmed her. Sometimes Katniss would catch him staring at her like she carried the world in her hands, or spun threads of gold with her words. It puzzled her, annoyed her, and at times even enraged her. But after his hijacking, it had been so rare for that young, innocent Peeta to reappear and give her that look which spelled out his love for her so plainly on his face, and she had grown to cherish it.

"I change my mind." For the third time that night, Peeta's voice sliced open the veil of silence that covered them. 

Katniss abruptly rose to a sitting position, an expression of confusion clouding her face as she leaned over Peeta's resting form. "What do you mean?"

"I change my mind," He repeated calmly, shrugging as if the answer to her question was obvious. "The sunset isn't my favorite shade of orange anymore."

Katniss bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows, causing the wrinkles on her forehead to deepen. Peeta could tell she was trying to keep herself from challenging him, so he decided not to torture her any longer.

"You are my favorite shade of orange," he reached his hand up to caress her cheek, easing away the signs of worry that had risen on her face. "You, sitting here with the sun reflecting in your eyes, your skin glowing in the light." He lowered his voice to a whisper and retracted his hand, slowly guiding Katniss's head to rest on his chest so she could hear his heart beating. "The way you make me feel like I'm on fire inside, all the time."

Girl on fire. The words echoed in his mind and, although he did not dare speak them, he internally admitted they rang true. And it was in moments like those, as he held her under the night sky with millions of stars blazing above them, that he saw Katniss burn the brightest.

"Oh, shut up," she exhaled, turning away from him in an attempt to conceal the blush that had overtaken her smiling face, but Peeta didn't have to see it to know it was there. "You're so cheesy."

"Hey now," he feigned a hurt expression, "I thought you liked my cheese."

Katniss couldn't hide her outburst at his nonsense and they both fell into a fit of laughter together. They hadn't spoken much about what exactly their relationship status was at the moment, hesitant to put labels on anything, but he still wanted her to know how he felt about her. And while Katniss had never been proficient in using her words to convey her love, the way that she clung to Peeta, burying her head in his arm while gasping to regain her breath from laughing so hard, told him everything he needed to know.

"Come on, we should really head back before Haymitch gets worried." Peeta attempted once again to persuade Katniss to return home after they had both calmed down. His stomach was beginning to growl - the small rations of their picnic earlier weren't nearly enough to tide over his appetite until morning - and now that the sun had set, he'd much rather snuggle up with Katniss on their couch than on the cold, hard ground. And besides, while he didn't really think their mentor would be waiting up for them, he figured the argument might be enough to persuade her.

"Seeing as it's past 3 p.m., I think it's safe to say that Haymitch is passed out on his couch," Katniss countered, but her actions said otherwise as she began to gather herself up off the ground. Peeta knew she had a soft spot for the old man.

It took them a little over half an hour to walk home, leisurely following the path that their own footprints had created over time. Upon entering the house, Peeta made a beeline to the kitchen to heat up some leftover stew from the night before. While he ate, Katniss headed to Haymitch's house, opening the unlocked door to find him asleep in his living room as she had predicted. She pried the half-empty bottle from the arm that hung off the couch and set it on a nearby table before turning the lights out and closing his front door behind her.

She had recently made a habit of checking in on her friend, especially during the weeks when Effie travelled back to the Capitol for work. She knew he had done the same for her countless times. Haymitch never seemed to question why he would sometimes wake up with a blanket draped over him or a pillow propped beneath his head, and Katniss didn't plan on bringing it up. Like most things between the two of them, it went unsaid.

Later that evening, tucked under the covers of Peeta's bed - their bed - Katniss felt more at ease than she did most nights. Maybe it was the serenity of the particularly striking sunset, or maybe it was Peeta's roundabout confession of the feelings he still had for her. Either way, she was pleasantly content. 

On the other side of the mattress, as Peeta danced on the cusp of sleep, his mind dragged him back to something Katniss had said on the hill. Everything is golden. He knew what she meant; that the landscape had been blanketed by the radiance of the sunset. But he felt it was true in another sense, and that maybe this new phrase was an even more appropriate way to describe the true essence of Katniss Everdeen.

Before drifting off herself, Katniss heard Peeta mumble one last line of admiration, causing her to fall asleep with a smile ingrained on her lips.

"You're always golden to me."

[aki-draws-things]

Here, here... Have fun.

Did someone missed my little angsty ideas? Did someone missed a bit of Jack's angst?

My idea on experiments and colors just took a darker turn at the end for unknown reasons, should I follow through that darkest turn?

Jack saw red. Not in the metaphorical way, he felt angry, of course, angry at himself for getting hurt like that, for being now stuck in a hospital bed, with thick bandages around his face and eyes. He really was red. But saw red too.

"so, soldier. - a voice said, while hands where gently removing the bandages and he blinked warily, last time he blinked half of his world was dark. - ready to come back in the field?"

The man wasn't asking him how he felt, as if he didn't really care, and Jack was ready.

He blinked again, turned to face the man, secretary Pierce, standing next to the bed with a quiet smile in his face.

"well?"

Jack saw red when he spoke. Bright red flashing in front of his eyes, coating everything before slowly fading as silence stretched. Maybe it was a side effect of the head and eye wound, but he could see at least. He could see again. So everything was going to be just fine.

"yes sir. I'm ready."

Pierce smiled and turned without another word, Jack waited.

Nurses voices had a different color, he realized, if was soft, almost pastel like, matching the ushed whispers and kind tones, Jack thought he would get used to it, but their voices were twirling all around the room and he felt sick.

Director fury, Jack realized when he showed up for debrief after getting out of the hospital, was just like pierce, bright red, with a twirl of purple and black, Jack couldn't understand if there was a pattern. He couldn't talk about it either, or they would take him off of missions. Maybe those colors were associated to their rank, or jobs, or something similar. That would make sense, not seeing colors whenever someone spoke, no, the... Rank thing.

Jack groaned softly. No, it made no sense anyway.

"lieutenant rollins. Good to have you back... It was getting hard to cover your position too." jack knew he didn't mean it in a bad way, when he turned barton was smiling at him, a rifle settled on his back instead of the usual bow.

"not that I mind STRIKE, but ugh... It was getting pretty tiring."

Barton was high rank too, higher than Jack, his allegiance was-- jack was actually unsire of where agent barton really stood. He was a hit of a wild card. He liked strike team, but not pierce, he liked the Asset, and he knew who he was, he kept him hidden from shield. He liked fury, and agent cuolson, and went against shield protocols more times than them. Still Alexander pierce never managed to turn him to hydra completely. He could give him orders and have every tight to do so. He could look at Brock rumlow and give him orders too, and damn. Commander rumlow would follow them without questioning them.

But his orders were icy blue, Jack realized the first time he was back on the field with barton.

Orders had always been red, bright, flashing red, painful, sending sharp needles through his skull, making him wince in pain, moan and curl on himself. Orders were pain. Pain meant orders. - was that what rumlow always meant? Did he feel the same? Could he see the bright reds whenever orders came through? - not Bartons.

The icy blue wasn't as painful as the red, it was easier to disobey to them if Jack wanted and focused hard enough. He didn't want to disobey because he trusted him, they were good orders. But they were cold. Unbearably cold. Like ice flowing through his veins.

Orders were red, with everyone but agent barton.

Jack felt the icy blue before, the very few times the winter soldier joined them in missions and was allowed to speak. He never gave orders, but everyone knew better than to go against him. He felt icy blue when he muttered words, in English or Russian, and Jack didn't know if it was because of his eyes or because of cryo freeze.

Two months after his return on the field, when he stopped feeling sick when too many people were talking, especially in open and public places, when he managed to keep vertigo and nausea under control, Jack still failed to understand where the colors came from, and what pattern they followed, if they even followed one.

Strike team was a swirling of colors mixing together, all calm, quiet, maybe it was the trust jack had in them, maybe it was their loyalty.

Still, orders were red and set his whole body on fire, his head hurt so much he had to turn to stronger painkillers everytime.

"jack?"

Pierce had barely finished debrief on their new mission, Jack could feel his head split open, he could feel nausea settling in his empty stomach, he could feel hot needles poke at his skin and his breath caught in his throat.

"you cover for the main entrance, rollins." was all the man said, and he felt like he had nothing else he should do, he felt like he would die if he didn't do exactly that, despite his mind loudly protesting that he should be inside with rumlow and have his six. Pierce seemed satisfied by his reaction, whatever his reaction had been, whatever that actually meant.

"jack? Rollins, you with us?"

A hand touched his arm and he turned around so quickly, grabbed the hand and twisted it. Rumlow didn't do more than a grimace.

"rollins?"

Jack blinked once and stared at the shorter man.

"what's wrong? Talk to me, Jack."

Part of him wanted to talk, but he felt paralized where he stood, his hand still holding the wrist. The needles had disappeared. The headache reduced to a low thumping, fading away already.

Rumlow-- he was--

"now you're worrying me, lieutenant..."

It was blue. Everything around them was blue and white, swirls darker, moving quietly like waves on the calmest wind. Jack never felt more at peace before.

"jack!"

Brock twisted his arm free and Jack blinked again. The waves moved harsher when he raised his voice, but they stayed blue. It was like being in the middle of the sea, floating, carried, lulled by the waves.

"Jackie..." he saw brock's features softening, his hand brushing his cheek, there were speckles of white when he called his name that softly, like the sun filtering underwater.

Jack didn't know how it happened what happened next. He remembered brock's lips meeting his, he remembered closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around him, deepening the kiss, melting in the touch.

"you with me now?"

Jack nodded. The swirls of blue returned a placid sea around them, he almost wished he could make him see.

"yeah..."

"listen to me Jackie, okay? I know pierce said he wants you outside, but I need you in. I need you having my back, can you do it?"

He nodded. Fighting an order would be painful, he knew it, he tried before.

"I know it will be hard for you."

He knew? Did he--

"but you'll be okay, I promise."

The kiss was soft again, Jack melted in it, he tried to explain, he wanted to explain more, tell him what was happening, have him understand.

"I know." He heard himself whisper. "it's you, I know I'll be okay." he agreed.

"agent rollins." pierce voice was red. He felt his breath stopping for a long second, he felt his body trembling. "why did you--"

"there no one else o trust to have my six, sir."

Suddenly he felt like breathing again. Suddenly the flashy red got drowned in a blue sea.

"with all respect, I need him where I tell him to be."

Rumlow grasped his hand and dragged him out of the room, catching him when his legs gave out and he fell, dragging Brock down with him, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry." he heard him say in his ear, his body pressed against Jack's. He blinked trying to clear his vision from the dark spots dancing in front of it. "I'm sorry Jackie. I should've been in the room with you from the beginning. Feeling better?"

He asked, fingers brushing through the short hair.

"yeah. Better now." he smiled, dropping his head on brock's shoulder and breathing deeply against his neck. "always better with you here."

He admitted, not seeing the satisfied smile on his commander's face.

"good. Let's go home, then."

In his dazed state, Jack didn't see the calm blue turn to a soft, pastel red. Like blood in the water.

[poutyhannie]

Part two!! You can find part one on my blog, its the only other one hehe. Once again, feedback is much appreciated! 

warnings: smut, fluff, oral, fem!reader receiving, car sex with a twist ;), post date sexy time 

word count: +1.7

part 1, part 2

The white lights in the ice cream parlor cast a luminescence in Chan’s eyes that draws out a lighter brown color as he studies the flavors below him.  You really hope he picks vanilla or sweet cream or something white…not for any particular reason, you just liked the thought of it pooling at the sides of his plush lips and dribbling down his chin, running down his sweaty neck-

“Y/n?  You gonna get something?”  Chan’s concerned voice pierces through your embarrassing thoughts as you snap your eyes up to his.  He giggles at catching you off guard and nudges you softly with his shoulder, nodding at the ice cream case.  The pastel pink clad employee gives you a jaded stare and you quickly choose your go-to: artificial pink and blue cotton candy in a sugar cone.  A soft, endeared smile spreads across Chan’s face and he tells the worker that he’ll be getting strawberry cream.  You pout a little, but the mostly vanilla ice cream with chunks of strawberries will have to satisfy your fantasies.  Not that Chan would let the sweet trickle down his beautiful face, he’s always too clean for that, you realize to your dismay.  

Once again, Chan pays, claiming that you paid last time though you can’t really remember as you both head back to his car.  With one hand on the steering wheel, one cautiously gripping the cone, Chan drives to a secluded hill that overlooks the nightscape.  By this time, you’re already crunching down on the cone while Chan licks around the ice cream.  With his eyes trained on the twinkling lights in front of you, so it’s easy to just stare at him.  

His cherry red hair is messy and curls raise from his neck, the same curls that you love playing with at night, when his head is on your chest and his breathing is all you can hear.  A wistful look overcomes his eyes as he turns them up to the heavenly bodies he’s so enraptured by.  Every time you both come up here, he always talks about constellations, meteors, and shooting stars.  The wonder and excitement in his eyes and voice whenever he does makes your heart swell and thank the stars for giving him so much joy.  You’ve decided to appreciate them more than before, just because Chan loves them so much.  

His voice this time, however, is distant as he rests his head on the headrest.  “Some civilizations thought that the stars were souls reincarnated so that their loved ones would have light in the night.”

You nod solemnly, “Yeah, like Mufasa.”

A choked laugh escapes from Chan’s throat as he stares at you in disbelief and amusement, “Like Lion King?”

Smiling, you nod again, “It would make sense, though.  That’s why there are so many.  And maybe shooting stars are people that momentarily died but came back and that’s why we wish on them, to have as much luck as them.”

Chan lets out a low, “Hmm, I’d never thought of that before.  Maybe constellations are families or groups of friends.”

A slow smile spreads across your face as you complete Chan’s sentence, “So then, you can stay with your loved ones after death.”  He nods, looking over at you with what you can only describe as admiration and contentment.  

You’ve long finished your ice cream but Chan’s just started on his cone.  He mistakes your stare as a silent plead, smiling softly as he offers you a bite.  Your mind is made up in a split second, you very slowly, while looking straight at Chan with doe eyes, take a long lick of his ice cream, flicking it back into your mouth.  You smirk as Chan stares at you, shocked before rushing to quickly eat his cone.  

“You wanna use that promise from last time, babygirl?”

Finally.  

You’ve moved into the cool night breeze as Chan lays down on the roof of his car, patting his chest, a smirk on his face.  You whine, tugging at his black t shirt, “No, take this off please.”

He laughs softly and sits up to swiftly do so.  The pale, milky white of Chan’s chest provides beautiful contrast to the dark night sky and you really can’t help but stare at him.  Like the flirt he is, Chan gives you a wink before laying back down on the roof.  It really doesn’t help because  the anticipation has a coil tightening in your stomach as you can feel the uncomfortable wetness sticking your panties to your hot core.  You pull your simple black panties off, tossing them on top of Chan’s shirt, which rests on the hood.  

“Y’know, Channie I’d really like to keep my skirt on, but I wanna see your pretty eyes.”

The thought of your bare ass out in the open night air causes Chan’s semi to harden just a bit more than he’d like to admit.  Of course though, seeing it is better than imagining and when you unzip your pastel purple skirt, Chan groans loudly.  The cool air hits your hot thighs and dripping pussy, making you clench around nothing.  Chan pulls you by your hands to him, your wetness rubbing against his glorious abs.  The friction makes you quiver against Chan’s lips.  Though his abs provide a cold surface to rut on, Chan’s neck is hot as you press open mouthed kisses and make red marks all over it.  

Your hands are in his red hair and plays with his soft curls, a contrast to your vicious teeth, ravaging his pretty neck.  Chan’s sharp Adam’s apple bobs as his tent grows and you pull back.  

“What if someone comes up here, Chan?”  You ask dumbly, realizing you should have asked this when he pulled you out of the car.  Beneath you, Chan gives you a cheeky, wide smile.  

“Then you’d better get to it, babygirl,” he says, smacking your ass lightly.  

You give him a half hearted glare—the ache in your core is too much to ignore for too long.  The car roof is smooth under your knees as you lower your dripping, hot core onto Chan’s puckered lips.  When he give a tentative lick, your arms shoot out onto the roof, catching you.  

“M-more,” you whisper, beginning to grind on Chan’s face.

His cold hands grip your bare thighs tightly and he sticks his tongue into you, nodding his head to your tempo.  His wet mouth fans hot breaths into you and you squeeze Chan’s head between your thighs.  You feel his lips curl into a smile and you look down to see Chan’s adorable cheek  squished between your thighs.  His eyes form smiling crescents and you let out a giggle, “You’re so cute, Channie.”

He cocks an eyebrow and you know he’d say something along the lines of ‘even while you’re riding my face?’.  

When his teeth snag your clit, you double forward again, using your arms as leverage to grind down harder on Chan’s face.  No doubt Chan’s grip on your thighs will leave bruises and you tremble at the thought.  Reading your mind, Chan removes his hands, making you whine loudly.  While he runs caresses up your right thigh, his other hand finds its way up to rub your swollen bud.  Your high pitched, embarrassing moan has you biting down on your shoulder, afraid to alert anyone in the area.  Annoyed by this, Chan shoves two long, ringed fingers into your core.  The underside of his rings are warm from gripping your skin but the tops of them are cold from the night air and your jaw lets go of your shoulder, moaning with no regards for anyone but the man under you.  He curls his fingers, beckoning your orgasm closer, scissoring deep into you.  You feel his rings clink together.  

Its coming faster than you want; you don’t want this moment, overcome by euphoria, to end.  You cry out, trying your absolute best to hold out though your thighs burn from the repetitive motion.  

Chan removes his fingers, trailing your arousal on your thigh before clutching your hips still.  His tongue continues its swirling, thrusting assault into you and you gasp as it becomes harder to fend off your orgasm.  His lips press into your clit harshly, spreading your folds apart.  You feel his hand move down and his grunts as he pulls down his pants, almost frantically jacking off.  The thought of how this looks causes you to loose your motivation to hold out.  “I-I’m gonna come,” you whine, ready to let go.  Chan’s tongue slows down and you cry out as you realize he’s telling you to wait.  Despite his almost lethargic tongue movements, you feel his hand quickly maneuver over his undoubtedly aching dick.  Tears spring in your eyes as you can’t go anymore.

When Chan groans into your core, you feel hot ropes of Chan’s cum spray onto ass and probably onto Chan’s abs.  Your body spasms in pleasure as your high crashes over you.  It has your eyes rolling into your head, your toes curling, and a high-pitched cry torn from your throat.  Chan’s tongue licks you up and you can’t wait to see his face covered in your juices.

Pulling back shakily and weakly, you collapse onto Chan’s chest, ignoring his cum on both of you.  With a dumb smile on his face, he looks down at you and you swear you could come again from the sight before you.  His hair sticks out from your constant tugging and his eyes are hazy and droopy from lust.  His red lips glisten in from your cum, which coats his chin and is so slowly dribbling down to cover his jawline.  

His voice is thick and low, “Is this what you were thinking about when I was eating my ice cream, babygirl?”

Tiredly, you nod your head as the burning in your thighs subsides, moving to cuddle into Chan’s arms.  You lick up your arousal from his neck, tracing the trail up to his swollen lips.  The kiss is sloppy, a mix of your cum and both of your saliva.  Its hot and messy, but Chan’s hand gently strokes your cheek.