#so I had no choice. I had to get in there and add some form. some detail if you will

[heavypressure]

I'm very familiar with constipation, even week-long clogs are a usual occurrence to me. By the end of such week I'm already used to the heavy amount of waste and churning gases in my swollen guts, but it usually ends there with me finally being able to go to the bathroom and empty my bowels, my belly shrinking back to it's normal size. But not this time... I don't know what exactly caused it, but it's been 9 days since my last successful unloading.

I'm sitting in my cubicle at work, my thoughts fixated on my abnormally full middle. My belly looked 7 months pregnant at this point, so tightly packed with waste, gas and food that there was almost no movement inside. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt either so far, just heavy discomfort from all of the weight pulling my belly down, and extreme bloating that began from the fermenting waste deep in my lower intestines.

I gave up on buttoning up my pants a few days ago, forced to expose my lower belly, which was the most round and tight part so far Embarrassed, i decided that i need to take action, but was scared of taking laxatives right away, with blockage that big i was afraid i will literally burst..

I'm probably just not getting enough fiber, so I'm gonna fix it today, and this situation will be finally over!

I came home from work and started working on several smoothies and salads, making sure to add prunes to everything. I figured just one drink wouldn't be enough, so i needed to cram another big meal in my already overfilled stomach... Burping loudly, i chugged another prune smoothie, my poor guts stretching painfully this time. I moaned and rubbed my rock-hard belly, telling myself to hold on just a little bit more. After finishing my meal, i slowly waddled to the bed, exhausted from the painful stuffing, but hopeful that my plan will work.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a dull pain in my guts. I opened my eyes, and was instantly horrified: my belly looked ready to burst, even rounder than it was before i went to bed, gas roaring loud inside my clogged guts and sending vibrations through my whole body... Well, it seems my fiber idea worked?...

I got up and a loud BBWOOUURRP was forced oit of my mouth uncontrollably, releasing just a tiniest bit of the pressure inside. I waddled to the bathroom and plopped on the toilet, gently rubbing my enormously stretched gut and observing the damage that was done to it over a week ... Oh god, i could see some stretch marks formed near my belly button, how embarrassing... But this is finally going to be over now,...right?

I sat on the toilet for over an hour, listening to my bubbling cauldron of a stomach, trying to push anything i could out, but .. nothing came out but a few tiny (but very rancid) farts... The bubbling soon stopped, and i was left with an even bigger stomach than i had before... Now i had all of the gas that formed from my huge fibre meal stuck inside of my intestines, unable to find it's way out and only bloating me further. I got up and immediately felt every single gas bubble inside, gas cramps shooting through my whole body... Great, i only made everything worse... I waddled to bed again, maybe my belly just needs more time?... Hopefully the next morning things will finally get going....

I woke up feeling like a blimp. Thankfully it seems my belly hasn't gotten any bigger, but it definitely hasn't gotten any smaller too. Over this night i managed to go from looking 7mo pregnant to looking slightly overdue. Thankfully the pain died down significantly, and the noises occured only if i made some sudden movements

Unfortunately i still had to go to work, abd there was no way I'd fit in my regular work trousers this time... I looked around for some old sweatpants, embarrassing and slobby choice, but still better than going out naked

I could feel the mass inside my belly jiggle and grumble with every step i took, but i hoped that maybe agitating my belly more would help it.

I was definitely getting some weird looks at work, some people asking what happened to me. I was too embarrassed to answer that I'm just overfilled with gas and shit, so i tried to change the topic and get back to work so the day would go by faster.

Even i was overwhelmingly full, i still felt intense hunger after not eating anything for the whole day at work.... I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't eat until i deal with my massive constipation, but thought that a small quick snack wouldn't hurt...

While eating a cheeseburger and washing it down with coke, i decided that i should finally try a laxative, no matter how much it scared me.

It was embarrassing, asking for the strongest laxative at the pharmacy, while my balloon of a gut was hanging out for all to see, probably telling the whole story.

I got home and downed several pills instantly, not even reading the instructions. I tried to relax while i waited for the laxative to work.

After an hour, it finally kicked in .. The intense bubbling in my stomach could be heard throughout the whole room, and i felt my guts inflating once more. I went to the bathroom,sat there and massaged my tight gut, letting out a few rancid burps and farts. This gave me hope, finally I'll be back to my normal self!.. I could feel the diarrhea bubbling with gas in my bowels, my stomach roaring with needing to be finally emptied... I pushed and pushed, but the enormous rock-hard log in my ass just wouldn't budge, only allowing for small farts to slip out... i was desperate, it can't be all in vain! I clutched my belly and continued to push, belly still bubbling with gas, but not getting any smaller..

After it seems like two hours with no results, the movement in my belly began to calm down , seemingly ending my chance to let anything out... I was exhausted, my distended middle only seeming even bigger than before... What can i do now?.. am i doomed to bloat and swell further and further?

I waddled to bed again, noticing that i got used to the gas pains, and it didn't bother me that much... My stomach was so swollen, but at the same time, i couldn't deny that it felt somewhat good... Feeling such heaviness, being inflated from the inside, with no way out of this predicament.

One thing that laxatives also do, is they make me really hungry. And i got a day off tomorrow, so ....

One month later....

--GHHHUUOORRRP - Day 29 of my week-off! It feels so good to relax at home, even though i soon need to get back to work.... somehow

Empty paper fast-food bags and wrappers cover the whole floor of my living room. I sit on the couch in the middle, but you can barely see me behind the huge sphere of flesh that's covered with sweat and stretch marks. By the look of an outie belly button, you can guess that this is what became of my belly... My sides are bulging with build-up gas, all that i can feel inside is immense pressure and heaviness from the weeks-worth of food that i crammed inside of my guts. My clothes are of course long gone by now...

Turns out, being constipated for month and a half isn't as bad as it seems to be ...

[missmisnomer]

Beep boop.

Drawing robots.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Kafka

[r3ynah]

I Can be everything and anything, at once

A 27 years old Phantom was challenged to a bet, by his co-workers at the watchtower. Green lantern stated along with the the other heroes that If he could help every single one of them at least once in a month while not using any his powers and he also had to be physically and mentally there as he helps them. the cherry on top was that he needed to use his real identity instead of his ghost form in this mission.

If Phantom successfully conceals his civilian identity, while helping them, he gets to know everyone's deepest darkest secrets.

But if he loses, he must do everyone a favor and must keep it no matter how outrageous it is.

Ofcourse Phantom agreed, because he was no bitch, okay so maybe he is, he only accepts bets like this if he knows that'll he'll win. so yeah.

Besides, having no powers for this, is really a piece of cake, if you're a raging gender fluid that knows his way around makeup and can easily change the sound of his voice, to be honest the shapeshifting parts that he got from his powers are basically just add-ons.

Well what was he waiting for? afterall he needed all the blackmail he could get, not as Phantom but as Daniel James Fucking Fenton, this was an opportunity to go batshit crazy and he was absolutely stealing it.

The very first hero Danny approached to help was Wonder Woman, who thanked Danny who was now disguised as a woman wearing a long ass Red wig, and some clothes he "borrowed" from Jazz who just joked about Danny being her twin, and wished him luck.

"Thank you, young lady for your brave actions to help me." Wonder woman sincerely thanked the boy in disguise as she held both of Danny's hands as gratitude "may I ask the name of my savior? "

"My name's El, It's a pleasure to know you." Danny smiled a little wider.

The second was Flash, which Danny found completely amusing because of the way he helped the speedy hero, who tripped while patrolling around the city.

Danny who was now in a more gothic attire( thanks to Sam's help) caught the hero's wrist before he embarrassingly fell face first on the ground.

"You okay there sir?" Danny asked, as he kept a firm grip on the man's wrist to make sure he doesn't fall.

Meanwhile Flash who thought he was in those korea tv romance dramas only blue screened for a few seconds before finally get his shit together. "yeah- um- name's Flash, and you are?"

The hero tripped on his own words, making Danny amused as fuck. "James, it was nice to finally meet you"

Okay, about like three weeks in, and Danny managed to help almost everyone in the watchtower, and only a few more to go,( he didn't get why most of the heroes he helped either started to stutter or blue screen in their spot once they talk to him. like damn is this how all of you treat every civilian who interacts with you? that's just sad) but at this time, Dan and Elle found out, and were now demanding to join, with the excuse of basically being Danny but in alternate or clone form, which Danny had no choice but to give in, I mean he wasn't breaking any rules so technically this was alright.

Danny wanted to take a break so Dan took over this time.

currently Nightwing was observing the outside of the gala, Bruce was invited to, something about a bunch of drugs being hidden within the crowd, and was now being passed around.

He intently remained focused on his observation, while also keeping a conversation with Oracle and the others on the comms, he didn't realize that he was too far off the edge of the railing he was standing on, until he missed a step.

Nightwing would never admit that he let a quiet squeal to his siblings ever as he fell, he closed his eyes and braced for impact, he would never expect to fall into the arms of a man 3x bigger than him, he stared at the man, and the man stared at him. 'holy shit' Nightwing thought.

The man, chuckled making Nightwing internally scream. "When I wished for Desiree, to make someone from above to save me from this trash party, I didn't think it would be one of the birds of gotham, to come and fall for me let alone the handsome one."

Okay Nightwing was now full on red from blushing, he was put down gently by the man on the ground, before offering a handshake, once Nightwing accepted the handshake, Dan pulled the hand closer to his mouth then gave a quick peck on the back of the hand vigilante's hand. "My name's Dan Masters, it's a pleasure to meet you."

his siblings can eat dirt on how they were teasing Nightwing Right now, but this was fucking worth it.

And the last to have gotten help from Danny was John Constantine, Danny actually had a reason on why he saved John for last, and that's because John actually knows Danny's identity, so for this mission he asked the help of his daughter Elle.

Elle had helped John by fixing a ruined summoning circle, who also helped him negotiate with a demon, and somehow all day, Elle just stuck to Constatine's side, her explanation? 'He'll die without me' fair point John thought as he took the kid, to order ice cream and to hangout in the park.

"You know kid, you remind me of someone." Constantine stated while keeping his eyes on what's infront of him, which was just a bunch of trees.

Elle who sat next to him, still eating her Ice cream looked up at him and said. "Really?"

"Yeah like you two literally have the same aura and all just a little different, but I don't know who yet." He replied and ruffled the kid's hair. making the girl laugh.

"Hey John!" Danny greeted behind them, and then all the gears inside of Constantine's head began to work. he let out a groan as he realized the girl beside him was the clone of the man behind him, well he needed to kiss that secret of his goodbye. here on this spot right now or he'll die of embarrassment if he waited any longer.

"Danny, let's go on a date." Constantine stated, not facing the Man.

this comment made the Father and Daughter choke on literal air.

[dollfacefantasy]

SWEET ESCAPE ♡

pairing: carlos oliveira x puppy-hybrid!fem!reader x chris redfield

summary: carlos takes off for a few weeks to plan an escape from umbrella for you and him. during that time, he enlists chris redfield to watch over you. when he returns, the two men you've come to care about want to have some fun with you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, threesome, hybrid!reader, daddy kink/ddlg

a/n: first kinktober fic yay. i know the pictures don't match timeline wise but re5 chris is my fav so let's pretend. i'm gonna try to get my kinktober fics out early each day (someone suggested 3 am which i think is totally cute) but we'll see how that goes. thank you guys for reading, reblogging, and commenting. smoochies <3

kinktober slot: day 1 - hybrids

"I've only been gone a couple weeks, pup. Did ya already forget who your daddy is?" Carlos's voice sounds through Chris's living room.

As soon as you hear the familiar timbre, your head snaps in his direction, ears perked up and tail already wagging fast enough to create a tornado. You hop off your spot on Chris's lap and bolt over to the man you'd been missing for the past few weeks.

You launch yourself into his arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck to get a deep breath of his scent. His laughter vibrates in his chest against yours, and he spins you around like some princess at the end of a cartoon.

"I didn't forget. I could never forget," you mumble and nuzzle the beating warmth of his pulse point.

"I know, puppy," he chuckles, rubbing your back before he sets you on your feet. "You look like you were pretty comfortable with Chris though."

The words aren't said with malice or jealousy, just some more teasing. Carlos expected this when he left you in Chris's care. As soon as Jill handed him the scrap of paper with Redfield's number, he assumed you'd form a bond with the other man.

He wasn't stupid, and he knew you. His sweet puppy girl. You were his partner in the field, given to him by Umbrella. But now he was done with Umbrella's shit, so by extension, you were too. The past couple weeks he'd been gone was spent making arrangements for you two to flee to somewhere they'd never be able to drag either of you into their meaningless war ever again.

Gently scratching behind your ear, he sways a bit with you in his arms. He'd missed the feeling of your smaller frame against the muscles of his chest.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. Ever since you'd skittered to him from the lineup of other mercenary hybrids, he felt you latch on to some deep part of him. It was why he was gonna get you out of this life where you and him were treated like weapons.

When deciding who to leave you with, his first choice had been Jill. He trusted her, and she understood what you were and what you would need. It's not that you couldn't take care of yourself; you were physically and mentally capable of that. You just suffered from a touch of separation anxiety as a result of the canine attributes inserted into your DNA. You needed someone to devote yourself to, someone to keep you from being too lonely. She wasn't up for that task though. She had enough emotional baggage on her own. She couldn't support yours.

That's why she recommended Chris. Responsible, caring, attentive. He had all the right qualities to handle someone like you. Carlos met with him, and he had to agree. He introduced you to the other man, and you had no problem getting along. If Jill trusted him and you didn't sense anything off, he felt fine about leaving you with the guy.

But still, he knows how you are. He knows you can be needy. You love physical affection. You love having a lap to sit on and a firm hand to give you head pats and ear scratches. Just add a deep voice to coo at you about how you're such a good girl, just the sweetest little thing and you're set.

You look up at Carlos with a shy smile in response to his teasing. "That's just cause Chris is nice to me," you say.

He huffs another laugh and heads over to the couch with you, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap.

"I'm sure he is," he says, bouncing you a couple times before directing his gaze to the man sitting in the nearby chair. "Has she been good for you?"

"Of course. No complaints from me," he says. The flat line of his lips tilts upwards slightly.

"That's my girl," Carlos praises with a peck to your cheek, "Chris took good care of you, huh?"

You nod proudly, drawing chuckles from both of the men in the room.

"Did he do it as good as daddy?"

That gets a less certain response from you, but it garners the same amount of amusement from them.

"Good girl. Don't wanna hurt anyone's feelings, huh?" he teases.

Chris watches on and interjects. "I think I did a pretty good job though. Didn't I, puppy?"

He speaks with a knowing cadence, subtle seductiveness. You know what he's implying but so does Carlos. Before he'd left you with Chris, he'd been honest about the full nature of your relationship. Told him you were used to getting his dick at least once a day. It was basically a part of your bedtime routine, cumming knocked your lights out better than any melatonin could.

He wasn't sure if you'd want that from Chris. Certainly not right away. But after a week or so, he could picture you getting a little needy, desperate for something to fill the void Carlos's absence had created. And Chris was the perfect candidate. Big and bulky, warm and gentle. He wasn't mad about it. He made peace with the possibility of this happening. Even if you did let Chris soothe you for a few nights, you'd still be coming with him when the fog cleared.

"You did good," you agree with Chris. One of your legs lazily swings as it dangles from Carlos's lap, brushing the leather edge of his boot each time.

"Just good? I remember you saying it was more than good," Chris taunts affectionately.

The words trigger another wave of timidity over you. You sink back into the safety of Carlos's embrace and shrug. "It was pretty good."

"What'd Chris do that was pretty good?" Carlos chimes in. 

"Nothing," you say, too fast for it to be the truth.

"Oh c'mon. You can tell me," he says before teasing a little more, "You're not gonna get in trouble."

You pause, mulling over your decision. But then you decide to give in a little.

"He gave me a special treat."

Carlos grins at the answer. Now that you had admitted it in your terms, he knew he could keep poking and prodding. Even though he was ok with what had happened between you and Chris, he still felt an air of possession pluming up within him. The desire to make sure you knew who you belonged to.

"A special treat?" he echoes, one of his hands sliding over your thighs and between your legs. He doesn't actually do anything there, but you still jolt at the feeling.

You hear Chris chuckle from where he's sitting, bringing heat to your cheeks.

"Why don't you just tell him, sweetheart? You had no problem begging for it when we were alone," the older man taunts.

"Doesn't surprise me. She knows how to get what she wants," Carlos says. His fingers move back and forth on your inner thigh.

You squirm on his lap, looking up at him with your pair of natural puppy eyes. The truth floats between all three of you, left unsaid but known by everyone.

"What're you acting so shy for?" Carlos coos as his large hands slide up your waist, "You have nothing to hide."

Chris rises from his chair and sits on the couch with you and Carlos, only maintaining the illusion of separation by sitting at the other end.

Leaning into Carlos more, you let the question remain unanswered. Interest swirls in your pupils at the potential of Chris moving closer.

"Acting like I'm a stranger now?" he jokes.

You shake your head. Your eyes dart between the two of them as if they were two wolves closing in, ready to tear you apart.

"Don't be so nervous, baby. You know daddy's gonna take care of you," Carlos whispers.

And he stays true to his word. After a little more teasing, your clothes have come off while his are pushed around, leaving the necessary parts accessible. Chris stays in his spot mostly watching, only interjecting when needed.

When they get down to it, you end up face-down, ass in the air on Chris's couch. Carlos ruts into your cunt from behind, panting with each sloppy thrust. Your head bobbles against the other man's thigh. Soft whimpers pour out against the rough denim of his jeans. His hand strokes over the curve of your head in a soothing rhythm.

"Fuck, I've been missing this," Carlos grunts from behind you.

His hand splays across the small of your back and pushes down, keeping you at the perfect angle to take each thrust to the hilt. You whine as his cock rams deep into your insides. The occasional yelp bursts from your lips when his tip brushes your cervix, but Chris hushes you from above with sweet reassurances.

"You're taking it so well, puppy. Taking your daddy so well," he coos. His hand not occupied with petting you pumps over his cock lazily.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his leg. You nod weakly to affirm his statement. Carlos chuckles at your fucked out state and smacks your ass, knocking you forward.

"He's right. I can tell you've been missin' this. She's squeezing me like she wants me to never leave again," he rasps. His shaggy hair sways with the rocking of his hips.

"Never- ah- never want you to leave again," you repeat, your lips smooshing against Chris.

"Daddy's not leaving, baby. Never again," he growls while plowing into you.

A chorus of moans and whines come from you. The drag of his cock on your velvet inner walls has your eyes rolling back and your legs kicking lightly against the cushions.

Chris watches from above, the pace at which he jerks himself off steadily increasing. He can see a small patch of drool on his pants where your head lies. Reaching for you, he cups your jaw and lifts your head to make you look at him.

He sticks his hand out in front of your mouth and simply says "Lick."

You're not in any place to question the order right now, so you do as he tells you. You stick your tongue out and lick a broad stripe from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger.

He watches on with satisfaction as you wet his hand. When you're done, he lets go and allows your head to thud against his leg again. He brings the now saliva-slick palm back to his length and gives it a few tugs, the sensation much smoother with your added lubrication.

Carlos grins at the sight. He grabs you by the back of your neck and tugs you upward, forcing your spine to arch and his cock to slide even deeper.

A loud cry echoes from you at the new angle, but he holds you there and keeps bouncing his hips against the plush flesh of your ass.

"Look at you, so polite for Chris," he teases.

You can't really respond. The way your head bobbles around is enough to keep any coherent words from forming inside your mind. 

"Chris," he says, calling the attention of the older man, "Isn't she a good girl?"

He takes the bait and nods. "Of course she is. Such a good girl," he agrees.

Your tail wags, brushing against Carlos's stomach in the process. He laughs and uses his freehand to pat your ass again.

"You hear that, babydoll? Everyone knows how well-behaved you are. The perfect little puppy."

Now you do manage to respond. A loud whine bursts from your lips and you nod wildly.

"Uh-huh," you choke out, "'m daddy's perfect puppy."

"That's right," he huffs out with a laugh, "Think you deserve a treat."

Your tail starts whacking back and forth harder between him and you.

"You think you can cum? Think you can cum for daddy?" he asks.

Another quick nod shakes your head up and down.

"Mhm! I can, I can, I can," you babble.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Do it for me then. I want you to cum all over my cock."

To help you out a little, he snakes his free hand around your waist and pushes his fingers between your thighs. His digits swirl around your swollen little bud, sending shocks of pure ecstasy through you. You feel the building fizzle in your belly that makes your toes curl. Your fingers curl and uncurl, trying to find anything to hold onto.

Chris offers you the hand he's not using to pleasure himself. You snatch it and lock on, holding it for dear life while Carlos fucks into you hard. His own cock is flushed and aching, ready for release as well. He strokes it a bit faster, beating his fist up and down, up and down.

Carlos can feel you tighten up. Your body trembles with its proximity to release. He circles his fingers with more speed and applies a bit more pressure.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes from behind you, "That's it. Come on. Cum for daddy. Be a good girl for me. Show Chris how pretty you look when you let go."

The words send you crashing over the edge. You throw your head back and buck violently in his grasp. His strong arms keep you in place. They hold you nice and secure so he can fuck you through it.

Chris finishes next, unable to take the sight of you unraveling. He groans and melts against the plush cushion behind him. Pearly white ropes of cum jump from the tip and spurt onto the skin of his stomach. He pumps every last drop out of himself, still holding your wavering hand as Carlos starts to shoot his own load into you.

He moans loud too and strengthens his grip around you. The last few thrusts are particularly brutal. They nearly topple you over flat onto your face.

Carlos doesn't unhand you until he's done and feels his cum has been fucked nice and deep into you, hard enough to make up for the period of separation that preceded this.

When he pulls out of you, he scoops your body up and twists you around to cradle you in his lap.

"My baby," he whispers between a few kisses, "Always so good for me."

You nuzzle into the affection, and he strokes your jaw, directing you to look up at him. His fingers then turn your head, guiding you to look at the other man in the room.

"Chris did such a good job taking care of you. I think you should tell him thank you," he says.

You look at Chris with shyness in your eyes, as if he hadn't just watched you get your brains fucked out. "Thank you, Chris," you say.

He smirks at you, still a bit hazy from his own release. "No problem, pretty girl."

You can feel Carlos grinning against the side of your head. "How about you show Chris how thankful you are. Give him something to remember before we hit the road," he teases.

Now, Chris smiles and pats his lap. "He's right. I'm gonna miss you once you're gone, puppy. Maybe you can help me feel a little better about it."

A smile of your own spreads across your face. Leaning forward, you crawl in Chris's direction. At this rate, you'd be tiring yourself out, ready to sleep through the long car ride tonight and wake up at the location of your sweet escape.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc Crossover

Danny and Ellie somehow get tangled with Cadmus and frozen for study later. Obviously it comes to the JL’s attention and they all go ‘oh no another clone’. Anyone’s choice of who they think it is or if it’s a collection of people they took DNA from and meshed together to make these two sassy children.

Would be funnier if they came to DC universe by accident and didn’t have time to really learn about it before capture. The result being they have no idea superheroes are a thing and the heroes just thinking ‘these kids were traumatized and held captive, they don’t even know who Superman is!’ and cue another layer of hilarious misunderstanding.

When confronted about the whole clone thing, Danny immediately defends and protects Ellie. Obviously. Then they notice he was not defending himself, to which Danny goes ‘I’m not a clone!’ The heroes look at each other in clear doubt. ‘Oh he was in denial or seriously didn’t know who he was made from. That will make this harder.’

I may have started something though…

They found a discrete laboratory hidden in plan sight, underneath an office building. When researched, they found connections to Cabmus.

Considering the last encounter they had with the organization, they wanted to be prepared. Hence why when the small team noticed Batman walking down the stairs, Superman followed behind with a tight expression.

“Report.”

Red Robin stepped forward.

“Two cryo-stasis containers holding two nearly identical people. The first a male, approximately 13-14 years of age. Stable. The second a female, younger, approximately 10-11 years of age. Also stable, but her stats are lower than the boy’s.”

“What do you know?”

“Virtually nothing,” Connor says casually. “There are no documents left behind, digital or physical, and there are zero labels on these things.”

They arrive toward the back of the basement where the two frozen containers were sitting upright. One unit obviously smaller than the other most likely holding the girl. Batman has to peer down into the larger unit to see the boy’s face. Frost collected on his eyelashes and black hair like a forgotten doll. No movement from either forms, not even breathing.

“So we don’t know who they are made from,” Superman pushes, clearly displeased.

Batman keeps looking at their faces. The curve of their noses, the shape of their jaws, the positioning of their cheekbones. They didn’t look like Connor. No, they reminded him of someone else.

“We suspect hybrids of some sort,” M’gann contributes. “A mixture of different heroes if I had to guess, but there is no way of knowing with our lack of information without waking them up.”

“Can’t you look into their minds?” Clark questions.

M’gann squirms at the directness and Connor steps forward to defend her. Tensions rise.

“No, sir. They are frozen so there is hardly any brain function except to keep them alive. They aren’t even dreaming.”

She looks them over sadly, obviously distraught with not being able to connect to their minds in anyway.

Batman turns to Red Robin, the younger already watching him.

“You see it too, right?”

Batman grunts. Yes, he saw it.

“Is there a way to move them?” Batman brings back the focus.

“The containers are connected to the buildings power and then a back-up generator in case of emergencies. We’d have to switch the power to something mobile and there’s no telling what kind of effect that would have on the kids,” Connor explains, against the idea of moving them.

“It’s six in the evening. Most everyone in the building above as gone home for the day,” Red Robin helpfully adds.

“Evacuate the rest. Then call a medical team.”

“Wait,” Superman interrupts as the three younger heroes jump to do as instructed. “You’re not thinking about waking them up now, are you?”

“You have a better idea?”

Batman doesn’t even look at him as he studies the stats on the old screen connected to the nearest pod. This one holding the boy. He’ll be the first one out seeing as he’s the more stable one.

“They could be dangerous. They could try to attack us.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Batman deadpans. He didn’t state the obvious that they were children who had been frozen for who knows how long. If anything they’ll need reassurance that they were safe, not weapons in their faces as soon as they wake up.

Clark was not happy with his decision, but as long as he didn’t antagonize them Bruce left him alone.

It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin. Three medical personnel stood several yards back behind the heroes. Red Robin begins the defrosting procedure and they have to wait maybe an hour before the door slides open. There is a breath among them as they wait for his eyes to open. Instead they hear a cracking of thin ice and the boy falls forward without the door holding him in place. Connor is the one to catch him before he hits the floor face first.

Superboy turns him to lay him flat on the floor, the boy’s body still stiff with cold. Frost makes his hair and eyelashes brittle. His lips are a faint shade of blue.

“He isn’t breathing,” Connor informs quickly.

One of the medics push forward first, oxygen mask in hand.

“Bring the thermal blankets. We need to get his core temperature up,” the woman urgently instructs.

They get to work quickly in warming up the boy who is too small and fragile. After several minutes of the medics squeezing air into his mouth and rubbing his limbs and chest to get the blood flowing, the boy takes a breath. Then another. He coughs roughly, his throat scratchy, and starts to shiver.

“There we go.”

He whimpers and tries to move his hand, but the action is jerky and unpracticed.

“His eyes,” M’gann informs them, finally able to get some brain activity. “He can’t open his eyes. The ice-“

Connor takes a water bottle the medics brought and poured the room temperature water over his eyes to melt the ice holding them together. The boy jumps in surprise and tries to turn his head away but Connor continues until he can manually wipe away the ice and water from his eyelids.

Blue eyes. The boy has bright sky blue eyes. They aren’t the Krytonian blue, but they were still familiar.

He blinks and squints and looks around, breathing picking up at the people surrounding him and the unfamiliar environment. M’gann, sensing his distress, kneels down and sets a warm hand on his leg.

“It’s okay. No one here will hurt you. You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t relax, but he seems to at least understand her. He studies their uniforms and then her face before his eyes flick to something behind her and they widen. His breath stutters in his chest, making him wheeze out on the exhale.

They look behind the green skinned girl to see the smaller pod still holding the little girl, no change in her status.

The boy reaches out a shaky hand toward it, scraping against the cold concrete in his lack of energy to lift it.

“She’s okay too.”

He opens his mouth to speak, licks his lips, tries again.

“-ou-,” he rasps. His breath hitches and he’s coughing again. They help him onto his side.

“You want us to get her out?” Red Robin interprets.

The boy squints through the tears from the lack of oxygen at the hero. His expression is scrunched in discomfort and worry. As enthusiastic as he can manage, the boy nods.

“Okay, we can do that. You just have to wait, she needs to thaw out, just like what we did with you,” Red Robin explains to the boy.

He nods again in understanding, his eyes glued back to the girl in the pod. He still shivers harshly and his breathing isn’t regular but he’s not panicking and in no shape to attack them, so it seems like they were in the clear with that one.

While the girl is thawing, they get him more comfortable with warm blankets and get him to drink some water for his throat. He still wasn’t moving much except to curl up on his side and breathe on his colorless fingers. Every time he swallowed he cringed like he was drinking acid, so talking was off the table for now.

The boy was fighting sleep by the time the container door slide open. Connor was there and holding her before she could fall like the boy had.

Superboy lays the girl down close to the boy, seeing the pale hand reaching for her. As soon as he backed away the medics were on her to get air in her lungs and warm her body same as they did for the boy.

The boy watches, quietly holding her hand. Siblings it looks like it. Seeing them side by side was startling. They seemed to be clones of each other, one just younger and the opposite gender, but they were the same.

It was concerning as the number of minutes increased and there was no change. She didn’t breathe or move. She looked dead.

“Get the defibrillator,” the medic ordered, urgent.

The boy surprisingly wasn’t panicking, instead he held a hard determination that made some of the heroes curious.

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he leaned over the girl and started weakly pushing the blankets out of the way. Thinking he was just helping to make the medic’s job easier, M’gann helped until her torso was exposed.

“You need to back away so they-“

She stops when she sees him tug at the girl’s white shirt to get into direct contact with her skin, hand pressed to her chest.

“What are you-?”

He narrows his eyes in concentration.

Red Robin unconsciously takes a step back when the boy’s blue eyes change into a glowing toxic green, illuminating the girl’s face, frost shining in the light. The hand pressed to her chest also starts to glow the same green until it seeps into her skin like she’s absorbing this weird energy. It reminded them of Starfire actually.

The green in his eyes fades as soon as the unknown green energy is lighting up her entire torso just under the skin. He pulls away and looks expectantly at the medic holding the defibrillator. She flinches into moving, setting the machine down and charging it. She’s hesitant to touch the green energy but the boy nods in encouragement, not looking concerned for anything but the girl’s health.

“Clear!”

It takes one shock for the green energy to disperse through her body and cause her to gasp. The girl starts coughing harshly and the boy pulls her to lay on her side facing him. Connor quickly helps the boy to cover her in blankets. The boy goes as far as tucking them around her and taking one of his own blankets to pile on top. He was moving more easily now even if it was sluggish.

M’gann gasps quietly just as the girl starts sobbing, whining when the act of crying hurt her throat. The boy pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin so they could barely see her. They watch as he calmly comforts her until they are both eased into unconsciousness.

Batman give Superman a pointed look as he passes him. Clark doesn’t respond.

“Get them to the Watchtower med bay,” he orders.

It’s Superman who picks up the pile of two children tangled together and wrapped in layers of fabric, nearly throwing them at how light they both weighted. The three younger heroes follow behind, Tim mumbling about “Lazarus pits” and “Jason”, M’gann twisting her fingers in anxiety, and Connor keeping a close eye on the two kids being carried by his original.

It’s unsurprising that it’s Connor who volunteers to say with them when they are settled down in the med bay, still clinging to each other in sleep.

[nebbyy]

Please write a fanfic about King Baldwin IV from KoH, where he fell in love with female reader. The plot is up to you. Please make it a serious love story with slight fluff 🤗🤭

Baldwin IV x reader - Life always comes down to a game of chess

A/N: You have no idea how much I love you anon, this was one of the prompts I already wanted to write omgggg!! For this fic I kinda got inspired by this painting (which, for everyone interested, it’s “La belle dame sans merci” by Frank Dicksee), and you’ll see how and why reading it;)

Summary: King Baldwin IV receives an offer from an Italian nobleman to marry his daughter; unsure of whether to accept or not this compelling offer, Baldwin decides to do what he does best…

Warning: there are some mentions of christianity and religious references along with some hints at the misogynistic ideologies of the time (about the woman being “owned” by the dominant male figure in her life) ((I don’t condone this ideology at all but I thought it’d be fitting to add it anyway to give some accuracy to it)).

Word count: 2637

King Baldwin couldn’t quite wrap his head around you. The day that he was informed of your engagement, he felt himself quite skeptical of the idea of marrying someone. After all, ever since his leprosy had been diagnosed he had to get used to the idea of living a life of solitude, forced into a lifelong chastity, for no sane man would ever marry off their daughter to a leper. With time, he had found solace in nurturing his own knowledge and virtue, elevating himself to a level of wisdom that very few could boast at his young age.

During the following days, the young king's mind was plagued with thoughts, considerations he was making to weigh the choice. The benefits of marrying Lady Y/N were many, first and foremost securing a connection to the land of Italian speakers, allowing for easier trafficking of crusaders arriving in the Holy Land, not to mention the abundance that would be the young lady's dowry. And not only did marrying her mean strengthening the economical side of his reign, but it also meant giving the impression to the public that the king's health condition was improving to such an extent that he considered that to be an ideal time to marry. His most trusted men and all of his advisors kept repeating to him, marrying Lady Y/N would’ve been  comparable to a blessing.

But despite all the benefits this union seemed like it would bring, Baldwin continued to hesitate to make a decision. What left him so undecided was the possibility that this was some kind of deception, a conspiracy orchestrated against him, hidden in the form of the most convenient of marriages. It was up to him to decide whether it was worth taking these risks in favor of the benefits that would come if his concerns turned out to be unfounded. 

Like everything else in his life, this choice came down to a game of chess…

It was this idea that prompted him to make a decision. Baldwin had a messenger called, to be sent to Pisa to give the news to Lord Y/F/N that the king wished to report his decision to him live, at his court. For the lord to arrive it would have to wait, but Baldwin has always been a man of exceptional patience.

Four months passed, when at the dawn of Lent it was announced by a Pisan messenger that Lord Y/F/N and his daughter had come to Acre, and would soon be coming to Jerusalem. Another week passed before father and daughter, riding two white horses and accompanied by an escort of knights arrived at the royal palace.

When he first saw you, Baldwin could have sworn he saw Mary himself. You walked with such grace that you almost seemed to float. Your face looked serene, despite the anxiety that had been devouring you from within ever since the day the invitation from the king of Jerusalem reached you; a blue veil covered your hair, framing your face and falling over your shoulders. You bowed to Baldwin as was proper to do before a king, yet he felt so tempted to interrupt you, prevent you from bowing to him, perhaps even bowing to you himself.

At that moment he felt like Lancelot before Guinevere, completely mesmerized by your beauty, one who seemed more fit to an angel than a woman. But, he gave no sign of his true emotional state; after all, a gorgeous woman does not mean she can be fit to serve as queen. Her answer will be decided when she has had a chance to hear you speak, away from the judgmental stares of the court, free from any influence that might change what you really think.

As the sun shone bright in the sky, the banquet took place inside of the palace. The king excused himself before going to eat by himself in his chambers as usual, leaving his guests in the company of his sisters and his court. Loud chatter filled the room, goblets were raised to get more wine poured, courses flowed onto the set table, a tribute to thank Lord Y/F/N for making such a journey to fulfill the king's request. All this noise, yet in your ears all became quiet when a servant approached your chair, whispering a few simple words, "The king has requested your presence at dinner."

Your blood froze in your veins in surprise, and you could almost feel your father's thrill as you rose from your seat, having the servant guide you toward the king's study. Walking through the halls of the palace, you could do nothing but feel so small in comparison, you almost seemed to disappear, enveloped by the magnificence of everything around you that, if all went well, you would have called your own.

You were brought back to reality when the heavy doors of the king's room were opened by the two guards who stood at his sides. An enveloping fragrance, a mixture of myrrh and frankincense filled your senses with a feeling of serenity, an almost familiar feeling. In the center of the room, a hooded figure, dressed in silk as white as snow. "Come forward, my lady. I apologize for my absence at the table but," she interjected for a moment, rising from her seat and revealing her face-or at least, what was not covered by the veil-"many might find my appearance somewhat...disturbing during a meal." He chuckled a little at that last part. You wondered if irony had become a kind of means for him to soften his own hellish condition. 

As soon as he turned around you could not help but study the appearance of what will hopefully be your future husband. Rumors about his condition had been swirling since the day he was crowned, so you had been prepared to be confronted with a horrifically disfigured man. Instead, although part of his face was covered by the thin veil, it was like an instinct for you to try to study his features. You could vaguely make out the golden hair that adorned his face, although it was covered by the veil. His voice had intrigued you; it sounded so jovial and yet so deep. A melody that sang of the young monarch's endeavors. It intrigued you, you wondered what his lips looked like, whether they matched the sound of his voice.

But what really caught your interest were his eyes. They were blue, but of a color so deep, so intense, it reminded you of tales you had heard about the northern seas, of the waters that dark and deep seemed to beckon sailors, to lead them to drown within them. Likewise you felt mesmerized by such intensity. And you wondered, how much of this would remain the same as his illness progressed.

You recovered from that momentary trance, wasting no time to bow, but this time Baldwin stopped you before you were able to bow more than your head: "Don't bow, please. Such reverences are not necessary here." You looked at him a little dumbfounded, but despite the king's unusual attitude you did not object. He stepped to the side, revealing a finely decorated chessboard, with all the pawns already set in place. "Do you play?" he asked softly, and you finally mustered up the courage to speak "It's been some time since I last did," as you approached the table, taking your seat opposite Baldwin. He took his seat again, and for the first time in your life you found yourself face to face with a king. 

You quickly realised that he had assigned you the white pawns, the small courtesy of moving you first. You took a moment to think of an initial strategy, and moved your first pawn. A horse. Baldwin raised his eyebrows, surprised by your decision. "Aren't you going to move the pawns first?" You kept your gaze on the chessboard, partly out of respect and partly out of fear, still unsure why the king would call you to his chambers, if indeed it was all just to have a playmate. "I always prefer to start with the horse. I like to think that the pawns would be frightened to charge against the enemy without a knight to guide them." You looked up, meeting his eyes that studied you intrigued. Chuckling at what you had just said, you continued, shaking your head slightly, "Forgive me, it was just a silly thought."

"Not at all, my lady," he replied, studying your every detail, "I find it fascinating." It was his turn to move, and as per rule, he moved one of the pawns, the one in front of the queen. "So you think good leadership is better than letting the individual decide for himself?" There was a spark that had lit up in his eyes, something playful. It was clear that you were intriguing him, surprisingly in your eyes, since you had been instructed to stay behind your father's shadow, not to express your thoughts or externalize your ideologies.

Everything had to be perfect, one could not risk the futile mind of a young woman ruining the marriage that would have been so beneficial to her dukedom, but above all to her family. Yet at that moment she felt that expressing what resided in her own mind was exactly what Baldwin wanted from her. Something lit up in her too, and he in turn caught the same spark in her eyes. Could it be that she had figured out the trick...? 

Another pawn moved, it was Baldwin's turn to move again. Your eyes seldom parted from each other, just for that moment necessary to make your own move. "Independence is not always what benefits a man. Certainly, it is tempting, but in moments of indecision it risks leading to oblivion. An infantryman needs a leader, a young man who is lost in the woods needs a hunter to guide him out..." Another move, the white bishop points directly at the black king "...an indecisive man needs an outside opinion to make his decision."

You smiled, and like the sweetest of plagues you infected him too. You had deciphered his little deception. An innocent deception, with the purpose of seeing with your own eyes how you, in a condition so similar to what is the duty of a sovereign, would have acted. 

After all, his life always came down to a game of chess....

"So you understood..." Baldwin whispered, again sitting in his place. For the first time in his memory, someone had managed to leave him speechless. His witty mind seemed to have died out all of a sudden, the knight in him unarmed by the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe the deception wasn’t as occult as he had planned, or maybe this young lady was really able to stand up to him.

You smiled at him proudly, be proud of your intuition but also relieved that your thought had not turned out to be foolish. Your pride had removed from your mind every rule, every admonition that had been given to you from the moment you set foot in the Holy Land; your mind was now like a river in flood, finally free to flow out according to its natural course. "I do not blame you, my lord. I realize that this is a difficult choice for you, and that the factors at stake go far beyond your individual will."

"And what do you think about that?" Your smile acquired a bittersweet scent, and you answered without almost hesitation: "I am only a woman, my will is that of my father and it will be of my husband. My family prays that this role will be filled by you, and for this to happen I have been instructed to be fit to reign at your side."

“That I can clearly see, but what truly urges me is to know what your own will says. If we were to marry, you would be the bride to a wretched man, one whose fate has already been announced by God. My demise won't be far off, you’ll be left a widow in a foreign land. And before this… curse gets the better of me, there is no saying that it won’t get to you too. If it did, you would suffer the same fate I had been given.”

It took you a moment to let his words sink into your mind. He spoke the truth, a future with him would be filled with sickness and uncertainty; you would have to live in a court far from your home, where everyone was waiting for the king’s death like a flock of crows flying above a dying man. You took a deep breath, feeling as everything came down to this very moment. “I won’t lie to you, my lord, the future that awaits me while standing by your side is not an easy one by any means, and I’m very much aware of that. I do not expect my future to be easy, for it would be an excess of greed. So if I can have a saying in my own future, I’d like to say that I would much rather all the time that is given to me by the Lord standing by the side of a man filled with virtue, than by the side of a man too full of himself to see anything just an inch away from his reflection. There would be no greater honor for me than to stand by your side, for as long as you still have to live, my lord. And if I ever was to catch this disease as well, then I would have no other words to say other than God wills it.“

At your words, the young king had to shake himself up, now more than ever necessary for him to say something, anything really. “For you, my lady, I shall always be just Baldwin.” His tone was softer than ever, a soft breeze that reached to you and whispered I am but yours now. It was unsaid, but decided. Once this meeting would be over, the king would come to your father, and confirm his decision to accept the proposal. Only problem was, this meeting seemed to have become endless. What was supposed to be a quick meal, accompanied by a game of chess, turned into a lively exchange of political views, then silly childhood anecdotes, then again into a walk in the inner courtyard of the palace. Baldwin tried hard to keep you in his presence for as long as was deemed decent for an unmarried man and woman. He kept you with him as long as he could, and when that was no longer possible, he led you back into the great hall, gently holding your hand over his. Soon after the announcement of your engagement, the wedding was set to happen during the following Easter, and the banquet made in honor of his guests was prolonged until the sun had been long set, this time in honor of his betrothed.

You think back to that day fondly, as you lay on your bed, in the comfort of silky sheets and soft pillows. One of your hands holds your head while the others traces the patterns of the scars in your husband’s face that have considerably worsened during the years. Aside from the bed, sitting on a table, forgotten as long as the night reigned over Jerusalem, were two crowns, along with two chess pawns. A white queen and a black king. Both came from the set that had been used the day the two of you met, a reminder for Baldwin of the day God had merged your destinies in one.

A/N: wowww that came out longer than I though oopss. ANYWAY, this was my interpretation of your request, anon, hope you like it!! Also, for everyone who’s gonna read this, feel free to leave any constructive criticism since this is my first fic and I would like to improve a looot more in my writing skills. That’s it now have a nice day y’all <3<3

[babeyun]

falling alone ✩ l.hs [teaser two]

✩ series m.list | taglist form ✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s. ✩ genre: established relationship au | hurt-comfort ✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader ✩ word count: 1.4k | [full fic: tbd] ✩ rating: 18+. minors dni. ✩ warnings: a little more pining between husband!hee & wife!reader, a bit of outsider help. nothing explicit ✩ author's note: hello everyone! i just wanted to let you all know that i am trying my best to get this fic out before the end of the year (and if i don't, i do go on winter break from uni in early december! so we can expect a few fics in that time.) this being said, i will add a taglist link here as well as the series masterlist because i cannot for the life of me keep up with urls at the moment. the people tagged below have already been added to said taglist, but if you wanna jump on and don't see yourself tagged, please fill out the form linked above! thanks!

Heeseung knows that Dr. Bahng told him to leave work at work. However, Dr. Bahng said nothing about bringing home to work. He said nothing about thinking about you at work, or missing you, or daydreaming about you instead of analyzing the reports that a pair of rookies messed up. He also said nothing about reading articles by some sketchy romance columnist on how to keep your relationship alive, which is exactly what Heeseung was scrolling through right now. 

There are things in a relationship that must always be shared in order to avoid, or resolve conflict. How the other person is making you feel, how you are making them feel, and how to tackle both negative checklists properly. It is key to always remember that it must be you and your partner against the problem, not you and your partner against each other.

You make Heeseung feel…alive. You make him feel loved, cherished, and even at some bizarre times, worshiped. You make him appreciate waking up at the ass crack of dawn, your sleeping face relaxed as he peppers kisses across your warm skin – something he's thankful never manages to wake you up, but it adds to all the adoration he holds in his heart for you.

How does he make you feel? Dejected, neglected, rejected. Pushed aside for the true love of his life – work. You never bring it up unless he asks. You never brought it up until last July, when he was slumped in his office chair after drinking half a bottle of sherry whiskey, listening to music and thinking about yet another dead end that deterred him from finding Soyoung. You had approached him with a gentle gaze, a soft touch to his shoulder and asking about taking a shower together. You never questioned him, you never pressured him, you never tried to make him something you assumed he just wasn't – an attentive, doting husband.

And he remembers how he asked you, too. He remembers spinning around in his chair, asking you if he was everything you'd ever wanted. Asking you if he was living up to your expectations, as a husband, as a life partner, as a friend, even.

And he remembers the way you sighed carefully before perching on his desk. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I'm sure you'll continue to grow and be even more deserving of the love I hold for you." You had smiled, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Nothing we can't work through, you know? If I was given a choice in another life, another world – I'd still choose you."

He will never forget it, and he can still feel the warmth of your lips against his as you led him to the bathroom. He can still feel the ache of your love on his skin from the way you held him under the running water, quietly basking in his presence as the mint of your shampoo filled his nose. Nothing is as special to him as you are. 

There are things that should routinely be shared in order to maintain a homeostasis of the calendar. Asking how their day was, if you have any ideas for dinner tonight, or if you'd like to do something this weekend to celebrate the mundane. It shouldn't be difficult to establish a routine with your partner, if you are in tune with them. A kiss goodbye in the morning, a warm embrace in the evenings. A shared meal, a shared bath, a shared bed. 

Heeseung can't remember the last time he fully checked in with you – you always have something to do. You always attempt new creative projects, and his fingers toy with the fabric of his slacks as he remembers that you hand stitched them. He thinks about how you waited for him all night yesterday, and the disappointment you must have felt when he arrived late. He thinks about how he just doesn't make time to tackle the problem that you two are constantly glossing over by being intimate – he knows you don't feel loved. 

He didn't ask you about your day yesterday, or the day before, or last week. He didn't ask you if you were sewing anything new, learning any new pieces on the piano collecting dust in the living room. He hasn't asked about your mother, but at least he knows you don't like to talk about her. 

Heeseung hasn't asked you a single thing about yourself, or your life, and he doesn't know how long it's been. Even last night, your eyes were focused entirely on him – the way his lips twitched when you said you liked the wine he chose, the way he pulled your leg over his in the booth you were sharing. You asked him about work, and he just shook his head as he pointed out the new menu items. 

You love him so selflessly.

Something that works for my partner and I is parallel play. We aren't necessarily doing something together, but we are present in the same room and doing our own thing. Knowing that he is there, and that if I need him, I can reach for him, adds a comfort to our relationship. Aside from this, we also come together every two weeks and address any issues we may be experiencing – both in our relationship and our individual lives. We resolve the issues about us together, and advise the other on our personal issues. Balance!

You do this a lot. If Heeseung is home, you'll wander to wherever he is and sit down where you can, and quietly go about your business. Sometimes it's a new cross-stitch, sometimes it's just putting a headphone in and listening to music. Sometimes you're giving yourself a pedicure, sometimes you're just sitting there staring at his corkboard of paraphernalia while matching your breathing to his. It was subtle, something you thought he'd never notice.

He sighs, exiting out of the tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Tugging it on, he uses one hand to log out of his computer when he hears three knocks on the door. A lightness of the rapping knuckles similar to yours…and your smiling face appears as you crack open the door. "Surprise?" He hates that he can't bite back his smile, a few of his fellow officers wide-eyed at his expression. He nods silently, and you extend your hand for him when you hear his coworkers whispering about you. With a dejected look, you tuck your hand back into the pocket of your jeans, "Guess we don't want them gossiping, right?" "Right." He mumbles, his own hand twitching around the doorknob as he pulls it shut behind him. He wants to reach for you, embrace the warmth you bring, show you off to the people he often calls his friends. Sunghoon catches his eye, a quizzical look on his face before shaking his head. 

Heeseung reaches for you, but you've already made your way towards the door. Your smile has lessened as you open the door, holding it for him. "How was work?" You ask as he joins you in the cool air, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in close, his nose buried in your hair. You hesitate to wrap your arms around him, instead leaning back to try and meet his eyes. "Hee?" "Don't ask me about work." He mutters, before pressing his lips to yours softly. You let out a noise of surprise, but you can't melt into his touch before he pulls away. "I hate talking about work, let's talk about you. Over lunch." He takes your hand in his, gently pulling you to his side as he makes his way to the car. He doesn't see yours in the parking lot, so he only assumes you got a rideshare before you clear your throat. "Are you okay?" The words are slightly jumbled as he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, helping you step in. "Hm? Why do you ask?"

"Well…you're actually out of the office. And you want to go to lunch…and you don't want to talk about work?" Your voice is meek, and it makes his chest ache as he reaches to buckle your seatbelt in for you. "I just want to spend time with you. Shall we?" His smile is a little forced, until he sees the soft gloss of embarrassment over your eyes. "Okay."

BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

TAGLIST [those in red could not be tagged] @thesassy-mia @starfallia @ramenoil @hoonieversies @wintabite @shnnzsworld @eneiyri @jjongsha @ilovejungwonandhaechan @oopshee @capri-cuntz @petalsofink @teddybeartaetae @chocminteu @moon0fthenight @delvziion @heeseungthel0ml @bbyjw @marimariiiiiiii @thenastone

[yanderefarm]

yandere crime lord introduction

cw;; torture, violence, yandere things, nsft

he's finally here. please feast your eyes on him. pretty boy. im amazed at how the three of them really do look like brothers. i was having a really hard time with his hair when i finally to give him curly hair like his brother and its such a good choice. ajax has some curl to his hair too so they all look related.

achilles is the eldest brother of ares and ajax. he's 35 years old.

he has a nicotine addiction and he goes through a pack a week. quitting is more stressful than it's worth so he hasn't tried.

he stays in touch with his brothers. ares more so because ares calls him to hide bodies frequently.

he isn't head of the family yet, he works right under his father and he has a lot of the same power and responsibilities.

he hates violence and as a young boy he was even more soft spoken and didn't want to hurt anyone. now he has no choice and that adds to his stress.

his whole life he's been compared to ares because he's so much softer than his more aggressive brother. this caused him to really develop a complex where he's always thinking about how much better ares would be at everything he tries and then he starts to stress that people will realize that he's just faking being tough and masculine.

he's known since he was young that he likes men but he doesn't want to risk anymore more evidence against him.

he doesn't have time for relationships or a personal life. his routine is basically work, stress, eat, sleep.

this only changes when he's with you. suddenly he doesn't have to stop and remember to eat. he doesn't have to hurt anyone or be threatening. there's no fear of being exposed with you.

his routine with you is torture, eat, get taken care of, sleep.

at first it was horrible, of course it would be. he spent every day just praying he survived. but one day you weren't torturing him, instead you just let him sit in the same room as you.

for the first time he didn't have to be scared or worry about survival and he was certain all his stress would come back to him. but he realized there was no point in stressing; you would kill him sooner rather than later so he could just comfortably be himself.

he started to get closer to you then forming some kind of strange domesticity. he even found himself enjoying the pain, the horrible pain you would inflict would empty his mind of everything but you.

and then you would patch and clean his wounds so gently. you would always tell him when it was about to sting like you hadn't been putting out cigarettes on his chest an hour ago.

he fell in love with you in the 2 and a half months he spent as your captive. it was nice to love someone so deeply before he died.

and then you told him he could leave. he was confused, upset, confused why he was upset. he wondered if maybe you had found out that your victim had developed a sick affection for you and you were so disgusted with him.

he never understood his younger brother's feelings and possessiveness towards everything. he didn't understand how his brother could claim to love something so deeply that he feels compelled to break it. but when you told him he could go he suddenly understood everything.

it was like something in his mind finally clicked into place and he knew he couldn't let you throw him away. he knew he didn't have any power over you but if he could find something you wanted he could force you to let him stay.

he eventually becomes a pay pig for you. he knows that you're willing to do extreme things for money but he usually just pays to go on dates or for kisses.

he calls you a lot whenever work becomes overwhelming. if you don't answer the phone he'll light up a cigarette instead.

everyone thinks he has a girlfriend and he's some dominant guy who's suddenly whipped for a pretty little girl. they don't know he's the wife.

he loves mascot characters. he really loves cute or ugly cute things. he has a cute phone charm he got from ares and it's the only cute thing he allows himself to own. he can use it being his brother's gift as a good excuse to keep it.

ares knows his real personality while ajax still thinks he's a cool stoic older brother

he is very stoic and he can come off pretty intimidating. he'll accidentally glare at people sometimes because he's just lost in thought and worrying about something.

he only smiles when he's with you. whether you're out on a date or he's getting sewn up he'll have a soft little smile on his face.

if you ever tried to abandon him he would use every resource at his disposal to find you. even if he has to be the one to lock you up he won't let you leave.

he's surprisingly clingy in public. he doesn't do much pda but he'll hold your hand the whole time. if anyone looks at you he'll squeeze your hand and pull you a little closer to himself.

surprisingly it actually takes him a little bit to come around to the idea of bringing sex into things. even longer to convince him that he'd probably enjoy sex more if there was a pain aspect.

now he gets turned on as soon as you press that piece of duct tape over his mouth. he's a complete degenerate.

he loves being degraded. nothing is more exciting than when he calls you at work stressed out and you mock his whole crime lord attitude.

never worry about being too mean to him. he will beg you to make him cry.

he got the family sex = love belief. however because of his work with prostitutes he finds love to be cheap. he didn't think he would ever fall in love until his obsession with you formed.

he also inherited the family forced fem kink. he particularly likes to wear frilly lingerie under his suits while at work. he always sends you a picture of his underwear in the morning.

he over hears someone talking about how much they love calling their wife, wife. so he asks you to call him wife once and it immediately gets him hard. he's a blushing mess about it. .

quiet in bed. when hes not screaming in pain. he just gasps and whimpers at your touch.

he has a desperate need to praise you. like a praise kink but on the giving side. he wants to kiss every inch of your skin and tell you how grateful he is for you.

he doesn't say i love you a lot but when he does it's during sex. especially after edging him.

any kinks you want to try on him he is down to do at least once.

[miyukisu]

There Ain't No Man Like You .ᐟ

❤︎ | People normally talk it out when they have a feud with someone, but you two? You decide to bury the hatchet by showering together (2.2k wc) ╰ feat. toji fushiguro (jjk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 4 | kinktober masterlist

tags - shower sex, co-workers, reader is also an assassin, toji barges in while reader is showering, enemies to lovers, p in v, p*rn with plot, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, profanity

minors do not interact

Toji Fushiguro was—to say the least—insufferable.

He was a deadbeat dad with a gambling problem. To be fair, it's nothing new in your line of work. But for some reason, he was downright intolerable.

Perhaps it was the fact he'd look down on you or how he'd seem so condescending with your every move despite being assigned on the same task together.

Or maybe it's because you can't admit that you're down bad for the man.

It could very well be any of those choices. Only God knows at this point.

Of course, as your handler, Shiu knows all this. He knows what goes on between his two favorite contract killers. You'd think he'd be smart enough to separate the two of you by now. But, no.

Shiu was either incredibly dense or the biggest asshole on the planet... well, probably only second to Fushiguro. But that's besides the point.

The job in question was particularly difficult. You admit that if you did it alone—it would have been too risky. But throughout the mission, you seriously wondered if it was better to take the risk or endure the experience that is to be Toji's partner.

For an old man, he was stubborn and uncooperative. At his age he should've learned some manners, but it seems that it has flown over his head.

It didn't make it any better that the mission dragged on forever to the point that the two of you had no choice but to go to an inn for temporary shelter since traveling at this hour wasn't viable.

Add to that the fact that it was a small dilapidated inn with rooms too small for comfort. But it's not like you had any choice. As much as you'd loathe to be in such proximity with that man—a shower and a good night's rest were too tempting to pass up.

────────────

Your eyes scanned the room—not that there was a lot to look at. There was a lamp that barely lit up, a chair that surprisingly had its 4 legs intact, and a single bed. The last one is a problem for future you to handle. For now, you were in dire need of a shower.

Huffing your chest out, you started rummaging through the items in your bag. "I'm gonna shower first."

"And why?" he asks, standing right behind you.

"As you can see, I'm covered in more dirt, sweat, and blood than you."

He scoffs at your reasoning. "Shit. I wonder why."

You stand up with the necessary stuff for a shower in your hands. "Don't be such an ass. It's the least you can give me for being so fucking difficult today."

As you turned to face him, Toji had his hands crossed over his chest with an unamused expression on his face. "I did most of the work," he gruntled.

"Don't care," you say before walking past the man and into the shower. You made sure to swing the door hard enough to get your point across. But you soon regret that decision once you realize how weak the door was. A little more and it would've definitely came off the hinges.

"Shit," you whispered to yourself. You may have kept the door in place, but you fucked up the lock. But whatever, he won't come in for as long as you're in there. And boy did you plan on being in there for quite some time. He can consider it as your way of retaliating against his behavior.

────────────

As you took your sweet time in the shower, Toji was forced to wait on the bed. His leg restlessly bounced as he lost patience. It would have been fine if there was any form of entertainment in this goddamned room, but the most interesting thing was the line of ants climbing up the drab wall.

It pissed him off even more to hear you singing your heart out like he wasn't waiting for his turn, covered in all sorts of disgusting shit.

He groaned to himself. Toji was done waiting for you. To hell with it, he thought as he stood up and made his way to the bathroom.

Toji knocked once—hard. It was enough to bust the door open. Much to your dismay, the inn didn't allot any budget for shower curtains. So when the door flung open, your eyes met—except his eyes quickly trailed down to forbidden places.

"You fucking pervert!"

He held his hands up. "Hey, it's not my fault the door's made out of paper."

"How about you stop looking?" you say frantically while trying to cover yourself up.

A small smirk forms on his face. "Relax. It's not like I haven't seen a woman's body before."

"Well. You haven't seen mine."

"And? You think you're special or something?"

For some reason, his words struck a chord in you—a particularly painful one. You found yourself turning a bit to the side, away from his gaze. "Just get the fuck out."

"Nah. You're taking too long," he retorts.

You were about to say something back, but as you turned to face him again, you were met by his bare form.

"H-how the fuck did you get naked so fast?" You desperately tried to suppress the blush that was threatening to spread across your face as you tried to look away.

"A talent of mine I guess."

His warmth radiated off of him and you felt it getting closer and closer. Toji Fushiguro was really about to shower with you right now and you weren't doing anything to stop it.

You shielded your chest with your arms as he stood behind you.

"Move a bit will you? I need to get under the shower head too." He nudges you forward a tiny bit, but you stand your ground.

"Quit it. I need to rinse off too."

A deep sigh falls from his lips. He decided to move forward himself. You watched as he planted his hands against the wall of the shower, caging you between his thick forearms.

"Don't get too close. I'll get dirty again."

A soft and unexpected chuckle erupts from him. A tingle runs down your spine as you feel his breath against your face.

"Then I'll clean you up," he whispered seductively.

It left you speechless. Normally you'd have a sassy comeback for him, but nothing. You were like a prey caught in a trap—a trap that you so willingly walked into.

Something began poking you from the back. It was warm... suspiciously warm.

"Toji..."

"Yes?" His breath still lingered close to your neck.

"I swear to God... if that's your dick poking me—I'll punch you in the fucking face."

"He's just a little excited. Can you blame him?"

"I thought you said I wasn't special?"

Again, he chuckled. A pair of hands held on to you by your shoulders. His touch was gentle—a stark contrast to his usual rough demeanor. "Aww... did you believe me? I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."

"Fuck you."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

You felt so pathetic for not having a response to that. But he was right. You would like that. It was just your pride getting in the way.

His grip slightly tightened as he turned you to face him. The same shit-eating grin was plastered across his annoyingly good-looking face.

"I knew it," he muttered before leaning down and catching your lips in a searing kiss. The water continued to run down your bodies as your mouths collided passionately.

You expected it to be rougher than this, but there was an unexpected tenderness in his touch. One of his hands snaked its way to your nape while the other kept going lower and lower.

He wasted no time, cupping your breast and massaging it between his fingers. He rolled, pinched, and twisted the sensitive bud—earning a wanton moan from you. It inflated his ego having your breathless sounds pour into him like that.

Toji made sure to trace your curves while still kissing you like a depraved man. Your knees buckled as soon as he got to your clit. He rubbed it lowly with the pad of his thumb. That was the only time he pulled away from the kiss. Perhaps he wanted to see how his fingers would eventually pump in and out of you.

Though, he made sure you were ready for it. He diligently saw to it that he was touching you in all the right places, making you wet enough for him.

His smirk got bigger and bigger the louder your moans became. He didn't feel sorry at all for whomever was in the room next door. The walls had to be thin after all.

"I like it better when these are the kinds of sounds that come from your pretty little mouth."

"S-shut up."

"Haha, still a feisty little thing even while I got my fingers buried in your cunt? What a sight."

Those words had you dripping effortlessly. His long fingers easily reached your g-spot. Every drag against your walls brought you closer and closer to an orgasm.

"Shit... I'm so close."

"Wanna cum, hm?" he asks and you nod.

"Gotta beg for it though. After what you put me through, I think it's only fair."

"You're such an asshole."

In response, he brings back his thumb—rubbing your clit and fucking you with his fingers at the same time. You moan like a bitch in heat, quickly losing every ounce of resolve left.

"Fuck. Fine. Please... please just let me cum," you finally begged.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?"

It didn't take long for him to bring you to climax. He had you cumming on his digits as soon as you dropped your pride for him. He was even nice enough to let you ride it out, only pulling out once your fluttering came to a halt.

You watched how he popped his fingers in his mouth, tasting you so shamelessly with a smile on his face.

He took that same hand and gripped the underside of your thigh, lifting it up. "Gotta have my fun now," he mutters.

Looking down, you see him at his hardest. His tip was angry and leaking, ready to find reprieve in you. He figured it would be amusing to drag it along your slit—slap your clit a few times for good measure.

Then, you whined.

It was music to his ears.

"What? Can't wait to have cock in you?" Toji chuckled at you.

"Well then, sorry for teasing you. I hope this," he says, plunging in half of his length. "makes up for it."

You yelp at the sudden intrusion. It wasn't painful, but his girth was something you had to accustom yourself to.

"Mhm, take your time," he cooed.

You hated how gentle he was being right now. You hated it because it made it harder for you to stay mad at him.

Bracing yourself, you held on to him—fingers digging into the muscles of his back. "You can move now..."

And he does. Toji pushes in his entire length, dragging it out slowly and shoving it back inside hard. The way his dick curved up hit all of your sweet spots. At this point, it was impossible to keep quiet.

He wanted to go even faster and deeper. Toji grabbed your other leg, lifting it up and making it so that you had both legs wrapped around his torso.

The large man fucked into you mercilessly. You could cum on his cock 2 or 3 times—he didn't care. He just wanted to reach his own climax.

"Fuuuck," he drawled out. "Haven't felt this in a while."

And it showed. Any semblance of softness you may have seen earlier was gone. What's left was his carnal desire and need.

He fucked you like his life depended on it. You could say he was as desperate as you are.

"Shit. Don't tighten up like that... I'll bust too early."

Nails scratched thin red marks all over his back. It was almost funny to think he was getting more marked up here than he did back in the mission.

Still, those were his battle scars.

For a second time—though it already felt like more than that—you came. A warm sensation flooded you from your core all the way out to your limbs. It was mind-numbingly good—the way he fucked you.

"You came huh? Greedy woman... cumming so much while I haven't."

"Then cum... you oaf."

The smile crosses his lips again at the nickname. "Fine. Take it all then."

Toji powered through the last few thrusts even though he felt his knees giving it out from the sheer sensation of it all. Hot spurts of cum painted your walls.

Heavy breathing along with the running water filled the room. Toji pulled out, letting some of his seed drip down your thigh.

"Guess we have to clean up again, huh?"

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

╰ author's note This took... too many revisions... too many for my liking...

[gallaghersgal]

MIND OVER MATTER, lip gallagher

chapter two of BORDERLINE. lip x bsf!reader (nickname: MK)

TAGS & WARNINGS → general shameless themes, smoking, swearing, karen's here and she's a bitch, lots of best friend moments <333

CHAPTER SUMMARY → the days get colder and lip remains stubborn. it's mostly due to his on again off again relationship with karen jackson, the girl who says she's pregnant with his baby. and, conveniently, the girl that hates your guts.

A/N → thank you so much for waiting on this one!!! took me a while to update because i just want every little detail to be perfect 🥹

WC → 1.7k

As autumn gave way to the icy cold of winter you found yourself staring out the window of your seventh period classroom. An old pair of wired earbuds connects both you and Lip to your school issued laptop, which the two of you were using to form your monthly shared playlist. It was a tradition you had started yourself at the beginning of this year, but Lip had wormed his way in as he seemed to do with everything else in your life, insisting he be allowed to add songs since he had to ride along with you everywhere. You’d told him it came with his lack of license, and he’d pestered you until you allowed him ten songs per playlist. 

Lip’s elbow digs into your ribs and pulls your focus away from the flurries starting to fall outside the window. “Skip this shit,” he mumbles, referencing the Taylor Swift song that just started.

You roll your eyes but skip it regardless, it didn’t fit in with your november lineup. Satisfied with the song that follows, you navigate away from the playlist, opening up your email. “I signed us up for a tour at UChi,” you say casually, eyes flicking over to gauge his reaction. He rolls his eyes and ignores you entirely, clearly annoyed with your choice. So this is still an uphill battle. Got it. “If you won’t go for yourself, at least come along for me? That way ‘m not alone.”

You watch Lip as he considers it, finally nodding his head after a moment of silence. The dismissal bell rings and your teacher gives some spiel about homework but neither of you care to listen. Like a well oiled system you return each other’s borrowed things–your pretty pack of highlighters Lip liked to use for annotation, the pencil he miraculously had when you forgot your own, the laptop which belongs to you and earbuds that belong to him–packing them up and practically racing each other out the door. You stumble through the back row as Lip dashes in front of you, pulling out a chair to leave in your path. It’s easy to laugh, easy to forget how much you’re having to push him to take his future seriously. 

By the time you catch up to him in the hall, there’s a little blonde nuisance at his side. She kisses him obnoxiously, which you think is a little much for the fact they aren’t even official. You’d never say it aloud but you’re not convinced her baby even belongs to him. Her school slut reputation hadn’t come from being a prude after all.  But of course you’re willing to play the part, to be the supportive best friend, because you knew the alternative; being painted as a jealous whore, for the simple act of looking out for your friend. Safe to say, Karen Jackson makes you seethe with rage. 

She doesn’t even offer a greeting, just looks you up and down with a disgusted glare. Lip says she doesn’t talk about you behind your back, but you think he’s just trying to save your feelings. You understand it can be hard to keep the peace between two girls who are equally important to him. Though, you wish he’d wake up from his lust induced haze to see she’s just using him. As always you play the part you’re meant to play. The best friend, ever supportive, standing quietly to the side as they have their moment. A moment that makes you sick to your stomach, but is theirs nonetheless. Not your place to intervene. 

You decide to wait in your car instead of dwelling on it.

Hours pass idly by before you’re in the Gallagher house for the night, too cold and tired to walk the twenty or so steps across the street to your own home. It wasn’t your fault Ian rolled a joint and passed it up when you were already dozing off in Lip’s bed.

When you stub out the joint, Lip tosses a pillow down to the foot of the bed. You can’t help but find it odd, the way you sleep head to foot to keep air between you as if you haven’t shared each other’s space for as long as you can remember. Lip was always wherever you were, and the same went for you. Inseparable for as long as you could remember. But then there came this… tension. The awkward energy] that came with growing up, getting crushes, going on dates. Suddenly it wasn’t normal to curl into your best friend’s side. Instead, he slept on an air mattress when he visited your house, and you occupied opposite ends of the bed at his. 

You’re not sure when the change came about. You find that you hate it. 

With nightfall comes snowfall, and when you wake from an uncomfortable strain in your back you see the soft, white flakes falling outside the window. You sit up, accidentally bumping your head in your excitement. The thud along with the pained groan from your chest wake Lip up, blue eyes blinking blearily up at you in the dim glow of the streetlight. 

“Fuck’re you doin’ MK?” he grumbles, swatting away your hand when it gently shakes his hip. “Go back t’sleep.”

“Look, ‘s snowing,” you murmur, awe painted in your tone as you lean down to turn his head towards the window. 

His next words are muffled by the pillow he shoves over his face, attempting to hide from you and your antics. “We live ‘n fuckin’ Chicago, it snows here. Not like its a miracle.”

“Come outside with me?” you ask simply. The pillow is pulled away from his face and Lip gives you a puzzled look, which you fight with a drawn out whisper of “pleeeeaseeee?”

Lip has never been able to say no to your pleading. Tonight is no exception. Within ten minutes the two of you are outside in your pajamas, fingers clad in fuzzy gloves and feet nestled into too-big snow boots. The snowfall is already slowing when Lip pulls one of his gloves off, struggling to light a cigarette against the icy wind. Without a word you step closer and shelter the light with your body until it catches the end of the cig. When he exhales you mimic the motion with frosted breath. 

Lip is still laughing at your antics when you grab his bicep, tugging his body to the ground with you. “Wha- what the fuck!?”

“Snow angels,” you reply simply, “come on, have a little whimsy, some childlike wonder.” The snow is cold against your back but you begin to move your arms and legs regardless. You tilt your head and are pleasantly surprised to see a boyish grin formed around the cig tucked neatly between his lips. He mimics your motion, arms and legs pushing snow aside until his elbows are brushing grass. 

He offers you the last drag or two from his cig, propping himself up with his elbows dug into the compressed snow where his back had been. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve made a snow angel since I was–shit–like, five or six?” He hauls himself up and uses his teeth to remove the remaining glove, his hands dipping down into the snow.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, your teeth baring with a nervous smile as he steps closer, “Lip! Don’t you fucking-” it’s too late, there’s snow down the back of your crew neck sweatshirt. You shriek, jumping to your feet and packing a snowball of your own for revenge. It’s easy to laugh with him. To forget the troubles that plague your young hearts, subjects far too mature which were introduced at far too young of an age.

You end your little snow escapade on the steps. Lip brushes the gathering snow off the wood to give the two of you room to share a seat and a cigarette. The smoke warms your body and the comfortable silence warms your soul. You watch as he rubs his hands together, lifting them up to feel the little heat provided by the tendrils of smoke. 

When he passes it to you, you take a drag and exhale through your nose, taking both of his hands in your own. You want to scold him lightly, it’s not smart to go without gloves in the snow, but with two hands occupied you can’t exactly hold the cig anywhere other than your mouth. So you stay quiet, and so does he.

Minutes pass in familiar silence. You write your name in the snow at your feet, digging out the letters with the heel of your boot. Lip does the same with the cigarette butt when it’s finished, and you complain how unfair it is that his writing looks much neater compared to yours. He smooths out the snow over your name, rewriting ‘MK’ in the space. 

As you head inside you become aware of how wet your clothes are, the snow melting in the slightly warmer temperatures, though you notice it’s not much. Lip lends you some clothes of his and politely turns his back while you change. Not that you would’ve cared much, anyway. 

“Fuckin’ freezin’ in here Lip,” you mumble, shivering in your hoodie and borrowed boxers as you climb the ladder after him. 

He laughs in response, reaching out to tug you into the softness of his chest. “C’mere, snow miser,” he grumbles, referencing a childhood favorite movie the two of you would watch every Christmas. A smile graces your lips as you settle against his chest, his warmth more familiar than anything you’ve ever known.

Lip tells you quietly about how Frank blew his most recent disability check, leaving Fiona scrambling for the small but important number he often contributed to the heat bill. He rambles on about how each of his siblings were dealing with the cold–something about Carl convincing Debbie her frosted breath was a magical power–and you feel yourself drifting off to the gentle sound of his voice.

In the morning the sun peeks through the worn curtains of the boys’ room. Gentle rays attempt to tug you from the comfortable embrace, but your unconscious mind only snuggles further into Lip’s chest. Carl is the first to take notice of this, snickering and elbowing a distracted Ian in the ribs as he pulls on warmer clothes. The older boy eyes the two of you and grabs Lip’s phone from his desk to snap a quick picture before ushering his younger brother out of the room. 

And when Fiona heads out to head to work, there are still two names written in the snow. With careful footing, she allows them to stay.

THX 4 READING → dedicated to my lovely @notsonian. beta'd by @tinyphantomsalad.

[cutiecusp]

Matchmaker, Operation Hearts and Flowers.

This is IT people. THE update I know a few of you have been wanting... 💍

This will feature screenshots, text, and the end for these two as you know it, for now. 💜

......

You drop your phone, not even hearing it thud on the floor of the jeep, before you wrench the door open.

Dozens of flowers edge the pathway onto your home, a few stray petals coating the stone floor.

Your eyes widen in surprise, the flowers were gorgeous, but you noticed little heart string lights between some of the arrangements.

And there he stood.

Simon Riley, with the cockiest grin on his face.

"Hey, sweetheart." He walks to you, holding a black little box in his hand, toying with the clasp with his thumb.

You are too stunned to speak. The day had drew into evening, and your house looked beautiful, decorated in your favourite flowers, and pretty twinkly lights.

"You did all this for me?" You eventually ask, your gaze never leaving his.

"Operation Hearts and Flowers is a go, Angel." He murmurs into your hair as he embraces you.

Your arms circle his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

After a few minutes, you hear a cough, and your eyes flicker over to Soap, stood against the jeep, watching you two.

You blush, and feel Simon pull away, albeit reluctantly.

Your eyes don't leave his as he slowly kneels in front of you, a flicker of nervousness furrows his brow, before he takes your hand in his.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" He asks softly.

Tears begin to form in your eyes as you understand what's happening.

"I've been carrying around this ring for weeks, making sure the moment was right. That it was what you wanted."

Your breath comes out shakily as you nod.

"It is perfect, Simon."

He smiles as he opens the box, your tears clog in the back of your throat as you realise it's the one you mentioned to Soap you wanted as a little girl, even down to the small diamond in the band.

"They say in vows, until death do us part, but I think even past that we will always find each other. I fully understand the meaning of home when I'm in your arms, and I want to spend the rest of my life being yours. Will you marry me, love?"

The world goes silent, and it's just the two of you. You look at the ring, you take in Simons features, and you give his hand a little squeeze before nodding.

"Of course I will." You reply, throwing yourself on him, almost knocking him to the ground.

You hear cheers from the house, and you see your family, Avery, Gaz, and a man with mutton chops applaud you both, the only noise you hear is them celebrating into the evening.

You press a kiss onto Simons lips, before he slides the ring on your finger.

"Is this why Avery made me get my nails done before Germany?" You ask, laughing.

Simon looks a little sheepish before nodding.

A stiff breaks the bubble you are in, and your gaze returns to Soap, camera in hand.

"Aw, Suds. Don't tell me you are a crier." You tease, before pulling him in for a hug.

"M'not. These bleedin' flowers. Allergies." He clarifies, but you catch him looking at you both proudly.

"I so need to add Matchmaker to my resume." He sniffs, before you all join the group.

You have a glass of bubbles put into your hand, as you mingle with your family, your eyes meeting Simons across the room.

Going on that blind date was the best choice you could have made, Serial killer vibes and all. ;)

......................

BONUS. (IF YOU MAKE IT THIS FAR, MEGA HUGS!)

THE NEXT DAY!

I am so so grateful for all the love on these two. They will be back, but taking a little break from these two, as we have a wedding, a honeymoon, a REUNION... Halloween, Birthday and Christmas written... ;)

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism

[queenxxxsupreme]

At the End of the World (Cooper Howard x reader)

(Part 2)

A/N: So I don’t know how much I like this, but I think after this piece I’m going to try to follow some of the show but just add my own little twists into it :) I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!!

Warning: nothing outside of canon, mentions of bad dreams and of child loss, a twisted ankle

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Sometimes Lucy doesn’t know when to stop asking questions. Here is Part 1 in case anyone missed it :)

You jolted awake, eyes opening wide and lips parting with a soft gasp. Your heart beat so hard against your chest that it actually hurt.

“Easy, doll.”

You furrowed your brows as you looked up at Cooper. Your head rested in his lap, his hand gently brushing over your hair.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your hands over your face.

“Shit.” You cursed.

”Everything alright?”

”Yeah. Yeah, um…. Just a bad dream, I guess.” You looked over your shoulder to him. You moved to sit against your backpack, your leg brushing against Cooper’s. You bent your knees slightly, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “Do you have my smokes?”

He reached into the pocket on his jacket for the carton of cigarettes and a lighter. You took the carton and pulled out a cigarette. His eyes watched you put the stick between your lips. With a flick of his thumb, a flame appeared over the lighter. You leaned over to light the cigarette, taking a small breath.

“Heart’s racin’.” He commented.

You leaned back, blowing a cloud of smoke out of your mouth.

Your hand falls down to your lap, the cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers.

You try to fight the feeling, to fight the scratchy lump forming in your throat. Your right eye stings with tears and your chest tightened as if you were being suffocated.

“I miss her so much, Coop.” Though your voice was weak, he could hear your words just fine.

“I know ya do, doll.”

You hastily brushed the tears off of your cheek. Your gaze fell upon the Vault Dweller that laid fast asleep just a few feet away from you.

You raised the cigarette to your lips, the stick trembling just slightly in your grip.

“My Gracie would be about her age now.”

Wordlessly, Cooper reached over to place his hand on your knee. He didn’t know how to comfort you, how to make you feel better. As a parent himself, he knew what it was like to lose a child. Though for him, there was the smallest chance that his girl was still alive. He just wasn’t sure.

”Finish that cigarette, doll, then you need to try to go to sleep.”

You stiffly shook your head.

“I don’t want to sleep. If-If I have to see her again….” You trailed off.

Cooper let out a soft sigh. You were one stubborn lady.

Silence fell between the two of you. Your eyes seemed glued to Lucy but your gaze was blank. Even though you sat right next to him, you were a thousand miles away.

***

When the sun came up, you, Lucy, and Cooper were back to trudging across the Wasteland. You walked a few feet ahead of Lucy and behind her was Cooper. His eyes continuously scanned the Wasteland for any signs of danger, one hand resting on a handgun on his hip. He had bound Lucy’s hands before the three of you started your journey. He didn’t trust her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Lucy spoke as she jogged to catch up to you. You glanced over to her for a few moments before looking back to the path ahead.

“I’m not feeling too chatty today. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

”Are you okay?”

”Yes, I’m fine.”

”I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams lately too.” Lucy sighed out. “There’s just…. There’s so much death and-and blood. I don’t know how people do it.”

”We don’t have any other choice.”

”Yeah, I guess.” The vault dweller shrugged her shoulders.

“Some of us have had to go through so much that the thought of giving up now seems…. It seems pointless. We just….” You paused for a moment. “We just have to keep finding the next thing to keep us going.”

”Like what?” She looked over to you. “Icy, I-I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. You had a family, a whole family and-and now…. I wouldn’t be able to keep going.”

You pressed your lips together. You wanted to be angry with her, to be upset with her. If she thought that everything that had happened to her in the short time she’s been on the surface was bad, she was in for a nasty surprise.

“Sometimes after such loss…. It takes finding someone else who has been through similar things to keep you going.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder to the Ghoul that traveled a little ways behind them.

The vaultie followed you down a slight incline, but she stepped the wrong way and twisted her ankle. Immediately, she fell to the ground from the pain.

“Ah! Ow! Ow, ow ow!”

”Quiet down, girly.” You knelt down beside her. She clutched at her ankle, groaning in pain. With your cybernetic left eye, you could see that she had overstretched the ligaments.

”What the hell happened, Vaultie?” Cooper looked down at the two of you.

“She sprained her ankle.” You sighed, untying her boot.

“Course she did.”

“Wait, what-what are you doing?” Lucy furrowed her brows.

”Your ankle is going to swell and if you leave it in your boot, it’ll only do you more damage.”

”Oh. O-Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess.” Lucy breathed. “Are-Are you a doctor?”

You looked at her for a couple moments. Sometimes you weren’t sure if she was being serious or joking with you.

You put the boot into your backpack and stood up.

“She’s not going to be able to walk much longer, Coop.”

”Well she don’t got much of a choice, does she?”

You looked to the west where the sun was beginning to set.

“We’re about four hours out from Alma’s.” You looked to Cooper. His jaw went slack as he brought his hand up to rub his brow.

“Damn it.”

”Who’s Alma?” Lucy started to try to stand up. You held your hand out for her to help her to her feet, then you cut off the rope binding her hands together. It would make it easier to help her walk with her hands not stuck together. “Thanks.”

”She’s a friend.”

”A friend ain’t what I’d call her. She tried to kill me last time I saw her.”

”Well she isn’t exactly your biggest fan, Cooper.”

The Ghoul held your gaze. He didn’t want to go all the way to Alma’s. It was out of the way and would just tack more time on to the trip. Not to mention, he didn’t want Alma involved. But with Lucy’s new injury, you really didn’t have a choice.

”I reckon we’re goin’ to Alma’s.”

”Come on, Lucy.” You moved to stand on her right side to provide her support while she walked.

***

Six Hours Later

It was dark by the time you arrived at your destination. It was in what used to be a suburban neighborhood but many of the houses had long since been abandoned. You passed by one derelict house after another, eyes carefully scanning broken windows and rubble for any signs of danger. You knew the danger would be limited as Alma was in charge of most of the raiders in the area, but sometimes the raiders were a little rowdy and eager to attack.

There was one house that stood a little better than those around it. Its windows were mostly boarded up and there was a barbed wire fence around it. The siding of the house had long since lost its original color, instead taking on a more rusty brown color. The right side of the roof to the front porch had fallen in and it made the house appear unsafe to enter.

You stopped at the fence and let Lucy go.

“You two stay out here for just a moment.” Your eyes flickered back to Cooper. He nodded once in acknowledgement.

You slipped between the barbed fencing and then climbed the creaky wooden stairs. Just as you were about to knock on the door, it was pulled open.

An older woman stood in the doorway, a shotgun by her side. Her dark but graying hair was put up in some sort of high mess atop her head. Behind large lensed wire framed glasses were two big brown eyes.

“Icy May. Ain’t no way in hell I thought I’d be seein’ you again.” The shotgun in her hand was leaned against the wall on the inside of the house.

“Hello, Alma.” You smiled, embracing her tightly. “It’s good to see you.”

”You too, dear. So good to see such a pretty face.” She pulled away to get a better look at you. “You look all in one piece. What brings you all the way out this way, darlin?”

”I have a huge favor to ask you.” You stepped aside so that Alma could see the two who traveled with you.

Alma leaned forward, eyes squinting as she struggled to see whoever it was even with her glasses on.

“Oh hell, Icy May.” She shook her head, adjusting the old cardigan that she wore.

“Well ain’t it my favorite old maid.” Cooper spoke, giving Lucy a nudge to go through the fence. Lucy slipped between two of the barbed wires and nervously started for the stairs.

“Shut the hell up, you old bastard. I still haven’t gotten over what you did last time you was here.” Alma nodded her head to the side of the porch that had fallen in.

“I happen to think it made this place look better. More welcomin’.”

”Well I ain’t trying to be more welcomin’.” Alma put her hands on her hips. Her eyes followed Lucy as she struggled to get up the stairs. “What in the hell is this, Icy? A vault dweller?”

”It’s a long story, Alma.” You shook your head. “We just need to rest for the night.”

Her eyes flickered up to you, hesitating. A vault dweller could mean big trouble.

”Aw, what the hell.” She threw her hands in the air and turned to go into her house. She picked up the shotgun she had left by the door.

You offered Lucy your shoulder once again and walked with her to the living room.

The house wasn’t as bad on the inside as it was on the outside. Wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and in some places, it was missing all together. There was a fireplace that had been filled up with rocks. A sofa, which had definitely seen better days, was in the living room. Beside it was a rocking chair and a little end table. It appeared as though the end table was a combination of two different tables put together.

“You have a lovely home.” Lucy complimented.

Alma shook her head, swatting a hand at the Vaultie.

“There’s food in the pantry and water in the washroom down the hall. You’d better get cleaned up and settled for the night. It’s already late.”

”Thank you, Alma.” You offered her a little smile. “We’ll be gone when the sun rises.”

”Better be. Don’t want Howard fuckin’ anything up anymore than he got to.”

“Missed you too, ya old bat.” Cooper muttered.

You took Lucy to the washroom and left her there, then you went to the kitchen. Cooper was already helping himself to the pantry. He sat at the kitchen table with a can of some sort of nonperishable food.

“There’s the couch in the living room and there’s two rooms with mattresses.” Alma told you. She moved around the kitchen, gathering up a canteen and a pack of cigarettes.

”Where are you scurryin’ off to?” Cooper asked her.

”I ain’t scurryin’ nowhere, asshole. It’s past my bedtime and you bunch look worse than the backside of a feral hog.” Alma stopped at you to give you a one armed hug. “We’ll talk in the mornin’, honey.”

”Good night, Alma.”

”Night, girly.”

You watched her leave the kitchen then listened to the floorboards creak as she disappeared down the hallway.

“You should eat somethin’.” Cooper spoke. You rubbed his shoulder before moving to pull a chair up beside him.

“I will.”

It felt nice to finally be able to sit down. Your feet hurt and you were exhausted.

Cooper leaned forward to give your knee a squeeze. Your eyes flickered up to meet his gaze.

***

A little while later, Lucy had retired to the room she was going to be staying in. You and Cooper would be sharing the other mattress in the room across the hall from Lucy.

You made your way down the hallway, doing your best to be as quiet as possible. You didn’t want to disturb Alma.

You came to a stop in the doorway of Lucy’s room, watching her as she sat on the edge of the mattress . She was in the process of eating a can of peaches when she noticed you were standing in the door.

“Oh, um…” She quickly swallowed a peach and held the can out towards you. “Do you want a peach?”

”No, thank you.” You shook your head. “Alma is a good friend of mine.”

”Oh, yeah! She’s incredible. Super nice person.”

”Can I trust you to be here, Lucy?”

She stopped eating the peaches and directed her attention to you.

“She’s taking a big risk letting us stay here for the night. If anything happened to her while we were here….” You trailed off. “Alma’s one of the last few good people out here.”

She nodded her head softly, understanding what you were telling her.

”So do I have to keep an eye on you or can I trust you?”

”You can trust me.”

You weren’t sure you completely believed her.

“Good.” You turned to leave but she stopped you.

“Thank you, Icy. For…. For everything.”

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

“You need to stop thanking me.”

“You’ve practically saved my life by showing up. Who knows what that man would’ve done with me if you hadn’t come along.”

You gazed at her for a few moments, her bright blue eyes still filled with some sort of kindness. It wasn’t often that you came across those kinds of people.

“Good night, Lucy.”

“Oh, uh good night, Icy.” Lucy was confused with your sudden ending of the conversation. That seemed to be a trait of yours.

You moved down the hallway, your quiet footsteps still making the floorboards squeak.

Cooper was in the room the two of you would be sharing. He had taken off his bandolier, holster belt, and duster coat. All items had been placed in a pile at the foot of the mattress. The ghoul was lounging across the mattress with his breather in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and his shoulders leaning up against your backpack. One knee was bent and that was where his hat rested.

His eyes watched as you took off most of your layers. First it was your jacket, then the old flannel, and tattered sweatshirt. You were left in cargo pants, boots, and a thin brown tank top that had definitely seen better days. You pulled your hair out of the ponytail it was in to fix it up for the night.

“My, my, my. Ain’t you a sight fit for kings.”

I tried to bite back the smile that crept across your face but it was no use.

“Keep the charming to yourself, old man. We need to get some sleep.” You sat down on the mattress facing the ghoul. You leaned your torso against his bent leg, picking up his hat and placing it on your head.

He offered you the cigarette, which you gladly took. His breather was discarded on the floor beside the mattress.

You inhaled and held the chemicals in your lungs for a few moments. As you exhaled, Cooper brought his hand up to cup your face. His thumb, calloused and rough, traced your bottom lip.

You let him do so, your eyes steadily watching his face.

He traced the curve of your bottom lip, then used his fingertips to trail along your cheekbone and your temple. He brushed a few pieces of hair back out of your face.

”So what’s your big plan once we get to Hank MacLean?”

The ghoul paused for a moment, pulling his hand away from your face to rest it on his chest. You passed the cigarette back to him and he took it.

”I want to know what happened to them.” He was quiet as to not let his voice carry throughout the otherwise silent house.

You nodded your head. Cooper waited for you to speak. He waited, and waited, and waited. But you said nothing. All you could do was gaze down at one of the buttons on his shirt. The original button, which had been a light shade of brown, was torn off some time ago but you recall sewing a dark green button in its place.

“Say somethin’, doll.” He urged you, tapping the side of your leg gently.

You bit the inside of your cheek, finishing off the cigarette with a deep inhale.

“I hope you find the answers you’re looking for, sweetheart.” You put the cigarette out on the soul of your boot and started to move, wanting to reposition yourself. Cooper stopped you from moving, his hand grabbing yours.

“I just…. I have to find out, Icy.”

”I know.” You murmured softly with a nod of your head. “I’d want to know too, if I was in your place.”

It wasn’t like the two of you were in a full fledged relationship where one of you had asked the other to commit to you, but it also wasn’t casual. Cooper Howard didn’t do casual. It was far too hard to trust someone enough for that sort of thing.

”Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it.” He put his head back, his hand steadily rubbing your leg as he directed his eyes to the ceiling. “I mean, if MacLean has been able to live this long, then there’s a chance…. even the smallest of one…. that they could be out there.”

You smiled a little, though it was sad and didn’t reach your eyes. If you believed in a higher power, you would pray to them to make it all true, to make his hopes and desires a reality. It was what he deserved after all that he had been through.

Though you wanted to be happy for him, your chest tightened a little with the idea of him finding his family. What would happen to you if he found his wife and his daughter?

You reached out to take his hand away from your leg, clasping your fingers together tightly.

“I hope they are.” You brought his hand up to kiss the inside of his wrist.

Cooper watched you kiss his wrist once, then twice before holding his hand in your lap. He didn’t let you linger in your thoughts for too long. He pulled you down towards him, making you lay down beside him.

“It’s nothin’ but wishful thinking.” He thought out loud.

“Sometimes that’s all that keeps us going.”

***

The Next Morning

Lucy made her way out of her room, using the wall for support as she limped down the hallway. She peered into the living room and found it empty. Her next stop was the kitchen.

The Ghoul sat at the kitchen table, which was covered in an assortment of junk. He was wiping off one of his hand guns.

Lucy looked around the kitchen, hoping and praying she’d find you or Alma.

Cooper glanced up at the vault dweller, very briefly meeting her gaze before looking back down at his weapons.

“Oh, um…. Good morning.” Lucy greeted him in an attempt to be friendly, but friendly wasn’t Cooper Howard’s thing.

He stayed silent.

Lucy leaned against the doorway to take her weight off of her ankle.

”Is Icy up yet?”

”She went out with Alma.” His answer was short and stiff.

“Oh, okay.” Lucy nodded her head.

She stood there for a few moments awkwardly. Should she just go back to the bedroom and hideout until you and Alma returned?

Oh, what the heck.

Lucy limped over to the table and pulled out a bulky wooden chair to sit in. She sighed in relief as she sat down. She examined the amount of junk on the table, curious as to what exactly everything was.

It wasn’t long before Lucy became bored and found herself watching the ghoul that had taken her hostage.

“So…. Is your name Cooper? Or is it Howard? Because, well, I heard Icy call you one and Alma called you another. So I guess I’m just a little confused.” She chuckled nervously.

”My name don’t matter to you, Vaultie.” He sat the handgun down on the table then picked up a shotgun.

“Well I’d like to have something to call you when I talk to you, to have a conversation like real people do.”

”Ah, but who said I wanted to have a conversation with you?”

Lucy pressed her lips together. This man was awfully hard to get along with.

”That’s fair, I guess.” She nodded.

Silence fell between the two as Cooper continued to clean the gun. Once he was finished cleaning the sawed off shotgun, he began to load it.

Lucy sighed, bored out of her mind. Cooper wasn’t entertaining at all. She messed with the cuff on her suit to try to keep herself occupied and to try to keep her mouth shut for a little bit longer.

“Do you love her?” The question kind of just came out without Lucy really realizing what she had said.

Cooper dropped the bullet that he was trying to shove into his gun. It made a loud banging noise as it hit the floor.

“What in the hell did you just say to me, Miss MacLean?” He looked at her, his eyes dark and sharpened.

The use of her name made Lucy feel on edge. He had always just called her Vaultie.

“I-I was just— I just see the way you guys are with each other. I didn’t mean it in-in a bad way, you know?”

The ghoul was silent as he held her gaze. He leaned forward to retrieve the bullet from the ground. He shoved it into the gun and placed the gun on the table.

The front door to the house creaked open. Lucy turned her head to see. You and Alma walking in.

“How’d you sleep, honey?” Alma put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. The vault dweller opened her mouth to answer but Alma spoke over her. “Howard, if you don’t get your damn guns off my table, I’m gonna beat the piss outta you.”

Cooper didn’t offer any sort of smart comment back. He just picked up each gun and tucked them into their appropriate holster.

“I slept well, thank you. Where, uh, where did you guys go?” Lucy asked, turning her attention to you.

“Had to make a run early this morning.” You placed your backpack on the table, pushing some of the junk back so you had space. You rummaged through the bag before pulling out a stimpack. ”How’s your ankle feeling?”

”Really bad, actually. It’s super sore and looks very bruised.” Lucy eyed the giant needle at the end of the stimpack. “What’s, um, what’s that for?”

”You’re ankle. You can’t travel with a busted ankle and we can’t stay here.”

”But what is it?”

”A stimpack. It will heal your ankle up enough to get you back on your feet.”

With no warning, Cooper stood up and left the room rather hastily. Old floorboards creaked beneath the weight of his worn boots.

“What crawled up his ass?” Alma pushed her glasses back on to her head to hold her hair back out of her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You hummed. You listened to him move around in one of the back bedrooms.

He wasn’t a chatty person by any means, but surely he would’ve greeted you and Alma with some sort of witty remark. And you were very positive he would’ve given Alma an asinine remark about his guns on her table.

“What happened while we were gone?” You turned your attention to Lucy.

“I-I was just trying to talk with him.” She put her hands up, shaking her head.

“And…. Boy is he difficult to have a conversation with.”

You sighed heavily. Why couldn’t the vaultie get it through her head that sometimes she needed to shut up?

“I’ll be back in a second, Alma.” You looked over to your friend before going down the hallway to the bedroom Cooper was in.

He stood leaning against the side of the open window. He was fidgeting with his breather, replacing the empty vial with a full one.

”You leave me with that girl again, woman, and you’re gonna be scrapin’ what’s left of her brain off of Alma’s walls.” He grumbled.

You pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of your jacket.

“She’s got a way of getting under your skin.” You put the cigarette between your lips and tucked the carton away, then pulled out a lighter. “What’d she say?”

”Don’t matter.” He took a puff of the breather. You held the cigarette out to him and he gladly took it, crossing the room and closing the space between the two of you in just a few strides.

You watched as he put the cigarette in his mouth and took a deep drag from him.

“I’ll fuckin’ gut her like a pig next time she tries to talk to me.”

”You don’t mean that.” You shook your head gently.

He exhaled the cigarette smoke right into your face, then took another quick puff of it.

”Like hell I don’t.”

You took the cigarette from between his fingers.

“She means well.”

Cooper watched you, his gaze still hard and angry. You inhaled the cigarette.

“What did she say to you, Cooper?” Your voice was quiet.

He looked down at you for a while. Then let out a breath and adjusted the hat on his head, casting his eyes downward to his boots.

”We need to be leavin’.”

Without another word, the Ghoul slipped past you to go down the hallway.

taglist: @green--beanie @mack-attack420 @miniemonie2001 @eykismyfav @fallout-girl219 (I think I tagged anyone but I’m so sorry if I missed you!)

[writingforstraykids]

You always come first

Pairing: Minchan

Word Count: 2007

Summary: Worrying Chan is by far one of the things Minho hates most. So when he hurts himself during practice one day, he'd rather die than tell his boyfriend. His body isn't quite happy with his choice, forcing him to open up at some point...

Warnings/Tags: angst, hurt!comfort, fluff, injury (ankle), stubborn!min, worried!chan, short argument

There isn't much Minho hates more than worrying his boyfriend. Chan, the caring soul he is, was always worried about something. Minho knows how much weight he's carrying around so why would he add to it? He's not good with hiding around him though. 

Minho used to be the master of hiding his pain, his worries, his deepest fears. That's until he met Chan. Those puppy eyes meeting his, strong arms wrapping around him and soft voice surrounding him did things to him he can't describe. If there had been a button to push to make Min open up, Chan would have been the one who found it. And as much as he loves him, Minho hates that. 

He hates that he can't hide from him, not because he doesn't want to open up or doesn't trust his love, but simply because he despises worrying his sweet boy. The way his face falls seeing him in pain or upset, eyes growing dark and wet with worry. The furrow between his brows, the way he speaks so softly Minho isn't sure if Chan will start crying with him any second. Fuck, he hates getting hurt. 

So of course, he doesn't say a word as he trips, practicing the kick for S-Class, hurting his ankle in the process. Minho bites the back of his hand, holding back a scream as he carefully puts his foot back on the floor. This couldn't be happening. He gives himself a few minutes before carefully taking a few steps forward. It hurts like hell but he'll manage. Limping his way to Chan's studio is taking a bigger toll on him than he thought, sweat forming on his forehead. He braces himself at the door, taking deep breaths and puts on a smile as he eventually opens the door. 

Chan doesn't look from his laptop but knows it's him. “Hey, baby? Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, more than ready,” he says, subtly limping his way over to him and bracing himself on his chair. “Still need some time?” he asks gently and Chan hums in response. 

“Like five minutes?” he asks, glancing up at him apologetically. 

“Let's be realistic and say ten, hm?” he suggests, soothingly running his hand through his lover's hair at the worry clouding his eyes. “I'll just wait back there, yeah?”

Chan scoots back with his chair, patting his lap. “Come here? I missed you,” he tells him. 

Minho smiles softly, lowering himself into his lovers lap and raises his eyebrows at him. “My sweet love, it's been an hour since we've last seen each other.”

“Mhm, 60 minutes too much, if you ask me,” he says, making him laugh. 

Minho kisses his forehead lovingly. “Get done with it, love. I need a shower.”

Chan chuckles softly, getting back to work. It's quiet in the room besides the occasional soft clicks of Chan's keyboard. He mindlessly rubs his lower back, smiling as Minho rests his head against his shoulder. 

Minho squints his eyes together as he testingly moves his foot in tiny circles. Okay, not a good idea. Chan wraps up eventually, locks the door and takes Minho's hand. Minho struggles keeping up with him, trying to hide how agonizing every step he takes feels. 

“You're okay? You're walking so slow,” Chan teases him as they reach the elevator. 

“Just really tired,” he tells him with a weak smile. 

Chan frowns softly, brushing his hair back for him. “Why didn't you say so? We could've left earlier,” he says and at Minho's tired shrug he picks him up. 

“Hyungie,” he protests softly, just once more indicating something's wrong. He rarely calls him hyung anymore. “Your back, love, you have to be careful.”

“Min, it's been two months. I'm all good now,” he giggles and gently adjusts Minho's weight as he steps out of the elevator. 

Minho doesn't dare to complain, not wanting to risk revealing how much he's hurting right now. Not having to walk sure helps a little. 

Chan cuddles him close in the backseat of the car, soothingly fondling his head. “Sadly we can't sleep in tomorrow.”

“Yeah, just another long day,” Minho nods, mindlessly rubbing Chan's knee. Shit, that means there's no time to visit their doctor before practice. Especially not in secret. 

Under the shower he realizes the gravity of the situation as his ankle is already swollen and starting to look bruised. Tears of frustration well up in his eyes as reality slowly settles in. There's no chance he could perform in three days. Not with their new intense choreos. There's no way Chan wouldn't notice. Fuck. 

He drags himself to bed, biting back a groan as Chan shuffles in a little later. “Cuddles?” he guesses and Chan nods, almost timidly. 

“Sorry, I can't sleep. There's too much going through my head,” he says and Minho lifts the blanket in response. Chan slips inside next to him, turning onto his side and smiles at him weakly. 

“Go on, let it all out,” Minho encourages him, growing gentle at the worry lacing his boyfriend's face. 

“I just feel like we still have so much to do but so little time. Like, we still had so many missteps today during practice. I still have to finish another two songs and then there's the interview coming up,” Chan rambles on, finding comfort in Minho's understanding dark coffee eyes. 

“Chan?” Minho asks gently. 

“I'm so nervous something will go wrong at the last minute, you know?” he asks timidly, before shaking his head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Minho opens his mouth and closes it again. He can't. He physically can't tell him. “I love you,” he says instead. “I love you and it'll be okay.”

“Okay,” Chan exhales softly, features relaxing a little. “I love you too, Min. I don't know how I'd manage without you.”

“I'm here,” he promises, swallowing down his guilt. No, there is no use in telling him. Chan deserves a few hours of rest. He watches him fall asleep in his arms after a while and mindlessly plays with his hair. His ankle is pulsing with hot flashes of pain and he carefully adjusts his leg, trying to get more comfortable. After what feels like hours he finally falls asleep. 

-

“Alright, let's do LALALALA and then we're done,” Chan announces and Minho bites back a groan. 

“You're sure? Maybe we should take a break,” Minho suggests. Sweat is slowly forming on his forehead, his ankle is practically screaming for help at this point. “Look at them,” he tries but Chan shakes his head.

“Just that one, then we're done for the day, baby. Then we can all go home,” he says and Minho gives in reluctantly. 

They get into position and the music starts blasting through the room. Minho winces softly at the many little jumps and stomps he has to deliver. His stomach tightens in pain and even though his vision gets blurry he tells himself to pull through. But his body thinks differently and a sudden intense wave of sickness crashes over him. He covers his mouth with his hand in shock, stumbling to the closest bin and throwing up. It only takes a few seconds and he can feel Chan next to him, hesitantly rubbing his back. Minho braces himself at the wall weakly, trying to take off the weight from his ankle, as he coughs helplessly. 

They only turn off the music once he's done and he's grateful for the tiniest bit of decency they offered him. He sits down weakly at the bench nearby and buries his face in his hands with a frustrated groan. 

“Hyung, what's going on?” Felix asks worriedly. 

“Nothing, I just -,” he breaks off meeting his boyfriend's eyes, brimming with tears. “Channie, love,” he says worriedly. “Hey, honey, it's not that bad, I promise,” he tells him. 

“I'm sorry,” Chan says weakly. “You asked for a break, I should've known.”

Minho shakes his head and reaches out for him. “No, come here,” he tries again. 

Changbin quietly gathers the rest to give them some space and Chan moves once they're gone. 

“Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?” Chan asks timidly. “Was that why you were so tired yesterday?” 

“I'm not sick,” Minho admits lowly. 

“What? Min, you just threw up in the-.”

“Channie, I'm being stupid. I'm not sick, I swear,” he tells him and Chan blinks at him confused. “And it's also not your fault, love. I shouldn't have done anything today,” he confesses. 

“Are you…Baby, did you get hurt?” Chan asks worriedly and Minho closes his eyes in defeat. “Where?” he asks. 

“Please don't be mad,” Minho says quietly before carefully slipping out of his sneaker. He pulls down his sock a little and anxiously watches Chan take in the sight. 

“Minho.”

“Chan, please.” Minho shakes his head. “Don't.”

“You're such an idiot sometimes,” Chan snaps, surprising them both. 

“I know,” Minho nods, but it still hurts hearing it from Chan. 

“Why wouldn't you tell me? Why do you keep pushing yourself when you're hurt until you can't go on anymore?” he continues, getting up and pacing a small area in front of him. “And why am I still so dumb and believe you?”

“Love,” he tries weakly. 

“No, fuck that right now,” he says firmly and Minho shuts up quickly. “I swear you're driving me insane sometimes,” he says before leaving the room, slamming the door. 

“Wow, thanks,” he sniffles to himself, frustration and pain taking over. “I know that was stupid, that's no reason to leave me here,” he huffs, stubbornly wiping a tear off his cheek. He slips back into his sneaker with a hiss, biting his lower lip hard at the pain shooting through his body. He pushes himself up, yelping in pain as his foot meets the ground. More tears shoot to his eyes and he weakly holds himself up against the wall. 

“Sit down, please,” Chan says, suddenly back in the room. 

“No, fuck you,” Minho bursts out. “I want someone to check this and then I'll drag myself home,” he sniffles. 

“I said sit down, Minho,” Chan speaks firmly and Minho does, not without glaring at him through tears. Chan carefully takes off his shoe again, pulling down his sock again to inspect the damage. “I'm sorry, Min. I shouldn't have snapped,” he says, carefully holding a bag of ice he found in the fridge to his ankle. “I'm just worried about you and it's pissing me off when you start hiding things.”

“Well, I didn't want you to worry,” Minho groans. “You worry too much already, you don't need my bullshit as well.”

“Your bullshit is my bullshit. Always has been, always will. You don't hide from me when you're hurt, you hear me?” he asks, meeting his eyes for the first time since he's back. “I want to trust you, Minho. You have to be honest with me for that.”

Minho chews on his lower lip nervously before giving in with a gentle nod. “Okay.”

“Seeing you throw up in the middle of practice is concerning me much more than your ankle,” he tells him, sighing softly. “How did it happen?”

“I was practicing that kick yesterday and tripped. It's my own fault, I should've stopped once I got tired,” he explains, timidly searching his eyes. “You're still mad at me?”

“No,” Chan sighs. “But we're seeing a doctor, now.”

“Alright,” Minho nods, accepting the bottle of water Chan offers him. “I promise, I'll get better with this.”

“Shh, drink up. We'll talk about this another time, yeah?” he asks gently. “My reckless kitten…”

Minho gently shoves his shoulder. “Stop it, you overprotective lapdog.”

“You better be quiet now,” Chan laughs, picking him up. “Let's get you checked.”

Minho hums gently, hugging him close. “I'm sorry for worrying you, love.”

“Don't be,” Chan says gently, kissing his cheek. “You always come first, yeah?”

“Okay,” Minho smiles sweetly, squeezing him. He should really start telling him sooner; it would benefit them both. 

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[scaranation]

Hiii saw you had requests open and I wanted to offer some of my Scaramouche brain rot cuz man this guy makes me soft.

Scara being a touch-starved bean that when their s/o first held his face gently he legitimately just sobbed and couldn't stop himself from letting some tears out.

Scara then just not being able to function without their s/o giving him soft kisses on their forehead and being patient and loving towards him and looking like an angry wet cat whenever they are missing or off doing something where he can't follow like he'd like for too long.

Scara grumpily just kinda adopting a pillow of choice as their cuddle buddy for the time apart or if their s/o simply just doesn't live with him (yet). Maybe even stealing a sweatshirt to keep close or wear it if it fits. Just something to be comforted for the time being.

Just Scara getting pampered and loved and him just getting so overwhelmed with happy feels that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

(sorry for the long ask I just really like soft Scara he deserves to be cuddled :') do what you will with the brain rot I just wanted to share, love your work! Please don't overwork yourself! ^^)

THIS IS SO ADORABLE OMG I LITERALLY HAVE NOTHING TO ADD ITS PERFECT 😭 how do u think like this touch-starved scara is the cutest thing im actually squealing rnnn (sorry for the v late response i got busy ahahah)

༊*·˚ 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄?

Pairing: Scaramouche x GN!reader

Content: fluff, head cannons, slightly ooc but it’s clingy scara 🥺

The first time you held Scaramouche's face, you thought he hated it. His face contorted beneath your touch, and you retracted your hands - but his face followed them, his cheeks firmly pressing back into your palms.

You'd stare at him curiously as his eyes crinkled shut, mouth falling agape when tears began to slide down his cheeks. Cautiously, you’d thumb them away, feeling the smooth planes of his face crinkle as he squinted at you through his blurred vision. He was definitely embarrassed, but he couldn’t refuse your touch - it was a form of affection he’d never gotten to experience, and his sobs were almost ones of relief at finally finding someone who’d give him the love he craved.

Once he discovered the idea of physical affection, he couldn’t go without it. He liked to be touching you at all times, and would not-so-subtly sulk whenever you were too busy to give him those fluttering pecks on his face. Scaramouche would shyly put up a display of nonchalance as he pretended not to care, only finding himself somehow in your lap again. It was endearing, how touch starved he was - always craving your attention.

If you dared to go somewhere without him, he’d practically be pacing around during your absence, worrying and fuming at you for leaving him behind. Once you got back, you could’ve sworn he had his tail between his legs, invisible ears drooping as he reluctantly eased back into your embrace. Don’t get him wrong - he’s still mad, but he’s willing to forgive you for a kiss. He wouldn’t let you go for the next day at least, so don’t think about leaving him alone like that anytime soon!

When you were - much to Scaramouche’s ire - busy, he sought comfort through ways that didn’t involve clinging to you and hence risking you avoiding him for the rest of the day out of irritation. You were so tender and patient towards him, but all people had a limit. Scaramouche would sulk as he wallowed in self pity, holding himself close to one of your pillows. Sometimes, he’d take a nap on it, imagining that you were dreaming together - something about him resting his head where you’d rested yours was inherently comforting to him. If you caught him during those naps, he’d angrily leap up in embarrassment and scurry away. His heart would stutter as he fumbled on the spot when you went to search for him, holding him close again as you whispered reassurances into his ear.

“Don’t worry about it, Scara.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are!”

That was your cue to peck his lips as he froze up, overwhelmed. The poor thing’s barely come to terms with you being his, and reciprocation of that touch he needed made his whole brain judder to a stop. He was so adorable like this, utterly at a loss for what to do. Slowly, he’d kiss you back, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you close.

Scaramouche would steal any sweaters you made the mistake of leaving unattended - that woolly jumper you left on the couch? It’s gone the next day, added to your lover’s private collection. He’d return them after a while if your scent had faded, acting as though he wasn’t the culprit behind all your missing items of clothing.

At night, Scaramouche wouldn’t be able to sleep without you at his side. Even in the almost unbearable heat of summer, he’d have you entangled in his arms in an unrelenting grip. If you tried to wriggle away, he’d only whine in annoyance and clutch you closer, wriggling to position his face in your neck. Getting up to fetch a glass of water wasn’t an option, either - the vice grip he had on your wrist was enough of a warning. Even if you managed to escape that, you’d find him beside you at the kitchen in an instant. He’d groggily tug at your wrist to lead you back to bed, irritated at the interruption. Why did you need anything else, when you had him? He’d let out a sleepy huff, settling back down on the mattress with you (rightfully) returned to where you should be - next to him.

Although he might act shrewd, Scaramouche loses all rationality when it comes to you. If you’re not in his arms, you’re on his mind, and he wasn’t intending to let you go. Despite this, he’s still so easily flustered - although thankfully, he no longer defaults to crying whenever he’s overwhelmed with happiness. He’d be willing to begrudgingly share all his vulnerabilities with you, slowly opening up. Don’t tease him about it, though - he’s still prone to hissing at you, but he can’t really get mad at you.

After all, you’re the only one who can make him feel this loved.

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale, Raphael, and other angelic names you should probably know

Yes, I’m digging out my oldest piece of Good Omens meta. If you’re one of the very few people who might remember it from my main blog or had followed me on Twitter before it was shared there last year, you should already get the gist of what’s going to come next. For the rest of you, this might serve as a nice warning of how true brainrot begins.

We will start at the very beginning: the name-giving. Since God has created the world with one word, in the Bible and related Jewish tradition names of things are considered of great importance. As the life-givers, they imbue meaning and power to those who bear them, and often lead them towards a certain predetermined path. The concept of true names in general is a global phenomenon, with traces of this belief to be found everywhere from Plato's Theory of Forms through Grimm’s fairytales and beyond, not only in religious, but also philosophical and anthropological context. Considering the vast number of options to choose from, coining a new name instead of just repeating someone else’s is certainly a choice.

Unsurprisingly, the one who came up with the name Aziraphale was Terry Pratchett, and according to an interview it was originally pronounced Aziraphael:

“It should be Azz-ear-raf-AE-el, but we got into the habit of pronouncing it Azz-ear-raf-ail, so I guess that’s the right way now.”

Don’t worry, we’ll get there in a moment. The second thing you need to remember from this interview is Terry’s answer to the question about the name’s origin:

“It was made up but… er… from real ingredients. [The name] Aziraphale could be shoved in a list of ‘real’ angels and would fit right in…”

Conveniently, I’ve already explained who he was and why he was so important in Judaism in one meta discussion on Tumblr, so I’ll be lazy and copy-paste my thoughts and expand them to add some details from other Abrahamic religions.

Before the Beginning, or the Angel of Love

Long story short, Libbiel was one of the archangels working with God on the creation of humans. The idea was opposed by some of them, especially the Angel of Truth, who was promptly cast down from Heaven to Earth (but promised to spring back out of the Earth eventually, don’t worry).

Unlike Michael and Gabriel, Libbiel (“God is my heart”) warned his angelic troops to accept the Ineffable Plan in advance and saved them from the Fall, which granted him God’s recognition and a new name, Raphael, the Rescuer, appointing him as the Angel of Healing (“God has healed”).

This seems to check out within the Good Omens universe: Aziraphale was involved in the Earth creation project before the rollout and had enough access to the human plans to see them with his own eyes and share this knowledge with the angel that eventually became Crowley.

He also appeared extremely anxious at the very mention of Crowley’s obligation to dissent and wanted to save him from any negative consequences even at the cost of interrupting the conversation he’s been enjoying so much.

We’ve noticed some peculiar reactions of Aziraphale to any mentions or acts of love, right? They usually involve reaching out to Crowley and might either suggest his feelings toward him or how physically overwhelmed he is with the very concept of love (or both, actually).

Interestingly, one of the official titles of archangel Raphael is Angel of Love. In Christianity he is considered a patron saint of happy meetings, matchmaking and marriage, and his healing powers involve especially eyes and… heart, in the context of both mental health and human love.

Raphael also has a canonical (at least in Catholicism) episode of playing a human matchmaker on God’s behalf in the Book of Tobit, in which he appears on Earth under the disguise of a man named Azariah. Aziraphale seems now like an obvious portmanteau for Azariah, Raphael’s alias used while disguising himself as a human, and Raphael, the name given to him by God as a commendation. An archangel embracing some humanity of his own volition.

Raphael’s color is sometimes mentioned as light blue, exactly like the light Aziraphale emits in the S2 opening sequence, and his symbol is a serpent (the ancient Caduceus, but I feel like at this point we can call him Crowley).

The angelic couple, or Zophiel and Barachiel

Remember that bit of Terry’s interview about real ingredients? Raphael’s backstory already seems complicated enough, but what if Aziraphale had not one, but two angelic prototypes? I happen to know one more angel — a cherub said to possess great feminine energy — whose story rings some alarm bells.

This is Jophiel (“The Beauty of God”) or Zophiel (“My Rock is God”, “Widom of God”, “God’s Rage”), believed to be a companion to the angel Metatron, regent of the Principalities and leader of the Cherubim, a heavenly protector — one of the child amulet angels.

In Jewish tradition Zophiel takes on the role of the guardian of the Torah as well as other books and knowledge itself, based on the fact that he was the one to guard the Tree of Knowledge and, armed with a flaming sword, drive Adam and Eve out of Eden. He also watched over Noah and his family during the Flood and was serving as an assistant to King Solomon when he spoke on Wisdom and wrote the books of Proverbs, Wisdom, and Ecclesiastes. In the Anglican tradition he is recognized as an archangel and typically depicted with a fiery sword in hand. The color belonging to Zophiel is yellow.

Lynn Fischer in “Angels of Love and Light: The Great Archangels & Their Divine Complements, the Archeiai” (November 1996) describes Zophiel as one who

“stirs the feelings through radiation of illumination and into aspiration … help in absorbing information and studying for and passing tests; dissolution of ignorance, pride, and narrow-mindedness; and exposure of wrongdoing in governments and corporations. Jophiel helps in fighting pollution, cleaning up our planet, and brings to [hu]mankind the gift of beauty. He also provides inspiration for artistic and intellectual thought providing help with artistic projects and to see the beautiful things around us.”

While this angel is mentioned in other works of fiction, Zophiel makes his most notable appearance in John Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost, as the warrior “cherubim with the swiftest wings” in the battle of Heaven, where he was believed to assist Michael as the standard bearer. He’s presented as a spy returning from a reconnaissance mission to the rebel camp, much in the way Aziraphale had infiltrated Hell and fooled its demons in the wake of Armageddon’t.

As Zaapiel derived from Za’ap (Hebrew) meaning rage, anger or storm, he is also recognised as the angel of storms and, under the variant Zafiel, the angel of rain. This might be the reason why Zophiel is traditionally associated with the archangel of lightning and thunder, Barachiel (“God’s Blessings” or “Lightning of God”, especially when transcribed as Barakiel or Baraqiel) — to the point of being mentioned as his partner or consort.

Barachiel is the angel of lightning, but also — as the name suggests — blessings. In Catholic iconography he is usually depicted with a staff, a basket of bread, or a rose, each petal of which is representing a blessing from God, tossed out as the angel pleases to bless people. He is the chief of guardian angels, but in particular watches over young children, and sometimes takes on the task of delivering the blessing of offspring to prospective parents.

Like Zophiel is believed to have taught humans languages and wisdom found in books, Barachiel is commonly revered as the angel who taught them astrology, the wisdom of the stars.

Nothing lasts forever

Raphaelic legends aren’t all fun and games, but also mention the less marketed aspect of being an archangel: signaling the Day of Judgment. In Christianity, this is usually assigned as another one of Gabriel’s jobs, but he’s on the run right now, isn’t he? Well, good news! In Islam, Raphael is called Israfil or Israfel and believed to be the angel who blows the trumpet to signal Qiyamah, a counterpart of the Christian Second Coming, instead. The fact that Aziraphale has taken over Gabriel’s position in Heaven might be much less coincidental than some think.

And it’s important to remember that this power is not only destructive — while the first blow will kill all creatures and creations, the second one will revive them and prepare for the Last Judgment (yes, the very same one that in Christian belief will be administered by Jesus with the help of Book of Life). Very much in line of what Adam, the Antichrist, has done with the help of a certain shoulder angel and shoulder demon.

This is exactly the sentiment found in the poem “Israfel” by Edgar Allen Poe. In a material world nothing is meant to last forever, which is a curse and a blessing. A curse because it means death and destruction; miracles may sustain a certain bookshop in its current form through millennia, but as a tombstone to the life they led instead of a home it once used to be. A blessing, because it also means change and a new beginning — as long as there’s enough life force to replace whatever is lost in the process.

Nothing on Earth lasts forever, but we should use it for inspiration, savor momentary bliss, and hold it in our hearts. Only Heaven and the passions of its angels (fallen or not) are truly eternal.

And we can expect at least two of them to keep loving each other beyond the human concept of time, perhaps in a nice cottage on the South Downs.