#this is what was floating around in my brain the entire time i read this

[osteoh]

yan wushi every time he puts shen qiao in a Situation

[msgexymunson]

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?” 

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset. 

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?” 

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.” 

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at. 

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?” 

“Huh?” 

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze. 

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.” 

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain. 

“I wasn't staring at your dick!” 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head. 

“Oh Holy shit.” 

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you. 

“Easy there, I've got you.” 

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus. 

“I need to lie down.” 

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses. 

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement. 

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.” 

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.” 

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now. 

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands. 

“You want this off?” 

“Please.” 

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form. 

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.” 

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display. 

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.” 

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you. 

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.” 

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin. 

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.” 

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it. 

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin. 

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?” 

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow. 

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.” 

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale. 

“Right, tell me everything.” 

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious. 

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?” 

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice. 

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.” 

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his. 

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you. 

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?” 

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.” 

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop. 

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.” 

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin. 

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.” 

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why are you touching me?” 

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before. 

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.” 

“I do?” 

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.” 

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks. 

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?” 

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension. 

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.” 

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him. 

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.” 

“Pretty sure I heard-” 

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.” 

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him. 

“Nice touches?” 

“Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh. 

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him. 

“Yeah.” 

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly. 

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control. 

“Is this OK?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain. 

“Shit, they are pierced.” 

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery. 

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.” 

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together. 

“Can- can I kiss you?” 

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond. 

“I'd be mad if you didn't.” 

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.” 

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!” 

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he. 

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone. 

“Eddie?” 

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off. 

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side. 

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.” 

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention. 

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything. 

“Eddie, please, I need you.” 

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.” 

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ” 

He laughs, cutting off your sentence. 

“Alright baby girl, I got you.” 

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts. 

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out. 

“Hearts? Cute.” 

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet. 

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like? 

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately. 

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it. 

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!” 

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither. 

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own. 

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop. 

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you. 

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land. 

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck. 

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.” 

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!” 

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh. 

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency. 

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his- 

“Holy hell!” 

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!” 

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged  by your palm. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.” 

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension. 

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-” 

“Now who's begging?” 

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan. 

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear. 

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story. 

“You're not my dealer.” 

“Oh really? I'm not?” 

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.” 

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?” 

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold. 

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!” 

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe. 

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.” 

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions. 

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass. 

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!” 

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!” 

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length. 

“I can't, I’m-  baby girl-” 

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!” 

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension. 

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding. 

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say. 

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check. 

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet. 

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined. 

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair. 

“Baby girl, you can't just-” 

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?” 

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans. 

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.” 

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh. 

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?” 

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?” 

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.” 

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain. 

“Best you've ever had?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing. 

At least for now… 

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

[henry7931]

Dealing With My Bullies

Asher:

These three right here; Kyle, Chase, and Jordan have spent majority of my life bullying me. I’ve put with years of name calling, being pushed down, and even having my head put into a toilet.

And I thought I was done with them the second I wrapped up with high school. But unfortunately, everywhere I turn— those assholes are somewhere.

I’ve tried to ignore them, complained to our school, even tried fighting back but for some reason they have it out for me.

So I’m deciding to take a more drastic measure— magic. Well I assume it’s magic, i don’t even know if this is going to work but at this point I’m desperate!

I found this old book of spells inside of a weird book store. The price on it was pretty steep and even the owner of the store warned me to be careful with it.

As I got home and into my room, I looked through all of the different spells that were available for me to plot my revenge. I mean I could turn them all into toads but where’s the fun in that?

Nah! I want something that’s going to shift the dynamics a bit. I want to hear at least one of them give me an apology.

I kept turning through the book when my eye caught this one spell called; ‘Body Transferal.’

My heart started to race a bit as I read what all the spell does, I can literally swap bodies and become one of them. Thats it!

I laid back in bed thinking about which one of the three I wanted to swap bodies with…

You have Kyle who I really think is only pressured by the other two to participate.

Chase who has been terrible to me could work but he’s not the real leader of their crew.

That leaves me with Jordan, the one who started everything. That’s who I’ll become, I’ll swap with Jordan!

I open the book back up and read all of the necessary things to complete the swap.

‘A stormy night, a silver bowl, plant seeds, a portrait of Jordan, and both of our names written down on a piece of paper that’s burned into the bowl.’

I pull my phone out and check the weather… it’s forecasting a big storm… perfect!

I gather all of the necessary things to perform the spell which was pretty easy.

I waited until the time recommended for the spell right around midnight.

I gather everything and start reciting the spell… I follow each step as listed and begin to burn both of our names into the bowl.

Lighting strikes close and I can hear thunder booming in background as I say, “Transfer our souls! I, Asher White and Jordan Gibson!” Over and over again.

Then a loud boom of thunder hits and the power goes off for a second. I close my eyes tight waiting for the spell to kick in.

That’s when the power comes back on and I open my eyes. I turn to my bedroom mirror and see my disappointed face looking back at me.

I take the Spellbook and I chuck it out my window since I’m slightly frustrated it didn’t work.

It was worth a shot I guess, I figured I might as well go to bed and just forget that I even tried something so silly!

As I fall asleep… I start having this weird dream. In it I find myself floating and somehow hovering over my body.

I start floating more and more away from it until I’m outside…

I’m passing streets for miles and I have no control of where I’m going at all.

I get a house and I see this other glowing ball shaped like a person floating right pass me. I can barely see what I’m looking at since I was still moving so fast. Thats when I get a window and see a bedroom with a male body sleeping face down.

Before I can even get a full picture of who it is, I’m forced into him.

That’s when I wake up…

My head jolts up and I feel so groggy. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and my brain to catch up after that dream.

Almost an entire minute goes by before I can really take in my surroundings. Thats when it hit me… this isn’t my room!

I flip over on the bed and look down at my legs. They’re more tan than mine and my feet are bigger. I wiggle the toes attached to me just to confirm I now control them.

My memory of last night creeps in and then I realize— the spell, it actually worked!

I quickly get out of bed and rush to the closest mirror I could find. That’s when I see what I already expected. Jordan’s reflection looking back at me.

I pull of all of his shirt and start giggling to myself.

I say aloud, “I’m Jordan Gibson”

But then something else sinks in, the freaking Spellbook! I tossed it out my window last night!

I rush through Jordan’s room and put on some of his clothes quickly.

I grab his car keys and head out the door.

As I’m driving down the road, I can’t help but continuously looking at myself in the mirror. You see one of the biggest things I hate about Jordan is my secret lust for him. Actually my real lust for a lot of the jocks that went to school with me.

But in this moment, I don’t feel that same anger anymore. All I can think about is how after I find this Spellbook, I’m going to enjoy exploring his body.

I get to my house and I see my parents drive off. As they pull away, I pull up to the front.

I run over directly under my window where I see the Spellbook lying in the bushes. I quickly grab it and run off.

Before I get into his car I look up at the window and to my surprise I see myself looking down.

I grin up at Jordan who now learning that I have control of his body.

I see my eyes get big and screams. I almost walk away but instead I look around my neighborhood to see no one’s around.

I pull Jordan’s pants down and start shaking his surprisingly huge dick in front of him while sticking his tongue out.

He’s fuming and shouting but I can’t hear him the glass. I see him rush from the window and I bolt it to his car with his flapping all over the place.

I pull his pants up and star his car. He’s at my front door and charging for me (which is funny seeing my body that angry.)

I pull away just in time and head back to his place. I reach down and fondle his big bulge all the home.

I knew he was going to come here and I really didn’t need him to make a scene.

So I had to think fast, pull out the spell book and dig through until I find a ‘love spell.’

I go into his kitchen and I find all of the necessary things for the spell.

He hasn’t arrived yet so I pull his shirt off and start exploring his body. I grab on to his dick again when I hear a loud knock at the door.

“Oh you’re going to really love yourself Jordan.”

“You better open up!!” I hear my former voice scream.

I grab my new magical potion and walk towards the door.

I let him in and as he begins to charge at me, I lift up the magical potion and toss it right at him.

I close the door and turn around to see my former dazed. His face goes from straight anger to looking almost goofy.

“Asher… you look soo sexy in my body,” he says to me.

“Oh do I?”

“Can I please touch it?”

“Well Jordan you’re going to need to prove yourself to me.”

“Anything for you!”

He gets on his knees and grabs on to his former hands.

“Anything?,” I say with a mischievous smirk.

[ivymarquis]

Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave. 

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him. 

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger. 

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either. 

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back. 

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification. 

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy. 

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it. 

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face. 

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children. 

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine. 

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access. 

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further. 

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it. 

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly. 

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his. 

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves. 

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore. 

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children. 

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt. 

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to. 

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name. 

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air. 

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate. 

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her. 

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities. 

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home. 

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss. 

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John. 

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her. 

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely. 

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd. 

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake. 

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife. 

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John. 

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress. 

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her. 

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong. 

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night. 

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has. 

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden. 

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan. 

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed. 

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed. 

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming. 

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her. 

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits. 

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.” 

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally-  and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance. 

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down. 

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. 

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest. 

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control. 

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted. 

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children. 

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her. 

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely. 

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules. 

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions. 

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it. 

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down. 

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?” 

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[beneathashadytree]

HUNGOVER - VINSMOKE SANJI X READER

Warnings : Sanji’s self-image issues, hangover, passing out, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <33

Additional notes : This is part 2 to a fic I posted 2 years ago (crazy, I know) called Intoxicated, so I recommend reading that first! Inspiration suddenly hit me ig🙏🏽 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

It was at times like these that Sanji cursed his entire being—most especially his body, for having gotten so used to waking up at a set time every day. Because here he was, with a pounding headache that threatened to split his head in half and squash his brain into a mush, and yet he was still unable to sleep in for more than 4 hours.

Delaying the inevitable, he tried his best to keep his eyes shut, even if just for a little while. Dread filled him at the thought that opening them would send lancinating pain shooting through his eyes and the back of his head, and that was an issue he did not want to deal with now.

Especially not after colossally mortifying himself like that last night. Actually, he’d much rather forget it all together. Maybe completely wipe the memory from his head.

Much of the second half of the night was a booze-induced haze, flashing images swirling behind his eyes like they’re floating in water, and he couldn’t bring himself to try and remember the rest of it. After all, why would he want to think about how he embarrassed himself in front of the one person he yearned for more than life itself?

Baring his heart like only an idiot would, skinning himself alive and prostrating himself in front of them without a single ounce of the dignity he’d tried so hard to preserve for ages… he truly was a lost cause.

“Putain,” Sanji swore under his breath, even his raspy voice sounding grating to his ears, and he buried his head further into—

—his jacket?

All inhibitions instantly cast aside, his head shot up from where it was, and he was hit with the surging pain of an unbearable crick in his neck. Eyes flying open and completely ignoring the sting of the light, it was only then that he realized that he hadn’t, in fact, stumbled his drunken way back to bed after his whole blurted confession and tumbled face first into dreamland.

No. In reality, he’d actually just slept an uncomfortable few hours on the kitchen table, his head just barely hanging on after being supported only by his crumpled jacket.

Shit. The kitchen.

It was at that moment he came to the sudden realization that the thrumming headache wasn’t only caused by him waking up, but also from the loud banging of another person in his kitchen pulling out his precious pots and pans.

It must be well past morning. Everyone was probably ridiculously hungry by now.

It took all he had for him to stop himself from snapping at whoever it was that decided to step up (and also make a wreck out of his sacred space and possessions) for only that reason. In his desire to drown himself in his sorrowful miseries, he’d completely neglected his duty as a chef. If not to sustain his crewmates and friends, what use was he outside of battle?

Nothing, he thought to himself, blearily blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he began to turn around with a sigh, not looking forward to the confrontation that was to come, nothing at all—

“There you are, darling,” came a soft voice from behind him, barely above a whisper. A blooming warmth rushed to his cheeks, and he almost toppled out of the chair as he recognized just who it was that was saying those saccharine words.

It couldn’t be. There was no way he he’d be so blessed by the angels first thing in the morning.

And yet. And yet.

Here they were, in all their fresh-faced, tender-hearted glory, leaning down to gently stroke his cheek with a deft thumb. If Sanji let slip a broken whimper of half-relief, half-agony, they made no comment on it. “You’re hungover, then?”

With his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton wool, no words could come out, and he instead just nodded his head weakly. Thankfully, that too they let slide. “I got Chopper to help out with that.” They pushed a cup with an odd liquid and two pills towards him. “Should help.”

For a couple of seconds as Sanji downed them and sent a silent prayer to whoever decided to let Chopper have the lack of common sense to join their crew, they turned around, probably on their way back to the stove that now sizzled and emitted the lovely smell of caramelized onions and garlic—and if his nose wasn’t betraying him, simmering in some balsamic vinegar and soy sauce—that he had memorized long ago. But after a moments’ hesitation, they walked up to him once again, sliding his jacket out from underneath him and carefully folding it.

“You should go to your quarters and get a proper sleep in. I’ve got it from here.” With that sweet smile of theirs that threatened to send his heart into overdrive, they began to usher him out. “When you’re up again, I’ll reheat your food for you. You don’t look so ready to eat now.”

If he was looking as green as he felt, he couldn’t blame them one bit for calling it out as it is. Clearing his throat once then twice, he tried to speak again, voice awfully raspy (even more than after he’d had a smoke). “You… you cooked?”

They hummed in affirmation, now with their back turned to him as they began to crack eggs into a pan. “Not done yet, but yeah. You’ve only slept a couple of hours, so I figured it would be better if I managed to get us through breakfast in your place. Won’t be as good as yours, but I hope you can trust me to try.”

As they waved off to their left, he saw how they’d propped up his notebook against the pepper shaker. And maybe this was just him feeling extra sensitive and still a little in a haze, but something stirred in his chest at the thought of them carefully following every step in his recipes and diligently trying to emulate his cooking.

“Mon ange, you shouldn’t have…” His voice was still a little rough yet trembling with the emotions he couldn’t even try to hide; emotions that were bigger than his own feeble heart could take. His fists curled at his sides, eyebrows furrowed as he watched them elegantly handle the kitchenware like they were their own. This was too much for him. “I can handle my own hangover. It’s… it’s not your responsibility to do my own job.”

With a sigh, they turned down the stove and looked back at him with an exasperated yet incredibly fond look in their eyes. “You silly man, no one’s forcing me to do this.” At the affectionate lilt of their voice, Sanji’s mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow (with much difficulty) past the lump in his throat.

What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He can’t have earned this much goodness. There simply was no way.

“You don’t have to earn my love, Sanji.” Fuck. Had he really said that out loud? Their soft-spoken words and the sympathetic look in their eyes told him that yes, he had. He hadn’t intended to make himself sound so pathetic, and yet here he was, accepting the way they brushed his curly eyebrow with slivers of shame curling inside his chest. “I’ve already told you, my love is yours to keep,” they softly said.

“Your… pardon, quoi?” His heart came to a stuttering stop, all his movements halted and his eyes blown wide open almost comically as the words they said finally hit him.

One look at how utterly confused and shocked he looked, and realization seemed to dawn on their face. “I guess it would be too ambitious of me to expect you to remember much of last night,” they huffed out a laugh, before taking to the chopping board and beginning to chop up some fresh vegetables as they slowly spoke, as though hoping to break it gently. “You weren’t the only one who had an indirect confession in store.”

Digging the palms of his hands into his closed eyes, Sanji threw back his head and groaned as the memories came back to him bit by bit, achingly slowly and then all at once. “Merde,” he hissed out, the throbbing in his head doubling with every image that replayed in his head. “I can’t believe…” It was almost like he’d set a personal challenge for how much a person could embarrass themself within less than 12 hours.

What other explanation was there for him just completely forgetting that the one person who’d burrowed into the depths of his heart had somehow expressed that they felt the same for him? How else could he explain not remembering that they’d said that they wanted to be with him, in some miraculous way that he still couldn’t quite believe was real?

The chop-chop-chop of the knife stilled, and they set it down with a chuckle that sent tingles down his spine and his heart into near cardiac arrest. Lovely, lovely, lovely. His hangover seemed to have a weak spot for their laughter too, because why else would his headache somehow chip away just at the sound?

They were quick to soothe him with their words, their hands reaching up to tug his arms back to his sides. “It’s fine, I promise. You’re just a bit disoriented now.” Looking into such a fond gaze didn’t help the heat rushing to his cheeks, and he found himself being reminded of just how desperately in love he was; so much that he could swear it burned him alive. “I mean it though,” they earnestly mumbled, tenderly cupping his face, “and I’ll wait till you’re well-rested. Then we’ll talk.”

“Alright,” he managed to whisper out between breaths, “But—“

“Go.” They gave him a gentle push, before turning around to stir something in a small pot and add some spices that made the smell even more tantalizing. “If you don’t want breakfast to be a disaster, that is. Wouldn’t want to send my boyfriend’s kitchen up in flames.”

That’s it. A sharp pang in the deepest crevices of his chest and he was gone, his head floating with dizziness and his vision swimming. Sanji was long dead and on his way to whichever heaven would accept him; a heaven where he was somehow inexplicably loved and wanted; a heaven where he’d hear those words from their lips and know that they were indeed—thanks to some ridiculously generous higher power that blessed him beyond his wildest dreams—referring to him.

The last thing he felt were his limbs failing to keep supporting him, and a lightheadedness that overtook him so suddenly, crumpling to the ground in a helpless heap.

I think I’m gonna die a lucky man, he dazedly thought to himself, before finally succumbing to a blissful unconsciousness against the cold kitchen floor.

“Sanji!”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @fluffismystaplefood @angry-and-yandere @semi-orangeapple @carsonology @respitable @spotted-salamander @musiclover2119 @thatbaepizzalover @scentisterror @shengbiao-shiny @jammycheese @klutzycora-san @hyunskz

Sign up for my taglist here!

[0cta9on]

Unlikely Duet - 7

length: +7k words

Genre: Fluff

NewJeans Minji x Male Reader (OC)

(Author's Note: Finally, after almost 3 months of writing on and off, rereading and rewriting entire portions, and countless edits, I finally finished chapter 7 of UD :,] I'll get started on chapter 8 asap so it hopefully doesn't take as long. Enjoy!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Yuno’s POV

I inhale deeply, letting the grassy aroma and fresh evening air fill my lungs. The full moon looks down at us with its gentle gaze, reflecting its light on our intimate moment. Street lights flicker in the town below us, mimicking the stars hanging in the indigo above. Minji shivers next to me as a cool breeze whistles by, and I instinctively wrap my arm around her for warmth. Her cheeks light up with a pretty pink hue that lingers in my vision longer than it should have.

“It’s really pretty tonight,” she comments, glancing up at the moon. I nod, but all my focus is on the girl next to me, more beautiful than any celestial body could hope to be. The wind makes her long, black hair float and ebb like a stream of the finest silk, while the Milky Way traps itself into her irises, containing the beauty of an entire galaxy in just her eyes alone. Being here with her, nothing to interrupt our moment. Everything feels perfect.

“Minji, I…” As if she can read my mind, she turns to me, a knowing smile on her face, and shuts her eyes, awaiting my next move. With a quivering breath, I slowly lean into her, the warmth emitting from her skin growing ever warmer. The last thing I see is her lips before my vision fades to black, and then nothing.

I open my eyes to find Minji gone, replaced by my ceiling fan. My body jolts upwards in confusion as I grasp at the bed sheets beneath me. Instead of the grassy hill overlooking the town, all I see is the familiar layout of my bedroom, taunting me with its stillness. A disappointed sigh leaves my lips - just a dream.

My phone sits on my bed, still open on Minji’s blank messages. How pathetic of me. I spent all night wracking my brain for a response and couldn’t find a single thing to say. I hover tentatively over the keyboard one last time, desperately searching for the right words to say, before eventually giving up and sending a text to the group chat instead.

Yuno: Good Morning.

To my surprise, Yujin and Winter respond rather quickly.

Yujin: GOOD MORNING!!!!

Winter: good morning :)

Yuno: What are you two up to?

Winter: working :/

Yujin: im taking care of my grandma today!!

With the two of them busy, I’m left to figure out how to spend my Sunday alone. I click over to Minji’s blank messages one last time, my heart palpitating with an uncommon anxiety. Whatever this feeling is, love or otherwise, it’s getting old quickly. Everything feels confusing, and unlike most of my problems, I can’t solve it with brute force alone. What am I even hoping for here? A relationship? I don’t know anything about relationships or dating or how to be a boyfriend. Minji’s boyfriend, huh? That sounds kinda nice-

No. We’re too different. I don’t exactly have any good points to me either. I mean, Minji is like… a shining star - beautiful and radiant, but unattainable. And I’m like a sad cockroach looking up at that star, put on this planet because someone up there decided to play a sick joke. We’re just friends and that’s okay. Yet, the dull pain in my chest tells me otherwise. With a heavy sigh and a couple thousand unanswered questions, I shoot her a simple “Good Morning” text, because that’s what friends say to each other.

The sizzling of melting butter on a griddle and the heavenly scent of warm maple syrup grows stronger as I descend the staircase toward the kitchen, my tastebuds salivating at the thought of my favorite food - pancakes. My dad is in the kitchen, hunched over a cookbook with a surgeon-like focus, as a stack of warm pancakes sits next to him with two more cooking on the stovetop.

“Good morning, Yuno,” he greets me with a wide smile. “Cooked up breakfast if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”

I quickly take a seat at the table and stack a couple of them onto my plate, my stomach grumbling with a vicious hunger. As I go in to take the first bite, the scent of pancake wafts through my nose, taking me back to the first morning I woke up in Minji’s house. Despite us being strangers at that point, she let me crash on her couch so I didn’t have to run home in the rain, offered me warm clothes to sleep in, and made waffles for me the morning after so I didn’t go to school hungry. She didn’t have to, but she did, and it made all the difference in my measly little life. Minji is just so… incredible. And beautiful. And intelligent and kind and sweet and-

“Uh, are you alright?” I hear my dad ask. “You’ve been staring at your pancakes for a while now.”

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “I-I’m fine.” That's a lie. I’m not fine. A girl, THE girl, is taking over my mind and my dreams, making my heart feel weird and my mouth feel dry. I like a girl that can’t possibly like me back and I’m just supposed to be fine with that. How do I even begin to explain this to anyone?

My dad sits across from me at the table and fills up his plate. The silence between us begins to grow as we eat, an air of unease and uncertainty filling the room. On top of my feelings for Minji, I now have to deal with my feelings regarding the state of my dad. It’s been years since I last saw him like this. He’s fine now, but what if he relapses? How did he even make such an abrupt change anyway when all I saw him doing was sleeping and drinking? I should be happy, but I can’t shake the feeling that he could just revert to his older self without warning. I can’t cling to hope for too long, otherwise I’ll be met with disappointment yet again.

“So, uh, I was thinking,” he says, nervously clearing his throat. “Would you wanna go to the mall later?”

I freeze like a deer in headlights, caught off guard by his sudden question. “The mall? Why?”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t wanna, I just thought…” He sighs heavily, dropping his expression to the floor. “I want to be your dad again, like old times, before your mother… left us. If you don’t want anything to do with me, I understand, but if it’s okay with you… I want a relationship with my son again.”

He looks into my eyes with a sincere expression, tears threatening to pour. A part of me wants to say no, to make up some lame excuse and wander the streets until it’s dark instead of spending any time with him. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am harboring some resentment for him for leaving me, a child, alone all these years, left to watch my one remaining parent shatter into a million pieces every day until he’s nothing but dust. Maybe I got so used to being alone that the thought of relying on someone else again makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I get into these stupid fights and aimlessly walk around the neighborhood because I know that the only person waiting for me at home is constantly drunk and sleeping.

Despite that, I don’t say no. I nod my head and utter, “Okay,” because the other part of me wants to have my dad back regardless of what he did. I want to be able to come home after school, into a home with the lights on, where the air doesn’t constantly smell like alcohol, and have someone, anyone, ask how my day went. I want someone to rely on when life gets too difficult to handle by myself. I want my family again.

So we eat our breakfast in silence. The uncertainty lingers, but next to it is a warming sense of hope, holding its hand in reassurance.

______________________________________________________________

Minji’s POV

Knock, knock, knock

“Minji?”

Knock, knock, knock

“Honey, are you awake?”

I finally sit up, rubbing the drowsiness from my eyes. “Now I am,” I yawn, stretching out my limbs. The clock reads 7:12 AM, about an hour after I usually wake up on the weekends. My phone lay face up on my bed, still on Yuno’s empty messages. Like an idiot, I waited all night for a response from him, but all I got was an hour less of sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have held my breath for him.

My mother swings my bedroom door wide open. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she says, pacing around my room and picking up some of my laundry off the ground. “Go eat breakfast and get washed up. We’re going to the mall in a bit.”

“The mall? Why?” I ask.

“Oh, y’know… Just some clothes shopping,” she says with a peculiar smile. “We need to update that closet of yours, dear.”

Too drowsy to argue, I get out of bed and head downstairs, where my father is taking a call in the kitchen. Wisps of steam float from the mug of black coffee sitting on the counter next to him, untouched as he presses his phone to his ear with an intense focus. He mouths “Good morning” to me, gesturing to a plate holding a fancy-looking omelet. I dig in, unintentionally eavesdropping on my father’s conversation.

“Mhm. Tuesday you said? No, it’s not a problem at all. Yes, she will be there, I’ll make sure of it. Yeah. Mhm. No problem. We’ll see you then.”

Finally, he hangs up the phone and sits next to me at the dining table. Wrinkles of exhaustion decorate his face, likely from working early in the morning.

“Did you sleep okay, Minji?” He asks. “You’re usually up earlier than this.”

“I slept fine. I thought I’d get some more studying done after I got home and forgot about the time,” I lie. I can’t even imagine how furious he would be if I told him that I stayed up all night waiting for a text from a boy.

He grins proudly at me. “I’m happy that you’re working hard on your studies, but good sleeping habits will keep our brain healthy.” His phone buzzes in his pocket. “I’ll be right back, I have to take this.” He leaves the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my omelet and my thoughts. Maybe Yuno isn’t going to text me. Maybe I should text him first instead. But shouldn’t the guy text first…?

A sigh leaves my lips. I'm way in over my head with prom preparations already, I definitely don’t have any room for a silly little crush. Perhaps these feelings are just one of circumstance. We’ve been bumping into each other everywhere, so these feelings will fade if I just avoid Yuno for a bit. Sounds easy enough, right?

______________________________________________________________

The mall is always busiest on the weekends, full of families and friends looking for new deals while carrying around soft pretzels or pointing out attractive people who pass by. This mall, however, is a bit different from most, reserving its entire top floor for high-end designer shops. There isn’t any sort of membership or secret password that prohibits people from entering the top floor, but it generally stays barren aside from the few wealthy shoppers who can afford to do more than just window shop, including my family. The blatantly obvious segregation between social classes is disgusting, but I would be lying if I said I don’t like being able to shop without stumbling through the thick crowds on the lower levels.

“What do you think about this one, dear?” My mother pulls a black dress off the hanger, presenting its fine, intricate detailing to me. Shimmering black beads are sewn into the fabric, probably taking countless hours to place by hand.

“It’s very pretty,” I comment plainly. By all means, it’s a beautiful dress, but I much prefer something more comfortable.

“Why don’t you go try it on, dear,” she says, handing me the dress. I glance at the price tag, causing my eyes to go wide in shock at the $120,000 price point. 

“$120,000? Isn’t that a bit much for a dress?” I ask, concern painting my face.

“Nonsense, Minji. Don’t you want to look good for the party?”

My brow furrows. “Party? What party?” My mother’s gaze wanders, avoiding me completely.

“Well, there’s no party in particular, but you never know what will come up. Just try on the dress please.” She pushes me into the dressing room before I can ask another question.

Right as I close the door behind me, I feel my phone buzz in my purse. My heart skips a beat from the words on the screen - 1 new message from Yuno.

“AH!” I exclaim, nearly dropping my phone.

“Are you okay in there, ma’am?” A worker asks from the other side of the door. I can feel my cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

“I-it’s nothing! Just a, uh, a spider! But it’s okay! Ehe…” I silently cringe at myself as I hear the worker’s footsteps walking away. I just know Hanni would be laughing her butt off at me getting this excited over a text from Yuno.

With a trembling hand, I open up his text, which simply reads “Good morning.” It’s a short and simple message, yet I bite my lip, actively stifling a delighted squeal. An overwhelming sense of giddiness washes over me from those two words on the screen, my mind racing as  I try to think of a response.

Should I ask him how he slept? Maybe that’s a bit too intimate… Oh, what if he had a weird dream? That’s an interesting topic of conversation, right? No, that might be too weird… Maybe I should ask the girls for help. But they might just laugh at me. Oh god, what do I do?

Right as my thumb hovers over the keyboard to type up a response, I freeze. This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing. Yuno and I are just friends, and that’s all we can ever be. I’m just far too busy for any kind of serious relationship, and my parents clearly don’t approve of him either. Even so, a small voice in the back of my head tells me to go for it, that it’ll work out if I try hard enough. Anything can be achieved through hard work, right? That’s what my parents always told me. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as my heart and mind devolve into war with no clear victor. I don’t even know for sure if he feels the same, yet here I am, getting all excited over his words on a screen.

A knock at the door snaps me out of my rambling thoughts. “Honey, are you okay in there? You’ve been in there a long time, I only gave you one dress to try,” I hear my mom ask.

“S-sorry!” I quickly toss my phone back into my purse and grab the dress off the hanger. Maybe I just need some time to think about it.

______________________________________________________________

“Thank you for shopping with us, Ms. Kim! Have a wonderful day!” The worker exclaims as we leave the store with a plethora of shopping bags and a long receipt to match. My mother takes a single bag, leaving me to carry the rest. My family definitely has the means to live a “comfortable” life, but even exorbitant purchases like these are uncharacteristic of them.

“Why... huff... do I... grunt… need all these clothes?” I ask, struggling to carry everything. “Isn't this... huff… a bit much just to update my closet?"

“Think of it as a gift from your mother, dear,” she replies, not looking in my direction. “I barely get to see you because your father and I are always working. Don’t you want to spend time with your mother?”

“I guess so…” But not like this, I think to myself. As we descend the escalator to the lower levels, the frequency of people increases, making it nearly impossible to take two steps without accidentally hitting someone with the bags. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I offer an apologetic look to everyone who passes by.

Amidst the chaos, I trip over my foot, inadvertently sending shopping bags and expensive dresses flying everywhere. My mother continues on without even so much as a glance backward, leaving me to pick up the remnants of her wealth as passersby give me weird looks or downright ignore me. As if things couldn’t get any worse, a man snatches my purse off the ground and dashes toward the mall exit.

“H-hey! Give that back!” Of course, my words fall on deaf ears as the thief gets farther and farther. No one moves to stop him, too scared or confused to intervene. My phone, my wallet, the little knick knacks my friends have given me over the years, all of it is gone…

Out of nowhere, a person tackles the thief to the ground, wrestling my purse from his hands. The scuffle ends with the heroic stranger standing over the thief’s now unconscious body, a crowd surrounding and applauding his efforts. An overwhelming sense of gratitude fills me, and without thinking, I run over to my savior and capture him in a big hug,

“Oh my god, thank you so much for getting my purse back, I don’t know how I can-” Panic replaces gratitude as I look up at him for the first time. 

“Y-Yuno?!”

______________________________________________________________

Yuno’s POV

I glare at the black screen of my phone, taunting me by reflecting my own ridiculous emotions. My body is restless, itching for any sign of life, a vibration, a notification, just anything to quench my frustrations. And then it happens: the screen lights up with life. Frantic, I grab the phone, bringing it up to my eyes to read the notification.

Yujin: Heeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy guyyyyyysssssss. I made kimbap for my grandma, what do yall think?

A photo of Yujin is attached to the text, depicting a clumsily put-together plate of what I assume to be kimbap. Out of the billion notifications I’ve received in the past hour, all of them have been from Yujin, and zero have been from Minji. My head drops in disappointment. Despite my own warnings, I can’t stop thinking about her. She plagues my mind with her pretty eyes and cute face and gentle voice and-

“You alright, Yuno?” My dad sits across from me at the table, his brow furrowed in concern mid-chew. “You haven’t touched your burger at all.”

I shake my head, gathering my bearings. ’50s rock music blasts from the speakers above, fitting the atmosphere of the 50s-themed diner we are in. With no plan in mind, my dad suggested that we get some lunch first, although his words fell on deaf ears since I was too preoccupied staring at my phone.

“It’s nothing,” I utter, avoiding his eyes. He sighs heavily, his expression darkening.

“Look, I… I understand if you don’t trust me completely, a-and I will work harder to earn your trust, but I don’t want you to suffer in silence,” he explains. “If something is going on, I want you to know that you can come to me for anything, no matter how big or small. I don’t have the answers to everything, but I’m here to listen if you need me.”

My lips part to speak, yet no words come out, hiding away in my throat, too scared to show themselves. I choke them down, guilt arising within me due to my silence. What am I supposed to say? “Hey Dad, you are right, I feel weird seeing you like this after so long and so suddenly, but also my life in general has just become so weird. In less than a week, I slept over at the student council’s president house, got two friends, beat two people in a fight, went to the fair for the first time, and I also really like the student council president. Maybe even love her, I don’t know.” This whole thing is ridiculous. I am ridiculous.

“I’m fine, really,” I assure him, and myself partially.

He looks at me, unconvinced, but doesn’t pry any further. “Alright, just… I want you to know.”

God, this sucks. I can’t even eat a meal with my own dad in peace because of my inability to function like a regular human being. Part of me wishes I could just pretend like everything is alright, but since when have I ever felt alright?

“What about you?” The words eject from my mouth without thought. Call it curiosity or not wanting to eat in awkward silence for the second time today, either way, the question is out there now.

“What about me?” My dad asks, rightfully confused.

“I mean…” Fuck, why is it so hard to talk? “You… You’re up and alive, I guess. What changed?”

He places his burger down and looks up with a thoughtful expression. “I, uh, went out for another drink one night and ran into an old friend from college. We just talked for a while, maybe even all night, just catching up like no time had passed. Y’know, he introduced me and your mom way back when. Seeing him reminded me of my old college days, living like I was on top of the world, and… I just knew something had to change.”

“That’s… great. Really.” And I mean it. A smile grows on his face at my sincerity.

“Yeah, it really is. He basically saved my life. I hope you’re able to find good friends like that, Yuno.”

My phone buzzes with a new message from the group chat.

Winter: that looks really great yujin :D

Yujin: hehe thanks !!!

A small grin grows on my face. Maybe I already have. If only I could get a text from one other friend…

______________________________________________________________

We walk into a clothing store full of people my age dressed much more stylishly than I am. I didn’t particularly need to update my closet, but the potential guilt of declining my dad’s offer to buy me clothes was too overwhelming. Besides, what else are you supposed to do at a mall other than spend exorbitant amounts of money on material things?

“Go look around. Let me buy you something nice for once,” he quips. His mood seems to have significantly brightened after our talk at the diner.

Looking through all the racks made me realize just how out of my element I am. Outside of my school uniform, most of my clothes are just sweats and hoodies - comfortable and don’t draw too much attention. Everything (and practically everyone) in here is basically a giant billboard that says “Hey, look at me!!!”

Then, something catches my eye: a forest green crewneck sweater with a bear wearing overalls screen printed on the front. I try to move on, but the beady lifeless eyes of the bear stare into my soul, demanding that I take it home. It’s ridiculous, It’s childish, it’s…

“I want it,” I blurt out.

“Really? This?” Dad chuckles, examining the sweater. “Didn’t think you would be interested in this kind of thing, but hey, what do I know about fashion?”

I cough awkwardly, my face growing warm. I didn’t know anything about fashion either. Hell, if I didn’t have the reputation I have, I would probably be a prime target for bullies if I wore that around. Out of everything in the store, why did I want that sweater? Who in their right mind would even like this sweater?

Minji. Minji would. Half of her bed is covered in teddy bears. I want that sweater because, for some stupid reason, I think it’ll magically make her like me. Or something. I don’t know. She hasn’t even texted me back yet, what good is a sweater with a bear on it gonna do?

Before I could protest, my dad hands me the sweater in a plastic bag, already paid for. “You wanna stop by a couple more stores?” he asks.

“Sure,” I concede, still feeling embarrassed. A part of me feels oddly glad that I took it, imagining Minji’s reaction to seeing the sweater. “Wow Yuno, your sweater is so cute, we should go out sometime!” Yeah right. Still, I can’t stop the small grin dancing on my lips.

“H-hey! Give that back!”

A familiar voice rings from the center of the mall. I glance upwards to see a man barging through the crowd, clutching onto a purse that definitely isn’t his. Without thinking, I spring into action, dashing towards him as fast as I can.

“Yuno!” My dad calls out from behind me, but his words are left unheard as I continue my pursuit. Right before the man reaches the exit, I jump onto a bench and dive at him, tackling him to the ground.

“What the fuck man, get off of me!” The thief yells. He lands a punch to the side of my head as I try to wrestle the purse from him. While it isn’t the hardest blow I’ve received, it’s enough to piss me off. I grab his throat, digging my fingers into his windpipe, nearly crushing it in my grip. He squirms underneath, the desperation welling in his eyes as he fights for breath. I reel back my fist and let it fly, aiming to crack his skull against the ground.

As my fist gets closer and closer to his head, time crawls to a standstill. Minji’s voice echoes in my head: “You’re a good person, Yuno. I just wish you would stop getting into trouble.” I mean, he deserves it, he’s a thief. He steals some poor girl’s purse, he deserves a good beating. And yet, I pull back at the last moment, knocking him out instead of outright shattering his jaw. While none of his bones are broken, he’ll surely be feeling that once he comes to.

The sound of scattered applause around me pulls me from my adrenaline-fueled haze. It’s only now that I realize people are recording me like a zoo animal, upholding me like I’m some kind of “hero” or something. In reality, I just did what they were too scared to do, but they’re too busy creating their own hyperbolic narratives to see that.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around me in a familiar and oddly comforting anaconda grip.

“Oh my god, thank you so much for getting my purse back, I don’t know how I can- Y-Yuno?”

That voice. Is it?

“M-Minji?”

I turn to look at the source of the voice, inadvertently meeting her eyes, mere inches away. Thick-rimmed glasses adorn her face, like the ones stereotypical nerds wear. Technically, she is a nerd, but a really cute one. She still has me in her grip, but if I’m being honest, I never want to leave it. It’s like the warmth of a weighted blanket, but… cuter. God, I think I’m going insane.

Fortunately (or rather unfortunately), Minji lets go, finally giving me room to breathe. This weird, fluttering feeling in my stomach remains (Is this what people mean by butterflies?).

“S-sorry about that, uh… Th-thanks, Yuno…” She mutters, her gaze never leaving the ground.

“Y-yeah, no problem…”

“Yuno!” My dad calls out to me, running in our direction. “Jesus, you're fast… huff… Are you alright?” He glances over at the thief’s unconscious body as two mall cops drag him away. “You certainly did a number on him, huh? Impressive.” He pats my shoulder, giving me a proud smile.

The clop of expensive high heels draws our attention, growing louder and louder with each step.

“Minji! Are you okay, dear?”

Minji’s mom appears, checking her for injuries.

“I-I’m okay, mother. Um, you remember Yuno, right?” She awkwardly gestures towards me, leading her mom’s gaze. With her cold gaze studying my expression, It’s like I have a sniper dot placed firmly onto my forehead, ready to blow my brains out if I so much as cough in her direction.

“Ah yes, I remember. Thank you for getting Minji’s purse back, although I could’ve easily purchased another one for her.” Her lips curl into a smile, but I can clearly see the disdain evident in her eyes. It’s almost like she knows I can see it and is doing it on purpose.

“And you must be his father, I presume.”

“Yup, that’s me, I’m his dad alright,” he says with a friendly chuckle. “Ian Lin, it’s nice to meet you.” My dad extends a hand towards her, which she accepts with clear reluctance in her movements, although he doesn’t notice this.

“Well, I would love to chat, but we must get going. Minji dear, go and pick up the bags, we’re heading to the tailor to get your new dresses fitted,” she says to Minji before waltzing off without another word, leaving her daughter to pick up a mountain of shopping bags. Looking at her, it’s hard to believe that someone as unconditionally kind as Minji was born from that unassuming she-devil. Maybe Minji is adopted or something.

“I-I should get going,” Minji says, panting with exhaustion. “B-bye, Yuno.”

“Wait.” I reach out and grab some of the bags from her. “Let me help you.”

“Oh, you don’t have t-”

“I want to.” 

The words come out before I have time to think about them. Minji blushes as she hands a few of the bags over to me. Meanwhile, my dad whips over to the other side of her and offers his assistance.

“May I?” He asks, reaching his arm out towards the rest of the bags. Minji concedes with a sigh, shooting him a grateful smile.

“Thank you, I was, uh, really struggling before,” she admits.

The three of us follow loosely behind Minji’s mother. No wonder she didn’t text me, I don’t think I would have the luxury of breathing when I’m around a terrifying woman like that. Still, it does put me at ease a bit knowing Minji wasn’t exactly ignoring my text. Seeing her in person is way better than a couple of words on a screen.

“Minji, right?” My dad asks her, making small talk. “Are you and Yuno friends?”

“Yes, Mr. Lin, we are friends.”

Friends. The title feels bittersweet at best, but hearing her admit that without any hesitation in her voice makes my lips curl into a smile, which I hide with a fake cough.

“That’s great, I don’t get to meet a lot of Yuno’s friends. By the way, just call me Ian, Mr. Lin makes me feel older than I already am,” he quips, earning a chuckle from Minji. “I have to ask, what’s Yuno like at school?”

“Yuno is…” She turns to look at me, but my gaze is glued to the ground, too nervous to meet her eyes. “...a bit of a troublemaker…” Damn. “...but he’s a good guy.” Hell yeah.

“That’s good to hear. Y’know, he gets his personality from his mother.” His grin fades for a second before going back to normal. “And he gets his good looks from me.”

The two of them laugh while I silently cringe to myself, a dull throbbing hitting my temples. Never in a million years did I imagine the two of them ever meeting, let alone holding a conversation like this. It’s kinda nice in an off-putting way. Better than letting Minji meet him as a grieving alcoholic.

“Hurry up dear,” Minji’s mom calls out to her, walking into the tailor shop.

“Welp, this is my stop. Thank you for the help, but I can take it from here,” Minji says. She takes the bags from us, lightly gracing my hand, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. “Bye Yuno and it was nice meeting you, Mr. Li- er, Ian.”

A disappointed sigh leaves my lips as I watch her disappear into the shop. She was right there, close enough for me to catch a whiff of her lavender-scented perfume. I’ve been waiting all day for a text from her, yet my stupid feelings made me too nervous to speak.

“You like her, don’t you?”

My head snaps towards my dad, a sly smirk dancing on his lips. My eyes grow wide in shock, “W-what, n-no… I-I just, uh… W-whatever…”

“I know that look anywhere, Yuno. It’s the same one I gave your mother before we started going out,” he explains. My face sinks into my hands, the overwhelming urge to disappear consuming me.

______________________________________________________________

Minji’s POV

My family has frequented this specific tailor shop at the mall for numerous occasions over the years, we even went here to get my school uniform properly fitted before the school year started. The shop has one sole worker, a kind yet quiet old man. He’s skilled at his job, but my only issue with him is that he continuously pokes me with sewing pins while taking my measurements. 

“Mother, why do I- Ow! Why do I need so many new dresses for my wardrobe- Ow! None of these clothes are things I would wear casually.”

She sighs. “I suppose we’ll have to tell you eventually.”

“Tell me what?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

“We’re doing a business collaboration with the Park family and we thought it would be a good idea to hold a banquet this Tuesday to mark the beginning of our partnership. We haven’t seen them in a while, so we figured it would be a good idea to catch up.”

The Park family? “Okay, but if it’s for the business, then why do I have to go?”

“Their son, Sunghoon, will be in attendance, so we expect you to do the same.”

Sunghoon. Just the name alone sends a shiver down my spine. I thought I finally got rid of him after he moved away in middle school, but no. He’s finally come back to haunt me.

“U-uh, I have school that day a-and I have a test coming up that I need to study for and-”

“Your father and I think that the opportunity to network and make connections with influential people in the industry will be more beneficial to you than a high school test that you can make up anyway. Besides, don’t you want to see your old friend Sunghoon again? I remember how hard you cried after he moved away.”

No, Mother, those were tears of JOY. My parents have been close friends with the Parks since they attended the same college together, so naturally (and incorrectly), they assumed that their kids would be close as well. Sunghoon got along well with my brother, but he was an absolute menace towards me. He would call me names, steal my things, and talk bad about me to his annoying group of friends. No matter how much I cried to my parents about him, they always gave me the outdated, misogynistic line of “boys will be boys.” When his family finally moved away during middle school, I couldn’t have been more thrilled, literally crying tears of joy knowing that I would never have to see him ever again. But of course, fate is a cruel mistress, making everything go right for a couple of years before stabbing me in the back with a Sunghoon-shaped knife.

“But mother, I-”

“We’re just asking you to attend the banquet for a couple of hours and mingle. Why do you have to make things difficult?”

A dejected sigh leaves my lips. There’s no getting through to her at this rate. At least I have a day to mentally prepare myself before the banquet. Right now, I plan to say hi to him to keep up appearances and then avoid him like the plague for the rest of the event. Piece of cake, right?

My gaze falls to my purse, sitting on a bench a few feet away. A thought plants itself into my head like a seedling, growing and growing into a full-blown idea. Maybe there’s a way that I can make this banquet a little more bearable.

______________________________________________________________

The second we make it into the house, I kick my shoes off by the front door and dash upstairs towards my room, ignoring the calls from my mother to put them away properly. By the time we finished up at the tailor, my phone had somehow died in my purse, making me antsy the whole drive home.

I burst through my room, practically leaping towards the charger.

“Come on, hurry up,” I plead, praying that it will somehow make the phone turn on faster. Thankfully, it only takes a few seconds to light up with life. I quickly scroll through my messages, typing up a quick text to the person who will be most vital to plan.

Yuno: Good Morning.

Minji: heyyy! can i call u? i have something important to ask

______________________________________________________________

Yuno’s POV

I stop dead in my tracks, almost dropping the bag of groceries in my hands as I scan my phone screen over and over again. Does she really want to talk… to me?! On the phone? What could she want to ask me? Is she gonna-

“Hello? Earth to Yuno.” My dad waves his hand in front of my face, pulling me from my trance. “I can’t have you stand in the middle of the kitchen while I cook dinner,” he chuckles.

“A-ah, right. Sorry.” I move to put the groceries away, but he stops me.

“I can put the rest of the groceries away. It’s clear you would rather be doing something else right now.” He gives me a knowing smile as I briskly make my way towards the stairs, grabbing the bag with my new sweater in it. Right before I head up, I turn to my dad one last time.

“Um, thanks for taking me to the mall. It was… nice.” 

He chuckles to himself before waving me off. I go to my room and shut the door behind me, typing a quick reply to Minji.

Minji: hey! can i call u? i have something important to ask

Yuno: Sure.

An overwhelming wave of suspense hits me, filling my mind with an endless mountain of questions. My phone buzzes to life with Minji’s name and I quickly swipe to answer her call.

“Hello!”

Her voice rings clearly through the speakers like the soothing sound of a gentle breeze. I’m somewhat glad she didn’t ask to talk in person, otherwise, she would see the obvious blush on my face.

“H-hi. Um, what did you want to ask me?”

“Oh right! It’s kinda weird, but… Are you doing anything on Tuesday night?”

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. Is she asking me on a…?

“N-no, why?” I can’t stop my voice from quivering with nervous excitement.

“Well…” She sighs. “It’s a bit of a long story, but basically, my parents are holding a banquet for the family business on Tuesday and if you’re not busy, I was wondering if you wanted to go… with me.”

“A-as your date?” The words come out before I can even think to stop myself from saying them. You fucking idiot, why would you say that!? Minji is gonna think you’re weird now! “S-sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“T-technically speaking, you would be my… date.” 

A loooooooooong awkward pause ensues. My heart is beating so loud, I’m worried she’ll be able to hear it through the phone. TV static and white noise run through my mind as I stand in the middle of my room, frozen in disbelief.

“Um, hello? Yuno?”

“Y-yeah, I’m here, s-sorry,” I manage to croak out. “Why do you want me to go? Wouldn’t it be better if you invited your other friends instead?”

“There’s this guy that’s gonna be there and I would really like to avoid him, so I figured I could bring you instead of the girls and maybe he’ll… y’know.”

My heart sinks a little. “You want me to be there to scare him off?”

“...Well, when you say it like that, it sounds mean.” Her tone turns apologetic. “I’m sorry, Yuno, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll go.” Maybe I’m just a hopeless love-stricken fool who’s willing to toss away any ounce of self-respect I have left for a girl he likes, but it’s not like I’m doing anything interesting on a Tuesday night anyways. Plus, banquets usually have free food, and if Ms. Kim’s cooking is any sign of things to come, it’ll probably be really good.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m using you, I just really need a friend to help get me through the banquet. Y’know, it feels like I have to keep reminding you that we’re friends, Yuno,” she says.

I collapse onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spins in place. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to having friends.”

“It’s okay, I’m probably not doing a great job at being a good friend. It feels like you’re always helping me with something and I haven’t paid you back at all.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“First, you saved me from that drunk guy in front of the convenience store, and then the spider in the Ferris wheel, and now today with the purse thief, and now I’m asking you to go to a banquet with me because I don’t want to see some guy. You’re always doing things for me and I haven’t done the same for you.”

“That’s not true,” I refute. “What about the time I walked you home and it started raining, so you let me sleep on your couch so I wouldn’t get sick from the rain?”

“See, I only did that because you offered to walk me home. You’ve done a thousand things for me, and I’ve only done one thing for you. I think I’m a pretty bad friend-”

“That doesn’t make you a bad friend at all!” I yell out without realizing it. Minji goes quiet, the only thing I can hear is my anxious heartbeat and her quiet breathing. “S-sorry, I-I didn’t mean to yell…” Fuck, I made it awkward. “I, uh… You’re not a bad friend, is what I’m trying to say. U-um, you’re very kind and understanding, even to someone like me. I know I don’t have a lot of friends, but I know for sure that you’re a good one. You help me out more than you realize.”

There’s a long pause before Minji speaks again. “...Okay, first of all, I don’t like being yelled at, but I will accept your apology since you had good intentions.” I let out a sigh of relief, but the ache in my chest still lingers. Her tone is much more serious than it was a second ago. “Second of all, what do you mean “people like you?””

“Y’know…” I think carefully before I speak, treading through eggshells while I search for the right words. “You said it yourself when we were at the mall, I’m a troublemaker.”

Minji sighs. “Okay, that’s my bad, but I also said that you’re a good guy. You can convince yourself that you’re a bad person all you want, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be lonely. I want you to be surrounded by people who love and care about you, Yuno.”

God, she’s so perfect. What did I do in my past life to meet an angel like her? “Th-thanks, Minji.”

“Of course. What are friends for?”

Friends. A word that felt so foreign and unattainable until recently. It still feels weird to digest, but a good kind of weird. The kind of weird that makes me feel excited for what’s to come, even though I have no clue what to expect. It’s like exploring an unexplored part of the world, no map, no research, simply traveling on pure curiosity alone. You might discover something frightening, yet you continue to dig because of the possibility that there’s something beautiful once you get to the other side.

Maybe “friendship” is as far as Minji and I are meant to go. Yet I continue to dig and dig through all these new, exciting, and terrifying experiences, because despite my whole internal monologue this morning about how we’re so different, about how she’s a shooting star and I’m a lowly cockroach, I desperately want to see what happens when I get to the other side. I am irrevocably, completely, and (most importantly) foolishly in love with Minji Kim.

[ravennaortiz]

11,22,43,52 with Chibs please. I’m rewatching SOA right now and I would love to read a story where the reader is the club princess who fell in love with Chibs.. thank u so much!🫶🏼

I too am rewatching SOA! I absolutely love the idea of the club princess falling in love with Chibs! Your very welcome, stop by anytime for another! As always my stories are 18+!

Princess

I'm not enough for you lassie. Too old and with you being who you are. I just can't lass.

You frowned looking up from where you stood in front of Chibs as his words echoed through your head. You weren't used to not getting what you wanted as the club princess. You had had a crush on the Scottish biker since he joined your brother and stepdads MC years ago. That's crush had slowly grown over the years into much more. You had fallen hopelessly head over heels for him.

Chibs sighed as he watched your eyes sparkle with tears. This was entirely his fault. He should have nipped this in the bud years ago. He had simply thought it was a young school girl crush and it would go away with time. It hadn't and now here he was trying to let you down as gently as possible.

His loyalty to your stepdad and brother prevented him from giving himself to you even though he wanted too. He couldn't deny you were a stunning young woman and anyone would be lucky to have you in their life and bed at night. But you were strictly off limits and every man in this club knew that. As much as he would love to feel your lips against his he just could not risk it.

You nodded as you sniffled and wiped at your eyes as the tears slipped down your cheeks. A mix of emotions battled within you. Maybe you could talk to Jax. He would okay it you thought and you could care less what your stepdad thought. Sometimes you truly hated being the club princess and how people treated you differently. A surge of anger had a challenge falling from your lips as you glared back at Chibs.

"Make me believe you don't want me" you firmly stated as you moved closer running your hands down the older mans chest to his belt which you started to undo. Chibs was slow to respond and you had his belt and zipper undone before he grabbed your wrist. "Stop" murmured Chibs trying to be gentle as he felt his own body start to betray him.

As sweet as you were he knew you had the Teller signature stubbornness and hardheadedness just like your brother. Rarely could wither of you be talked off or down from something once you were latched on. The smug look on your face before you spoke next had him worried.

"No one is here but us. Hell no one else knows I'm here. So whats he harm? Just a small taste?" you whispered as you walked forward making Chibs move back so you were all the way in his dorm room. Chibs swallowed hard and his brain was short circuiting as the implication of your words hit him. The sound of his door slamming closed as you kicked it shut had him snapping out of the trance and releasing your hands. Putting more distance between the two of you he rubbed his face.

Taking the opportunity you slipped your dress down and let it float to the floor around your feet. When Chibs turned back to you he swallowed hard as he took in your nearly nude body. "Jeezus Christ" he murmured as he snapped his eyes closed. "Put your clothes back on now" he ordered even though he was straining at the front of his jeans.

You huffed before rolling your eyes and moving towards him. Once you were in front of him you dropped to your knees as you tugged on his jeans. "Please Chibs?" you whimpered as you batted your eyes up at him. Chibs shivered at your words but quickly moved around you and left his room as he uttered a firm no.

***

"What's going on with you and my sister?" inquired Jax as he slipped into the stool next to Chibs a couple of days later. Chibs sighed heavily as he took a sip of his whiskey. It was no secret you had been cold with him and made your irritation known to the whole club since he had denied your advances.

"I thought I did the right thing but apparently not" replied Chibs not bothering to elaborate. Jax simply nodded as he looked at his friend. "Well I want you to fix it. However you need to" replied Jax after a couple minutes as his eyes trailed over to where you stood talking to a member from another charter.

Chibs had slipped outside for fresh air when he heard your voice raising into almost a yell as you struggled in the arms of a man Chibs had seen a couple times but not bothered to learn the name of. A surge of jealously had Chibs stalking over silent and grabbing the man before beating his face to a bloody pulp.

"Chibs!" you screamed as you pulled him back. Your eyes wide with fear and shock at his reaction. "Why di-" you started before Chibs lips on yours had your words cut off. Moaning you ran your hands through his hair pulling him closer before he pulled back a moment later.

"I would kill for you lass. I've missed you so damn much the last couple of days. I was a damn bloody idiot. Can you forgive me and give an old man another chance love?" begged Chibs as he looked into your eyes.

You gulped and simply nodded. "I love you Chibs" you whispered looking up at him with a soft smile.

"Love ya too lass" replied Chibs before he picked you up and carried you back to the clubhouse.

Want more Chibs? Click here

Want to make your own request? Click here

[jellyfishdoodler]

He/They

WOO GOT THIS DONE ON TIME FOR THE LAST DAY OF CHASE WEEK LETS GOOO

I entirely blame @kalcifers-blog for changing my brain chemistry over a single drawing of Chase with a enby flag and I could NOT get this out of my head fast enough lol

Transcript and close up shots under cut 💛

(Not part of the comic but remember today is the first day of the second Palestine Strike and me and a bunch of JSE artists are taking donation requests for Palestine relief! You can find the info and Tiltify donation link on my page, thanks for reading 🇵🇸)

♡♡♡

[First panel is Chase Brody (looking tired with hands in his pockets) and Jackieboy Man (much more awake and happy) facing each other while in a simple living room, Jackie's back more towards the camera]

Jackie: "Hey! I was just wondering how do you IDENTIFY?"

[Second panel is a close up of Chase crossing his arms and not meeting Jackie's eyes]

Chase: "I dunno..." [internal dialog in a thought bubble reading, "A LOSER, PATHETIC, A PROBLEM, ALCHOLIC"] "Like, Bisexual? I guess"

[Third panel is a close up of Jackie with a confused smile on his face, body language open]

Jackie: NO NO, I mean like- What are your pronouns?"

[Fourth panel is a smaller version of Chase uncolored lookind surprised with a gray background and a yellow circle behind him]

Chase: "oh."

[Fifth panel is Jackie walking away with a shrug as Chase looks to the side to think, background shows more doors and simple furniture]

Chase: "He/Him, I think? I haven't really thought about it before..." [whispered] "Nobody's ever asked me-"

Jackie: "Hey man, its all good! If you find anything out later just let me know! Its okay to experiment or stick to what you know. No biggie!"

[Page 2. The panels are surrounded in black unlike page one which were white. First panel is Chase laying sideways in a dark bedroom looking at his phone with his chin propped up on his fist. The screen lights his tired face and clock behind him reads "12:05 AM." No dialog.]

[Second panel is a close up of a cracked phone screen with Youtube on, two video thumbnails reading "WHATS THE DIFFERENCE?" and "IM NON-BINARY?! WHAT. PRONOUN QUIZ"

[Third "panel" is a thin google search bar with the question "what is nonbinary?" typed in]

[Fourth panel is a close up of Chase (looking from the top down) with his fsce lit by the screen, laying on his side looking at his phone with a surprised expression. Squares of webpage articles float around him.]

Chase: "HUH."

[Fifth and final panel is looking at Chase from the top down in the dark as he lays on his back with eyes closed in a happy expression. His phone is held to his chest as a yellow glow comes from his chest.]

[seungkw1]

maestro — ljh // chapter 1

⛧ pairing: lee jihoon x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns) ⛧ theme: fantasy, suggestive (18+ smut in future chapters) ⛧ chapter wc: 2.7k ⛧ warnings: minor knife violence ⛧ a/n: when i tell u that lee jihoon wrecked me sooooo bad this comeback !!!! the maestro mv was fully giving villain!woozi and my brain took that and absolutely ran with it. also, this is my first chapter fic!! much more to come, stay tuned <3

Your knowledge of the enemy is minimal, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer that is not to be trifled with - and you’ve just walked right into his trap.

You fucked up.

Your task was simple enough: sneak into the palace, steal the ring, and get the hell out. You’ve done countless jobs like this over the years - you're a professional for fuck’s sake. Sure, this gig was a bit more high-profile than usual, but nothing you couldn't handle. 

Yet somehow, they caught you. 

You rack your brain for a clue - something, anything, to indicate what went wrong. But you come up blank. Everything had gone according to plan (up until you found yourself surrounded by imperial guards with a knife at your throat, anyway), not a single detail overlooked. Something is off here, your instinct tells you. 

Here you are now, being forcefully escorted through the palace’s underlevels by a squad of imperial goons. The head goon hauls you through the dim hallways, his grip on your arm painfully tight, knife drawn and at the ready in case you were to try something foolish. A dark mask covers his lower face, so he's hard to get a read on, but you can tell he’s nothing more than a large, brainless oaf. You’ve single-handedly outwitted enemies like him in the past - but here, you are far too outnumbered. For the time being, you comply. 

You arrive at a large steel door, adorned only by a small barred window in its middle. With a rough shove the guard pushes you into the cell - you fall to the ground, your palms striking the cold stone floor. The hinges let out a horrid creaking sound before the door slams shut with a loud CLANG. You hear the clunking of a heavy chain, then the click of a padlock. Footsteps fade away as the imperial squad retreats - then, silence. You are all alone, trapped, imprisoned in this musty cell, somewhere in the depths of the Maestro’s palace. 

You sit on the hard ground, alone with your thoughts. The more you think about it, the only explanation is that this was a setup. But the Agency’s entire job is to sift through lies and misinformation; if this was a trap, there must be something larger at play - something elaborate, sinister. 

Unfortunately for you, you have nothing but time to try and piece together this puzzle. You lean your head against the stone wall, trying to figure out how the fuck you're gonna get yourself out of this mess. 

The absence of natural light leaves you with no way of telling time. The silence grows eerie. Your mind wanders, imagination soon running wild. You’ve heard of people who lose their minds within days of solitary confinement. Will that happen to me?, you can’t help but wonder. How long will I be here? Are they going to bring me food, or am I doomed to die of starvation? How did I even end up here? What are they planning to do with me? What if they forget about me? What if…

Your mind grows weary. You decide to lay down - no use in staying awake and overthinking. You rest your head on the gravelly floor - it’s uncomfortable, but your eyelids soon become heavy. You drift in and out of consciousness, strange visions and voices floating through your mind. Before long, you are asleep.

You’re running. You don’t know where to, but you are running through winding, endless corridors. Running from… something. You don’t know what. The sound of your racing heartbeat pounds in your ears, surpassed only by the heaving pants of your labored breathing. The neverending halls begin to expand around you - they grow larger and larger, disorienting your sense of perception. From behind, unsettling noises draw nearer and nearer: screeching echoes, thunderous crashes, wicked laughter. You run, but it’s not fast enough. The horrid sounds infiltrate your mind, reverberating through your skull so loudly you feel as if your head is about to explode. Suddenly, through blurred vision you see the hallway’s end; at it stands a cloaked figure, facing away from you. You can’t see anything else of the entity, but you sense the dark energy that surrounds it. Dread wells in the pit of your stomach, filling you with terror - but, for some reason, you are drawn to the malevolent being. Their presence is magnetic, alluring - frightening, but seductive. You press on - you don’t know why, but you must get to them. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to lead - each footstep slowing you down further. You’re almost there, almost, almost… finally - the figure is within arm’s reach. In excruciating slow motion, you extend your hand toward them. Your fingertips graze the black cloak, its woven texture coarse against your skin. Your hand glides over the thick fabric - you close your grip around their shoulder, forcefully turning them around to face you. You lift your gaze to look at their face-

BANG.

You jolt awake in a panic. Disoriented, heart pounding, it takes you a moment to realize you’re still in the cold, dark prison cell. Faint light enters the room through the now-open doorway. Standing in it is a tall, thin man - you can barely make out his face, but his presence is unsettling. He peers down at you, his piercing eyes practically boring a hole into your head. 

“Come with me,” is all he says. 

You blink dully a few times, still not fully lucid. You try to process what all is happening, but your dream (nightmare?) weighs heavily at the forefront of your mind. The odious man quickly becomes irritated.

“GET UP!” he bellows at you.

You rise, stumbling to your feet. Two guards enter from behind him, swiftly seizing hold of your arms and yanking you out of the cell. They halt in front of the man. An unpleasant scowl seems permanently engraved on his face. He smirks at you.

“Well aren’t you pretty.”

You spit on the ground in front of his feet. The man glares at you with vitriol. He draws a short sword from the depths of his cloak, pointing it at your face. He traces the razor-sharp tip lightly across your cheek.

“Act like that again,” he sneers. With a quick flick of the wrist he delivers a small slash into your cheekbone. You barely flinch.

“And I’ll carve some very permanent scars into that pretty little face of yours.”

You stare at him, but say nothing. With a huff he turns, sauntering off into the hallway.

“Come along now. The Maestro wants to see you.”

—

The first thing you notice upon entering the chamber is the hundreds of candles set alight, illuminating the otherwise unlit space. The second is the hooded figure seated upon the throne at the room’s distant end, reclining arrogantly - watching you intensely. 

You hadn’t seen their face, but you know: it is the figure from your dream.

The guards stand you before the Maestro. You still can’t see their face. The thin man who summoned you steps forward, giving a small bow to his master.

“The thief, Your Majesty.”

The Maestro leans forward. Their face, previously shadowed, becomes illuminated in the candlelight: you see a man, much younger than anticipated - and strikingly beautiful. His eyes, adorned with dark makeup, peer up and down your body, studying you. He rises, nonchalantly descending the few steps before him; the clacking of his boots against the dark marble echoes through the otherwise silent chamber. He strolls toward you, maintaining eye contact, coming to a stop within mere inches of you. Slowly he removes his hood, revealing a head of long pale tresses. Up close, he is even more stunning. 

The man lifts his hand, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head, observing the cut on your cheek.

“I told you to bring me the prisoner unharmed,” he scolds his servant. His gaze doesn’t stray from your face.

The subordinate’s face drops. “Apologies, my liege,” he responds hesitantly. “I-”

“Leave.”

He says nothing else. The servant’s eyes darken with fear. “My liege-”

The man before you motions to the guards. “Take him away.”

The guards seize the man, dragging him from the chamber in silence. The door closes with a heavy thud. You are now alone with the enemy. 

Your existing knowledge of the mysterious individual known as the Maestro is minimal - you have a fairly high level of clearance within the Agency, but even there the details are sparse. Rumors abound, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer, and is not to be trifled with.

You watch the man before you intently as he turns on his heels, meandering casually across the room, hands behind his back. Undoubtedly, his presence is intimidating; but admittedly he does not seem to be nearly the loathsome monster you’ve been led to believe he is. Regardless, you will not be letting your guard down. 

“My apologies for the poor treatment you have received thus far,” the man starts as he resumes his seat upon the large, ornate chair. A bowl of deep-purple grapes sits on the table beside him; he reclines again, reaching for the supple fruits. He plucks a particularly round grape from its stem, drawing it to his lips - he places it upon his tongue, holding it there momentarily before biting down, its juicy flesh bursting within his mouth. He chews, his eyes fixated upon you. He swallows before continuing.

“I had to ensure you were who I thought you were, and not some irrelevant member of the Agency.”

You grimace, displeased to learn that your suspicions were correct. He did know about the mission, and presumably the Agency’s agenda too. If that’s the case, then how much else does he know…

You’re itching to ask him who exactly he thinks you are, but you hold your tongue. You know better than to engage with the enemy unless absolutely necessary.

“But now that I am certain, I assure you you will receive nothing but the finest accommodations.” 

You say nothing. He eats another grape. You’ve been staring for far too long when you realize his plush lips seem to have you in a trance; you quickly return to glaring at him.

A few moments of silence pass. The intense eye contact he sustains stirs up a sensation within you - not fear, not worry, but rather… intrigue. You know the man is dangerous, yet here you are - simply captivated by him. You silently curse yourself for allowing emotion to infiltrate your mind like this. You’re smarter than this. Get your shit together.

“Refusing to speak, I see. Very well then. But aren’t you curious?” He leans forward, taunting you. “You know I hold the answers you seek, y/n.”

Your stomach drops. He just called you by your real name. Members of the Agency are exclusively referred to by their code names - even amongst colleagues, true identities remain concealed. How does he…

Your face remains stoic, indifferent, but he smirks. He can read you like an open book, and he knows you know it. 

“Go on, question me. You must see there is no threat here - I am unarmed. You may speak freely.”

You know that’s an absolute crock of bullshit. A cunning sorcerer is never truly unarmed - god knows what he could conjure up in the blink of an eye. But, admittedly he does have a point. You very well may die here - might as well get some fucking answers first. 

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask coldly.

A sly grin appears on his face. “Ah, she speaks! Good girl.” You scowl at him; he continues. “It’s simple, really - it was me who allowed the Agency to ‘discover’ the location of the palace. I made sure their little reconnaissance efforts would lead them to send their most skilled operative to retrieve the ring.”

“You wanted the ring to be stolen.”

“No. I wanted the ring to be stolen by you.”

You pause at his unexpected words. What?

Every neuron in your brain is screaming at you to be silent, don’t play into his little games. But you open your mouth anyway.

“And why me?” 

“Oh, I’ve had my eyes on you for quite some time, darling.”

Your stomach jolts. He said it so nonchalantly, as if he was telling you the weather rather than admitting he’s been watching your every move for god knows how long.

You stare at him incredulously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He simply shakes his head. “Patience - you will learn the whole story in due time. Guards!”

A new pair of imperials, much more polished and intelligent-looking than their brutish counterparts you’ve dealt with thus far, enter the room. 

“Please escort my guest to her bedchamber for the night. I must retire.”

The guards steer you toward the hallway. You follow without resistance. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” the man calls as you step through the doorway. You glimpse back: he is seated in the same position, watching you intensely. You catch a curious look in his eye, one you can’t quite read. He disappears as the heavy door shuts behind you.

—

As promised, your new accommodations are satisfactory - lavish, even. You’ve never seen a room with so many ornate embellishments, nor a bed with so many cushions and fine coverings. The washroom was equally fanciful, offering a large tub and luxurious-looking towels. Enticing, certainly, but at this point you are exhausted, and simply want to sleep anywhere that isn’t a cold stone floor. You lay upon the bed, not even bothering to retreat under the covers. Within seconds, you drift off to sleep.

You find yourself in the same hallway again - this time, not running, but merely standing behind the cloaked figure. You extend your hand, grabbing his shoulder and turning him round. You raise your eyes, meeting his gaze - but where his eyes should be, you only found blackness. You stare into the void of his sockets, hypnotized in fear, their darkness seeming to infiltrate your soul. He draws a dagger from his cloak, shoving you into the wall and placing it against your throat. You feel its pressure, but it does not break skin. He draws his face into yours, tenderly placing his lips upon your cheekbone - right atop your freshly-scarring cut. He kisses you - slowly, fervidly, his lips burning against your skin, but instead of pain you feel only pleasure. His free hand wraps around the small of your back, pulling your torso into his, holding you tightly against his blisteringly-hot form. The dagger remains perilously at your throat, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. His lips parts from your cheek as he draws his head back, looking at you once again, the abysmal darkness of his stare penetrating through you. Slowly, he leans in, his lips converging on yours. Your mouth reaches for his, wanting for his kiss, yearning for his taste- 

Your eyes open. There are no windows in your room, but you get the sense that it is morning, midday perhaps. Dazed, you try to wake yourself up, but your mind keeps drifting back to your dream - to the man who has somehow infiltrated your subconscious. You raise your hand to your face, running your fingertips over your wound, but…

Quickly, you sit up, tossing your feet to the floor and heading toward the washroom. You approach the mirror, peering your face in close to the glass. Where there should have been a fresh scar: nothing. Not a mark on your skin. 

You frown. You don’t know what this means, but you suspect nothing good will come of it. 

A knock comes from the door. You hear the turn of the lock, followed by the creaking of the door swinging open. A young female servant enters, carrying a bundle of fabrics. A second follows, placing a tea set on the small table.

“You are expected at supper today,” the first woman informs you curtly. She places the fabrics upon your bed. “Wash up and dress in fresh clothes.” The two leave swiftly without another word.

You let out a sigh of annoyance. So this is how it’s going to be then. Fine - I’ll play along with his little games. You glance back at the mirror. A tired face looks back at you, grimacing.

Not like I have much of a choice anyway.

⛧ chapter 2: coming soon ⛧

[teamfortraven]

Caine flusters you to death idk

^ The exact file name on my computer, by the way.

This is an SFW tickle fic! Don't read if you don't like it. Also shout out to the three different references to the TADC fan song "No Exit" that I put in here :]

2,571 words.

I paced angrily out of the main room in the tent, hands curled into fists at my sides as I left my fellow circus members behind. There were no words that could describe how frustrated I was, how confused, and, though I’d never admit it, how scared. My eye twitched at the familiar sound of a long coat flapping behind me.

“Leave me alone, Caine”, I snapped, continuing towards my room. The floating ring master was not so easily deterred and continued after me, however, keeping up with no effort.

“Come on, (Y/N), it was just one time! I know you don’t like the dark, but-“

“Correction.” I spun on my heels to face him, becoming even more annoyed with the way he loomed above me in superiority. “I hate the dark. There is nothing I hate more than the dark. And what did you do?” I crossed my arms and looked at him expectantly. He blinked as he stared at me, a few seconds passing, as if he had to process that I was actually demanding an answer from him.

“It was an adventure for everyone!” He immediately defended himself, still in that jovial tone he used to announce everything. “Not everyone is going to agree on what type of adventure they want to go on-“

“Anything! Anything else!” I threw my hands up in exasperation as he looked shocked that I had cut him off. “Anything but a power outage! I can’t even begin to tell you how horrifying that entire experience was!” I made drastic hand motions at him as I rambled angrily, his hands falling to his sides limply as if he was at a loss for words. “These adventures are supposed to be fun and distracting, Caine! You failed.” I pointed a finger at him accusingly, hoping to really drive the point home.

He gasped in exaggeration, putting a hand to his chest. “I… failed?” His eyes glanced around rapidly, his thoughts clearly racing. I nodded in affirmation; there wasn’t much I could do to show him how serious I was, but hurting his ego definitely helped me feel better.

“Yep, you failed — you had one job, Caine, and you couldn’t even do that right.” I began turning, throwing him a look over my shoulder as he continued to spiral. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be in my room until I feel better.” I paused, giving him one last angry glare. “Which will probably be a very long time.” He locked eyes with me one more time before I turned and opened my door a few feet down the hall, making sure to slam it.

I sighed and fell backwards onto my bed once I had locked it, eyes squeezing shut. I hardly ever liked Caine’s adventures… some of the others seemed to genuinely enjoy them, but I did not. All they were to me were distractions; they were definitely something I appreciated and subconsciously looked forward to, given their quality of keeping our brains from actively melting into goop, but they were never fun for me, especially this time around. Running around in the dark for god knows how long trying to find a generator sounded like something straight out of a horror game, and he thought that would be fun?

“Stupid dentist model”, I muttered, eyes slowly opening.

“That’s a little rude, don’t you think?” I gasped and sat up in shock as I was met with his multicolored irises; he was floating right above me, and a little too close for comfort, at that.

“Caine, what the hell are you doing in here?” I demanded, slowly calming down from the unwelcome surprise. “I wanted to be alone, if I hadn’t made that clear!”

“Well…” He floated back a few feet, twiddling with his thumbs as he glanced away. He almost looked… nervous? “I felt bad for how I made you feel with the last adventure, so…” He looked back up at me, arms folding behind his back. “I figured I would come and fix the problem!”

“What…?” I paused, eyes narrowing at him. “Fix how?”

“By comforting you, of course!” He floated a little closer, his confidence seeming to return. I watched him nervously; ‘comfort’ could be practically anything in his book.

“You’re avoiding my question”, I said quickly, my eyes never leaving him as I withdrew my arms close to my chest. “What are you planning on doing?”

I merely blinked at him as he halted right where he was and put his arms out invitingly… oh.

“A… hug?” I scoffed without thinking about it, trying to collect my words as he looked taken aback by my reaction. “Look, Caine, I uhh, really appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. In fact, umm, I already am fine!” I forced a smile, eyebrows furrowed together regardless. I felt myself begin to sweat as he glanced me over; it was nerve-wracking knowing he was analyzing every single part of my body language.

“It would appear you’re lying, my dear; no need! I can surely have you feeling better in no time!” I sighed in defeat as he put his arms back out completely, nodding at me. It looked like he wasn’t going away until he was sure he had fixed what he had done. In all honesty, I had already forgiven him; he was strangely charming in his own goofy little way. I really couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Plus, I guess I wouldn’t mind a hug…

“Alright”, I finally muttered, putting my arms out in turn.

I squeaked in surprise as he suddenly picked me up, squeezing me and subsequently cradling me in his lap. I hesitantly looked up at him; sometimes I wished he blinked. I slowly wrapped my arms around him, hugging him back. It was… nice. But after only a brief moment, he pulled back, still keeping me in his arms, studying me.

“What are you doing?” I was more confused than anything, but the sentence still began with a stutter, which again appeared to ring alarm bells in his head.

“Hugging does not appear to be enough, so I’m just testing something to see if this method is an option”, he said blatantly. I jumped as he suddenly poked me in the side; I immediately covered the area on reflex, my other hand grasping his wrist. I realized my mistake too late as I looked up and saw him appear to smile.

“Ah! Perfect! Then I should have no trouble cheering you up at all!”

“Wait!” I said in panic as he suddenly positioned his hand in a clawing motion just above my stomach, struggling to get out of his grip as he held me against him.

“You’re confusing me a bit”, he said, cocking his head to the side. “You ask for me to stop, and yet you’re still smiling. Having some mixed emotions?”

I realized I was, in fact, smiling, which was apprehensive to the idea of what he was planning on doing, and also just from nervousness.

“I’m just… I…” I struggled to find words, too flustered to outright say anything.

“You’re just… what?” He paused before he started slowly wiggling his fingers just above me, to my horror. “Maybe this will help you speak your mind?”

“Wait, no, I just-“ I shrieked as he tapped my stomach a few times, hands flying to grasp his wrist once again. “I’m just embarrassed! This is just really embarrassing, okay?” I rushed the words as he showed no signs of stopping, holding back nervous giggles.

“You do appear to be embarrassed, yet also conflicted. Going to push my hand away or just stay posed like that?” He stared at me expectantly, his hand frozen against me. I glanced around, fingers twitching against his arm as I struggled to accept that that was true. It had been a very, very long time since anyone had ever given me affection like this before. What was worse, that didn’t even account for the affection I probably lacked before I joined the circus. Given how easily flustered I was, it was obvious this was all foreign to me. I forced myself to look him in the eyes, only curling in on myself even more as I could tell the bastard was still reading me like a book.

“I…” I swallowed nervously. “I just… I’ve never had…” I found myself unable to look at him, or even continue speaking. There was something buried that felt dangerously close to the surface that I just couldn’t remember – something painful. My smile left my face.

“Oh, sweetheart…” My eyes widened at the sudden nickname, head swiveling to look at him.

“You don’t have to admit it!” I hid my face in my hands as he began slowly dragging a single finger across the front of my body in lazy patterns. “It’s obvious this is a… sensitive subject for you.” I could’ve screamed when he made that stupid pun, only leaning further into him in an attempt to hide.

“If you tell anyone…” I started, muffled by my hands. I shrieked as he suddenly squeezed my side, interrupting me.

“Tell anyone what, my little possession?” The mocking tone of his voice took me by surprise.

“Tell anyone that I… e-enough with the nicknames!” I squeaked, kicking my legs in reflex as he traced across my ribs.

“Tell anyone that you like being tickled?” He said the word with such ease that I gasped, staring at him. He looked down at me for a moment and I could see the gears in his head turning as he read my expression. Then, appearing to smirk (as much as giant teeth can), he snapped his fingers.

“Oh! Embarrassed by the word, hmm?” I rapidly shook my head, to which he only continued to stare, obviously not buying it. “So you are!” He sounded delighted, and I groaned, hiding my face again.

“So don’t say it!” I muttered, my voice sharper than I meant for it to be. I became incredibly suspicious as he went silent, so I looked up at him again. That same blank gaze was returned to me, unmoving.

“Tickle.”

I blinked in surprise before I attempted to sternly tell him off. “H-Hey! What did I just-“

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” I screeched as he suddenly dug his fingers into my ribs, his other hand that was supporting me scratching under my arm. I struggled to pry his hands from my body, finding that he wouldn’t move at all. I quickly fell into helpless laughter, legs kicking.

“C-Caihaine stahap!”

“Stop what?” He said nonchalantly, feigning ignorance.

“You know exAHACTLY WHAHAT-“ I nearly shrieked as he pinched between my side and hip, squirming in his lap.

“Oh! Is this a bad spot?” I nearly fell into hysterics as he repeated the action as fast as possible.

“Just not- NOT THEHERE-“ I struggled to finish a single sentence, especially when he started rapidly switching places, a loose yet determined grip on me to prevent me from moving very much.

“Where’s this loud voice when you’re performing, my little superstar?” If I could’ve cursed him out for the snide comments he continuously made, I would have.

“Quit it!” I struggled to annunciate through a stream of giggles and my flustered complexion, his hand trailing down to my stomach, drawing more bubbly noises from me.

“Oh, you circus members are always SO delightfully predictable”, he mused, his hand jumping around to a few different spots, gauging my reactions with robotic precision. “Always leaving your weak spots open!”

“Y-You’re so bahackhanded!” I squeaked before finding myself thrashing in his grip and practically snorting.

“Hmmm, I have to disagree there. I’m much more front handed when it comes to playing with my performers! Are you seeing my point of view here?” He suddenly stopped only to wiggle his fingers in front of my face, eliciting nervous giggles as I sank even further into his lap in a subconscious attempt to keep them away.

“No response? Well, at least I know how to make you smile, right?” He moved to squeeze both of my sides at once before spidering; I somehow seemed even more trapped now than I was before, so I opted instead to cover my heated face rather than attempt to escape.

“Careful not to blush too hard… your facial polygons are getting artifacts, dear.”

“Ahand whose fault is thahat?!” I exclaimed, squealing as his hands began traveling up and down, definitely feeling the artifacts forming now if I hadn’t before.

“I’m only cheering you up! You’re the one that chose to be this sensitive…”

“IT WASN’T A CHOICE!” I protested through laughter. It was more than embarrassing to know this AI was managing to tease me into oblivion, able to manipulate my reactions like a puppet on a string. Worst of all, he was cheering me up, and pretty soon I would have to genuinely ask for it to end before he got suspicious-

“So, having second thoughts? Is this method working? Five star review?” He continued reciting practical nonsense, his fingers not missing a beat on wiggling into any hyper-sensitive areas they could find.

I realized it was pointless trying to cover it up; he already knew I was enjoying it. I’d just be prolonging the amount of sarcastic questioning I’d experience, which he’d then accuse me of also liking. I struggled to think of words, any words, while he practically played me like an instrument.

“Okay, OKAYHAY! IT WOHORKED ALRIGHT? NOW STAHAP!” I was surprised when he did finally pause, drawing me just a bit closer, those grotesque eyes within his jaws studying me briefly before he scooped me up, setting me back on the bed and then zooming into the air in front of me.

“I’m just messing with you! Of course it worked! That method has yet to fail me!” I wondered how many other performers he had done this to when he accidentally upset them…

While I was lost in thought, he floated closer, and I came back to attention to find him staring inches from my face. I drew back a bit in surprise before he spoke.

“Still embarrassed by it? Don’t be!” He punctuated his exclamation with a fancy spin. “Just don’t think about the fact that I could hold this above your head forever and there’s nothing you can do about it – it’s that simple!”

I groaned and set my flustered face in my hands… At least the artifacts that formed seemed to have mended themselves. “Right, Caine, that simple…”

I felt a hand gingerly set on my shoulder and looked back up.

“That… was a joke. I won’t tell anyone, ringmaster’s promise!” He nodded to himself and I smiled slightly.

“...Thank you.”

“Anyways, now that you’re a blushy mess rather than a depressed one, I’ll be on my way! You know where to find me!” He glanced about a dozen different ways, which was concerning but not unexpected, before poofing out of my room with a small eruption of cartoonish smoke.

I laughed a bit to myself after he left, contemplating the whole experience. While he struggled to understand things that were inherently human, it was obvious that he was trying… and, at the very least, I wouldn’t complain if he tried cheering me up that way again. Just as long as the last adventure never repeated itself…

[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @clairegregoryau 💕

Everytime the topic of fandom kindness and community comes up, of helping each other out and fostering a quiet corner where people can be themselves, most people in our little fandom think of Claire. She's written over a million words of OFMD fic and read even more, and you can always see so so many recs over on her twitter. Incredible good vibes, and an author who truly lives to lift other authors up. She also does SO SO much for fic authors over on the OFMD Fic Club server <3 And she was incredibly kind and shared her entire writing process with me:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I’m a huge advance planner, which is a process that has developed for me over more than 25 years of writing original fiction. I’ll get whacked with a story idea, then I’ll sit down and set out the central kernel of that idea, and where it needs to start, where it needs to end, and what the turning points need to be to get there.

A lot of the time I use a three-act structure, largely because Jenkins has talked about OFMD using that structure (one example here). So that makes it easy for me to hold to the canon beats when I’m writing AU stories, or to mirror them in canon-era stories, which is also something I try to do most of the time. With long experience (and now 1.7 million words of OFMD fic written (!)), I find this part of the process really easy. I’ll usually do that plotting by hand-writing out my notes, because it really fires up a different part of your brain.

Because I am such an advance planner, I do tend to write in a completely linear way from start to finish (I also pretty commonly post my long-fics as I write- each chapter goes up as soon as it’s finished and has a final editing pass). Punching through it in a linear way, knowing the ending that I’m working towards and being enthusiastic to get there, really keeps me motivated.

I do all of my writing in 30-minute sprints at the OFMD Fic Club Discord, where we’ve built a lovely and LOUDLY enthusiastic writing community that anyone is welcome to hop into 24/7. For those who find the constant chat a bit overwhelming, we also have a Quiet Focus Sprints channel. Again via long practice, I’m a very fast writer, but that’s accelerated a lot more over the last couple of years, paradoxically because I couldn’t write the way I used to anymore.

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that includes some fun brain impacts at times, and it’s really hit my working memory especially. I used to be able to hold all the strands of a complicated story together in my head as I wrote, but now I can’t do that as easily. So that’s why the outline is important for me, so I never lose track of the idea- I’ll also do a quick outline at the start of each chapter I’m writing that notes what needs to happen, and then I’ll write in what I call layers, getting down whatever I can first, and then doing sweeps back through it to add internals, narrative detail, sensory details and so on. I make a LOT of notes and square brackets as I go to remind myself of things to look at later.

I also use a plot matrix [Twitter thread, Example Matrix] that you may have seen floating around- I mostly use it to keep track of plot details that have already happened within a story, so that I can check it out at a glance, but I will sometimes plan certain elements in advance (as in the case of Tree Change, which covered 87 of the 93 Kinktober prompts last year across 12 carefully planned chapters). There’s always space when I’m writing for the characters to surprise me within that plot framework- as a final plotting thing, once I’m at the halfway mark I’ll often plot backwards from the planned end to make sure that I’m on course, and to see what I need to adjust.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

I really like to dig into the friends-to-lovers trope that sits at the heart of the show. The Ed and Stede relationship reminds me immensely of my own- like Rhys and Taika as friends, we’ve been yes-anding each other for over 25 years (all of my least hinged fic ideas come from bouncing thoughts back and forth with my husband), and it’s been a steady mix of constant silliness, curiosity, and care. We’re best friends first and that’s one of my favourite things about Ed and Stede, that they are, too.

What I really love about it is the vulnerability of these two people who’ve been hurt so much by others in the past, who’ve never been fully appreciated for all the things that they are, and in each other they find the one absolutely perfect person who just gets them, and it makes all the difference. It’s always fun to play with that and variations on it in fics, and it’s usually the beating heart of my stories.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I want to say that I find them both equally easy depending on the story. Ed as a character speaks very much the way I think- he has that ADHD buzz, the high swear level, and a very AoNZ turn of phrase that’s also very familiar to Australians (like me). Writing Ed is like turning the inside of my head out and it always flows easily.

But I have always said that I see myself in both characters in equal parts, so I find Stede pretty easy to write as well. I feel like I pretty solidly understand him as a person, with his history of rejection and his commitment to trying anyway, and trying to be kind, and letting himself be fascinated by things, from piracy to books to moths to Ed (that one’s not hard).

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

This is a near-impossible question with 69 OFMD fics up on AO3 😅 I really do love them all, and I have a lot of smaller one-shots that haven’t been read as much, but overall I’m incredibly lucky with readership and so so grateful for everyone who enjoys my work.

But my recent Reverse Bang fic The Broken Lines is hugely important to me and I think it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever written anywhere. It’s set in the aftermath of the First World War (my professional zone of expertise), and features a Stede who’s lost his voice, his memory, and as far as he knows, his Ed. He gradually remembers what happened with the help of the crew and another Ed, who appears in his mirror from 1719, searching for his own Stede. It was a beautiful collaboration with artist Gerlinde to begin with, but I also got to work with one of my longest-term writing friends Jill @followedmystar as my beta, and then with Boy, who made a truly transcendent podfic that I can’t yell about enough.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

I think the word I have to zap more than any other is “actually”, and there are still a million of them in there when I’m done. The main reason is that to stick close to canon voice, I try to incorporate a lot of the less iconic/ more ordinary turns of phrase that the characters use a lot in their speech (I’ve watched every episode of the show… way too many times), and both Ed and Stede actually use “actually” a surprising amount. I just use it an even more surprising amount 😂

(This just sent me on a QUEST to find a specific number because I am that kind of nerd- Stede says it 15 times in S1 and 12 in S2, and Ed says it 8 times in each, for totals of 27 and 16, many of them in distinctive moments; it just gives that little buzz of recognition for me. I started out screenwriting before I moved to prose, so my writing tends to lean pretty strongly on having a recognisable, almost audible voice to the dialogue, as well as a cinematic visual style for the big adventures especially).

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

I quite deliberately don’t use a beta reader for most of my OFMD fics, because being in this space is an exercise in recovering from lifelong paralysing perfectionism around writing especially. I’ve spent so many years not finishing original work because it never feels like it passes the invisible bar for perfection that exists in my own head. So when I started writing OFMD fic, I set out to accept good enough as good enough, and to get back to enjoying writing as fully as I can.

Obviously this means that my work could be better, but I’m actively working on letting that thought go and loving everything I’ve made just as it is. When I have worked with beta readers on projects that require them, like the Reverse Bang, it’s been with friends who I trust and adore, who I know will listen to what I need (cheerleading, mostly), and will do their best to work with me on improving the story without letting me spiral into hating it all because it wakes the perfectionist beast back up.

That doesn’t mean I’m without regular support, or that I’m not trying to improve my writing! I read an absolutely insane amount of fic, and I’m always in awe of the talent we have on this ship, and always learning from what other people do well. In lieu of beta readers, we share snippets of work all the time in our sprints team, so I get feedback there; I also get it from readers in progress, who often give me a sense of what’s hitting the way I hoped and what needs a bit of tweaking. I also have lovely group chats and individual friends like Kerry @communionnimrod and Lis @ghostalservice and Jill who I can run to if I need an opinion on whether an idea feels right or not, which I will often ask.

I’m very very careful with my writing, but in a couple of rare instances readers have also DMd me to note spots where I’ve inadvertently included something that doesn’t reach the sensitivity standard I’m aiming for. I’m always grateful for that gentleness and bravery in reaching out and I’m always happy to change something or to add tags or notes as needed.

Why OFMD 🥹

I watched the whole show in one hit a week after the final episode aired, and I loved it immediately, but I thought I was going to be normal about it. The unravelling into complete, unrelenting obsession happened gradually as I rewatched it with my husband and teen, then again, and again, then started to read fics and hunt up art, then started joining fan spaces, and then dived into writing my first fic in two and a half decades (all original writing between The X-Files and here), thinking it would also be my last.

I’m still here, still writing constantly, and a major portion of it is the show and how distinctly it reflected all the many parts of me, some of which I’d never seen so clearly before. I had a tough childhood in a few different family respects. I didn’t understand that I was neurodivergent until I turned 40 and my own kids were heading for diagnosis, and I’d been rejected constantly throughout my life for being too much. I was a high achiever who was in the process of crumpling under pressure right when I watched it, and while I’d been figuring out my sense of my own queerness for a few years, I’d never had a community that helped me feel at home with that.

And in the end it’s the community that’s been the reason I’ve been fully sucked into fandom for the first time since my teens- the writing in this space is top-tier wonderful, and the community is such a found family, just like the Revenge. Being able to write and have people actually want to read that writing, being able to cheer others on and hype their work, being able to help set up the OFMD Fic Club Discord and make it a safe spaceship for so many people, has been incredibly fulfilling and lovely. 

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 ------ five

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 4.2k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: just got back from the movies! decided to finally finish this chapter, so the ending to this chapter doesn't really sit well with me. Just another ' encounter ' with Simon :), he's getting ballsy.

likes and reblogs are loved and appreciated!

Ice water runs through your entire body at the single line of text that glares up from your illuminated phone screen. A feeling that isn't associated with the pure comfort of knowing a deputy had your phone number and decided to text you something wildly inappropriate just to make sure you had his number as well. Your fingers hesitate, hovering over the small keyboard while you watch in tandem another text comes in from the unknown number. Three dots bubble in a smooth wave of ups and downs.

" My pretty girl, you look so scared, what's wrong?" reads the text.

Your throat constricts. Skin deciding to grow clammy at the ever-taunting three dots that dance along your screen; your thumbs hung in a perpetual freeze over the keyboard. Your brain can't get your neurons to fire quickly enough to come up with some reply or snarky response. You can't even force the muscles in your small thumb to block the unknown number as any good-minded person would. You're the person who pokes the baby bear and waits around for the momma bear to come over and rip your throat to pieces while you scream out and ask why this happened to you in the first place.

Stick in hand, you poke the bear with sharp jabs of pointed wood. Thumbs slowly tap against the finger-smudged screen.

' Who is this? You some kind of weirdo that scams innocent people for fun?'

The swoosh of your green-colored text message floats on the ample space of your new conversation with an unknown number.

Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, watching your phone. Your fingers tap on the screen to keep the bright LED awake just in case you miss another notification as if that were possible. Seconds turn into one minute of you standing stock straight in your bedroom, ignoring the pretty cream-colored beams of the full moon that now beam into your open Victorian-styled window. The gossamer of your curtains flutters on the rain-flavored breeze that filters through the small crack in your window. It brings goosebumps up your bare legs, and the short skirt you still are wearing does nothing to warm the external and internal chill you feel wreaking havoc on your body. You shiver, your arms close around your chest to tame the chattering of your teeth.

' No. Don't worry your pretty little head trying to guess who I am. You'll hurt yourself.'

' Don't need my girl aching so early over me.'

You frown at your screen. Lines appear on your forehead at the patronizing tone that rings loud and clear through the digital letters. You want to scoff and roll your eyes. You want to turn your phone screen off and flop onto your bed, just to count the number of rotations your overhead fan does till the sun graces the sky and you regret every decision you've ever made for the past few days of living here.

' Tell me who this is before I go and tell the police some no life is texting me for fun.'

Three dots do their familiar dance on your screen. They dance on your nerves. They do the tango on your growing irritation at your phone, at yourself, at this entire night. Then they disappear like your unknown number decided he spooked at the half-empty threat of yours. That little threat worked half of the time whenever you used it, you're glad someone decided to take you seriously for once. You expected the texter to laugh in your face with another patronizing text and keep up the game until it drove you into throwing your phone into the hallway and leaving it there till tomorrow morning. You exhale out through your nose with a victorious smirk on your lips when another minute passes and your text remains unanswered.

" Serves them right, " you mutter, setting your phone back down onto your nightstand and striding to your bedroom closet for a comfy set of pajamas to stay in for the night. A loose pair of superhero sleep pants warm your legs and a short messily cropped shirt threatens to slip further down your shoulders with every swing of your arms when you pull it on over your head.

The rest of your night routine goes unbothered, your phone pitch black and silent on your nightstand under the soothing glow of a thrifted vintage bedside lamp. Your pajamas are ditched onto your mattress when you decide a hot shower is something you need to forget about the uncomfortable texts you got from a random number. The pressure and spray of the showerhead wash away the traces of Graves' cologne from your skin. Another pang of worry clouds your brain at the thought of him. You send another prayer to some god to watch over him or even make sure he got away from whatever crazy person/ stalker decided to attack him for no good reason. Hot perfumed-scented steam follows you into your bedroom after a much-needed shower, your skin is a bright cherry red under the tight wrapping of a bath towel. Your phone screen lights up on your nightstand while the moonlight illuminates sweet-scented water droplets that bead on your shoulders and race down the planes of your chest till they soak into fluffy cotton. You're the picture of innocent seduction when you pass in front of your still-open window and grab your phone to see if another text infested your messages from the unsaved number.

' Good luck. '

Some say it's stupid for criminals to return to the scene of a crime after it happened, but Simon isn't stupid like those knuckle-headed twits who are sloppy with their work. He knows what he's doing. He's never done this before, the whole stalking the practical love of his life ( is that a little too early to say? ) after just seeing her once and for a couple of seconds at a buddy's bar. He's never done the whole ' touch her and I'll kill you ' kind of thing for women before either. He's always the one to sleep around if he needs a good stress reducer. Always doggy style and fast-paced so he can clean his dick off and throw the condom out on his way out the front door while his one-night stand wonders if they can cuddle after. Such a classic pump-and-dump dickheaded bloke thing to do.

But for you? For those pretty eyes and the way, your lips wrapped snuggly on the rim of a cheap beer bottle. His world exploded into every stereotype under the sun and moon. He would kill for you. He would kill himself if you demanded it. He would crawl on his knees over broken glass if he ever broke your heart when you two got together. You have taught an old dog new tricks, and this old dog wants to show you how it can blow you sky-high if you let it happen.

The deputy sitting in his car was not even an obstacle Simon had to bypass or even waste his time killing if he wanted to overstay his welcome. The cop did himself in by passing out on duty while listening to the static noise of his stereo and the monotonous droning of police chatter on his radio. He has to thank Price for putting the weakest member of the police force on active watch duty without even giving it a second thought. Always looking out for his boys is like a subconscious tick for old war-torn veteran John Price.

Simon's bulky figure strolls through your front door like he owned the house. Picking apart the lock in the dead of night under the beam of the moon was a cakewalk, his fingers prodding and poking at the locks that never got an upgrade when you moved in. Your aunt had stripped off the original walls and flooring and gutted out the attic to create an artsy smaller environment for her dotting niece. How kind of her to never fix the faulty front door lock that never really fully slid into its place. Bless your aunt. His eyes adjust slowly to the shadows of inky midnight in your home while he moves like a dead spirit in your home. His thick-soled boots make little to no noise on the glossy cherry wood flooring. His gloved fingers slide over the smooth marble of your kitchen island when he passes by it. He can almost picture you standing there, standing in nothing but one of his t-shirts and making yourself a coffee in the morning.

His delusions of you in his twisted brain show your pretty neck marked with teeth indents that are akin to a ravenous dog. Red and so dark blues that are nearly black are scattered on your jawline and throat like galaxies. Thick finger-shaped gangrene green bruises are splattered on your upper thighs that get revealed when you reach up for the bag of ground coffee, and his shirt rides up a little too much just to show your perky ass and the teeth marks and still red handprints left behind. You're every man's morning-after dream, still smelling of his cologne and sex. Your blood stains of too deep bitten marks stain his shirt collar a rusty red. Simon's chest puffed up just a bit in pride of how good you'll look when he brings his daydreams into a reality; yet for now, he ignores the sticky heat that works from his mushy brain down to the cock in his jeans.

The stairs audibly creak under his combat boots, yet he pays them no mind when he takes them one at a time. Memorizing which ones to step on next time he decides to break into your home so he doesn't cause too much unnecessary noise to echo in the warm interior of your home. His palm slides up the smooth, same-colored wood as your flooring, banister of your stairs while he takes his time to cast flickering glances at the framed photos displayed on deep green colored walls. Photos you have hung up that display pieces of your childhood home and you on your tricycle with two front teeth missing in your glimmering smile. Other photos of you in graduation cap and gowns of high school and college with friends that wear similar attire. The small glimpses of moonlight gift Simon with the warmth of your pretty smile from every precious picture you deemed important enough to hang in your home. Small normal accomplishments of your normal life and childhood only make the male fall further and further into a deeper cesspool of admiration for your quaint domesticity he vyes for with you.

Your bedroom door swings open without a creak in its aging hinges. Your sleeping form is swaddled so angelically in deep red colored sheets. Your curves are framed ever so slightly in thin satin threads that are twisted between your legs and tugged up to your chin. Simon doesn't close the door behind him when he enters your bedroom, his large figure casting their own monumental shadow on your body. His deep brown eyes watch your eyes twitch behind your closed eyelids now and then, signaling to the man you're off somewhere in your dreamland and far away from his opposing figure that reaches out for you. One of his pointer fingers graces the apple of your cheek with the gentlest of touches. His blunt fingernail moves a few strands of hair away from your face so he can admire your sleeping expression without anything blocking his gaze.

His eyes sweep from the top of your head, and how the way your hair falls in waves of colors to then fan out over your pillow, to the bridge of your nose, to your cheeks once again, then finally to settle on parted lips that glisten with the smallest amount of drool. You're gorgeous. There's no doubt about it, he confirms to himself as his pointer finger lazily carves a path from your cheek down to follow the curve of your soft jawline.

His finger stills its ministrations of gentle stroking when he watches your brows furrow. Your nose scrunches so cutely in his eyes, your damp lips mumble in sleep-talk gibberish and you roll onto your other side. Your back faces him. Even in your sleep, you reject his touches, which is mildly disappointing. No matter, that'll change sooner than later.

On the spare pillow of your bed, Simon sets another crimson-colored peony in a slightly wrinkled condition onto its surface. The confines of his pockets had caused the color of the petals to grow darker. What looks like watery red dye stains the pillowcase from such disgruntled-looking flower petals.

It's his goodnight to you, even if he much rather would settle on pressing chapped lips to the curve of your temple. He wouldn't want to rouse you from sleep by hunkering over your bed and nearly squishing you down on the thick mattress of your bed for just one kiss. Seeing the fear in your eyes, the look of shock that pales your complexion at the sight of an unknown skull-masked man hovering over you in the dead of night with an indescribable look in his eyes would surely send you into cardiac arrest. Simon wouldn't be able to contain himself if he saw his pretty girl looking like a little mouse under his heavy weight and on the verge of screaming for help.

The comparison suits you. Little mouse. His little mouse.

" I can't believe you never called earlier about this! This is insane." Victoria's hands throw up over her head. Her frustrated expression is something you expected after shutting yourself in your house for four days after your encounter with the police.

You finally had the balls to call at least one of your friends to tell her everything and beg for some kind of company when the silence in your home got a little too loud, and the sounds of your house settling at night were affecting your sleep. You hadn't gotten a proper eight hours of rest in what felt like in while, a couple of thirty-minute power naps, and the occasional luck of being able to get more than two hours of sleep at night was your new sleep schedule. Sick-looking bags dragged down your eyes with exhaustion. Your undereyes were starting to get that deep blue hue along your waterline, really selling the fact you're losing your health over some potential serial stalker.

The both of you were curled up on your leather couch, the cushions squeaking under you as you moved into a tighter ball of shame when she didn't lift her irritated gaze off your frame. The throw blanket you had decided to cover yourself when you two sat was pulled up to your chin. Rounded eyes portraying vulnerability flick away from the woman to stare out the expansive floor to the ceiling window.

" __, you need a security system. Put cameras outside or even a fucking bodyguard that follows you around, you can't live like this." Victoria's hands gesture at your rumpled complexion. The smell of sickly sweet bodily odor wafts off the thick throw blanket. Your paranoia was putting your hygiene at risk. You couldn't handle showering.

You tried once, the night after deputy dipshit hauled his donut-loving ass off your front porch when he told you he was no longer needed here; and to call the police if there was another sign of your stalker outside bothering you. It was Price's call, after all, he withdrew your protection with a condescending pat on your head and a ' you'll be okay, sweetie. '

The hot water was a comforting sting to your skin when you stepped in. Your head tilted back to soak your hair and allow the feeling of pins and needles prodding at your scalp to try to distract you from your shit-stained predicament right now. Your eyes closed as you stepped back further into the harsh spray, yet you couldn't begin to relax fully when your mind began to play sick tricks on your decaying sanity. Your heart picked up in erratic beats. Your ears strained too hard at the faux footsteps you imagined stomping your hallway right to your bathroom.

Behind your eyelids, you swore you could see the dark visage of a stranger growing against your floral shower curtain. One of the stranger's hands outstretched to grab at one end of the curtain and pull back just to touch you in your most vulnerable st----- NO!. Your eyes flew open, blinking through the downpour of water just to stumble forward and end up falling onto your bare ass. You ignored the prickles of pain shooting up from your tailbone and yanked back the shower curtain to stare out at your bathroom. No threatening stranger standing there with a knife in one of his hands. No presence of another person invading your bathroom, going through your things before they got to you. You were alone. Alone and dripping cooling water onto your floors while you ran naked through your home just to triple-check with yourself that no one was here with you.

You shrank further into your blanket as if that was even possible. Tired tears announced themselves to your sagging waterline, Victoria was right. Even if her words hurt, you needed security. You needed more than contemplating begging her to spend the night just so you could feel safe and maybe get through an everything shower without going into hysterics. Your sinuses clogged, and those hot tears of every frustrated emotion you felt to yourself, to the police, to your fucking life, and to the asshole who decided you were worthy of driving over the edge of insanity, dripped down your oily face.

" I'll call Izzy, see if she can come over later with some takeout and we can stay in all day." Victoria sighs out, reaching across the chasm of space you had put between her and you. Deeply tanned skin, the comforting color that reminds you of herbal tea, brushes against one wet cheek. Her thumb and forefinger swiped away salty water with loving caresses. You wanted to weep harder from your friend's consoling efforts to ease your feelings.

Her thick brows turn upwards with concern when you blink another fresh trickle of tears down your chin, your nose ruby red and threatening to snot with every sniffle you let out. "I can spend the night too, you don't mind sharing a bed do you?"

She's saved you from the embarrassment that would send you catapulting over the edge of your home, hoping to god you land on your head so your neck can break clean in half. You'd hate to bother your friends with your new fucked situation, but your angel incarnate of a woman named Victoria saves you from suicide. You give her a watery smile and lean into her lavender-scented palm when she swipes more salty water off your skin. "I'd like that."

Your angel smiles so warmly, her concern melting just enough to soften around the edges like melted butter at your acceptance. Damp fingers of her's gently pat your cheek. "That's my girl, why don't you shower? I'll call Izzy, and we can google security systems that are available to install on such short notice. I think my brother knows a guy, I'll call him after Izzy gets here."

You nod. The weight in your heart and head lift just enough to get your legs out from under you without any help. A shower sounds so good, and with the comforting noise of Victoria piddling around your home; filling the chilling silence with a playlist of her's playing on the living room flatscreen. You can get through the tasks of scrubbing and rubbing your entire body red till you think every greasy pore is clean once again.

One hot steamy and long shower later, you emerge back into your living room swathed in a fluffy cotton robe. You feel like yourself again, or as close as you can be to your normal self. Izzy, now present in your kitchen, is pouring through Google reviews of security companies and tech cameras that are up to a decent standard. Victoria is on the phone, pacing back and forth in your kitchen. Her voice is thick with Portuguese spilling into the speaker at such a rapid rate that it makes your head spin. She must have gotten a hold of her brother, which is good to know. Your heart flutters in your chest at the sight of having such support and help from the only two people you know in the city.

You can't help your lips pulling into a smile when both girls notice you're out of the shower. They smile at you back, Izzy wiggles her skinny fingers at you before she turns back to the computer screen she brought over.

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your robe. The once fuzzy feelings you have about adoring how wonderful your best friends are are ruined thanks to the automatic pang of fear that comes from the vibration. You decide to climb up the stairs to your bedroom, your hand retrieving your phone with shaky fingers. The screen illuminates with the movement of your hand and your face begins to pale when another unknown number pops up on the lock screen. A different set of numbers than the one that texted you the first time. Yet, you wouldn't doubt in your mind it was a different sicko that would message you out of the blue.

A couple of days of silence on the unknown number's end after your last conversation. It was agony, to say the least. Every buzz and ring of your phone had your heart racing and cold sweat beading on the palms of your hands in anticipation of getting another text from your newly claimed stalker. No matter what the police denied or said, you wouldn't change your mind about it.

Now, your stalker decides to text you. Just when you thought you could have a moment of solace. Just when you thought you could enjoy the company of your girls and maybe pretend like it was just another night with them, they decided to ruin it. It's like they were watching you through your windows, taking a moment to wipe that happy little smile off your face and replace it with trembling lips and wide eyes. Your thumb presses on the text when your phone unlocks with a small click noise.

' Having a party without me, little mouse?' reads the text.

Your stomach begins to swim in that all too familiar ocean of nausea, yet you hold down your nerves enough to quickly retort before you lose your small amount of breakfast at the thought of being watched.

' What party?' ' Are you watching me right now?' Your fingers fly over the screen and hit send in a matter of seconds.

You swear you could hear the scoff through the text that gets sent back, just as quickly as yours. They dodge the question like your questions were too fucking dumb to answer. It's obvious.

'The girls are pretty, but not as pretty as my girl.' They're watching you and like the dumb blonde in every single horror movie. You get a little too curious and finish darting up the rest of your stairs, the sash of your robe slips loose around your waist as you crash into your bedroom and press against the open window for a peek at your stalker.

Maybe it's paranoia finally catching up to you and letting you witness early-onset schizophrenia that's most likely not inherited through your family. Or maybe you want to will and believe in the murky black and browns of the forest's shadows just enough to pretend you can see the outline of a person standing in the treeline—your palm streaks against the glass of your window. Your nose threatens to crack and pop like rice cereal from how hard you strain your eyes to hyper-focus on the humanoid-looking blob near your home. You don't even realize that if this is your stalker? You're giving them a titty show with the way your robe has fallen open just enough to reveal the soft curves of your breasts and stomach.

The rest of your tidbits and intimate curves are still concealed by the robe. Thank god for your failing dignity.

' If you're watching me, then wave, you sick freak.'

The final text goes, another round with the sleeping bear and your sharp stick. You want to prove it not only to yourself but to the small light not only in the police force's eyes but your friends when you told them you thought you were being stalked by some crazy person who gave you flowers and possibly hurt your potential one night stand.

The proof comes in the form of your phone screen gaining one small crack in the glass when you drop it without thinking. You miss the way the screen's light is suffocated by the cool hardwood of the floor, the next text you get back is unseen. You're too busy letting out a scream to care anyway because your proof for all those deniers in your life comes the way you demanded. With the human-looking shadow, you were having a staring contest with tilting its head up and waving up at you in your bedroom window.

' Hello up there, little mouse.'

[softpascalito]

Worth crossing a blizzard for - Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: During shooting for The Last of Us, a snowstorm hits Canada, essentially forcing Pedro to take the day off. Turns out its not as bad as he thinks.

Relationships: Pedro Pascal x Reader WC: 1600 Tags/Warnings: MDNI, RPF, Real-Person-Fiction, Non-Explicit Sex, showering together, Gender-neutral Reader, Snow, blizzard, Crew Reader, The Last of Us Shooting, Canada, Kissing, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Pedro Pascal, Healthy Relationships, Secret Relationship Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: i haven't written pedro in sooo long, i miss him. needless to say, this is the lil version i created of him in my head and not necesarily an accurate representation of his actual personality <3 also, this is another lil entry for stephs winter writing challenge with the trope warmth, i highly recommend checking the entire list if youre interested :) (@toomanystoriessolittletime)

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It starts with a light snowfall, little white particles floating through the air, rushing past the car as he drives back from set and a small sigh escapes his lips. It's been snowing on and off for weeks, usually meaning an earlier calltime for everyone, to make sure the locations can be cleared from the thin layer of snow if needed.

The wind has picked up by the time Pedro reaches the apartment that has been his home for the last few weeks and when he steps out of the shower half an hour later, the light snowfall has developed into a full-on blizzard, complete with cars honking in the streets below and his phone vibrating angrily, demanding attention. A rushed glance as he gets dressed confirms his suspicions. There's several warnings of severe weather, most of them due to hit tonight.

A gentle knock on the front door lets the man whip around and a small frown builds on his forehead as he crosses the hallway, taking a quick glance through the peephole. He practically yanks the door open.

You have your coat wrapped tightly around yourself, a knitted hat drawn down to your ears and a scarf wrapped around your neck. The two latter are practically soaked, decorated with little white crystals all over that are beginning to melt in the slightly warmer air of the hallway and dripping down onto the door mat.

Pedro stays still for a moment, taking in your form in front of him, before his brain registers what's going on. He reaches out, pulling you into the apartment, “What the hell were you thinking?”

The door closes behind you and the frown that decorated Pedros face a moment ago is now appearing on yours, “I- What?” For a split second you wonder if he's mad. He rarely gets a day off and even when he does, he usually spends it doing something, unable to just sit and relax, even for a little while. Maybe he's made plans for tonight and you've just crashed them.

“You can't be walking around in a blizzard like this, look at yourself,” he tuts, helping you take your wet coat off along with the hat and scarf and maneuvering them into the bathroom to hang them up to dry. You take your boots off carefully, gaze never leaving the man in front of you, “It's barely a twenty minute walk.”

“You're telling me you didn't even get a taxi?” He asks as he returns to the hallway and watches you put your shoes onto a small shoe tray.

“Does it look like I got a taxi?” You shoot back, getting a little irritated with how concerned he is. Immediately, Pedros gaze softens a bit and a small grumble escapes his throat as he takes a step forward, bringing his fingers up to your hair to carefully pick a snowflake out of it.

It melts between his fingers.

“No, you don't,” he muses, smiling a little sheepishly. “You could've called me. I would've picked you up.” You can't help but chuckle a little at that, “I did call you. You didn't pick up. The phone, I mean.” He stares at you for a moment, then back at his phone that has at least a dozen unread messages, then back to you, “Fuck, I- I was taking a shower, guess I didn’t hear-”

“It's fine,” you promise gently, standing on your tiptoes to place a small kiss on his cheek. Pedro sighs a little, taking in the way you’re looking at him and eventually nodding as he leads you further into the small apartment. It's spacious for one person but cozy for two, production of course not having calculated that you would be here too. You tried to stick to only sleeping over on weekends for a while, arguing that Pedro needed his rest and a quiet environment to go over his lines. He argued back that he slept a lot better with you beside him.

“You want a coffee?” He offers and you nod yes, following him to the open kitchen and hopping onto the counter as he grabs a mug for you.

“So you haven't read it yet?” You ask, rubbing your hands together in an effort to warm them up. “Read what?” His back is to you, the sound of the coffee machine starting almost drowning out his words. 

“Shoot is canceled for tomorrow. Probably until next week.”

Something about your tone makes him turn around to face you. He's in front of you a second later, hands resting on your waist as he studies your face, “And you're not happy about that?”

“Why would I? It sets us back at least two days and were already behind, at this rate reshoots-”

Pedro hums a little and squeezes your waist, causing you to fall quiet.

“I don't like it either but-”

You cut him off before you can stop yourself, shaking your head as you speak and lowering your gaze towards the floor, “It's just really bad timing and I have so much to do already and-”

“Hey, look at me.”

He squeezes again, a little harder this time, and one hand comes up to nudge your chin until you're looking right at him. You find soft brown eyes, the little patch in his beard you like so much and hair that's still a little damp from showering.

“It's snow. You can't do anything about snow.”

You let your head fall forward again, letting out a small sigh, “Yeah, I know.” Pedro gently brings his arms around you, holding you close for a moment. The coffee machine beeps, signaling that it's done. But he doesn't let go yet, rubbing your back a little instead.

“The way I see it,” he starts. “We may as well enjoy our night in. Even if it wasn't exactly planned. Plus, there's no way in hell I'll let you go back out there anyway.”

He does have a point. And a night off, especially a night off for both of you, doesn't sound too bad, even if it's constricted to the small apartment you're sitting in.

As soon as your coffee is empty and a few urgent messages are replied to, Pedro insists on a shower to warm you up. You're halfway to the bathroom before you turn around with a small smile on your face, “You're gonna let me shower alone?”

“I just showered,” Pedro replies almost automatically, putting your mug away. Then, he catches the small twinkle in your eye.

“You just showered,” you repeat, the smile still decorating your face and Pedro nods a few times before getting into motion.

“I guess I could do with another one.”

For once, there's no rush. You take your time, with the shower and everything that it includes. You spend what feels like a solid five minutes kissing afterwards, already scrubbed clean and so, so content. The air is steamy when you step out of the shower and Pedro really does treat you to the full experience, insisting on applying your lotion for you.

You hum contently as he gently massages it into your back, your muscles tingling with relief. He chuckles softly behind you, “Feeling a little warmed up already?”

“More than a little. Don't know how you do it.”

You lightly slap his ass on the way to the bedroom.

After securing your favorite sweater of his and some sweatpants, you find yourself in the kitchen again, rummaging through the cupboards to figure out what to cook up with the scarce ingredients available. You both usually eat on location or get some takeout on the way home, not to speak of the lack of cooking skill you both possess.

It ends up being pasta with some leftover greens and tomatoes and for once, you could swear it tastes ten times better than whatever takeout you could've gotten. You're cuddled up on the couch, staring out into the dark, gusts of snow still blowing past the window. The traffic jams have calmed down, the people returned to their houses to find shelter from the cold. Only a few lost ones are still wandering around, no doubt with a goal that justifies a walk through the conditions. You understand them.

Pedro watches a man disappear around the corner and swallows his mouthful of pasta, “Are you sure you didn't catch a cold?”

You smile weakly, “ Even if I did, it would be worth it. I'd trade a cold for a night off with you. You know that.” He chuckles a little, tilting his head slightly, “Just saying, it may be a little on the nose for both of us to get sick at the same time.”

You raise a brow as you finish your plate and gently put it down before cuddling into Pedro’s side, drawing your legs up onto the couch, “There's a blizzard. It's not that on the nose.”

The snowflakes landing on the window stay there for a few moments, glistening in the dim light from inside the apartment before the warmth seems to reach through the glass. One by one, they turn into small drops of water.

He considers your words for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right.” His arm wraps around you, pulling you in a little more as you rest your head against his shoulder. He leans down to plant a small kiss on your head and you hum contently, smiling to yourself.

The snowflakes melt on the window pane. You melt in Pedros arms.

Your voice is only a mumble.

“Besides- you can't do anything about snow.”

notes: hey babes! im considering a second part to this so let me know if that's something you'd like <3

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part Eight) || Eleventh Doctor × gn! Reader

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8...

Taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @solitairemvp @idontevenknowwth @this-is-me-lolol @rokosbasalisk @solarbxby @thestrals-and-firewiskey @followingthefanfiction @stevenknightmarc @ahkmenrami @yellowsubiesdance @toobusymakingmyownreality @crowleythesexydemon

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

[[A/N: so sorry about the wait, and I finally fixed the taglist!!! My bad for those who asked to be tagged and haven't been. Thanks for reading :)))]]

Before you could even blink, you hear the hiss of a needle prick your skin. It felt a little like heat travelling through your veins, passing through your limbs. Everything tingled for a moment before succumbing to a sort of numbness you'd kind of known by now.

Your legs were weak, or whatever they injected you with (again) was making your limbs heavy -the guiding force of the creature was the only thing that kept you standing.

In the back of your head, you could see the blur of grey passing your eyes. It was reminiscent of the walls from before, but you couldn't really see them. Not fully.

Your brain was still so fuzzy, almost in the same way with the roses, you couldn't quite notice anything around you. All you felt where the creature's hands on your shoulders, pushing you forward as your feet stumbled to match his pace.

Was he even walking? You weren't entirely sure he had feet.

"Y/N!" a voice interrupted your haze, Amy, you suddenly recognized, "-thank god, you're alive."

You slurred just a little, trying to look at her -everything was so blurry, "Amy...?"

"Are you okay?" she suddenly questioned, and you saw a blur of red beside you, "-Y/N, are you-"

"Stay away from the hostage," the creature's voice rang out through the air, "-Headmistress only requested this one."

"Hey, no," she sounded more distant -farther away, "-Rory, let me go-"

Then it all faded to quiet, the only noise being the lowest sort of rumble of the ship. It almost sounded mechanical, like maybe the engine, or some of its inner workings. You didn't really know that much about spaceships at all, other than what the Doctor had described to you. But at their core they had to be similar to a car right? They had an engine-

You almost relaxed into the noise, it was almost calming, when everything was so blurry and uncertain. You suppose that's why you immediately heard the opening of a door.

It was similar to when they opened the door that let the Doctor, Amy, and Rory out. A slow sort of hiss almost. In your delirious state, you couldn't tell if it was degrading on your ears -everything sounded so stuffy.

"Ah, here are our guests," a voice chimed, nearly melodic (you recognized it to be the voice over the intercom system). You felt a little like you were floating, as you tried languidly blinking to clear your surroundings -the Doctor was here.

Head swimming, your eyes smoothed across the room -hitching briefly on a woman with high hair and a pleasant sort of blue skin. Somehow, in your delirious mind, you saw her as pretty. Blinking, you moved further and caught the green you'd been looking for. (Even then, something in you relaxed.)

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor-

His eyes flicked up and down you a few times, taking you in -eyes holding on to the cuffs where you could see the cusps of a bruise forming underneath them (if you focused enough). Without a breath, the creature aimed the needle at your skin again -your tongue felt like cotton in your mouth.

Something in his jaw tightened.

"Doctor, don't hesitate to greet them on my behalf," she continued, rather casually, "-This is General Kilape of our fleet, I do hope the two of you get along, and well... you're much familiar with the human, aren't you?"

Doctor didn't respond to her, instead turning back to face her accusingly, "Why have you brought them into this? Is this not about me?"

"It is," the woman (who you still had no name for) clarified, "-Doctor, haven't you ever heard of something called collateral?"

His lips flattened into a straight line -sharp and deadly.

"What? Do you believe that I would just trust you?" She hummed, laughing, "-Doctor don't be silly, having them gives you two options-"

You blearily blinked, eyes detailing the stitching of his jacket and the hair at the nape of his neck. You kind of wanted the jacket, it probably smelt really good -like him. You wanted to smell like him-

"One," she echoed, eyes pointedly glaring at the doctor -before motioning for the creature (Kilape) to push you forward. Your head spun, and you felt the drag of green eyes on you -watching as everything on your body seemed to sink (it was all so heavy), "-you refuse our offer, and we kill them-"

"You wouldn't dare," he snapped back -eyes cold and something hardening in them that you had seen maybe once or twice before.

"-and use your grief, angry grief as the legends go, to our betterment, or two-"

Your eyes were getting so heavy.

She barely took a pause, "-you cooperate, and they are returned to your loving embrace. Truly, how inspiring."

The Doctor didn't say anything then, maybe deciding exactly what he wanted to. His eyes kept flicking to you, and the slight lull of your head -the way Kilape was holding you forward made your whole body feel limp. His lips fell into a frown, something softer passing through his eyes.

He loves me. It was still so hard to believe.

"Okay," his voice was quieter, less forceful, "-okay. Just give them to me, give them to me safely and I'll... I'll do as you wish."

"Wow," she tsked, tapping her fingers along her desk, "-the great Doctor, at the will of a human. You always were weak to your companions, weren't you?"

The Doctor's mouth flattened into a thin line.

"A fickle thing like love bringing him to his knees," she continued, carefully and you saw the Doctor stiffen -it made something in your stomach swirl (don't be upset, I love you, don't be upset), "-So disappointing."

You were barely awake, but you knew something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You weren't worth the universe, but the words were stuck in your throat. It was pounding in your head, the fate of it all, and he wanted to save you.

"General."

Before you could even focus on her words, you were thrown to the ground. Cold metal stinging against your skin, you think you hit your head. It made your head rattle a little, but still somehow made you a little more aware. Pushing yourself up on your forearms, your eyes skimming along the room -almost searching.

Hearing a gentle buzz, you felt the cuffs snap off your wrists.

Hands guiding you up, you felt warmth and that familiar fuzz of books flickering through your nose. Just as he sat you up, one hand on your shoulder and the other framing your face, you blinked at him slowly. Eyes flicking along his face, taking him in, you could do that now. He loved you, and you loved him. Wow-

Before you could say anything, he pulled you to his chest and stood -your knees wobbled in place but he neatly held you up. How long did this thing last?

"They stay with me," he spoke, icy, "-If any of you touch them, or my other companions for that matter, you are most certain to see the wrath that you are so desperate to. Understood?"

The woman was unmoved, "As long as you cooperate, Timelord, no issues will arise."

You were slowly starting to blink away the fuzz in your brain -your surroundings becoming clearer and voices less stuffy. You could feel the ground beneath your feet, and the strange sort of warmth of his body against yours (alien, right). Words were on the cusp of your tongue, rejection (you can't do this, not for just me).

"I will call on you again, Doctor," she hummed (you still didn't know her name, actually), and motioned for Kilape to guide the two of you out of the room.

He dutifully did so.

The Doctor was moving you gently, carefully, like perhaps you would break. Your mind was clearing up substantially at this point, but your body hadn't had the same effect. Your legs still felt weak, and you could only really feel the scratch of his coat against your skin -it grounded you, just like the mechanical hum had done before.

"Doctor?" You questioned, tone more sturdy -less slurred.

He didn't say anything, neatly pulling you onto a bench. Or a chair, it was actually kind of weird. You weren't sure what-

The Doctor threw the thoughts out of your head, gently grabbing your wrists -bruises now on full display. His fingertips were careful and eyes tediously examining every inch; they fanned over the bruise, but not enough to hurt. Just a gentle sort of brush. (It made your heart stutter in your chest.)

"Does it hurt?" He asked, tone quiet and gentle but something a little with an edge deep under it all (maybe because you were hurt).

You pursed your lips, responding slowly, "Only when you put pressure on it. Like... Like normal bruises."

He hummed, looking over it carefully before his eyes flicked back to yours as if he was trying to judge if you were lying. He probably could, if you were. His green eyes dipped along your features (softening slightly) -examining, a little like you were a fascinating rock and a little like you might be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Something in your stomach swirled. God, he loves me.

"And the injections?" The Doctor quickly continued, trying to scan your skin, "-Where were they?"

"Uh, in my neck," you answered -obediently, "-somewhere close to the hinge of my jaw, I think."

He frowned a little, fingertips gently caressing your jaw -ever so careful, "Look up for me, yes?"

Your brain felt a little like it was on autopilot, but you did as asked. The Doctor seemed to pause for a moment, before gently moving your head slightly to the left -you mindlessly felt a sting, assumedly where the needles had been pressed into your skin.

His other hand moved to smooth along your skin -fingers trailing to the edge of the wound. You could feel it now, like maybe you just hadn't thought about it enough to realize it existed.

"Looks alright," he commented, before pulling your face back down to match his, "-I'd much prefer better than alright, but I suppose we're not really in a place for that, are we?"

You laughed a little, still a little dizzy from the casual closeness -especially now that you knew he loved you. God, he loves you.

"Not really," you replied, smiling just a little.

The Doctor's eyes twinkled in that familiar sort of way then, lips turning up into a grin -the kind that made your head spin. Your eyes naturally flickered along his face -just absorbing him for a spare moment.

It was almost like there wasn't any danger, like he wasn't choosing you over-

"Doctor," you spoke -suddenly more serious, "-what are you doing?"

"Well," he paused, rolling the thought around in his head -a little cheerfully, "-I'm always doing lots of things, you know that, my dearest Y/N. But, for the sake of clarity, what are we talking about in particular?"

"Doctor, I'm not..." you waited a moment, eyes falling all over his face (love, love, love), "-You're supposed to save the world. Not... not just me."

His lips fell into a frown.

"Doctor, all of this," you motioned, and maybe your eyes were burning a little bit, "-you need to stop it. It's people you're talking about, tons of people, and I'm just... I'm just me-"

"Stop, stop saying that," he interrupted you, gently bringing a hand to cradle your face -guide your eyes to his, "-'just you'? You are so much more than... than just, Y/N."

His words faltered off, and one of his hands curled a trail behind your hair -green eyes focused on you so gently that you felt a little like you might've swayed in place if you were standing.

"Human beings are extraordinary," the Doctor continued then, looking at you a little like you were something very precious, "-what you overcome, your passions, your flaws, your dreams, your hopes, and your feelings-"

You bit at your lip, eyes a little foggy.

"Humanity is quite the feat, believe me, but you? My darling Y/N-" his thumb gently brushing along your cheekbone, "-you're... you. One of kind that I'm so grateful to know in all my years-"

"Doctor," you tried to object, "-I believe you, I do. But you can't just give up."

The Doctor's eyes brushed along you.

"Those people, I don't know if you could call them people I guess," you continued, "-they're worth so much more. They're all one of a kind."

His lips pulled into a frown, but he didn't speak.

"You save people," you repeated, braving a hand forward on his face, "-don't be a prick and choose favorites."

He laughed a little then, and you realized it was a little wet -teary. It was quiet then for a moment, like he was trying to work up what he wanted to say.

"I can't lose you."

You pressed your lips together, trying to smile lightly and fight back tears. You couldn't do this if you cried, you couldn't leave him. He leaned into your hand then, connecting his own around your wrist.

You whispered out, smiling bittersweetly, "And I can't let you do this."

He frowned again.

"So, do it," you hummed, combing back his hair gently, "-save them. Even if it puts me in danger-"

"Y/N, I can't-"

"You don't have a choice," you stressed, "-I know you think you are that legend but you're not anymore. You save them, you always save them."

"What about you?" He questioned, "-Am I not supposed to save you?"

You smiled then, light and airy, ignoring the tears smoothing down your cheeks.

"Oh, Doctor," you let out a laugh, "-you already have."

[circle--of--confusion]

Through the Spillways

Summary: Your sweet, albeit awkward Copia, constantly walks around with his head weighed down by the crown of a destiny he never saw coming, a role he never had time to prepare for. He hides behind flashy clothes and snark to make it seem as if he has it all put together, but it’s nights like this you know he’s reached another low point where he can’t even sleep to find peace for a few hours.

Author's note: *Shows up 5 months late* Here's some Frater Copia angst! I tried my hand at a reader insert this time.

Paring: Frater Imperator Copia X GN!Reader

Words: 1.8k

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, post Rite Here Rite Now, spoilers for Rite Here Rite Now, hopeful ending

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Your eyelids flutter before slowly opening. There are faint chirps of Copia’s video game and 8-bit music floating into the bedroom. Flashes of light from the TV reach the walls of your room and you check the clock on the nightstand.

2:37 AM

A heavy sigh is exhaled through your nose as you twist and turn in bed before throwing back the covers to stand up. When he can’t sleep, Copia trudges out to the living room for a distraction to lull his eyes back into slumber. Every couple weeks he is discovered curled up on the couch with a video game controller dangling in his hand as his arm stretches out while he rests. He’ll snore softly and his face will finally look calm, peaceful. The moment Copia wakes up, you’ll see the muscles in his face contort into a pained façade. He puts on a brave face for you, for everyone in the ministry as the now Frater Imperator. The unexpected promotion he received after his Los Angeles ritual last year. The ritual his mother died at. Sister Imperator.

He was kept in the dark about a lot of things throughout his life. As an orphan, he was left in the dark about who his parents were. And then once he found out about Sister and Papa Nihil, he was left in the dark about the true extent of his mother’s health towards the end. Copia tried to rationalize things, tell himself he wasn’t seeing a wheelchair on her bad days; that her less-than-active role around the ministry was a self-imposed break. Not to mention, he had been kept naïve in the beginning as to how the previous Papas were killed just so Sister Imperator could allow his rise into the Papacy. Your sweet, albeit awkward Copia, constantly walks around with his head weighed down by the crown of a destiny he never saw coming, a role he never had time to prepare for. He hides behind flashy clothes and snark to make it seem as if he has it all put together, but it’s nights like this you know he’s reached another low point where he can’t even sleep to find peace for a few hours.

He looks, well exhausted doesn’t even feel like it covers the entire scope of his body language. You find him hunched on the couch, video game controller in hand as the only light in the room comes from his old boxy TV. Copia sits as still as a statue while his hands mindlessly manipulate the controller, locked in to the movements on the screen. The dark circles under his eyes make you wonder if he’s wearing the face paint that’s all-too familiar but no, his face is bare. You call over to him softly, barely a whisper, and he flinches as if it was yelled, pulled out of his trance.

“Copia? Caro mio. It’s late. You need sleep.”

Copia sighs heavily, the controller drooping down in his hand as he mentally scolds himself for waking you. He turns towards you with tired, pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, tesoro mio. I was hoping the volume was low enough so you wouldn’t wake up.”

You sit down beside him and his body immediately gravitates towards you, his head moving to rest on your shoulder. Your arm goes around his waist and Copia sinks into you immediately. “What’s going on in your brain, caro?” you leave his side and you swear he whimpers at the loss of your body. He wraps a hand around your thigh as you move to face at him, bringing his head up to look into his eyes. Your thumb softly strokes over his cheek and he closes his eyes for a moment to breathe before opening them again. “You were doing so well.”

“I was trying to beat my record of three straight nights of sleep, too.” Copia softly laughs to himself as he shakes his head. “It’s just the usual stuff. Please, go to bed. You don’t need to give up your own rest for me.” He waves you off.

You look into him with furrowed brows. “What if I want to? How long have we known each other, Copia? You know I’ll always have time for you.”

It makes him feel worse, somehow, that you care so much. “I found a letter in her? or now my? desk.” His voice hitches on ‘letter’. “From her addressed to me. I think it might’ve been the first draft because there were notes and scratched out bits in the margins.”

You hug him to you and he wraps his arm around your body, melting into your embrace. His head rests on your chest and you lean back, taking him with you as your body reclines into the couch; he lays on top of you in-between your legs while you wrap yourself around him as best you can. Copia sighs when he feels the soft carding of your fingers through his hair as you sit there in silence for a few minutes. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Another heavy sigh leaves him as he nods. The TV light shines off the small pool of tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Sister - my mother – wrote it all out. Everything. Her grief over giving me up. How she sought to make up for it by working to give me the Papacy.” he sniffles. Copia squeezes his arms around you before continuing. “She put plans in place for me after going to the doctor one day last year. Her blood work and scans came back with a flag and after that,” a small sob leaves him. “,things got worse. She knew her time would come soon and her last wish was for me to carry on in her place.”

“That is… a lot to read.” A heavy tear falls from his eye and you feel a damp spot on your shirt where it lands.

He laughs lowly. “Yes. And then I had to see the new guy 20 minutes later. It’s not exactly professional to show up to a meeting with tear streaks down your face.” Copia shakes his head. “I thought I was going to die that night, back in LA. I was somehow convinced that my own mother would kill me.”

You shush him softly, still running your fingers through his hair. “She loved you, even from a distance, Copia. I don’t think that thought would ever cross her mind.”

Copia looks up at you, wet eyes staring into yours, searching. “But what if I wasn’t successful as Papa, though? What if I flopped?”

You look back at him and press a soft kiss to his hairline. “You had more time with the band compared to the rest. I’d say that’s a sign of success.”

“Yes, but-“

“But nothing, caro mio.” you silence him by softly putting a finger up to his lips. “She was a very complicated woman but she never would’ve let anything or anyone hurt you.”

Copia folds and resumes laying back on your chest. “I just feel like I have their blood on my hands. If I had known, if I knew that she was my mother, I never would’ve asked for anyone to die. They had retired. And the Papa before me was pulled off of the stage so I could ascend!”

You clutch him tighter, one hand rubbing his back and the other rests on his head. “It’s… definitely not an easy thing to have on your mind, I will agree with that.” you shake your head. “But you can’t change anything about the past. All you can do is honor their legacy and yours by helping everyone here and now.” you lean down, mumbling another kiss to his head. “Isn’t that what you tell the audience?”

“I can’t even take my own advice. I’m a phony.” Copia scoffs and shakes his head.

“No, you’re not.” you emphasize, a little too loud. A sigh leaves you as you look down at him, continuing to brush your fingers softly through his hair. “Healing from grief is not always easy. It’s not linear. You will have bad days and good days throughout.” Your shirt feels wetter as more tears fall from Copia’s eyes and you allow him just feel all of the emotions that have been brewing since he found the note. He sniffles, apologizing for messing up your shirt but you wave it off. Snot and tears are nothing to you compared to the inner turmoil that plagues his mind in these recent months. Since her passing, these particular nights have not been rare; as he cleans Sister Imperator’s office to make room for his things, buried memories and emotions resurface.

“I’m just so tired.” he cries into you. Copia hugs further into you and he lets out a big exhale when he feels like he can talk again. “The weird thing in all of this, is I don’t feel like I can do this without her. Sister Imperator was an integral member of this clergy for decades. I’m just her son.”

“Are you saying you think you’re a nepotism hire?” You smile when he groans at your attempt to lighten the mood.

“Please don’t make me laugh, tesoro mio. I’m not sure I have it in me.” Copia pleads, a weak chuckle coming out.

“Apologies, my love.” You press your lips to his hair with a kiss. “You are capable of this job, Copia. You just might have to spend less time playing games and spending more time actually doing your receipts.” he grumbles into you. “She wouldn’t have given the job to you if she didn’t think you could do it.” He mumbles into your chest and you can’t make out what it was he’s said.

Copia seems to have listened to that last bit, relaxing slightly on top of you. Either that or he’s finally exhausted his body for the night and can’t bring himself to care. While you both cuddle each other on the couch, his breathing over time begins to settle and the taught muscles of his shoulders and back slowly relax. You don’t want to move Copia when the soft, reliable snores from him fill the room.

“I believe in you, Copia.” You gently run a finger through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.” You whisper into his hair before leaning your head back to settle into the couch to sleep. The next morning, Copia wakes up with an extra bit of energy. When you kiss him goodbye, his eyes aren’t looking so tired. You don’t expect he’s suddenly moved on but you get the feeling that last night helped him process something. He looks back at you, sheepish but hopeful; his smile doesn’t feel so forced today.

It feels weird to say I hope you enjoyed it but I hope it was... entertaining? Thank you for reading!