#this week my brain decided sleep is for the weak

[ainulindaelynn]

10 Characters / 10 Fandoms / 10 Tags

Tagged by @brasideios and @aeide (notifications robbed me of this until today )

Always enjoy doing these, so thanks!

I love that it took you so long last time 😂 I’m going to learn from that and try not to agonize over this too much, because that’s definitely my tendency also.

In no particular order:

1) Cole in DAI - Aside from the first game, I’m not big on this series, but COLE. Whoever wrote him just struck these bizarre cords with my ultra-empath side. He has this line about things hardening like a little ball in your chest or softening and fading into the fabric of who you are. Very strange appearance. Not a fan of that. But the writing for him…. very unorthodox and wonderful 🙌

2) Also Shane from SDV - I’ve got a lengthy playlist that I return to regularly. He’s a type I hardcore bond with in real life, which has gotten me in a few messy situations. Big web of feelings on this one. Someday I may write a bit for him. There’s plenty in my head.

3) Keeping with commonality, I’m going to cheat and do a trifecta that I probably couldn’t choose from even if I did have a week - Alexios, Brasidas & Kassandra 😜 Alexios is just … has a more gorgeous human ever existed, real or otherwise? I doubt it. Brasidas I’m completely fascinated by. And Kass is … Kass. Enough said.

4) Garrus Vakarian - I was halfway through the 3rd game (and waaaaay far down a different path) when this one just clocked me out of nowhere. I fucking love Garrus. That ME2 opening…. They did such a good job making you feel alone and adrift. And then when he came back as Archangel and he just TRUSTS you. I could’ve cried. Ride or die. Partners for life. It took me another whole game to realize it was more. Probably my most comical game realization to date. I was dumbstruck. Can’t read Fanfiction for him though. It’s a weird respect thing. And the alien bit. Bit much for me 😂

5) Lee Adama from BSG - It’s me. I’m him, but way less athletic 😂 My dog is named Apollo, partially after his callsign, partially as a shoutout to mythology (more academia in general, really), and an overt play on Apollo Creed, because when you have a boxer… 💛

6) Izogie from Woman King - Setting aside historical accuracy and looking at this purely as fiction, this movie blew me away. And not for the reasons it was advertised for. I’ve NEVER seen such gorgeous platonic intimacy in film. She’s the heart of that, and also the stiff edge that holds the line. You never see both of those things in the same character. She’s everything.

7) Revan from KotOR - the very first blorbo 🥹 I still pine over her all the time. Stone-carved headcanons here. I’ve even considered writing this entire game so my kid can read it one day because it’s such a derelict and it was so central to constructing my little nerd self. Lifer here.

8) Geralt of Rivia - returning to platonic intimacy, the found father/daughter dynamic he has with Ciri is awesome. I also love that his romantic relationships are de-centralized and very imperfect. He walks a hilarious line between sociopath (not at all) and cringe-worthy bleeding heart (seeping out 24/7) and I’ve laughed out loud so many times reading these books. He just seeps emotion, but in the grimmest way possible.

9) Temperance Brennan from Bones - dating myself, but another comfort show. I can’t even describe what I love about her. She’s just flawless 😂 Not sure there’s any fandom left (like half of these), but worth a mention anyway.

10) Fingolfin from The Silmarillion - I read this out loud with roommates years ago and we built god diagrams and studied pronunciations and picked through waaaay too much detail in our apartment late at night. Hands down one of my best memories. He wins this nostalgia, because of the secret city, the drama, his END. Exquisite.

I’ve left out a few key ones and dropped some very random ones in, but that’s what I’ve got for now. I’ve seen a lot of people tagged in this one, so I’m just going to put it out there to anyone interested ☺️

[dinogoofymutated]

I absolutely adore how you write Kurt,

Could you write something for Kurt being concerned for an overworked reader?

And or a reader that struggles with sleep?

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN! Reader The amount of comfort that this man gives me UGH! He's just so caring and sweet, but I worry about him :( He's been the therapist friend in basically every episode in 97' and he deserves some comfort too so I added basically the reverse version of these headcannons at the end as well! Sorry I didn't end up writing anything for sleep, I've written a fic with some sleep struggle themes here but I might end up writing some seperate headcannons for that later! TWs: Themes of burnout/exhaustion. Mentions of the Genosha attack and Remy's death/funeral, religious themes. As always, reader written while picturing Fem! But no pronouns mentioned. I'm doing my best with adding German dialect while Kurt speaks but I'm not super knowledgeable, so let me know if there's something I need to change!

Kurt makes it his absolute mission to make sure you're always taken care of. Food, emotional support, laundry, dishes, Hell, he'd give you the sun and stars if you needed them. He just cares about you so much, and he never wants you to feel like you're alone in this world.

This being said, when he feels that you're overworking yourself, he's not afraid to let you know.

When he first starts to notice it, He'll check in on you more often. He'll pull you into a hug and give you kisses and he'll only leave when you reassure him that you're perfectly fine.

If you're still overworking yourself after this, he will outright tell you that he loves you, but you need a break. You can't go on like this and he's concerned about you. He doesn't purposely give you the sad puppy eyes, but seriously, how could you think about saying no to that face?

He really likes to brush his hands through your hair when he's trying to help you relax. He'll move your head into his lap on the couch and hum you softly to sleep. He might take you to bed, but he won't wake you up unless he absolutely has to. He won't go as far as to turn off your alarms, but he just wants you to rest.

However, if you know you're overworking yourself but still refuse to let yourself stop, or take a break, he's going to be a little more "aggressive".

    Your computer screen is giving you a migraine, you feel like you want to tear your brain out of your head, and plainly? You just can’t sit still. You had been in this spot for about six hours straight. The last time you actually got up was to eat dinner, and even then you had only relaxed for what, thirty minutes? You can’t really remember.

    You sigh deeply, leaning back in your chair as you massage your temples. Working for the budding country of Genosha was certainly not for the weak. You needed to have this paperwork finished and faxed before the end of the week so that talks of Genosha entering the U.N. could continue. It was such a hefty amount, but it was necessary. Everyone else had done their part, and all you had to do was make corrections, edit, and make sure everything was in top shape. You’d been working on it for about three days straight, and with the finish line in sight, you didn’t want to stop now. 

    Oh, but your head hurts so bad, and you feel like you're starving. You look from your computer to your copy machine and the huge stack of mostly finished paperwork on your desk. You just want it to be over with, you decide it’s best if you just push through.

    “You haven’t moved from that spot since lunch,” You hear Kurt state. He comes around the side of your chair to brush some stray locks away from your forehead, and you do your best to give him a smile, although it’s obvious the expression is pained.

    “I didn’t hear you come in.” Your voice comes out a little gravelly from being silent most of the day. Kurt’s hands begin to gather your hair and caress the back of your neck lovingly. His hands feel good, grounding. You close your eyes to appreciate the feeling and miss the sight of Kurt’s frown.

    “Let’s get you to bed, Liebchen. I can tell your head hurts.” Kurt’s tone is gentle, although displeased, and it makes you feel guilty when you shake your head and pull away, leaning forward as you restack the paperwork on your desk.

    “I can’t. I’m almost done with this whole U.N. thing and the sooner it’s over, the better.” You mumble stubbornly. Kurt shakes his head at you, pulling your rolling chair away from the desk before you can get your hands on something else. You don’t even have the energy to express your shock as Kurt takes the papers out of your hands, using the table to straighten them before placing them in their proper place. He tuts at you as he does so, and continues to save your files and power down the computer despite your protests.

    “My apologies, love, but I won’t let you rot in this room for another moment. I understand how important this work is to you. Giving Genosia a voice that the world can hear is a very noble cause, and yet it is still a cause that can wait till tomorrow, Ja?” You open your mouth to attempt to protest again, but your head hurts so bad, and you are so tired. Kurt takes your hands to help you out of your chair, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls you into a gentle hug.

    “Okay. But-” You don’t finish your sentence before Kurt is tucking your face into his shoulder, sparing you the view as he Bamfs you away. When he lets you go, you’re standing in your bedroom. You’re thankful that he spared you the sights, knowing that it would have just made your head worse- but it didn’t change the fact that you hadn’t been remotely done in the office.

    “-I still need to lock up, Kurt.” You start to say, but he’s gone in a puff of smoke before you can even finish the sentence. When he makes it back a few minutes later, Kurt sends you a cheeky smile, lifting his tail to show you the keys he must’ve snagged from your pocket earlier. 

    “Did you-”

    “Lock the file cabinet? Yes. And I turned off your lamp, and closed the curtains before I locked the door.” Kurt kisses your temple as he sits you down on the bed, beginning to take your shoes off. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you taken care of.” You feel like your heart might explode with the overwhelming fondness you’re feeling right now. When he’s done with your shoes, he carefully helps you undress and change into pajamas, something he knows you struggled with when you were as exhausted as you are now. He makes sure to tuck you into bed before he himself goes to change. It doesn’t matter how much pain you felt at this point, when he crawled into bed you couldn’t stop yourself from curling up close to him, pressing tired kisses to whatever part of him you could reach. Kurt simply chuckles, pulling you into an embrace as he whispers sweet encouragements for you to sleep.

    “Kurt?”

    “Yes, Meine Liebe?”

    “ ‘Think you could Marry me?”

Now just because Kurt will do everything in his power to keep you from reaching the point of burnout, doesn't mean that he himself will stop from reaching that point.

Kurt is a genuinely good person, right to the core. He likes helping people, he likes to care for others, but he doesn't always ask for help when he needs it. It's not that he doesn't have emotional intelligence for his own feelings, he just tends to soothe himself by assisting others. Even then, to an extent, that's not healthy coping. There is only so much someone can carry alone.

After the attack on Genosha, there was a lot of work that had to be done- and Kurt, being a familiar and dependable face in the many religious communities, was needed constantly in a tumultuous time when many turned to religion.

It's been a struggle for the two of you, much of your time together being cut short in one way or another, and the longer you spent away, the more worried you became.

It all came to a head after Remy's funeral.

    Remy’s funeral was… Rough. To say the least. No one was coping very well, especially not Jubilee. You had walked out to the cars with the group after the last of the dirt had been laid, making sure to give her a tight hug. The X-men were the only real family she had ever had, and now she had lost a brother. You had let her sob for a moment, listening to her cries and the sounds of doors, opening and closing. 

    When everyone had loaded up and was ready to head out, you noticed that Kurt wasn’t there. You told everyone that you would catch up. You had a feeling you knew where he would be.

    You find Kurt in an empty church. He’d shed his outermost robes at some point, and was sitting silently on a pew. His eyes are closed and his hands folded, praying. You don’t disturb him as you sit down, simply reaching a hand out and placing it on his knee, squeezing it to let him know you were there. When he finishes, he places his hand over your own, opening his eyes as he looks down. His tears are flowing freely, and he leans into your touch when you wipe them from his cheeks.

    “I’ve been told that there is strength in a man that freely mourns, but… It’s silly. I can’t help but wish that I was stronger.” Kurt’s almost whispering as he speaks. You feel a lump form in your throat, your stinging eyes welling with tears for the countless time today. It hurts so unbelievably to see someone you love hurting so much, knowing that there is so little that you can do to make the pain go away, even if the loss is shared.

    “It’s not silly. I think that a lot of people feel the same- especially right now.” You say. You take hold of his left hand, tracing the cool metal band on his finger. You compare it to the one you wear, and find yourself thankful that the hand that bears his is still warm. You think of Rogue and Remy. The life they could’ve had together, if only they had been given more time. 

    You lean your head on Kurt’s shoulder, and he rests his head on top of your own. 

    “You don’t have to carry it alone.” You whisper eventually. Kurt says nothing, lacing his fingers between yours. “I know we haven't had a lot of time together lately, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve carried so much on your shoulders- but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’m here for, remember?” Kurt laughs lightly at your words, squeezing your left hand before lifting it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

    “You are a gift that I’m not entirely sure I deserve, my love,” Kurt says. You scoff at him, frowning now as you look up to meet his eyes.

    “Lying is a sin, Kurt.” You say playfully. His smile is blinding, and you gasp as Kurt Wagner of all people rolls his eyes at you. 

    “Even if it was a lie, which it isn’t, as long as I have you near, Schatz, Heaven will be in reach.”

[marilynthornhilllover]

I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me,

Emily. P x Jennifer. J x Fem!Reader

Warning: talk of drug consumption, reader is high, mood swings, use of guns (weed) , bad flirting, mommy kink, praise kink, teasing, cringe kiss etc .

A/n: I saw that new jennifer and emily episode where Emily was high and they were so cute! Had to make a fic😌

It was that quite long awaited time of the year where criminal agents are given two weeks off from work. You were beyond exhausted but nevertheless was very happy to finally be able to take off your FBI vest and feeling relieved that you won't have to be picking it up for another week or so.

You soon realized that you literally didn't have plans arranged for the upcoming two weeks ahead, or even tonight. Everyone was pairing up as they packed up their office stuff and headed out. Spencer and Derek laughed and gave eachother a high five as they made their way downstairs to sign out while Emily and jj were already giggling about some random joke as they continued to pack up.

You nervously decided to walk up to them standing in the corridor like a shadow making sure not to seem creepy— but maybe you were doing the opposite. Ever since you joined the team, yes you did make friends but no one ever went the extra mile to offer to hang out with you. Only Emily would now and then eat lunch with you at her desk.

Jennifer wasn't bad either, she did offer to help you with a case file once, you went over to her house which you complimented her for the cozy interior, and yes the boys were also good to you but on a employee holiday like this no one was paying any attention whatsoever to you. They already plans of their own.

You on the other hand, had none, all you were gonna do was shower, eat, sleep and repeat for the next week or so. Nothing productive, not as if you had anything to do either. Prentiss and Mantegna had insisted that someone help you with case files so its not as if you have a major cade to crack over the holiday.

You were as free as a bird and your energetic self needed something to reinforce that energy into. If you could have went on a cruise for two weeks you definitely would have.

Emily scoffed at Jennifer's joke before turning around and spotting you cuddled up in the corner like a little mouse. She tilted her head to the side before approaching you with a warm smile.

" hey hon, you got any plans for the holiday?" She asked chewing a piece of gum that she had been for the entire day — somtimes you wonder if any flavour at all is still existence in it.

" uhh nope, but I'll sure my couch has plans for me though" you said sarcastically and of course she laughed, because Emily laughs at anything and everything which you did find cute. Emily always made sure that she kept everyone at a level where they felt at their absolute best when around her.

She was never mean to anyone really. Always funny, ambitious, smart and talented she was everything. Sometimes her aura was just too high, but she was always still approachable and not prideful.

Emily was like one of those drugs that you couldn't stop using because it feels too good, and when you do take it, it altars with your entire brain function and chemistry.

And speaking of chemistry, that was something you and Emily had alot of. Everytime her eyes made contact with yours, you felt as if your body was thrown into the deepest pits of hell. You'd get shivers everytime she passed you or called you a pet name. You'd go completely weak in your knees when she made the littlest amount of psychical contact with your skin — it was absolutely ridiculous just how easily she could get under your skin.

Or the time when you were making coffee in the kitchen and she needed to grab something from the top shelf and she moved you by putting her hands on your hips, with her chest pressed so closely against your back with face by your neck.

Emily made you question things. You knew you always had a thing for older women, always, since highschool and it never seemed to go away. And Emily was exactly your type, you just weren't sure if she felt the same way in return and you didn't wanna ruin the amazing friendship you both had by letting your stupid emotions and hormones get the best of yourself.

" well I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself, JJ and I are hooking up at her place tonight for snacks and a movie" she placed hands on her hips are she turned to look at jj who was texting away on her phone before turning back to you. You gaved her a akward smile, before a breathy nervous laugh escaped your mouth.

" hooking up huh" you saw as her eye brows quirked before a sly smile came into evidence on her face and quickly glanced at Jennifer who was now angrily texting before taking a step closer towards you, closing the the last gap space that was there. Her body heat and perfume over took your senses making your breath hitch.

You pressed your palm against her chest sneaking a quick glance at jj and the camera above. Emily was looking at you with a teasing smirk, she leaned down besides your ear and whispered.

" do wanna hook up with me as well?" She pulled back to see the reaction on your face and just as she imagined it was absolutely priceless. She chuckled before pulling away completely.

" oh my God emily would you leave poor y/n alone, let's go already" Jennifer said with a tint of exhaustion and annoyance her voice. Emily chuckled before gently caressing your cheek. The both women waved you goodbye before departing and going their way.

You sighed before picking up your bag and leaving, you locked your office door and went home. You did decided to walk with a few case files home and evidence objects to keep yourself busy during the holiday to stop yourself from going insane from the intense boredom you were prone to have.

— — — —

Emily and Jennifer had just sat down and were about to enjoy their late afternoon with wine and salt and vinegar chips when a continuation of loud knocking could be heard on jj's front door. Both women looked at eachother with utter confusion on their faces — the weren't expecting anyone. Jennifer decided to get up and go check the door, Emily following closely behind with her hand placed tightly on her gun.

The door bell soon started ringing along with the knocks which triggered Jennifer even more. Unlocking the door Jennifer threw it open, not caring what stood on the opposite side of it, after all emily was ready to protect her best friend at all cost, even if it meant shooting someone in their foor.

" if I had my way I swear I would—" as soon as she saw you she stopped talking, her eye brows quirked as she squinted her eyes to make a better appearance of your face in the dim moon light. Emily let out a soft sigh when she saw you but quickly went back into a state of worry at the same time.

Now you had both women wondering what you were doing at their house.

" y/n? I didn't know you were coming over, did Emily invite you?" Jennifer turned around hoping to get a confirmation nod from Emily but she shook her head and pursed her lips, letting her know she was just as confused as her.

" Well aren't you guys a bit rude, aren't you gonna invite me in?" You muttered but before they could react you let yourself in. You carefully walked down the long fancy corridor switching off some lights on your way because they made your eyes burn, making your way to the living room area, having knowing your way around jj's house since the last two times you were there.

You stumbled over the coffee table and landed right onto the sofa, face first with a soft groan. You dropped the ziplock bag of cheese puffs you had brought onto the floor.

She walked up to you and you and sat beside you on the couch, she picked you up by both your forearms and made you look at her.

Both women side eyed eachother, both in desperate need to know what on God's green earth was going on. Jennifer leaned against the wall to further scrutinize you. Emily on the other hand was just worried how you got here on your own with no car or phone.

" hey y/n sweetie are you..... drunk?" Her voice sounded like when water got into a phone speaker and you tried to play a song— you couldn't understand it. You rubbed your eyes and glanced at the table to which your face instantly lit up when you saw the salt and vinegar lays chips.

You grabbed them ferociously then took out some chopsticks you had stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans and started eating the chips. At this point both women were flabbergasted, mouths open, jaws dropped. Jennifer took a deep breath before she turned around and went to her fridge to grab you a drink to help you sober up because it was crystal clear that you were beyond drunk, drunk was an understatement.

" what time is it?" You suddenly asked putting the chips down and dusting off your hands.

" time for some hydration, here you go" Jennifer said as she passed you a bottle of cold cranberry juice. Once again your face lit up like a child on Christmas day.

" ohhhh, it's got what plants crave!" You exclaimed. The look on Jennifer's face when you said that was priceless as Emily silently continued to look at you with a completely blanket stare.

You placed the bottle of juice at the side of your head as if it was an ice pack and burped. You cleared your throat before speaking up again.

" have you guys seen that movie! Idiot city!.... wait city Idiot... wait... yeah" it's like your body was replaced with a child's and this called for huge concern. Emily sighed heavily and took the bottle from your hand.

" Idiocracy?" Jennifer whispered and you nodded.

" I knew I liked you! Ohhh, I and on my way here I saw a cat jumping off your house roof then it turned into a dog and flew away as a mosquito" you said before the loudest laugh took you over that you almost started crying.

Emily whispered " oh good lord" before she shook her head, Jennifer was still completely and totally lost for words. Jennifer had a feeling that being drunk would not cause someone to behave like this— well of course she knew, she's a profiler. She had a feeling you were high, but she didn't want you to act out and she would need proof for Emily because knowing her she wouldn't believe for a minute you would do drugs.

" umm y/n what's in the bag?" Jennifer asked and your eyebrows quirked, you placed your finger at you ear urging her to repeat even though she was so damn close to you.

" What's in the bag" she repeated as she dragged her words this time. You shrugged.

" I don't know what time the supermarket closes" emily stood up and walked towards to kitchen to grab her phone, you had the agent stressed. Jennifer just took it upon herself to grab the bag of " cheese puffs" before she walked towards emily.

" look I know you may not believe but I have a pretty good feeling that, that girl right there is literally the profound definition of what we call high" emily scoffed.

" Oh come on, she probably had too much wine I mean weren't we just about to drink wine as well?" She restated trying to convince Jennifer, but honestly to this rate she just couldn't, Jennifer was already convinced from her own opinion.

" emily elizabeth prentiss which wine do you know makes someone this drunk?" Jennifer asked, emphasizing on the last two words of her sentence. Emily shrugged before looking back at you, who was now sniffing the air every two seconds like a curious dog. Jennifer rolled her eyes before opening the bag of cheese puffs and taking a sniff.

She gaged before pulling away quickly.

" this smells like straight up weed!" She swiftly turned to let Emily have a sniff, to which Emily pulled away as well. Jennifer closed the bag and turned it around where there was writing in black. " DO NOT OPEN, CONTAINS CASE 101 EVIDENCE".

" you ate the case evidence! Oh my god!" Jennifer looked like she was going to erupt like a volcano and her high pitched tone of voice was making your head hurt and ears ring.

" I was hungry, and I didn't know that they were edibles" you whispered as you squinted your eyes since it was getting harder to see. Jennifer looked at you in disbelief as she turned to Emily for back up. Before Emily could utter a word Jennifer was already furious.

" Emily, don't even! She basically ate the entire bag!" She shouted. She saided pacing the room with her fingers gently massaging her temple to calm her.

" what are we gonna tell hotch, or even worst David" Jennifer covered her face with her both her hands before leaning over the kitchen counter.

" Well I mean, she probably just ate the backup stash, it should be fine, we should really be worrying about is her health" emily muttered scratching her head. Jennifer looked up at emily as her jaw dropped.

" your defending her?!" Emily raised her hands in defense but before she could reply Jennifer took the chance.

" I seriously cannot believe you right now!" Jennifer once again, started pacing the room, this time even more quicker.

" Oh come on jj, what are the odds that people make silly mistakes like these?" Jennifer stopped, and looked at emily with wide eyes.

" Well with the odds as high as her I'd say zero!" She said angrily before picking up her phone.

Emily sighed before looking over at you who was now eating the chips and gnawing your teeth wildly making crumbs fall all over the place. In a way Emily felt bad for you, mostly pity because she knew what you did was down right stupid but Jennifer was being a tadbit too harsh on you in your current position — knowing you couldn't properly comprehend the situation or what was going on.

" ok I'll take her home and we can speak to the team about this tomorrow when y/n is a better state of mind, ok?" Emily said in a reassuring voice. Jennifer sighed in frustration before biting her lip and nodding approvingly.

Emily carefully picked you up off the couch and wrapped her arm around your waist as she insisted to take you home safely. Her body warmth was comforting and her perfume was like a lullaby putting you to sleep this time. You melted in her embrace as she took you outside.

Your vision was blurred and the cold air on your skin — although you had a jacket on, was making you shiver. Seeing this emily hugged you tighter. She opened the door to her wagon and assisted you into the passenger seat and putting on your seat belt for you. You looked at her, she looked like one of those ancient paintings,the ones you can't withdraw your eyes from, the Renaissance ones.

You weren't sure if maybe it was the drugs or the hormones that came after taking the drugs but you felt the need to kiss emily, your eyes flicked down to her lips that were slightly parted as she concentrated on getting the seatbelt to adjust to your liking. Her smooth skin and wrinkled lines that ran across her forehead and eye line area, her little cute eye bags from all the hard work she does.

You couldn't resist the urge, she was a drug, she was your drug. You licked your lips and leaned in. Your lips connected with hers in a slow soft kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Emily didn't pull away, she was surprised yes, but she didn't pull away. Emily couldn't cover up the feeling she felt for you but she also didn't want to take advantage of your drunken state.

Taking it that she was enjoying it as much as you, you tried to force your tongue into her mouth but that's when she pulled away. Your brows furrowed and for a moment the drugs may have returned your common sense and you realized what you did — what you were trying to do. And soon the embarrassment and cringe settled in.

" sorry, oh God I'm so stupid!" You whispered as you fought back tears, you covered your face with both hands and started sobbing. Emily sprinted around to the drivers seat to comfort you. She gently peeled your hands away from your face, holding your palms in hers she caressed them with her knuckles softly. You sniffed and shook your head in denial before looking out the window.

" hey, sweetheart look at me please" her voice was as soft as an angel and so gentle as if you were something valuable that could be broken, that's something you loved about emily, she was so comforting in all circumstances, no matter what. She placed her hand under your jaw and turned you to look at her. She stared at you with her cute Bambi eyes so filled of love, and she so badly wanted to say " I love you" but she knew you wouldn't be able to comprehend them.

" look y/n, i wanna— kiss you back but I can't. That doesn't mean I don't want to, I just want you to be able to give me your full sober concent." She spoke as slowly and clearly as possible so you won't misinterpret anything.

" and your not stupid, we all make mistakes my love. Once I accidentally— well I got drunk the morning of my Law exams and failed them, and that did set me at a disadvantage for my career but I still made it into this job" she continued to rub your knuckles and wip every tear that fell from your eyes.

" and this joke takes y/n, but it also gives.... it gave—" she took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. " it gave me you." Hearing these words made your heart flutter souly. Your little smile came across your face which emily mirrored.

" now, my sweet girl, my I take you home?" She spoke in a old French accent waving her hand a fancy motion, You both laughed until you were out of air. after the laughter died down She chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh squeezing the tender flesh which made your breath hitch.

The drive home was long but certainly not quiet at all, you and Emily blasted high 2000s music all the way until she arrived at your home. You knew there was gonna be alot to discuss the next day but you should be fine once you have emily by your side.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 13

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

ONCE AGAIN: A BIG ASS SHOUT OUT TO @paigereeder. When I say this chapter would not have gotten done w/o her!!!!

*The gif is what I picture Josh wearing w/ a pair of black Nike shorts and some slides* (in the first part)

~ Friday Night ~

“I’m gonna take ’em upstairs,” Josh whispered to Kiyana just as the credit to COCO started rolling. Kiyana stretched and looked over to her left, where both of her boys were knocked out, leaning on Josh. Kairo thankfully went down at his usual bedtime. Kaiden and Kamari, on the other hand, put up the biggest fight to stay up later with their dad. 

They had almost made it through both movies when their eyes started to droop. Kamari doesn’t play about his sleep. The second he feels Mr. Sandman knocking at his door, he welcomes him with open arms. Kaiden, on the other hand, didn’t want to miss a moment with his dad. He had fallen asleep 15 minutes into the first movie, but when Josh tried to carry him up the steps, Kaiden woke up, protesting that he wasn’t sleeping and he wanted to stay with his dad. 

Kiyana let out a deep sigh when Josh disappeared up the steps with both of their sons—this whole day had been extremely awkward for her. It had only been about four weeks since they signed the papers, and here they were, about to go out on a date tomorrow night. She loved Josh, and nothing would ever change that, but Josh had hurt her badly, and she was terrified of letting him back into her heart. 

Standing up, she started cleaning up the living room, gathering the trash from the snacks the boys and Josh had devoured and taking it into the kitchen. While she was in the kitchen, she decided to pour herself a glass of wine. She went to grab Josh a Diet Coke from the fridge, popped it open, got him a cup of ice, and brought it into the living room for him, placing it on a coaster on the coffee table. 

She continued to tidy up, and by the time Josh came back downstairs, she was done lounging on the couch and catching up on the newest episode of Love Island. Josh plopped down next to Kiyana. He glanced at her, her features illuminated by the TV’s light. Just being this close to her again made him realize how badly he fucked up. She would always be his Key. But, before she was that, she was THEE Kiyana Jackson. Before she had become this powerhouse of a woman, the best mother to his kids, an excellent cook, and a bomb-ass nurse, she was the girl that scared the fuck outta him. He couldn’t even hold a full conversation with her back then because his brain would short circuit; knees weak, arms heavy, butterflies in an all-out war games match in his stomach. The girl that his classmates convinced him he’d never have a chance with because she was leaps and bounds above his league, and he had fucked it up being a dumbass, proving them right.

“You good?” Kiyana asked him with a slight laugh, and he nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up at being caught staring. 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. Kiyana grabbed the remote, paused the TV, and turned her attention to him. 

“Josh.” 

“C’mere,” he whispered, opening his arms for her. “Please,” he added in a hushed tone when Kiyana didn’t move. She bit her lip and looked at him, contemplating whether she should move closer to him. Sighing, she nodded and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he closed his arms around her. The second she scooted into his arms, it was like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. 

Josh fully relaxed on the couch and closed his eyes. This is what he was missing. The arguing, fighting, and cheating were not what he and Kiyana were about. Their being at odds felt so foreign, and it was mostly his fault. 

“What the hell is this show even about?” Josh asked after a couple of minutes had passed. Kiyana laughed and turned her head so she could look at him. 

“It’s about finding love.” She whispered as her eyes dropped down to his lips.  Josh leaned in slowly, his heart pounding as he closed the distance between them. Josh deepened the kiss, letting out a low moan as Kiyana shifted her position and was now straddling him, with her legs on either side of his hips. Josh’s hands roamed down Kiyana’s back before finally resting on her ass, firmly squeezing it while pulling her closer to him. 

Josh’s phone started to go off, making the both of them groan in displeasure. “Fuck..” Josh groaned, throwing his back against the couch. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, breathing heavily as he read the text message he just received. Kiyana arched her eyebrow as he ran his hand through his hair. 

“What?” 

Josh bit his lip as he looked at her. “Don’t be mad.” He whispered. “But I’ll be right back.” Josh saw the look of disappointment and doubt in her eyes, and he immediately cupped her face and tried to ease her worries. “Don’t do that. I promise it ain’t about no bitch. I’m forever about you. I just got something I gotta handle.”  Kiyana rolled her eyes and removed herself from his lap, settling back on the couch and crossing her arms over her chest. “Key,” Josh called out softly, cupping her chin and turning her face so she could look at him. “Trust me, I’ll be right back.” Kiyana narrowed her eyes but eventually nodded her head.  

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you when you come back.” Josh smiled and pecked her lips. 

“30 minutes tops.” 

“Mmhm,”  Kiyana hummed, and Josh couldn’t blame her for her suspicion. He had been disloyal and ruined their relationship. But this was something he couldn’t tell her because she would definitely try to keep him in the house. Josh sighed and stood from the couch. He bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Be right back, Key.” She nodded and pressed play on the remote, continuing her show while he walked over to the key hook and grabbed his car keys. Kiyana let him keep his truck in the garage while he was on the road because someone broke into it the last time he left it at his apartment. 

As Josh walked into the garage,  he knew that no matter how much he reassured Kiyana, there was a lingering doubt in her mind—a scar from past betrayals. Settling into the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone and re-read the text message he had received. 

Ms Deb(key’s co-worker): Dr. Daniels gets off in 10 min. Do what you want with that information… oh and he drives a black infinity w/ blacked out windows. Plate: DRDAN.  Ms Deb(key’s co-worker): delete this thread… and treat my girl right! 

Josh smiled at the later message and started his car before backing out of the garage and driving towards the hospital. 

Elijah smiled as he made his way out of the hospital. He had a pretty good day: three successful surgeries, and his wife came and surprised him with lunch with his children. That smile was quickly wiped off his face the closer he got to his car. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Elijah seethed, eyeing Josh up and down. 

Josh smirked and pushed himself off of Elijah’s car. “I told ya’ bitch ass I was gonna catch you again, didn’t I?” Josh sneered as he walked into Eli’s personal space. Elijah gulped as he looked around. Josh had a good 20 pounds of muscle on Eli, and to be completely honest, Eli didn’t want to walk around with another black eye. 

Eli held his hand up and took a step back from Josh. “I don’t have time for this,” Elijah said, trying to steady his voice despite the nerves tightening in his chest. “You need to leave.”

“I ain’t going nowhere.” 

“Look—” Tired of hearing Elijah’s voice, Josh lunged at him, landing a right hook on Eli’s jaw and knocking him to the ground.  

“Yeahhh,” Josh cackled, clapping his hands together. “Getcho’ ass up. You wanna put your hands on women? Come put ya hands on me!” Elijah staggered to his feet, his fists clenched in anger as he lunged at Josh, who quickly ducked it and tackled him to the ground. There was nobody here to stop Josh this time. Josh threw punch after punch, getting all his anger out on this low life. 

“Alright, Alright. Enough..” Josh felt someone grab the back of his shirt, trying to stop him from punching Elijah. “You got him, relax.” 

Josh stopped swinging, his chest heaving with the adrenaline and fury, and looked down at Elijah, who looked like he was one punch away from a permanent coma. Elijah’s face was a swollen mess, eyes barely open, and he lay motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

Josh felt his shirt being tugged again, and he let the person move him off Elijah. 

“Damn,” Josh looked, and it was the security guard who broke up their fight last time. “He’s lucky you beat his ass in front of the hospital.” The security guy joked, cracking a smile while holding his hand out for Josh to shake. “Main Event Jey Uso, nice to meet you man.” 

Josh’s eyes widened. “Hey Uce-” 

“I already paused the cameras; as soon as I get back to my desk, I’ll delete the footage. I hate women beaters. I lost my mom that way.” Josh’s expression softened, and he shook the guy’s hand. “I’m happy your ex has someone who sticks up for her. If only my mom had someone.” 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that—” Josh paused, as he didn’t know this guy’s name. 

“Adrian, and hey, it’s cool. You did what you had to do. But uh. You might wanna get outta here. I gotta call this in.” Adrian finished off, holding the walkie-talkie up, and Josh nodded. He glanced down at Elijah, who was starting to move, before giving Adrian a nod, jogging back over to his truck, and leaving. 

Kiyana sat up and looked towards the entryway to the living room when she heard the front door open and close. She knew it was way past thirty minutes because she had watched two more episodes of Love Island. She heard him set the house alarm before he started walking towards the living room. 

“You said thirty minutes.” She muttered before her eyes widened as he walked closer to her and she saw how red and bruised his knuckles were. “Dude, what the fuck?! What did you do?” 

“What I had to.” 

“Josh -” 

“He put his hand on you! He could not get away with that shit Key. I did what I had to do.” Kiyana sighed and gently grabbed his hand, leading him up the stairs and to her bedroom. 

“Sit,” She said, pointing to the bed and Josh quickly obliged. Kiyana then walked into the ensuite bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit before walking back over to Josh and grabbing his hands. 

“You mad huh?” Josh asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched Kiyana clean off his knuckles. Kiyana didn’t respond immediately, her gaze focused on cleaning his knuckles. 

“I’m not mad. Just wish you would have told me. Would have loved to get a couple kicks in.” She looked up meeting Josh's eyes and chuckled at the shocked look on his face. “What? I was in shock when he actually grabbed me and he walked away before I could actually T off on his ass.” She said as she stood up and climbed into bed.  Josh stood up as well. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Shoot, next time I’ll let you know then.” He said as he started walking towards the door. 

“Woah! Where are you going?” She asked and he stopped. 

“Was going to the guest room.” He said as more of a question and Kiyana started shaking her head and patted the spot next to her. “Fo’real?” Josh asked, a big ass smile coming onto his face as Kiyana nodded her head. He practically rips his shirt over his head before he throws himself onto the bed next to her, his heart swelling in his chest as he hears her giggle. It has been forever since he’s been the one to make her giggle. 

~ Saturday Afternoon ~

“So you really thinking about giving him another chance?” Kiyana sighed and set down her make-up brush before meeting her mother's eyes in her vanity mirror. 

“Yes,” Kiyana replied softly, her fingers absentmindedly adjusting the brushes in front of her. “Mom -” Kiyana started but Imani held her hand up, stopping her. 

“No, You’re gonna listen to what I have to say, Kiyana Marie.” Kiyana shut her mouth and turned her body so her side was leaning against the back of the vanity chair.  “That man” her mother continued, her voice dripping with disdain,  “Has done so much damage to you. Cheating on you while you were carrying this little angel.” Kiyana rolled her eyes at her mom’s dramatics.  “I was here Key, I seen what his infidelity did to your confidence. I saw the way you frowned at your body when you walked past the mirror and now he gets a second chance for what? To do it all over again.” 

Kiyana felt her shoulders sag as he mother’s words sunk in. “So you think I’m being stupid?” 

“No baby girl. I don’t think you’re being stupid. I just want you to not rush back into this with Josh. I know y’all still love each other and you had to stay in contact with the kids but still remember to put yourself first. Don’t just get back with him because you know Kaiden and Kamari are going to be happy.” 

“I am putting myself first Mom. It’s not just about my sons being happy it’s about me being happy as well. Yes, Josh fu- messed up but everyone deserves a second chance. Isn’t that what you told me? After Dad cheated on you, you stayed. You told me that everyone deserves a second chance.” Imani’s eyes lowered to the floor as Kiyana continued. “Dad has two kids on you and you still stayed. Josh cheated and had no kids. And I tried to move on, but I love Josh and can’t change that.” 

“I just want the best for you Kiyana. And you’re right, I did forgive your father but I don’t want you to be like me. But I understand that you are a grown woman and you need to make these decisions for yourself.” 

“Why are you making it seem like I’m making a mistake?” Kiyana asked, getting irritated with her mother. 

“I’m just saying. You need to learn for yourself. I’m not the only one who thinks this either. Kenyatta feels the same.” Kiyana snorted and turned back around so she could face her vanity again. 

“You mean the serial cheater? He cheated on every girl he was ever with Mom - you know what.” Kiyana paused and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna get dressed now you can go.” 

Imani scoffed “Kiyana” she called out, as Kiyana stood and walked into her walk-in closet. Kiyana rolled her eyes as she came back out with her dress in her hand, hanging off the hanger. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” Imani said, to which Kiyana ignored. Imani sighed, picked Kairo up off the bed, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. 

As the door clicked shut, Kiyana took a deep breath and tried to steady her racing thoughts. The sound of her mother’s voice still echoed in her mind, a mix of concern and frustration. She slipped her dress on, trying to focus on the soft fabric against her skin rather than the knot in her stomach.

~ Saturday Night ~

“You can do this,” Kiyana whispered to herself. Her mom had just yelled up the steps, telling her Josh was there. Kiyana could hear her kids going crazy after not seeing him all day. “It’s just Josh. You been on plenty of dates with Josh before.”  Taking a deep breath, Kiyana smoothed down her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror one last time before walking out of her bedroom and walking down the steps to meet Josh. 

She felt herself blush as he let out a low “Damn.” before clearing his throat and walking over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. “You look beautiful, Key. Doesn’t she look beautiful?” He then asked his sons and they nodded their heads. 

“You look very pretty Mama,” Kaiden said and Kiyana smiled and him, bending down to press a kiss on his head, 

“Thank you, Bean” She then turned to Josh. “You look nice too.” Josh’s cheeks heated up at her compliment. 

“You ready to go?” He asked and she nodded.

“Be good for grandma.” She said to her kids, giving them a quick hug before stepping out the door with Josh. The short walk to his truck was silent. Josh opened the passenger door for her and grabbed her hand, helping her into the truck. 

“You ready to go?” He asked and she nodded.

“Be good for grandma.” She said to her kids, giving them a quick hug before stepping out the door with Josh. The short walk to his truck was silent. Josh opened the passenger door for her and grabbed her hand, helping her into the truck. 

 Kiyana stole glances at Josh as he drove, admiring the way the streetlights illuminated his profile, casting shadows across his chiseled features. At a red light, Josh reached across the console and gently grabbed her hand lacing their fingers together. Kiyana’s heart skipped a beat as Josh’s fingers intertwined with hers. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill up her arm. She glanced at him, catching a glimpse of the soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m happy you agreed to this date,” Josh muttered, breaking the silence in the car. Kiyana bit the inside of her lip and she looked over at him. 

 "I'm glad too," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Josh smiled and started driving again as the light turned green, the butterflies in his belly intensifying as he felt her squeeze his hand.

“Thank you,” Kiyana smiled at Josh as he pulled out her chair for her. The restaurant he picked was nice and cozy. It was one that neither of them had been at before. He wanted to choose a new restaurant so they could make new memories and weren’t plagued by old ones. 

As Josh settled in his seat across from her, he felt like the luckiest SOB in that restaurant. The second he and Kiyana had walked in, all eyes turned toward her. She had turned so many heads, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at one couple, when the woman reached over and plucked her boyfriend or husband on his forehead when he wouldn’t stop staring at Key. 

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” The waiter came over and set the free bread down on their table. Kiyana ordered a white while while Josh decided to order a water with a lemon. He wanted to stay sober for the conversation he knew they were going to have. 

As the waiter left, Kiyana took a deep breath and looked directly into Josh’s eyes. The dim candlelight cast a soft glow on her face. “I um- I know we agreed to try to move on, but I think we need to talk about everything first.” She said and Josh nodded. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “What happened? What made you.” She paused as if she couldn’t bear to say it. “What made you cheat on me?” 

The waitress quickly set their drink down and left as she heard Kiyana’s question. The waitress figured they could wait to eat. 

“Oh god,” Josh whispered, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I don’t know if she told you, but I talked to Samara about this already,” Josh stated to which Kiyana nodded. 

“She told me a little. She also told me to just hear you out.” 

“I- I honestly never meant for anything to go that far. Before this conversation continues, I need you to know that. I need you to know that I will forever beat myself up for doing that to you.” When Kiyana nodded he continued. “I just wanted to vent Key. I just wanted someone to talk to about what I was going through without being told to think about your feelings. And yes it was selfish of me but nobody cared about how I felt. God, it’s so fucking selfish but I just wanted someone to talk to and it went too far.” He finished, not breaking eye contact so she knew how serious he was being. 

“But four months Joshua? You were going on the road fucking her then coming back and fucking me.” 

Joshua looked down, his hands trembling slightly. He knew he had hurt Kiyana deeply, and the guilt weighed heavily on him. “I fucked up Key, I fucked up so damn bad.” He looked back up at her. “But I’m willing to do anything and everything to prove my love and loyalty to you again. I already talked to my boss and a couple of the higher-ups. She been harassing me n’shit and I filed some paperwork against her. She can’t come near me or she’ll be fired.” 

Kiyana felt her face scrunch up at what he said. “So y’all were still messing around?”  

Josh started shaking his head ‘no’ immediately. “Hell no. I stopped messing with her around the time I told you about the affair.” 

Kiyana narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, trying to see how sincere he was being with his words. After knowing him for almost twenty-four years, she knew when he was lying and right now he wasn’t. He was telling her the truth. 

“So what about you telling her that you were gonna divorce me for her.” 

“I never said that.” He answered immediately. “I told you back then that I never said that. That was some dumbshit she said and Joe must’ve overheard her.” 

Kiyana went to ask her next question but was interrupted by the waitress. “Sorry, but um- would y’all like to order now?” Josh and Kiyana broke eye contact to look at the waitress. Josh let out a deep sigh a nodded before ordering a steak meal for himself while Kiyana ordered a pasta dish. The waitress hurried up and scurried away.  Kiyana looked back at Josh and asked her next question. 

“Do you regret it?”  

“Of course I do.” Josh's voice was filled with regret as he met Kiyana's gaze, his eyes reflecting the pain he had caused her. “Do you regret sleeping with Joe?” He asked, just as she took a sip of her wine. Kiyana’s eyes widened as she heard his question. Did she regret sleeping with Joe? 

“I don’t regret it.” She finally said, swallowing a lump in her throat as Josh’s jaw clenched. “You hurt me badly Joshua. Like, I was hurt and confused and he was there. It wasn’t about getting back at you because he’s your cousin. It was,” She paused as she tried to find the right words. “It was you had your fun, so why couldn’t I.”  

Taking a moment to compose himself, Josh locked eyes with Kiyana, his gaze intense yet vulnerable. “I understand” He whispered. He reached across the table grasping her hand in his. “I want us to move past all of this. Do you want there to be an us? Do you want to move past this?” 

Kiyana squeezed Josh's hand tightly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside her. After everything they had been through, the hurt and betrayal, she knew that a decision needed to be made. She took a deep breath and met Josh's gaze. “Yes, I want there to be an us again. I want us to be able to move on from this.” 

Josh's eyes softened, relief washing over his face as he heard Kiyana's words. “Deadass?” 

Kiyana chuckled, nodding her head. “I’m being so deadass right now.” 

“I swear on my life, you won’t regret this Key. Imma do everything I can to prove that I love you and I want you.” 

As they sat there holding hands, a wave of relief washed over both Kiyana and Josh. The weight of their past mistakes and the pain they had caused each other seemed to lighten ever so slightly. They both knew that rebuilding their relationship would not be easy, but they were willing to try. 

“Are you staying here tonight?” Kiyana whispered as she and Josh walked to the front door of her house. 

“If you want me to,” Josh replied and Kiyana nodded, grabbing his hand and leading him into the house. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her ass. Loving the way it swayed as she walked. She kept a firm grasp on his hand as she set the house alarm and walked up the steps. Both of them peeked into their kids' rooms to make sure they were tucking in and sleeping. 

Josh’s heart was beating extremely fast as Kiyana led him into her room.  Kiyana turned to face Josh, her eyes almost black with lust. She closed the distance between them, her body pressing flush against his, and Without a word, she reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Kiyana moaned softly into the kiss, her body trembling with need. She broke away, panting lightly, her eyes locked on Josh's.

“You sure?” He asked and instead of giving him an answer, Kiyana undid the back of her dress and let it fall down her body. Josh watched as the dress fell to her feet, leaving her in just her white lace thong. 

“I’m sure” She whispered before capturing his lips again in a searing kiss. 

KiyanaJackson_

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user: she is 2 fine!

trinity_fatu: girl! 🔥

user: WHO TF WOULD CHEAT ON HER? A DUMBASS THATS WHO!

marrraaa_ : fuckable 🤤

Sorry for any grammar and/ or spelling mistakes. I am dead tired and I wanted to get this chapter out.

Sooo how was this chapter? Give me y'all honest thoughts!...

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[highvern]

Casual

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

warnings:  toxic relationship dynamics, alcohol consumption, avoidant attachment, hoshi cries, sex but nothing graphic

Length: ~ 3.8k

Note: the ending is inspired by this post. happy bday to my boo, legally its still your bday in california. sorry i made you cry. thank u @wonustars for sitting through the dumpster fire this was

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

m.list

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

In the past few weeks, something has been different between you and your fuck buddy.

He’s always been relatively excitable, thrilled by life and happy to be wherever you are. But there’s more smiling,  more touching, and more moments that feel like maybe you’re in a relationship you didn’t sign up for because now every time you see him it doesn’t automatically devolve into humping each other until your eyes cross and limbs go numb. 

Tonight is a prime example.

You happen to end up at the same bar (after he told you where he’d be with the optimism you’d show up, because you typically do). It’s early in the night, when pretending not to realize the other is just a few feet away on the opposite side of the room is still appropriate. Or you pretend while Soonyoung not so subtly follows your every move for the right moment to approach. 

You like to act as if it's a coincidence you’d even show up in the first place and that you aren’t wrapped around his finger. Soonyoung, ever indulgent, lets you. He realized after repeated brush-offs that you have to come to him. And you will in your own time; like a cat that will let you look but not touch until it decides to. Make that decision too soon and he’ll end up covered in scratches and alone. 

Your friends aren’t dumb to the charade. They know how you and Soonyoung work despite how overly complex you make it. They don’t push to ask questions, preferring to silently observe the back and forth when you two happen to be in public. Like they’re watching a nature documentary. Maybe they think they’re being subtle when they point out he’s sitting a few tables away or how they spotted him on the way back from the restroom with invisible question marks over their heads blaring ‘so what are you guys?’ 

There isn’t an answer. You and Soonyoung fuck. Sometimes you don’t; like when you were sick or when it's two in the morning and he swears he sleeps better when you’re there. Occasionally, when you feel extra generous, you let him take you out in public and hold your hand. Other times you pretend not to know he’s got his eyes on you from the moment you arrive at a party and go home alone with a handful of missed calls.

It’s…complicated.

So you sit at a table tucked in the corner and stir at the diluted contents of your drink while pointedly avoiding looking to your left where you know a pair of eager brown eyes are waiting to greet you.

“How long do we have to sit here until you go and talk to your lover boy?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You dismiss the very thought that anyone else is privy to the imaginary game of chess you’re playing against no one but yourself.

“Oh, really?” Lily snorts. “Because he’s been moony-eyed for the past twenty minutes and—”

“Shut up,” you snarl. 

You're under the microscope and there's nowhere to hide. Not at this table at least.

“Would it be so bad if you guys just dated? He likes you and you obviously—”

The end of that sentence rattles in your brain even as you stomp away, parting the crowd loitering at the ball. You scold the moments of weakness that make it obvious. 

It takes all your patience not to bodycheck the people stumbling in your way. Everyone’s packed in tight like sardines, at the mercy of the tide of bodies flowing to and fro. A brief part in the sea gets you to the counter. You barely take a breath before a familiar presence hovers at your shoulder.

“Come here often?” Soonyoung calls in your ear. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps blooming despite the heat.

“Is that the best you can do?” You tease, finding his gaze. “Really?”

He’s warm at your amusement, eyes bright with his own humor or maybe it's the shots you watched Seokmin coax him into from the corner of your eye as you walked through the door. “How about, let me buy your next drink?”

“See if you lead with that I think you’ll be much more successful.”

He snorts before flagging down a bartender and reciting both your orders. The last thing he needs right now is more booze but if things go as planned, he’ll be too distracted to even notice you sipping on the cup meant for him.

 The hand at the base of your spine is calming even in the chaos of the bar, his effort to keep you close as possible like you’d go anywhere. A soothing circle of his thumb burns across the sliver of bare skin below the hem of your shirt makes the world shrink down to just you two.

An easily established routine takes over. Soonyoung crowds you in, pushing you back into one of the stools and assuming the space between your legs. The length of his body locks you firmly in place. His eyes trace your mouth as he talks. Calculating if you’ll let him kiss you or if it’s too early to ask for that just yet.

“You look good.”

“Oh?” you ask with fake innocence. You know what you look like. Short skirt, tight top. Enough skin to make him drool and think about what you’re wearing underneath. Or what you aren’t, given your track record.

“Yeah.” A complete sentence. He’s too preoccupied staring at your bare legs to provide more context. Void of an ounce of shame, he traces the curve of your thigh obscenely without a care who might see and the conclusions they’ll make. 

It’s hot. Temperature wise. Warm hands you wish would dip between your thighs and play with what’s just out of view rather than stroke at the rough hem of your skirt. But Soonyoung isn’t one for public indecency. 

At least not that indecent.

You watch him watch you. The blushed tips of his ears give away exactly what he’s thinking. The memories of you, in the back of his Jeep wearing this very skirt, bouncing on his cock like you’d die without it just last weekend. Blowing his load as you teased him with the idea of cumming inside you without a condom. If he keeps staring then you’ll have no choice but to rush him into the bathroom for a quickie. But tonight, you want him to break first.

“Are you planning to do something about or—”

Your phone is buzzing before you get the chance to finish the thought. It’s probably just your friends giving a fair warning they’re heading out now that you no longer need them to serve as cover for the real reason you’re in a shitty bar on a Friday night. But the name on the screen is one you haven’t thought about in months.

Mingyu (tinder): back in town for the night, u free? [11:34PM]

“Who’s that?” 

You bristle at his accusatory tone, locking your phone and hiding it away. Soonyoung assesses with skeptical eyes, chin jutted like you’re under examination because he decided to snoop over your shoulder.  “What? No one.”

“Doesn’t seem like no one.”

“It’s none of your business.” You shoot back. He’s starting to piss you off.

The feeling is mutual if the hutch in his shoulders is anything to go by. “Sorry I’m confused why some dude is inviting you over at midnight.”

“Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t matter if you’re confused because you aren’t my boyfriend.” You spit. 

Soonyoung recoils like you slapped the words into his cheek. Cold air floods in between you, filling the newly abandoned space now that he’s stepping back.  

“You’re right, I’m not.” He scoffs after a beat.” Sleep with whoever you want. I’m done.”

Soonyoung leaves you standing there without a second glance, melting into the crowd while you gape. 

Fuck you, you think after the initial shock wears away. The last thing you need is Soonyoung’s permission. He may be the guy you’ve fucked exclusively for the better half of six months but he doesn’t have a monopoly on your time just because you take your clothes off for him. 

Staring at Mingyu’s message, you fire off a response before slipping off the barstool and beelining for the door.

You: send me the address [11:46PM]

The cab ride is filled with Top 40 and the echoes of city noise. A few attempts at conversation fall flat before the driver leaves you alone to stew in silence. Fuming, you stare out the window as streetlights become nothing but streaks in the darkness. Your fingers tap the annoyance out onto leather interior.

Each stop light gives you more time to think about how Soonyoung isn’t your boyfriend. He isn’t your anything. At best he’s an easy fuck that strokes your ego. And even if he asked, which he hadn’t, you don’t do relationships. Commitment isn’t a part of the deal. He takes what you give and he doesn’t complain. At least, not until now.

It’s a casual arrangement for both of your benefit. If he concocted some grandiose illusion it could ever be something more then he’d swiftly come down from that cloud. 

Stubbornness may kill you but there’s a point to prove tonight. That you can do whatever you want, whenever, with whoever you see fit. 

You don’t even realize when the car stops outside a familiar apartment building. 

Mingyu (tinder): lmk when ur outside [12:19AM]

The facade of anger starts crumbling. 

You don’t want to fuck Mingyu. His name hasn’t been at the forefront of your mind in months. None of your old flings have. Even new guys at the bar were placeholders to be ignored after Soonyoung arrived with a dumb joke and too much confidence. 

Somehow, without you realizing, months flew by without an ounce of interest for any guy other than the one you abandoned in a bar. The one guy you’re pretty sure would give you the moon if you asked.

And you screwed it all up to prove a point.

“Sorry, I gave you the wrong address. Can you actually take me to…” you ramble, typing out your final response to someone who you should’ve left firmly in the past.

You: i cant [12:25AM]

After the message goes through, blocking Mingyu’s number is easier than you’d like to admit.

—

The clock ticks closer to the time for early rises to begin rousing when you start losing hope. The carpet outside Soonyoung’s apartment is disgusting but after the first hour, you braved sitting down over the worsening blisters from an impractical shoe choice. Butt numb and phone battery in the single digits, you search for the courage to commute back across town with a bruised ego.

In all the time you’ve spent on the hard ground, not one of his roommates has come home. 

He isn’t aware of your sudden change of heart so there's no reason he’d come rushing home. As far as he’s concerned you're bent in half in some old flames bed without a care for his feelings. Maybe this is how you punish yourself for pretending you’re capable of something like that. Pretending Soonyoung’s feelings haven’t flown to the top of your priorities since that fateful night in his room. Every time you go to his contact the wave of guilt threatens to crush you.

It’s another fifteen minutes before Soonyoung stumbles down the hallway. Alone. 

Even from a distance, evidence of the night after your departure is plain to see. His eyes are glassy and the stench of bar floor rolls off him. Soonyoung is a sentimental drunk but knowing you’re the reason for such a sorry state makes you want to sprint out the door into oncoming traffic.

You feel pathetic and small but he doesn’t even seem to realize you're sitting there as he trips over your legs with a mumbled ‘scuse me,’ which only makes that hole in your chest grow. But you can’t find a word to say. Not with the disappointment clear on his face. 

Disappointment because you were stubbornly refusing to let him in.

It was a mistake. Coming here, leaving the bar, going to the bar, pretending you could do any of this in the first place. Maybe if you stay still he won’t notice you and you can disappear forever once he’s inside. 

But whoever runs things has a vested interest in your love life.

Soonyoung drops his keys after failing to get them in the lock for the nth time. They bounce off the ground and skitter the few inches away where you mourn, gleaming next to your bare thigh. He finally seems to take notice of your presence.

“You’re here?” He teeters, bending at the waist to snatch up his keys and almost ends up head first through the wall. You take mercy and hand them to him instead.

He’s looking straight through you. To the parts you hide beneath snide comments and brush offs, the side that claims none of this is that serious. That he shouldn’t expect anything, that a relationship is so far out of the realm of

“I blocked his number.”

He freezes at the confession, tense around the shoulders like he isn’t even breathing.

It's all too much.

You rock up onto your feet, unbalanced as blood flow is restored to the lower half of your body. You’ve got to get out of here. Somewhere else, anywhere else. Where he isn’t looking at you like that. Halfway down the hall is where you finally hear him speak again.

“Really?” Soonyoung asks, voice flooded with disbelief and maybe something like wonder.

You don’t bother to turn around before answering. “Don’t make it weird.”

More silence. Your shuddering breath and his footsteps fill the hallway. He’s at your back, a hand ghosting along your elbow. “How long have you been here?”

You really don’t want to answer but he needs to hear it. He needs to hear how much you care. Even if it’s scary. 

“Since I left the bar.”

“Don’t leave,” he beckons. 

It sounds like a thank you. Thank you for… not fucking some guy when you could’ve? Thank you for picking him even if you can’t say it out loud? He knows it's a lot, even drunk out of his mind. One day you’ll have to tell him you’d pick him over anything but tonight carries more than you can handle already.

Your hand finds his. A tight grip, sweaty palms not even a consideration because the contact lifts some of the invisible weight off your shoulders.

He ushers you inside, down the hall to his room. In the silent darkness of the apartment, his hands stay on you. Like if for even a second you two aren’t touching you’ll float away. Fingers laced tight as you shyly shuffle behind him.

Your clothes fall to the ground. Not in the rushed heat of usual encounters, but in a desperate need to feel one another: skin on skin. 

Naked in bed, you stake claim to his lap, lost against what comes next. This is usually the easiest part. You know how sex works. But his mouth burns along your palm, savoring the warmth with a long kiss that scratches at your throat. You shake, breath stuttering. Another kiss to your palm, lips gliding across your wrist, your elbow, the curve of your shoulder. Each webs another crack.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper as the dam begins to break.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice shaking. 

“You thought I didn’t pick you,” you whimper again, tears welling because you’re embarrassed. Both from how you acted and how you’re crying in the first place. But it feels cathartic. Letting him see the parts no one else gets to witness. 

“A-and I let you.”

“You’re here now. That’s all I care about.”

Somehow he manages to pull you into a tighter hold, crushing your ribs but you don’t need oxygen. You need Soonyoung. You settle in the cradle of his thighs, legs wrapped around his waist and arms locked across his shoulder.

He doesn’t offer a joke to cut the tension. He doesn’t try to play a simpering fool just to see you smile. Soonyoung tangles you in his arms and doesn’t ease up even when you wiggle for more comfort.

When you kiss him, he kisses back. Your mouth opens when he nudges his tongue at the seam of your lips. Arching into his palms at the curve of your spine, you moan as he flips you over and dips under the covers. Your thighs will be bruised come morning but it’s a welcome thought because that means there’s proof of Soonyoung’s claim on you; one you’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge. 

Each stroke of his tongue is another nail in the coffin. Vibrations cue you in that he’s speaking but all you can make out is the break of Soonyoung’s voice when he chants ‘mine,’ into your skin. You refuse to let go of his hand the entire time, while you writhe and shake, brain melting until you shatter with a cry. His fingers stayed interlocked on top of your stomach as your nails bite crescents into the skin. Another reminder that will fade but you look good on him for right now. It’s enough for right now.

His mouth tastes of you when you finally coax him back into another kiss. You lick across his tongue like you could suck away his breath if you tried. 

You fuck him like that. Back in his lap, chest to chest, panting into each other’s mouth in a crude kiss because even an inch of space between your bodies is too much. Not because either of you are horny and need release. It’s a different type of sex you’ve never been familiar with. Closer. Needier.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper again.

“Don’t—fuck—don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” He doesn’t sound sure of it. Maybe you’ll have to talk about what this means later, without the safety of a dark room.

The next apology dies at the tip of your tongue. Focused on nothing but the swell between your thighs, his fingers strumming you into another orgasm you’re unprepared for.

“Soonyoung.” You vibrate into the next wave, pinching tight at his shoulders until his lips find your neck.

You cradle his face between your palms, kissing away whatever worries linger. He doesn't say anything as he spills into the condom; silently refusing let go for what feels like hours, catching your breaths until he slouches back into the mattress and your weight follows.

“I didn’t mean it,” you confess. Your fingers busy etching across the jut muscle along his neck, something to take the focus off how awful you feel.

“Okay…” Soonyoung traces the dip between your shoulder blades; a simple touch leaving you on edge. “What did you mean then?”

“I don’t want…that.” 

“Want what?” His fingers flex. There’s an unusual level of patience from him tonight but rather than annoyance, you’re thankful. You wouldn’t say half the things you should if Soonyoung wasn’t here to ask for them.

“To sleep with other guys.” It’s half of the truth. The more important half, the part lodged in your throat and refusing to come out, is that you don’t want to lose him. And you’ll do what it takes not to let that happen. But you don’t elaborate on that thought.

“Good.” He smiles against your temple. “I don’t want to sleep with other guys either.”

A weak joke but it’s a start back towards normal. Soonyoung might just understand these feelings more than you think. Thank God someone does.

You both pretend to fall asleep after that, silently lingering in the liminal space between dreams and consciousness. Your cheek on his chest, the beat of his heart lulling your own down from an anxious rush. His arms a cocoon from whatever waits on the other side of daylight for you two to figure out.

Together.

Strips of sun slowly brighten between the slats of the blinds. A signal that it’s time to test whatever happened in the last few hours under the daylight.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Soonyoung asks, trailing gentle pecks across your bare shoulder.

“Waffles sound good.”

“Waffles it is.”

In the bright lights of the diner, your head throbs. Half from the hangover threatening to tie your stomach in knots and the other half from crying. Your eyes are still puffy, throat sore from such an emotional display in the privacy of Soonyoung’s room.

Soonyoung sits across the table, fingers tangled with yours on top for everyone to see. A proud declaration you fight not to shy away from. Even as he digs into his food he doesn’t stop tracing the back of your thumb with his own. Second nature. You should let him do it more often. It’s a nice feeling.

Seeing couples constantly touching in public before was something you watched with disgust. Except now you get it. Because despite the rational knowledge that you’d certainly be fine if he let go, there's also the feeling that you’d dissolve in the wind if he even considered the idea.

You’ve picked apart your plate, remains of decimated waffles and eggs pushed across the booth for his consumption. Soonyoung fumbles with the shaker and douses the scrambled yellows in mountainous trails of salt. He glances up at you, cheeks rounded in shock like you’d be able to help him. Biting back a conspiratory smile, you start shoveling the mess into a napkin.

Soonyoung stares, silent as you impale a slice of strawberry on the end of your fork and pop it into your mouth. It’s salty too but you wash it away with a swig of cheap coffee.

“What?” you ask. 

He answers with a peck to the back of your hand, diving into the more edible scraps that escaped his mess as if none of it happened in the first place.

In a sudden moment of clarity, a longing rooted deep in your chest rears its head. You don’t know what love feels like but maybe this is the start of it.

Sitting in a shitty dinner, wearing his clothes, while Soonyoung laughs at some joke you don’t catch because you’re too busy trying to find your breath. It’s good though. Exciting.

But the moment passes with a beat of your heart. It’s just you and him. He’s your something, you the same for him.

And that’s enough right now.

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

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

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

series: @pinklemonadeflav @gyuwoosbabie @dinossaurz @vixensss

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

[reaper-chan666]

Since the poll said longer posts with multiple types of Hybrid! Readers interacting with Taskforce 141, I'll start slow, and gain speed as I go. I'll start with Lioness! Reader, Bat! Reader, and go from there! I'm sorry if it seems short still!

Lioness Hybrid! Reader who doesn't like it when people assume they're weak, since they're smaller than the male Lion Hybrids, is automatically weaker. But they've never been allowed to go into the field to prove otherwise. Instead, they get placed on desk at every base, essentially becoming a glorified secretary, and it pisses them off. Over time they become irritable, then they start becoming increasingly agitated, until it gets to the point, that they're just flat out aggressive, and get traded around to different squads since people get tired of dealing with them.

Until John Price of Taskforce 141 sees their file, and decides to transfer them over to base. Immediately, all the personnel on base is put on edge. They've heard the stories of this hybrid, and they don't want to deal with that. Within a week of Lioness! Reader transferring, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap notice that the hybrid seems agitated when they aren't put on missions or on regular training, so they have a small meeting, and decide to test out the abilities of Lioness! Reader. After Lioness! Reader is tested by doing the training regimen that Ghost follows, it's clear to the four men, that while the hybrid is smaller, they're faster and stronger than they seem, so Ghost makes it a point to read up on Lioness Hybrids, and comes up with a training regimen that will allow reader to train to their fullest potential. And it works, the hybrid quickly loses the aggressive behaviors once they start training with the four men, and soon they go on missions with the boys, getting results with brutal efficiency.

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

Bat Hybrid! Reader, who is forced into military sleep schedules, and gets sick easily because of the stress it puts on their bodies. Gaz is visiting the base that the hybrid is at, and immediately notices how bad it is, so he calls Price and explains what's going on, Price then calls Laswell, and there is an emergency transfer for the poor hybrid.

Bat! Reader is allowed to set their sleep schedule to follow their bodies needs, and it starts a discussion about meeting Hybrids needs in the military, and not always forcing them to conform to things, especially not things that will cause their bodies harm, like sleep, diet, and training.

Bat! Reader, who shows their strengths once they're recovered, being able to find things in absolute darkness, flying up to around 60 miles per hour on a regular mission, to 100 miles per hour in an emergency. Bat! Reader has an amazing sense of smell, and uses echolocation to help track targets and squad members alike, and being able to accurately differentiate who's who. But that sense of smell comes at a cost. Bat! Reader has issues with strong odors, causing the guys to get better ventilation installed in the barracks.

Bat! Reader, who likes to sleep upside down at times, so Price installs a pull up bar in their room, with a soft cushion on the ground underneath it, just in case they were to fall. They tend to get anxious alone when they're trying to fall asleep alone, so typically the guys will sit in there with them until they fall asleep, unintentionally starting a bunch of break times that forces the guys to slow down and breathe.

I ran out of ideas, it's almost 6 am and I have a migraine, I'll post more when my brain doesn't feel like mush.

Give me more Hybrid suggestions, or tell me if you want to see more Snake! Lioness! Or Bat! Readers again.

Bye!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Yours, Mine, Ours

We're finishing up week two! We've got one more ultra hot story coming up from @synamartia (who also made our stunning Masterlist where you can see everything that's been written so far, including some absolute bangers from @fraugwinska @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes and @hazelfoureyes) and then we're on to week three!

Everything is moving so quickly, and y'all are in for some treats for the rest of the month! 😈

(As always, thank you to my beloved Frau for making my banners for this event- I love youuuu 💗)

Summary: In helping Charlie, some magic goes awry and Lucifer and Alastor swap bodies for a week. The usual shenanigans occur (and lead to boning) Tags: Lucifer has a vagina; body swap shenanigans

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The last thing that Lucifer had expected three days ago was getting stuck in the body of the Radio Demon thanks to his daughter’s lack of magical training. He had assured her he wasn’t upset- and he wasn’t, really- but that was before he had awoken this morning after insisting they sleep in their own, original bedrooms with a throbbing erection that he couldn’t decide if he was allowed to touch or not.

One the one hand, this was technically his body for the next couple of days still. And with it being his consciousness in here, he didn’t think, ethically, there would be anything wrong with touching.

On the other hand, Alastor would probably kill him as soon as he found out- and he would find out, Lucifer was sure of it. Also on that same hand was the knowledge that when his mind was back in his own body, he would remember what it felt like- how Alastor’s gasps sounded as he pleasured himself, the weight of his cock in his hand as he stroked it, how-

Fuck, that wasn’t helping.

There was another little part of his brain reminding him that Alastor would be respecting his body. That the Radio Demon wasn’t interested in sex, and that anything below Lucifer’s belt would likely be ignored in favor of seeing if he could use his angelic powers since they were tied to the body and not the mind. Alastor also wouldn’t be touching himself if he were in his own body.

Maybe that was the cause of the problem though. If Alastor was ignoring his body’s needs, it made sense that the persistent erection wouldn’t go away- he needed release. And in theory, Lucifer could provide that. 

He bites his lips as he contemplates, wincing when Alastor’s sharp fucking teeth pierce the sensitive skin. Just to test, he palms himself over the blanket- and Alastor’s hips buck into the faint sensation, the slight friction feeling far, far too good. He holds onto the hope that Alastor would forgive him as he slips his hands under the covers, below the waistband of the deer’s stupidly comfortable pajama bottoms.

The first touch to his cock makes Lucifer moan, and it’s Alastor’s voice that rings out when he circles his fingers around the base and strokes. It was thicker than Lucifer’s own, when he opted for that set of equipment, and filled his hand perfectly, the skin silky smooth and hot under his palm as he set a steady rhythm. He wonders if he could convince Alastor to fuck him when they’re back in their respective bodies- Lucifer could always change what he had to offer on his lower body depending on Alastor’s preference, but whichever hole the Radio Demon wanted Lucifer would be more than happy to oblige if he could have this inside of him. His grip grows slick as the cock in his hand leaks, Lucifer’s thoughts making Alastor’s body react.

He pictures Alastor doing the same thing to his body- fisting his cock or pumping fingers inside of himself depending on what manifested in response to the arousal, caught in a cycle of crying out and being more turned on by the sound of Lucifer’s voice moaning out his name. He knows it's a pointless fantasy- if Alastor was doing anything with his body, it was probably just pinching and poking and prodding to see what weak spots the King had so he could use them to his advantage down the line- but it’s an effective one. He feels Alastor’s balls drawing up tighter to his body, just on the precipice of release. He opens his mouth to moan out his own name, just to know what it sounded like in Alastor’s static filter-

“Why do you suddenly have a vagina?” The doors to his private quarters fling open, and Lucifer opens his eyes to see his body centered in the doorframe- Alastor had come, his cheeks aflame and his eyebrow creased. Was that what he looked like when he was angry? “I was minding my business this morning, just waking up, and now there’s- this,” he snaps, gesturing at Lucifer’s lower body. 

And Lucifer knows with startling clarity exactly what happened, having been in his body for millenia and having been in relatively close quarters to Alastor for almost a year.

He had caught his own scent on his sheets and Lucifer’s body reacted like it always did- like a fertile doe ready for the strong buck it had scented. Sure, it was a little embarrassing to be in a meeting with Charlie and suddenly realize his genitals had changed when Alastor walked by and wafted his scent by him, but Lucifer was used to that.

Alastor, obviously, was not.

He tries as casually as he can to remove his hand from Alastor’s dick, but of course he notices- he might not have his monocle but in Lucifer’s body he would have perfect vision, certainly enough to see the subtle shift of the covers as Lucifer released his weeping cock. “What are you- have you been doing this the whole time?” He stalks further into the room, the door slamming behind him, and Lucifer wonders if he could actually die trapped in a Sinner’s body like this.

“Hold on, Al, just- wait, what are you doing?”

Because the sight he was seeing didn’t make sense as Alastor used Lucifer’s limbs to climb atop the bed, straddling his body’s waist and grinding down.

“Do I smell like this to you all the time?” He asks incredulously. “I want to devour you.”

The words travel through Lucifer’s brain and manifest in the form of Alastor’s cock straining, hips bucking up against the wet heat he finds from his own body. “Fuck, Alastor, slow- slow down!” He panics, when Alastor snaps his fingers (of course he figured out how to use the most basic of Lucifer’s magic) and the pants on the King’s body disappear while shoving the blankets down below Alastor’s waist. Lucifer garbles out some sort of noise when his hands wrap around Alastor’s cock again, slotting up against the slick folds of Lucifer’s cunt- and fuck, he really needed to stop this or they were both gonna regret it-

He grips his hands onto the waist of the body that Alastor inhabits and forces him to still- and shit, had he always been so slight? No wonder Alastor was always making comments about his size, when one of the Radio Demons hands could easily encompass nearly his whole thigh. When their eyes meet, Lucifer can hardly belief his own face was capable of such an expression; eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, a bit of drool that started to drip from the side of his mouth. “Fucking Satan, you don’t actually want this,” he mutters. “You’re just- my body is reacting to your body and scent the way it always does, but that doesn’t-”

“Lucifer-”

“And I’m sorry! I just- it was so hard, I couldn’t help it- but I promise I won’t touch again, we can just forget about this-”

“Lucifer.”

“-and I can move out if you’re uncomfortable after Charlie fixes us, and once you’re back in your own body you won’t feel like this anymore-”

“The body I am in does not matter,” Alastor snaps, ceasing Lucifer’s static-laden babble. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think you would have woken with that between your thighs had you not insisted on sleeping in our own beds?” He shifts Lucifer’s body enough to weaken Alastor’s hands on his waist, dropping the King’s weight back onto his lower body and giving a slow roll of his hips. Lucifer drops his head into the pillow and moans, the heat of him near unbearable. “My sudden arrival was not due to anger but frustration- imagine my surprise when I’ve been touching a cock for three days and it suddenly has magically become a slick hole that I have little experience with.”

Lucifer is so startled by the filthy words that he lets go of his waist completely, giving Alastor the free reign he needs to line up properly and start slowly sinking down on his own cock using Lucifer’s pussy- he was starting to lose sense of the possessive pronouns in play if he was being honest. All that mattered was one of them was inside the other and it was apparently exactly where both of them wanted to be.

Tight, silken warmth envelopes him, and he feels the sudden weight of Alastor’s antlers growing atop his head, digging harshly into the headboard. He hadn’t fucked anyone since Lilith had left, certainly not with his pussy, so the walls that clenched around him gripped like a merciless vice, velvety soft and slick with desire. He found the sense of mind to dig Alastor’s claws into his body’s hips again, pulling him down harshly and punching a moan from his chest with the force of it.

This was how Alastor would experience it, Lucifer realized, when they were back in their own bodies. This was the sensation he would have wrapped around his cock, the body held in his hands soft and supple and pliant- if anything, Lucifer would make more noise being fucked so well. 

Alastor makes a soft, broken sound above him, Lucifer’s face contorted in frustration. “It’s not enough,” he pants, “why is it not enough? I can fucking- feel it, like a bone about to break but I can’t finish.”

He takes one of his hands, guiding his own fingers to the sensitive clit at the apex of the angel’s thighs. When Alastor takes over, brushing across the swollen bundle of nerves, the body he occupies jerks- inner walls tense around Alastor’s cock, twitching and fluttering at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. “Oh, fuck,” Alastor moans in Lucifer’s voice, and Lucifer has to agree. It made everything that much more intense as Alastor started furiously rubbing, free hands coming down to sink claws into his own body’s chest as his hips bucked wildly, chasing the sensation. The sounds in the room were filthy, spurring Lucifer into digging Al’s feet into the bedding and thrusting up to meet him. It has to be the right move, because Alastor whimpers above him, eyes flying open to meet Lucifer’s.

“Please don’t regret this,” Lucifer says, radio filter broken with feedback that Alastor can evidently still understand. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t-”

“Never,” he snarls, and Lucifer’s horns and wings spring forth, blocking what little light was coming from the room, creating the perfect darkness for the glow of the King’s eyes as Alastor stared down at him. “You have no idea how I’ve waited- how I’ve craved you- to know that my scent alone brings your body to this state is bliss,” he pants, “that I can never live without knowing again and again.” His whole body is tensing, fingers working hard between his legs before he lets out a whine, collapsing to press their mouths together as he shudders into a strong orgasm .

The rhythmic clenching around the sensitive hardness of Alastor’s cock has him cumming, sharp jolts of ecstasy causing him to spill into his own body, hot pulses of release that flood and leak from Lucifer’s messy cunt. His brain feels fuzzy, head aching from the weight of the antlers, muscles sore from vigorous movement that Alastor’s body clearly wasn’t used to. The last bit of his orgasm has his cock twitching inside the still fluttering walls, a sensation that makes Alastor shudder on top of him and moan weakly into his mouth.

It’s an odd experience, to taste the way one’s own sounds of pleasure sound. He hopes that when they’ve returned to their own bodies that Alastor will find it enjoyable as well, Lucifer’s panting breath along his tongue, lips brushing together. 

Maybe there was part of Lucifer hoping that the act would put them back into their own bodies so they could repeat it, but minutes pass and nothing changes but the slowing breath of the body that rested on top of him. He brings one of Alastor’s hands up to card through his own soft blonde hair, knowing exactly the pleasurable tingles that it would send down his spine. 

“Give me ten minutes,” Alastor says muffled into his chest, “and we can go again.”

“I think you mean give me ten minutes,” he says, though he can already feel the jump of his cock in response to Alastor’s words. “I’m the one with the dick at the moment.”

“I’m aware. And I’m also aware of my body’s refractory period.” He trails a finger down his body’s fluffy chest, circling a nipple and making Lucifer release a warbled hiss. “I think there’s quite a bit that we can teach one another before we return to our own bodies, don’t you think?” He seems to take an answer from the sight of his signature grin, bringing their mouths together once more with a contented sigh.

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

A Bit of Aid

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Halsin/Female Reader

Warnings: smut, masturbation, vaginal fingering, praise, bad puns, Astarion being a little shit

Summary: A friend offers you some help.

Notes: This is going to be a PROPER ONE SHOT. (I'm telling this mostly to myself. *wags finger at my own brain*)

Anyway, I've had this mental image in my head for like two weeks and had to get it out. I hope you enjoy <3

Read on Ao3 here!

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You lean back against the tree, your face scrunched in frustration. The cool night breeze brushes over the beads of sweat at your hairline, on your neck, making you shiver softly. You pull your hand out of your pants, wiping your fingers in the grass and muttering a very heartfelt, “Fuck,” under your breath. 

It’s been a week and a half since you escaped the nautoloid, waking up with an unwanted passenger behind your eye. 

A week and half, and you’ve built up a group of similarly afflicted people, and a druid you saved from a goblin camp. 

A group of very attractive people.

Now, you were far from a prude, but being surrounded by some of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen in your life is intimidating. Especially when you’ve always felt yourself as being painfully middle-of-the-road. 

And being surrounded by the most attractive people you’ve ever seen in your life is making your active libido scream at you. 

Back home in Baldur’s Gate, before you were snatched up into literal hell, you’d always get yourself off at the very least a few times a week. It was good for your mood and body alike. 

But that was when you were in the quiet safety of your own home. Trying to touch yourself while you’re in a thin-walled tent while those gorgeous people sleep mere feet away is too nerve-wracking to contemplate. 

And so, you’d decided to sneak away for some well earned alone time. Once everyone but Halsin (who volunteered for first watch) had gone to bed, you snuck out of camp and trekked probably half a mile into the forest. After making sure you were alone, you’d sat down at the base of a tree, loosened your belt, unlaced your pants, and shoved your hand into your smalls. 

Almost an hour later, you give up. It turns out that stressing out over the very real possibility of sloughing off your current form to become part of a tentacled hive mind, nearly dying several times at the hands of goblins, and are now facing a trip down into the Underdark, doesn’t make for an easy time getting off. 

Who knew?

And so you sit there against the tree, deciding to wait out the arousal swirling in your gut, to wait out the rather insistent throbbing in your clit, and once you were back to your default state to just go to bed. You exhale through your nose in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to feel that sweet, beautiful-

“Ah, there you are.” 

Your eyes shoot open in terror. You hear Halsin’s voice, his footsteps approaching through the trees, and you scramble to do up your belt at least, so he doesn’t suspect. 

He steps around the tree just as your hands leave your belt, and he quirks an eyebrow down at your red-face, at the way you’re not quite meeting his eyes. “Are you well? You didn’t come back to camp after you left, so I got worried.” 

“O-Oh, no, I’m fine, Halsin,” you stammer, trying your best to give him a friendly smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to…think.” 

“To think.” He tilts his head a little. “I understand the appeal of having a private spot, but the middle of the night in these woods is more dangerous than you’d suspect.” 

You give a weak smile. “Yeah…sorry for worrying you.” 

Mortified at what he almost caught you doing, you move to stand. But when he crouches before you, smiling in his normal, friendly way… “Would you like some help?” 

You freeze, your eyes locking onto his bright hazel gaze in shock. Did he just…? “Um. What…do you mean? Help with what, standing up? I got it, I promise.” 

He chuckles. “No, no. I mean, help with reaching orgasm.”

You pray that the ground opens you up and swallows you whole. 

“I…” You clear your throat so that more comes out than just a squeak. “W-Why would you…think that I…I wasn’t…” 

His expression is soft, kind. You’re pretty sure that only makes it worse. “Be at ease. There is no shame in desire. For most people, it’s as natural as hunger, as thirst. And there’s no shame in accepting a helping hand…or two. After everything you’ve been through so far, it’s no surprise you’re having trouble on your own.”

Against your will, your eyes flit down to his hands. Thick fingers are laced together between his bent knees as he squats before you, and the thought of what they could do on your flesh makes the hair raise on the back of your neck. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your own body, every inch of skin sensitive. 

“And if you’re worried that I’ll be offended if you say no, you needn’t be.” You look back up at his face in surprise. He gives you a serious look. “I would never touch you without your permission. If you don’t wish my help, say the word and I’ll head back to camp.” 

His words go a long way to reassuring you, and you take a moment to really think about it. It’s been so long since you last had anyone to share an intimate moment with, and you could easily die at any moment. Why shouldn’t you indulge in this man who seems more than willing to help you out? 

You lick your lips. Nerves race through your gut, along with your growing arousal, but you meet Halsin’s eyes. You mean to say something like yes or all right then or hell yes let’s wake up the camp with my screaming, but instead all that comes out is a whispered, “Please…” 

His lips quirk up, his eyes darken even as they flash in delight. “Hm. Please what?” 

His voice has lowered, his customary rumble more pronounced. Your mouth goes dry. “Please…I’d like your help,” you respond. 

“Gladly,” he all but purrs. “Let’s get comfortable then.” He has you move over, and as you shift he pulls his leather vest off. You inhale sharply, your eyes darting over his torso. His shoulder muscles ripple as he lowers himself to sit down with his own back against the tree now. 

What really surprises you though is his body hair. Elves as a whole don’t tend to have hair at all below their heads, but Halsin…his forearms are thick with it, his chest sports a nice patch, and there’s a tantalizing line running from his navel to below his belt. “Gods, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe. 

He chuckles softly. “I’m flattered you think so.” He reaches out a hand to you. “Now, come here to me.” 

Anticipation roils in your gut. You take his hand, warm and calloused and huge. He tugs you over, helping you sit down on his lap, and you gasp as you feel a half-formed erection press against your ass. He rumbles in enjoyment at the sudden friction, tugging you firmly by the hips so that your back is flat against his chest. His cheek presses to yours on your right sight, and his voice vibrates into you, along your back and into your jaw. 

“We’re going to adjust your clothing now. Pull your pants and smalls down for me, hm?” 

His tone is soft and gently encouraging, almost casual, as though he’s teaching you a new skill. It makes you feel desperate to obey. You wriggle your pants and smalls all the way off in your eagerness, which makes him chuckle. His left hand pats your thigh, sending prickles over your flesh. “Lift.” You do, your toes balanced on his knee. He slips that arm under your leg. “Lower, and tuck the toes of both your feet under my knees.” 

You swallow hard at how open this leaves you for him. His thumb caresses your inner thigh almost fondly, which has you breaking out into sensitive shivers. You feel his cheek shift as he smiles. 

“That’s it. Now, pull the hem of your shirt up over your breasts.” 

You do so, taking your bra with it. Your shirt bunches up to your mid-back, and you can feel his belly hair on your skin.

“Mmm, you’re lovely,” he purrs, nuzzling his cheek with yours. His thumb suddenly traces the curve of your breast before his hand cups under it, giving you a soft squeeze, and you shudder hard on his lap and whine his name. “My, my, you are eager aren’t you?” 

He feels your face heat against his cheek. “S-Sorry…it’s been a while,” you whisper.

“Trust me, sweetling, that was not a complaint,” he replies, giving you another soft nuzzle. “I like it. Your desire is as beautiful as you are…” 

He turns his head toward you, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck at the same time the pads of the fingers of his left hand suddenly press between your legs. You gasp loudly, your hips bucking at the touch. “Easy,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin, waiting until you settle. 

You can’t believe how quickly he’s already gotten you dripping. You’ve barely been on his lap a minute, and you’re already desperately turned on. 

His fingers move again, his index and middle fingers parted and rubbing slowly up and down your outer lips. “Fuck,” you gasp out, and he chuckles softly.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had such a mouth on you,” he teases gently. 

You want to say something clever, something that’ll make him laugh that low, sexy laugh again, maybe even something that’ll have his cock twitching in his pants. But words are a bit beyond you right now, and so you very eloquently say, “Hnng.” 

You feel his jaw shift, as though he was going to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers make another pass, nice and slow, up and down your outer lips, before gently parting you open. The cool air of the forest on your overheated, slick core has you stifling another curse under your breath. 

His index finger swipes through your slick as the other hand suddenly gives a pinch to your already hardened nipple, and you have to turn your head to stifle a cry into his neck. “Shh, sweetling, I know,” he murmurs, as though he weren’t the one making you lose your mind. He’s so warm behind you, and he smells so good, like the woods and clean sweat. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, all the while slowly, slowly dragging his touch through your dripping folds. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps as he builds your desire. “So warm and wet for me…One day soon, I would like to take you properly, to feel all this around my cock.” As he finishes his words, the middle finger of his left hand slides slowly into you. You inhale sharply, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head at how good it feels to have someone else’s touch inside you. His finger is thick, nearly twice as wide as your own, and the feel of it makes your hips buck. 

He chuckles softly. “I know, sweetling,” he soothes, pressing a line of gentle kisses up the column of your throat. His right hand gives a soft tug to your nipple, before reaching across your chest to give the other the same treatment. The finger that’s inside you starts to move, gently pumping in and out of you, dragging against your walls…

Curses fall from your lips, muffled into the spot where his throat meets his jawline. You can feel him grin, glad to know that he’s doing a good job.

His right hand leaves your breast, tracing calloused fingertips down over your belly. You shiver hard, wrapping your hand around his bicep as you realize where he’s headed. His fingers slip through the soft hair at the apex of your thighs, down over your mound to your leaking slit. 

The first touch to your clit makes you hiss, and he eases up on his touch, brushing a kiss over your cheek in apology for being too harsh. He gently pets at you, testing, watching your reactions carefully to learn what touches are the best, what gives you the most pleasure. But once he figures it out…

“There we go,” he growls as you moan into his skin, unable to stop the sound that rips from your throat as he works you perfectly. His fingers slide wetly over your engorged clit just the way you like, his other hand pumps two fingers now into your drenched hole, rolling them to hit every sensitive spot you’ve got. You shudder and writhe on his lap, feeling yourself begin to sweat. 

You also feel his cock, fully hard now against your ass. He’s rumbling out soft groans next to your ear as your motions rub yourself on him. “P-Please…please, i-if you want, fuck me now,” you gasp out. 

You feel him growl at your words, and his fingers speed up their pace. “No, not now.” He nips at your ear gently. “Tonight is about you. Besides, I know in my heart if I have you now, your sweet body will be the only thing on my mind. I’ll want to do nothing more than take you, day and night…and we have too much to do for that, I’m afraid.” 

You make some sort of choking/wheezing sound in the back of your throat. You’re pretty sure that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to you. Your soaked walls clench around his fingers, and he growls again at the feeling. “F-Fuck, you…you can’t just say something like that and then deny me!” you gasp out. 

He chuckles, low and dark. “Apologies, sweetling. One day soon I’ll more than make it up to you. We shall be testing the limits of your stamina…but for now…” 

His fingers speed up, rubbing rapidly over your clit. He adds a third finger, stretching you wide around his massive digits, and you shriek his name. Almost as soon as the sound starts to leave your throat, he turns his head and kisses you deeply, muffling your noise. His tongue plunges into your mouth, tasting of the remnants of supper and something uniquely him, and you eagerly twine your tongue with his. 

You feel it, then, the sudden swoop in your lower belly. Your eyes snap open at the same time he feels your walls begin to flutter around his fingers. Your eyes meet his, those intense hazel orbs sharpening. He pulls away from your mouth, grinning in triumph. “There we go, that’s right…come for me!” 

You throw your head back on his shoulder as your pleasure builds and builds, your hips bucking into his hands. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as, somehow, he speeds up even more, his fingers pounding into your cunt. He growls your name, you choke out his-

-and you nearly arch completely off of him as you explode. You howl your pleasure to the night air, lost completely to the torrent of fire and lightning rushing through your nerves. You barely hear Halsin, whispering encouragements and praise by your ear as he works you through it. “That’s it, sweetling, that’s it, soak my fingers. Oakfather preserve me, you feel so fucking good gripping me like that…” 

So lost you are in the throws of your orgasm you don’t see his eyes flash gold a couple times before he gets himself under control. You just writhe in the circle of his arms as he works you through it. 

When your movements begin to slow, so do his. He floats you gently down, down from the high he’d sent you soaring to just a few moments ago. You shudder and slump against him as he pulls his fingers from you, gasping for breath and shivering as the cool night air caresses over your sweaty skin. 

You hear him grunt suddenly, and you peel your eyes open just in time to watch him begin to lick your juices from his skin. You inhale sharply, your inner walls clenching hard around nothing at the sight of his tongue lapping you from his fingers. You watch, slack-jawed, as he licks every trace of you from his hand, and once he was done he smacks his lips. “You’re delicious,” he purrs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Next time you’d like help, I think I’ll take you apart on my tongue instead.” 

You shudder at his words, thinking about what he could do with that mouth. “K-Keep talking like that and I’ll be ready for round two right now.” 

He chuckles softly, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “Much as I would love to give you another one, we should get you to bed. We depart for the Underdark in the morning-you must get some rest.” He helps you to stand, then from a pocket in his trousers he pulls out a clean rag. 

You blink in surprise as he wipes at you gently, careful not to overstimulate you. “You…brought that with you? How did you know I’d say yes?” you ask, your thighs shaking a bit as he cleans you. 

“I didn’t.” He grins up at you, on his knees before your gently trembling body. “But in my years, I’ve learned that always coming prepared saves a lot of uncomfortable walks.” 

You snort, stifling giggles into your hand as he helps you into your smalls and pants. It’s quiet then as his fingers do up your laces, and then your belt. He gently pulls your shirt back down, tugging it into place, before he smiles softly to you. “If you ever need my help again, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for tomorrow morning, when I’ll inevitably be embarrassed that it happened at all,” you say with a soft grin. 

He can’t help but laugh, leaning down and brushing a fond kiss over your forehead. “I hope one day you’ll unlearn the shame. Now, let’s get back to camp.” He sweeps his hand back towards where the rest of your companions are hopefully still slumbering. 

You both walk in silence for a little while, before you pipe up. “Earlier, a little bit before I…finished, I could have sworn you were about to say something.” 

“Hm? Oh, that.” He grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’d uh…been having trouble talking through the pleasure. I was going to tease you a little, but the joke I’d settled on may have distracted you from my touch, so I kept it to myself.” 

“Oh?” You couldn’t help the curious, amused look up at him. “What were you going to say?” 

He sighs, looking embarrassed at himself now. “I was going to ask, ‘bear got your tongue’?”

You have to stop to lean against a tree, you're laughing so hard. He huffs at you, but he’s smiling, unable to find it in himself to be upset. You both bicker like old friends as you return to camp, no awkwardness at all between you. 

Of course, when you get back to camp and Astarion is sitting at the fire, obviously waiting for you both, you immediately blush as the vampire smirks knowingly. “Really, Halsin, you were supposed to be on first watch. I didn’t expect dereliction of duty from you.” He stands, languid grace incarnate, and starts to walk back to his tent. “Good thing I was awoken from my trance when something screamed out in the woods. Goodness knows what could have attacked us in our sleep!” 

He sounds of nothing but pure, pleased mischief. You’re left practically steaming in embarrassment, and before Halsin can say anything, you scuttle to your tent and tie yourself in. The huge druid sighs, shaking his head, but he can’t quite get rid of the fond smile on his lips as he settles back in for the rest of his watch. 

[danikamariewrites]

hello! I just read the Cassian taking care of the reader who has depression and it made my day so much better! Can you please write a similar one with Azriel as well? 💕

Let Me Be Your Sunshine

Azriel x reader

Warnings: mental heath struggles and depression

You woke up late, again. This was the third day in a row that you slept in. Usually if you sleep in Azriel wakes you up when it’s still morning, but it’s afternoon now.

You did need to catch up on your sleep though. After two weeks of waking up early and going to sleep at ungodly hours you were exhausted.

Padding into the bathroom you look at yourself in the mirror, rubbing at your face. Your hair was in knots, you’d been too lazy to brush them out so you had just been throwing your hair up. And the bags under your eyes were deep purple they were almost black.

Letting out a long sigh you lean over to rest your head on the cool marble counter. It was time to admit that things were bad. Your depression was clearly back with a vengeance. Hell, you couldn’t even lift your arms to brush your hair.

You needed Azriel. He always knows what to do.

Exiting the bedroom you set out to find Azriel. You found him sitting in the living room perched on his favorite arm chair reading. “Az,” you croaked out. As soon as he laid eyes on you he was rushing over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your eyes slid shut as you pushed into his chest soaking up his warmth. Az was so comfortable you just wanted to stay in his arms forever.

He tried to run his fingers through your hair but hit a knot. Picking up strands of your hair to inspect it you heard his heart beat increase slightly. Azriel pulls away from you, your eyes opening, cupping your face in his hands to inspect you.

A sad look crept onto his face when he saw how tired you were. “Oh, baby,” he said softly. Rubbing his thumb across your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered closed again at the feeling of his fingers. “I’m tired Az. I’m so, so tired.”

Azriel picked you up, resting your head on his shoulder, carrying you back to the bedroom. “I know baby. I got you, it’s ok.” He sets you down on the bed, grabbing your hair brush and sitting behind you. Azriel was gentle when it came to detangling your hair. He never pulled like you did.

Once he was done, he braided your hair in a loose plait making sure the hair tie wasn’t too tight either. Azriel kissed the back of your head, whisper, “Do you want something to eat?” You nod slowly nod.

“Let’s get you changed first. Getting dressed might make you feel a little better.” You nod again giving Az a weak smile. Az picked out a sweater and comfy pants for you. After he helps you change you cling to him again. Picking you up he takes you down to the kitchen.

Placing you on the counter he places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “What would you like?” You shrug because honestly you could eat anything right now. “Soup? Or something more filling?” You shook your head, “Soup and some bread would be good.” Your voice comes out small as your eyes meet his.

Azriel gives you a sad smile and moves away to make you your soup. He decides to make two bowls so he can eat with you. Azriel knows you’ll feel bad if it’s just you eating and he doesn’t want to give you something else to spiral about.

You two eat in silence. You brain the bowl and seem more awake than you did earlier. That makes Azriel relax a little bit. It’s good that you’re eating, you need to keep your strength up. To give yourself something to do you pick up both bowls, bringing them over to the sink to wash them.

Padding back over to Azriel you slide onto his lap, curling into him. “Do you wanna talk about it?” “Yeah. I need to or it’s going to eat me up and I don’t want to get that bad again.” You sigh out through your nose. “I’m here for you, y/n.” He says against your hair.

So you begin to tell Azriel everything. Your current worries, your anxiety, and anything else bothering you. And he listened to every single word while holding onto you tightly.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

[blugnettabutterflies]

This comes with spoilers for Criminal Case: The Conspiracy

(mainly after case 60. Also a TW for medical talk and a lot of injuries and scarring burns.)

So I finally decided to put together an Injury Chart for Jones for what happens in Blaze of Glory. Because I am so damn sure that he didn't just walk away with the repercussions that he got. It must have been way more and I am here to give it.

With that said, this is my personal interpretation of the situation, and screw canon!

Here, the full body picture

And now, some headcanons where I'll explain my position on this situation!

He didn't wake up that same night when he was admitted. There is a possible reason he could have been woken up and it was because of evacuation, but they didn't do it in the end. Maybe they kept him semiconscious to not risk a lot of brain damage since the injuries are bad. I supposed that he was put back to sleep for the next 3 or so days completely and maybe a bit more. He woke up after 5 days or a week. He still gets brain damaged (ill explain more down)

Speaking of injuries, the burns took almost 60-70% of his body, especially on the front side and the face. The face burns were from 2nd to 3rd, as well as the torso and up side of the legs and mainly the right arm. The left arm and downside on the legs were second degrees mostly. That's why he was in a lot of pain as said by Cathy.

Also, he had to undergo a lot of surgeries. Not only to amputate his eye but also a brain/skull surgery had to be gone because he hit his skull BADLY on some rocky furniture, since the blast sent him flying away. Other surgeries were made around the broken bones, essentially on ribs, arms, and legs. Luckily none of the vertebral bones were cracked, so it means that he can walk.

The surgeon also put him some skin graphs at the most injured parts and that procedure lasted for some months.

Another surgery that was done on him (as you can see in the picture) was a hair transplant.

Around the brain damage side of things, the blast caused him to have some alteration in his cognition. Not completely severe to the point that he to be dependent forever, but some sensation weakness, as well as mobility and mainly voluntary movement, which is what causes his prolonged paralysis mainly on his right side. He found it difficult to manipulate object with hsi right hand and to stand for a big amount of time, another reason of why he uses the cane. Additionally, he experienced speech and concentration difficulties.

What Gabriel informed Cathy was true. The surgeon and the staff who took his case had no idea if he was going to make it through the night. In fact, this was because, when they were operating on him, his vitals were fluctuaring a lot. He flat-lined once, and while he recovered quickly from that one, it was a sign that he was a delicate patient. Also, they were in the middle of the neohuman rampage, so there was even more of a risk. The staff sighed of relief when they saw Jones' brain activity actually responding to stimuli after a few days.

Around the topic of walking, due to the blast, he pretty much wasn't able to walk properly anymore. Not only because of the muscle weakness that this caused, but also because the waist bones had a hit too, and walking for big amounts of time causes some pain at first. He was in a way unable to move, on a wheelchair for the first 6 months. He is going to Physical and Occupational Therapy daily to go up some stairs. He was probably able to walk with a roller a few days after the 6 months, only in days when he felt confident. He started to use a cane after a year or so. He permanently uses it.

In fact, I am not sure if he actually made it to the memorial. He either woke up when the memorial was happening or he wasn't allowed to go due for the risk. If he went however, he was extremely supervised. As soon as it was over (or even before that), he was back at the hospital. He did go to Amir and Jasper's wedding 5 months later though, still in a wheelchair to not cause an accident.

Other injuries from the blast also include injuries on the eardrums, which caused audition alterations. He has now moderate to severe deafness on his right side and mild to moderate deafness on his left. He does use hearing aids (sometimes he forgets to take them out in his sleep).

Also, around his still functioning eye, while it's not damaged completely, he has problems with vision perception, making the walking part even more difficult. Actually, all of the tasks he does are difficult because of that at first.

Around the mental health side of things, during the rehabilitation process, his emotions were swinging around. He needed... A LOT OF HELP ON THAT. He was lucky that there was a therapist who decided to take his case and was able to receive all the punches and breakdowns.

There were a lot of nightmares. And I'm telling you. A lot. Of them. He would wake up in sweat and major pain. They became easier to handle with time.

The first time he saw himself in the mirror was... an experience to say the least. He saw himself and cried a lot, to the point that he had to be comforted for a few minutes. It took him a while to adjust. He knew it was his face, but he hated it a lot at first.

Before seeing his face, the visits were very secluded to best fiends and family members. Since his coworkers at the precint were his "family" he would allow their visits. After seeing his face, the visits were reducing by his own command. He was ashamed of himself for a bit.

Still, the team was eager to make him company. Despite him sometimes rejecting the visitations, when he accepted them, he found that it was a nice time. Their reassurance and news about the outside world would motivate him to recover so he could feel it himself.

Another thing that motivated him (or better off, someone) was Zoe. When he was able to move his hands and handle things for a while, he would read almost daily the letter he received back when he was hospitalized from his attempt. It gave him a boost, thinking that she would like for him to still try. It's a good pick me up. (If he couldn't he would ask someone to read it from her. Aside from other letters the team found in the meantime.)

But his big breakthrough was a bit later. He originally was going to have an eye prosthetic, and he was so sure of it... until he got a visitation from his sibling's family, where his nephew told him that he looked like a pirate with the eyepatch. He liked the idea of being something not as scary as he thought. And he, while the eye prosthetic was tempting, he denied it for the moment.

That gesture gave him a complete change of perspective to a more positive one, and the rehabilitation process was actually working even better. He was a pirate in that kid's eyes. So he may just commit to the bit.

After being discharged, he lived in various houses with Astrid to avoid being alone, until he could back on his feet. Sometimes he stayed at Gabriel's, other times at Ramirez's, Parker's, and occasionally at Player's house. During the first few months after his discharge however, he mainly stayed at Ramirez's house, where he and his family had a spacious room prepared for him with a great view.

Since he was on a medical leave for months, he took other activities that caught his eye (not pun intended) and his body would allow. He actually retook his reading hobby from it.

He actually took care of himself. He still attended the therapy sessions, he even went to a support group dedicated to survivors of deadly situations. He met a lot of people and he didn't feel lonely. And saw that there was more life than his job.

At first, he was so eager to come back to work and be useful and worth it. After rehabilitation and the support groups, he started to doubt, until he finally decided that he deserved a more calm life. And with that, he retired. He doesn't regret it. He keeps contact with the rest of the precinct. He still attends to their birthdays.

And he's happy. After all, limping sometimes, and even with some nightmares, he was overall, happy.

And there you have it! Screw canon my boy is disabled!

[tired-gae]

Prompt #27: "That's not the point"

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen (for cursing)

No warnings as of now!! (If there is something that should be put here, let me know!)

(No ships either)

Premise: Post-revival (Died in Infinity War, ambiguously is Alive at present time, between Infinity War and Endgame) Loki and Clint have a conversation.

---

Loki had been in the Avengers Compound for nearly a week. It had been a few days since the revelation that the Invasion of New York was not done voluntarily on Loki’s part (and since he’d last seen Barton.) Thanos was a topic of heavy discussion, of course, given the whole ‘Snap’ business. Loki’s almost glad he was dead at the time, if only because he didn’t have to witness that event. 

He and Barton hadn’t made eye contact since he’d returned. This did not come as a surprise, and Loki expected this pattern to continue.

So imagine his shock when, as Loki is sitting against a wall in an unused training room in an attempt to think uninterrupted, Barton walks into the room and sits down mere feet from him. Loki glances over but chooses not to react. Whatever Barton is trying to accomplish, he’s sure it will make itself clear soon.  

He observes the agent quietly. Barton looks tired. He’s staring, eyes half-lidded, at the floor, and appears older than Loki remembers. (Though, he supposed, it had been a good number of years since New York. Mortals aged quickly, did they not?) He takes note of Barton’s lack of weapons. (Visible ones, anyway. He is a spy.) A display of benevolence, perhaps? He can’t imagine it’s a display of trust, considering it all.  

Loki looks away once again. It continues to be silent.  

The silence is expected. Loki can hear the gentle whine of Barton's hearing aids. (An old pair, presumably worn for comfort reasons. Stark had bought (made?) him a pair recently, after deciding the technology around Clint's ears was subpar at best, and that the archer could do better. Loki had yet to see him wear them.)  

The silence is also fragile. Barton is the first one to break it.  

"You too, huh?" 

Loki hums quietly. "In a different way, but... yes." 

Barton picks at the skin around his fingernails. "I had a feeling." 

Loki's head snaps toward him, stunned. He struggles to find words for a moment, mouth opening and closing stupidly. He settles on, "Pardon?" 

Barton's eyes finally flicker over to Loki's, his eyes still half-lidded, tired. "You do realize I remember a good amount of my time under the mind-control crap, right? I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure out." He looked away again. "I don't actually have pigeon shit for brains."

Loki takes a moment to form his response, choosing only to respond to the last part of the statement. "I'm aware. You were the brains behind the stunt in Germany, and subsequently the entire plan, after all. I could hardly think you were stupid." 'A distraction and an eyeball,' if Loki remembered correctly. 

Barton's face twists into a grimace briefly before he shakes it off. "Anyway—the point was, I remember a lot of those few days. I remember you going into a trance-like thing a few times, and coming back from it all shaky and shit. ...Not that you weren't really shaky the whole time. You were weirdly weak, and despite telling us not to overwork ourselves, you didn't really seem to sleep at any point..." He shrugged. "I dunno. After I more-or-less got over it all, it wasn't exactly a difficult conclusion to come to that there was something fishy going on, that you weren't really the big bad." 

Loki stared at the wall opposite them, fingers digging into the flesh of his arms where he was crossing them. It was silent again for only a moment. 

"Oh, and SHIELD's known since forever." Barton added like an afterthought. "I mean, they combed through basically every piece of footage from the invasion, I've seen the clips. They analyzed the shit out of the footage from the collapsed PEGASUS facility, they couldn't really ignore all the signs that you weren't quite... at your best when you showed up." Understatement of the millennium, Loki thought with very little mirth. Barton looked over lazily again, though this time Loki was the one avoiding eye contact. 

"Anywho." Barton continued, quieter. "This isn't forgiveness or any crap like that." 

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Loki agreed. 

"It is... I dunno. An olive branch I guess." He shrugged, crossing his arms in a mirror to Loki to stop himself from picking more at the skin on his hands. "Part of me still wants to put an arrow through your skull, but, y'know, it's a small part." 

Loki frowned. "You would be completely entitled to do so, if you wished. I would not stop you from taking that revenge." It likely wouldn't even kill him, he mused. Nothing seems to be able to do that these days. 

Barton groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Loki can't help but wonder what he'd said wrong. "See, you say shit like that, and it makes that part even smaller. I mean, dude. I'm not actually gonna fucking shoot you." 

Loki can't say he understands why not, but he can't say he understands much about Barton. (Despite quite literally being in his mind at one point.) None of these mortals make much sense. 

Barton sighed, letting his hand drop again. “Anyways. That’s not the point. The gist is... we’re OK, all things considered. If you catch me using a printed out picture of your face on a dummy during target practice, mind your business. That’s just how my brain works.” He shifts, standing back up from their position of sitting against the wall. “I’ll see you around, terrorist. Don’t die on us again. Still needja for the whole killing Thanos thing.” 

Loki rolled his eyes at the ‘terrorist’ nickname. “Never losing that epithet, am I?” 

“Not a chance.” 

[nari-writes]

What's a fic you want to write but are scared of?

Oh man. Aw man. I presume you mean something like "dang this is gonna be massive and I don't want to dive into it" but.

But.

This is a perfect excuse to segue into: I don't want to write this fic because I'll stick my foot in it. 'Cause of the relationship focus (PLATONIC!) that would just. The two factions of people who would see it would Both be angry/annoyed. Reading comprehension in this decade is horrendous. And I don't want to get death threats from people who won't read my explanation/won't get that I'm doing this for comedic purposes and ALSO as someone who ships a tiny-ass rarepair I do not want to engage in the....adjacent queerbait of "this is possibly an inherently romantic concept but I am playing it ENTIRELY straight"???

And then ALSO I don't ship them so I also don't want to fall into the trap of my OWN DANG SELF where I LOVE writing romantic drama and will potentially-possibly actually-accidentally turn it romantic simply because I love writing pining so much. It could be fun! I can see why their dynamic would be SO PAINFUL (and fun) to ship but I don't, but I know writing this WOULD MAKE ME want pinning involved. Because I love writing Romance. I'm a goddamn romance/fluff/plot author. It'd be there. A spectre. Haunting me. Cackling in a little :3c fashion. I know myself. I know myself. I will fail. I'm weak and the internal pressure of writing this would lead SO well to pining and then I'd probably get attached because I can justify so much so easily and when I write people stuck in romance-esque situations I make it Work for what I Like and I DON'T want to do that because I DON'T want to con myself into shipping this.

"what the fuck are you talking about Nari," you ask, "and why the hell are you adding so many disclaimers before you even go into the fic idea???"

So Dick Grayson gets married to the Red Hood.

(this is platonic) (BEAR WITH ME) (THIS IS PLATONIC)

1 x Bludhaven Cop finds out that he's gonna get called upon to testify against the Red Hood and due to some absolutely WILD Shenanigans that will never make more than a singular mention in the fic, the Bludhaven court currently is running around with Diana's lasso of truth and/or some other artifact that makes it LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE to lie on the stand. You WILL tell the truth. It is great for weeding out false confessions. The crooked cops and judges are incensed and trying to get rid of this thing ASAP but Dick has spent months trying to keep it safe and Still Working and he- he can't get rid of it.

And if Dick Grayson, Bludhaven Cop, current third witness in a case revolving around the Red Hood, gets on that stand...Oh Fuck He Knows So Many Red Hood Secrets. He 👏 knows 👏 so 👏 many 👏 secrets 👏

So Dick Grayson, Bludhaven Cop, sleep-deprived and panicking, goes: FUCK.

Well I can't be forced to testify against my spouse.

Jason howls when he hears what Dick has decided. He is absoLUTELY going along with this, this is the dumbest shit his brother has gotten himself into, how the FUCK is he gonna explain it to his co-workers. Jason is DELIGHTED at how stupid Dick is being. This man's a moron.

"oh I need to work within the confines of the law" YOU ARE A VIGILANTE, DICK, says Jason, cackling. Steal the damn thing!

BUT IT'S BEEN SO HELPFUL FOR THE COMMUNITY AND DECREASED FALSE ARRESTS, says Dick, so, so sleepy and so so emotional as a result. I CAN'T TAKE AWAY THEIR HOPE, JAY.

They do not have a ceremony. Jason grabs one of his lieutenants to act as signatory/witness and they go to the one branch of city hall that's in Crime Alley because Dick needs it done now and the case is in a week. There are three leaks in the ceiling. They are taking advantage of Jason's reputation to a) skip the line and waiting period and b) convince the magistrate to accept Jason's so incredibly fake ID:

(Chew. Chew. Pop.

Dick kinda wishes there was a polite way to say 'hey can you spit your gum out before it makes my brain explode from how not-seriously you're taking this super serious matter?' but he has a feeling something will get lost in translation, and the look on the registar's face is already deadpan and unimpressed.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

"And that's your legal name?" she asks, and the gum pops. Jason tilts his helmet, and Dick can imagine his grin; can hear it when Jason says,

"Definitely a legal one."

"You file your taxes under the name 'Red Hood'?" she inquires, her drawl filled with such a level of derision that Dick knows why she's chewing gum, now. It's to highlight how much she doesn't give a shit. Why is every resident of Crime Alley like this?

Her name tag says her name is Monica - Monica, like this is a normal day with a normal person! - and there are four people behind him with cellphones. There's a security guard behind them with a cellphone. He's not even calling the cops, he's definitely just recording them. Dick wants to vibrate out of his skin.

"Yep," says Jason, popping the p obnoxiously. "I'm an LLC, baby."

"Look, Monica," Dick says, shoving the bystanders out of his mind and giving her his most charming grin. "When secret identities come into play, getting married is a bit difficult. Dick Grayson is definitely dating the Red Hood-," holy shit he finally managed it without sinking into the depths of his 'how the fuck did we end up here???' self-spiral! "-which means if I want to marry him I have to marry the Red Hood. If I suddenly show up with some new, random husband that doesn't have this shiny primary-coloured helmet, isn't it going to be a bit weird?" And here's the part he can actually say with sincerity, even if, in this context, it'll mean something different- "I love him. I want to get married. But I need to protect him. Please?"

Monica looks at him. She looks at Jason. She pops her bubblegum, and then reaches for her stamp.

"Congratulations," she says, and slides the wedding certificate under the glass. "Enjoy domestic bliss.")

(We #loveMonica. She cares just barely about the legalities of marrying a crime boss and is Not Paid Enough to Deal With Anything Else).

Anyway, other things that occur that @midnightluck and I talked about, everyone say <3 <3 to Lucky for having the funniest goddamn words. Wildly out of order/messy/random humour things that occur (under readmore because this post is INSANELY long):

Precinct is Not Surprised by Officer Grayson revealing he has a partner, due to conversations like this:

(phone rings) "Grayson here. Wha--oh, hi. What? No, I didn't touch your book, you know I don't read your books. No, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Chaucer, I just don't have the time-- can we. Can we not. Look, I don't know, maybe it's on the nightstand where you left it after that concussion last week? No, not the one with the grenade drawer, though we do need to talk about that, how do you go through so many so fast? No, I know that, that's why the spare room is your armory, I don't have a problem with that--yes, I know, but that doesn't mean-- ugh. You know what. No, I'm at work. This can wait. Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I want Thai. Thai. You owe me satay for this and you know it. What? Yes, we're still on the Robinson case; whatcha got for me? Uh huh. Uh huh. Really, them? Oh, I know that address, isn't that that warehouse where Timmy--yeah, haha, right? Oh, right? For sure. Let's get that picture printed; he'll hate it. Uh huh. Okay, gotta go, some of us have a day job--no one pays you to be a zombie, okay? Okay, see you at home. Bye."

Reasons why people think it is the Red Hood:

police officer Dick is doing a thing at work and suddenly! The Red Hood appears at his raid/bust/whatever! And he's all "drop the weapons or I'll get another duffle bag" and Dick goes, "Everyone chill a sec," pulls out his phone and is like, "Hey, Red Hood, are you in Blud right now?"

"No? You know I've got that thing at the harbour tonight. Why would I be in Blud?"

"Well, I've got a Red Hood and that's definitely your jacket and hood he's wearing, like, a couple iterations ago but it's yours. You piss off any magic users lately? Trip into any time slips? Dimensional mirrors?"

"No? Shit, when's he from, can you tell?"

"It's that jacket with the high collar, with the stain on the sleeve, you know the one? The red piping?"

"Huh. I haven't worn that one since two summers ago, so careful, he might be riding green?"

"Lemme check. One sec--hey! Mr Hood! How do you feel about Tim?"

"…Tim who?"

"…That's not me."

"That's not you. It's not a time dimensional thing, is it, mr Hood. You're just a copycat."

"I bet he found an old safe house, he stole my shit--Hey, asshole! Wait, am I on speaker? Put me on speaker. Hey, copycat! I want my stuff back! And I'm coming to get it!"

and later when the precinct has gotten sort-of-used to Dick Grayson "being married" to a vigilante:

Grayson and partner walk out the station doors and Red Hood descends upon them, gun out, gets right up in Dick's face and says "I swear to god Dickolas if you leave your wet towel on the ground one more time I will start washing it with peppers and make you regret everything."

2. The Precinct All So Fully Aware of Dick Grayson's secrets yeah man they all know it! Dick Grayson is....dating the Red Hood!

"Grayson? Yeah, he's dating the Red Hood, they're basically married--"

"W h a t, we are not--how--what--"

"oh shit, my bad man, y'all broke up? Sorry to hear it. Anyway, Grayson is the Red Hood's ex--"

"I'M NOT."

"-you're still together?"

"We were never together!"

(precinct decides to set up Officer Grayson and the Red Hood because OBVIOUSLY they've got a bond.png)

"you can encourage him away from crime, grayson!!!"

"I can't encourage him to do shit," dick grumbles, "i cant even get him to have a shower if he doesn't feel like it." (dick ignoring the times he has actively bullied jason into taking care of himself)

Every single not-dirty cop is just: no no of COURSE Grayson won't admit it. That's not fair! He loves being a cop. It must be so hard to balance justice with love.

3. married behaviour: Dick Grayson is Never Beating the Allegations

the Red Hood waltzing into the Blud police station all "here to see Grayson please--that way? (The guns are out but then he asks for Grayson and everyone's like oh shit yeah we wanna see this first hand) "Thanks. Dickiebird! Honey bun! Your forgot your lunch at home, puddin' pie!"

"…what."

"now, now, all these nice folks here have told me we're together, so we must be, mustn't we?"

"No?"

"Oh? You don't want your delicious lunch I handmade for you out of love?"

"…I…didn't say that…"

("Don't you love me?" Jason asks, and every single warning sign yells: this is a trap!! Dick contemplates burying his face in his hands.

"At work?" he says instead, wishing he could transplant his pain so Jason would stop finding such joy in his embarrassment.

"Oh, so you aren't bummed you forget your wonderful home cooked lunch at home? You're happy for me to turn around and take your lunchbox back home with me?"

Roll back- his what?

Jason smacks a bento box on his desk, the clear lid showing off tiny red sausages cut into mini replicas of Jason's helmet and tiny guns, and Dick chokes. Jason's face, he can imagine, is gleeful; his tone certainly gives it away. "And after I put in so much effort…"

"No, no, I love you," Dick says, lunging for the box and mentally discarding the stale coffee and sandwich made with slightly-off meat that he'd been planning to get from the cafeteria.)

Gives him the lunch, goes to kiss him on the head but with the helmet he just straight up bonks him painfully, waltzes out again. "See you later for dinner, sweetheart!"

"Sooo, Grayson…"

"can we arrest him? Why aren't we arresting him? He's super wanted, let's arrest him."

"Please, like we'd get involved in your domestic affairs"

Dick torn between Homemade food and god jay why are you doing this. Do you exist only to make him suffer. Why are you the most evil sibling.

The fake is the biggest one, the kickstart, because how would officer Grayson know that wasn't hood unless he knew the red hood well? - but then it's bits and pieces, that Dick doesn't even do consciously, and then Jay finding out and the Lunch Situation Dick gets called in by his captain and he's like no sir I swear sir it's not, I'm not-

I'm doing an undercover op

His captain, not buying that shit for a minute: uh-huh

Barbara: "okay but Deathstroke was bad enough, now you're going after the Red Hood? You've got a dangerous type, boy wonder"

"babs why are you doing this to me"

"don't pretend you don't know >:/"

babs hanging in the bludhaven office during Dick's lunchbreak and ABSOLUTELY supports more rumours. She's Dick's best friend!!! Of course SHE'D know about Dick's ~paramour~.

Dick is going to hide under his desk and Never Ever Come Out Again

His captain realising red hood is less violent when Grayson's on the scene and finally awkwardly is like "look….if it's because the Precinct isn't a safe space for you…"

"IF I REALLY WAS DATING A CRIMINAL IT SHOULDNT BE A SAFE SPACE."

so his co workers start working around it but then Dick gets into a situation where he'd Have to testify and he's like. Shit. and he goes NOPE SORRY CAN'T DO IT, CAN'T TESTIFY AGAINST MY SPOUSE WHO IS. THE RED HOOD. :) MY SPOUSE THE RED HOOD. (is dying)

Moment of quiet then "wait who won the pot? Was it Johnson? Mick, you owe me $20 personally--"

Jason is going to be insufferable.

But also yes, Dick getting wildly congratulated for "finally managing to put a ring on it" or some shit and he's like/ Don't put your head in your hands don't put your head in your hands, don't --

"So how'd you two meet?"

1: "he stole my dad's tires so we kidnapped him" (true)

2: "he attempted to kill my little brother and also my dad" (true)

3: "he saved me from a mugging?" (Embarrassing lie)

and you KNOW he has to say 3 tho, the other two may have come up earlier about Jason and he canNOT let anyone connect them

The bullpen dissolving into yelling as everyone tries to sort out bets. Dick being asked who/how popped the question.

4. Dick Grayson and "I was trying to infiltrate the dirty cops of the precinct but goddamnit being Red Hood's fiance has revealed there are so many of them- and now they're throwing me a stag party. great.

Dick trying to salvage any of his dignity: Red Hood proposed. He was very romantic about it. Read me Shakespeare. Threatened to maim my enemies. Very sweet

"awww.. it's really great that he's so enamored with you Grayson, you deserve it :))"

"and you stopped him at only maiming!!! Dude, nice!!"

"yep. That was his (grits teeth) proposal gift. No more killing."

Jason, busting into their apartment later: DID YOU TELL PEOPLE YOU WERE ENGAGED TO THE RED HOOD?

Except Jason busts in on a contingent of tipsy and delighted cops. Who are like oh!!! Grayson friend!! Celebrate with us!

Jason forcibly cuddled and celebrated with, trying to yell at dick in code: "YOU'RE MARRYING THE RED HOOD? ARE YOU CRAZY? WHAT ABOUT HIS REPUTATION."

Dick: "I CAN'T TESTIFY AGAINST HIM JAY. HE'S IMPORTANT TO ME."

Cop: "Wait you didn't tell your brother you were gonna have a wedding?!?"

"It was- it was a city hall thing! It's hard to be discreet- Hood didn't want witnesses-"

"Not gonna want witnesses for what happens next either," jason mumbles.

5. Tim Does Not Need to be Blackmailed into Humiliating Dick:

"Here to see Grayson please. That way? Thank you." (deep breath) "D--Dick?"

"Tim? Timmy, oh no, why are you crying, what's wrong, Tim, what--"

"How could you?"

"Little bird no, what did I do, Timmybird talk to me--"

"You're dating a supervillain? What if you get hurt??? Dick, this isn't like you!"

"...how much is he paying you."

"How could you think that of me!"

"Oh. What's he blackmailing you with?"

"I JUST WANT YOU TO BE CAREFUL," Tim howls, scrubbing his eyes and using his stupid babyface to great effect and Dick's gonna kill both of them

Dick finally get him to "calm down" and as they hug and say bye, Tim whispers, "if you think this isn't the funniest shit I've participated in all year you're out of your mind. Blackmail isn't required."

Dick, uncomfortably aware that Tim will help Jason stir the pot in cackling delight if he thinks something's funny, is not comforted by the fact that they're bonding. He is immediatly right, because he later finds pictures of himself drooling on Jason's shoulder, but they've been edited so Jason has on the hood. Several guys in the precinct think it's very sweet

("Aww I just thought Dick would like some family photos for his desk, y'know, officer John? Let him know we support him🥺")

6. Post-wedding wedding gift from the precinct:

"We had a whiparound for you, Grayson; here."

"…Uh. What."

"Well since you're with the Red Hood--"

"UH!?"

"--right, since you're totally not with the Red Hood and have no contact with vigilantes ever and James totally didn't see anyone crawl through your window the other night bleeding, we got you a good first aid kit. So you can learn and be a more supportive boyf--I mean. Just in case. First aid kits are a good staple of any mixed household :)"

Dick later delivering it: "Guys at the precinct got us a wedding present. It's a first aid kit."

"Oh? Cool, we're out of Oxy anyway, good timing--"

"it doesn't have Oxytocin in it, Jay, that's a controlled substance, they're cops!"

"Well then what use is it!"

"Its usefulness isn't the point! Anyway, they themed it."

"WAIT THEY DID WHAT" (immediately delighted and digging through the kit)

Someone has individually drawn tiny red hood helmets on the bandaids

A note like "eyo dick, washable red pen works rlly well if u wanna write notes to your beau on these too"

Jason cackles and puts a bandaid on his perfectly fine helmet because he's so charmed

Dick goes into work one day with a black eye, a small cut on his forehead, and a Red Hood bandaid over it. Jason has written a tiny message on the bandaid like "healing kisses applied".

One of the secretaries who works DV cases very worriedly and subtly approaches him but Dick just immediately says, "No I got mugged, he saved me"

"damn. You get mugged a lot in front of him huh-"

"Well I have that kinda face, I guess"

"good thing you've got someone to save you!"

"…Yes. It's a good thing I get saved. Yes indeed. Love it."

(gasp) "Is this a flirting thing???"

7. Dick Grayson Has a Type, don't you know?

Red Hood manages a short appearance with just the domino, not the hood, and he's dyed his hair temporarily red

(this backfires: Dick shamelessly takes the opportunity to glomp on and brag about his super smart so strong really amazing (little bro)

"he can bench me!! It's so cool! And he's so supportive when he does I feel so safe in his arms :)))"

"you're a loser and I'm gonna hurt you."

"and my enemies~")

8. FAMILY DINNER, BABY

Bruce: so. I heard something interesting the other day. The bludhaven Precinct got to celebrate an engagement

Dick: no

Bruce: congratulations, Dick

Jason, also lowkey dying bc he figured bruce would know but was also kinda not expecting him to bring it up in front of the WHOLE ENTIRE FAMILY

Bruce: I'm sure you've put plenty of thought into your....choice.

Dick: I'm going to self combust and then you won't have a son OR a dining room table. Is that what you want? Is that what you want, Bruce?

Bruce: I just wish you'd invited more family than just. Jason.

Dick: you're dead to me

Jason, mumbling: hey tbf I had to be there

Bruce: "I want you to know I support you, no matter what. Just because Red Hood is--"

Jason: "what, a vigilante? A zombie? A mass murderer? What am I, Bruce?"

Bruce: "--male, I don't see you any differently. You're my son, no matter who you love."

Bruce: I just wish- well, no, it was your choice. But I hope you know a private wedding won't get you out of wedding gifts.

Jason/Dick: nO

Bruce: I took the liberty of having them delivered already :)) And if you would- Just a small ceremony, in the backyard--it would mean a lot to Alfred, and to me--

Jason: OLD MAN WHAT DID YOU DO

Dick: there better be a return policy---

and because it's fucking Bruce he's absolutely using the excuse to get them So Much Fancy Bitch Shit

(And a dog 🐕)

Bruce: a home for a family :))) if you'd like. I know the Red Hood cares deeply for children. --and you know how I feel about your place in Blud, Dick, it's no place to start a family.

Dick: "Please don't tell me you bought us an apartment."

Bruce: "Don't be silly, boys. I bought the whole building. it'll give hood plenty of space to store his things away from the kids!"

Jason: what kids.

Bruce: well, I always presumed, from red hood's behaviour, he'd quite like a few children. Even just to foster.

Alfred coming out stone faced, "congratulations on your nuptials, master Dick. Felicitations."

Dick: "Not you too."

Alfred: Miss Gordon informed me.

Alfred, sounding disappointed as fuck: I'm glad I was informed by someone.

Jason: Bruce I'm absolutely gonna bury you

Bruce: may I meet my grandchildren first?

Bruce: Anyway that was Dick's present. Please give this to Mr Grayson-Hood--oh, did you not hyphenate? I assumed you would, apologies. It's full tuition to Blud U for however long he wants. Do give him my best wishes too.

And then Bruce just. So soft. "And please make sure he knows he's always welcome, if he'd like to join us for family dinners. No matter his profession or choices."

I feel like this line would be Way Too Much for Jason and he'd storm off tho 🥺 and Dick would have to go get him to Chill out.

"it's just Bruce. You know what he's like."

"Overbearing and insufferable?" Jason sneers, hands curled around his elbows, and being "married" has been awkward but at least it's finally started to mend the physical distance Jason's been keeping. Dick knows, when he slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and pulls him in close, that Jason isn't going to go stiff and angry.

"Hey. I have an idea on how to make you feel better," he says with a tease, and Jason grunts. "Okay, no, little wing hear me out. How are we gonna get divorced?"

[scienceoftheidiot]

My body : yeah so since you're exhausted and overwhelmed by the slightest thing and trying not to explode and cry at work and you've already had a number of close calls this week

Me : yeah ?

My body : and you still have two full days of work where you will have to handle extremely excited and badly behaved 14yo kids of whom many hate you and will make things worse if they see you look weak

Me : ... yeah?

My body : yeah I've decided you don't need to sleep that much. Also when you did I gave you nightmares. Don't thank me it's on me. Have a nice day.

.

In case you want to know how I'm doing and why I feel like crying and puking at 6:30 am 👍🏻

But I can't say shit because I'm on holidays on Friday evening

Like yeah. I am.

I still have to survive these two days and I'm not sure I can. But yeah I can't even say that because I am on holidays on Friday so I should shut my mouth.

If I cry at work I'm FINISHED but this is something people don't understand

Anyway

Wish me luck then, I'll try to put on the automatic pilot and shut my brain off all day.

[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| Sec.80 high power- chapter 7

a/n: Hiiii omg we've finally arrived to the beginning of the real story. Can you tell i've been setting a lott of stuff up? Like a lot of stuff?

Rhaella and Corlys’s relationship is so goated btw. Rhaella's characterization is coming through slowy but surely lmao

anyways.. tell me wat you think <3

word count: 2082

Another night of restlessness latched itself onto Rhaella. She rolled over with a groan of discontent.

It was morning. The beams of sunlight permeated through her chamber window. Rhaella’s sleeping gown was dampened by sweat. The night terrors had not ceased since her time in Kings Landing weeks prior.

The darkness.The fire. It was a repeated pattern she could not escape from. Rhaella’s brain pulsed with paranoia at the possible meaning of it all.

Had she been cursed? 

Rhaella made herself ready for the day. Maids ushered themselves into her room. One straightened out her dress while another fussed with her silver hair, arranging it into a thick braid. Despite their best efforts, stubborn curls fray out onto her forehead.

The dark Dragonstone halls surrounded Rhaella as she walked towards the main room. There sat her father, Daemon at the head table. Rhaella hesitated to make her presence known to him. Ever since the death of her mother, their relationship had become strained. 

More on Rhaella’s part rather than his.

“Rhaella?” Daemon called out to this daughter. “Come sit.”

Rhaella closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe if she stood still he would forget

But to no avail. Rhaella knew her father would not ask again.

Walking over, Rhaella sat a distance away from her father. She tried to keep her expressions minimal.

Unfortunately for her, there was no hiding from Daemon.

“ You were late to dock the boat when we left Kings Landing,” Daemon said. There was no room for denying it. It had been stated as plain fact.

Daemon was met with silence. He watched his daughter slightly readjust in her seat, discomfort evident.

“What happened?” 

Rhaella wondered if there was even a point to lie. Her father seemed to always know when something troubled her despite keeping to herself.

She hated that. It made her feel weak.

“I was summoned by her grace,” Rhaella said.

“What did Alicent want with you?” Daemon said.

Rhaella had effectively backed herself into a corner. Was she really going to disclose that her carelessness was the reason for the meeting?

“Breakfast,” Rhaella said. Daemon scoffed at this. Rhaella toyed at the fabric of her dress. Suddenly, she felt as though she was a young girl again, being helplessly scolded.

Daemon stared Rhaella down with such force, nearly compelling the information out of her.

“Do you think me an idiot?” Daemon asked. It was less of a question by the sound of his voice.

“No.” Rhaella’s response was immediate. Her hands were shaking, but it was far from fear that she felt.

“Then tell me the truth, Rhaella,” Daemon said firmly.

“The entirety of it.”

“ The queen seemed to be concerned regarding my friendship with Aemond,” Rhaella said. She decided it would be better if she chose her words carefully.

She watched her father lean back in his chair. Daemon raised an eyebrow at her choice of words but said nothing further regarding it.

Rhaella could tell her father wanted to say something regarding that, but let it be.

“She was worried about what people in the realm would whisper about my maidenhood,” Rhaella mumbled. 

Daemon heard it anyway. His eyes were enraged.

“Alicent is a shrewd cunt just as well as her father,” Daemon said.

Rhaella could see it now. Her father would fly back to Kings Landing and burn the Red Keep to the ground.

It wouldn’t be for her sake. Only to retain his own pride.

“Father, please.” Rhaella urged. A slight panic inched its way onto her face.

“I’ve taken care of it,” Rhaella said.

Daemon shot his daughter a stern glance.

“Have you?” Daemon said. Rhaella glanced down the hall. She knew her sisters were no doubt listening in.

“For all you know, Aemond could be whispering in his mother’s ear about you,” Daemon said.

No. Aemond wouldn’t dare do such a thing to her. Of this fact, Rhaella was most sure.

Rhaella’s silence only further infuriated Daemon.

“ Do you think he’d go against his mother for you?” Daemon scolded. 

Rhaella couldn’t even look her father in the eye. She knew the truth.

The same truth that she would do anything for her family.

“And the maesters tell me you are the smartest of my children.” Daemon scorned further. 

Rhaella stood from her seat swiftly, causing the chair to push back with a screech. 

“Whatever you wish to say to me father, I can take.” Rhaella snapped. No matter how hard she wished to repress her nature, the blood of the dragon was hard to deny.

“ A man like him will only harm you in the end, I’m sure you know this,” Daemon said, voice softening slightly. 

And of course, Rhaella knew. She knew that Aemond’s values and temperament had completely changed over the years. 

What was more frustrating was that she’d remained the same. Holding onto someone who knew her so well. 

However, Rhaella’s sound reasoning had fled from her mind in her anger. Spite had taken its place.

“Nykeā vala raqagon zirȳla?” Rhaella said bitterly. Her arms were crossed in defiance. ‘A man like him?’

“One that would abandon his daughters at their mother’s funeral in favor of his niece, you mean?” 

Rhaella retained no joy from stabbing her father in this way. But harsh words seemed to be the only language he understood at times.

Daemon sighed. It was an argument he knew very well. Although he rarely addressed it, he could see his once sweet daughter grow into a being that held the world against him.

Hers was the curse of observation. And he was well deserving of it.

“Rhaella.. I loved your mother deeply.” Daemon said.

It was Rhaella’s turn to scoff. Maybe he did love her mother, but he loved the Princess as well.

Rhaella had no desire to continue the conversation. She had her fill of her father.

“I wish to leave for Driftmark,” Rhaella stated. 

It was not framed like a question.

“My grandsire has been unwell for some time and I have yet to see him,” Rhaella said.

Rhaella did not wait for permission. She walked to the hall and turned the corner, but it was not one of her sisters she was met with.

It was the Princess Rhaenyra. Rhaella was no less frustrated at the sight of her.

“Your father cares for you,” Rhaenyra said. Rhaella could tell her previous words had also hurt the princess. She had also cared for her mother.

But Rhaella didn’t much care at the moment. She shifted away from the princess's touch, going to her room.

Whilst packing up some of her things, Rhaella’s mind mulled over her father’s words.

There was something much larger brewing in the realm. Rhaella was unsure what exactly it was.

Reaching the docks, Rhaella got onto the ship. In truth, she deeply missed her grandsire. Baela had her special bond with their grandmother, but Rhaella and Corlys connected differently.

She could recall sitting on his lap as a young girl while he told her stories of his time at sea.

Moments later, Rhaella arrived at Driftmark. There was no one to greet her as this was more of a surprise visit.

Rhaella strolled through the great halls, stopping occasionally to admire her grandsire’s collectibles.

“Lady Rhaella?” A voice echoed through the hall. Rhaella turned to see Ser Marc, an advisor to the Driftwood throne.

“Hello, Ser.” Rhaella greeted. Her hands folded politely in front of her.

“And what brings you here?” Ser Marc questioned. 

“I’ve come to see the condition of my grandsire,” Rhaella said.

Ser Marc smiled down at the girl. He escorted her to Corlys’ room. 

“Lord Corlys, you have a visitor.” Ser Marc said. Corlys slowly turned his head to see his beloved granddaughter.

“I see that even the mighty Sea Snake requires rest.” Rhaella teased. She sat herself at the foot of his bed.

Corlys lightly chuckled before turning to cough. Rhaella grimaced in worry.

“Your grandmother says it’s the Gods’ way of humbling me,” Corlys said.

Rhaella hummed at the thought. 

“Perhaps you should listen,” Rhaella said. 

Corlys slowly sat up in his bed. “You came here alone?” He asked.

Rhaella fixed her gaze on the adjacent wall. Sometimes it became incredibly inconvenient to be known so well.

“Rhaella..what happened?” Corlys asked. Despite herself, she knew it would be a relief to be completely honest for once. 

“My father,” Rhaella said simply. She heard her grandsire sigh out.

“I’ve always known Daemon to be rather...difficult,” Corlys said.

A tame description by all accounts.

“He’s always treated me differently from my sisters,” Rhaella said. And it was true. Baela was always closer to their father, the lords called her the best of their parents. Rhaena in addition had been loved by all in Pentos.

Rhaella had been the outlier. The strange one.

“He loves you no less,” Corlys said. Rhaella’s fingers traced patterns into the bed absentmindedly. She loved her father, but he truly did not understand her.

Another subject had crossed her mind. 

“Grandsire..what do make of dreams?” Rhaella asked.

The abrupt change in conversation left Corlys confused.

“How do you mean?” Corlys asked.

Rhaella inched closer. A sudden look of intensity crossed her face.

“If the Gods are truly real...do you suppose they communicate through dreams?” Rhaella asked.

Corlys was silent for a moment at the prospect of the odd question. 

“I believe that the Old Valyrian Gods watch over us all,” Corlys said finally.

Rhaella huffed in dissatisfaction. This did little to alleviate her pondering.

Standing up from the bed, Rhaella smiled at her Grandsire.

“Rest well, so that you do not continue to worry my grandmother,” Rhaella said.

Rhaella gently closed the door behind her. She continued her meaningless roaming until she stopped by one of the main doors, seeing her grandmother, Rhaenys.

“Grandmother!” Rhaella called out. Rhaenys looked up in surprise.

“Rhaella?” She walked over to her granddaughter, embracing her in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” Rhaenys asked. Rhaella was beginning to grow tired of the question.

“ I wanted to see Grandsire,” Rhaella answered. Rhaenys placed her hands upon Rhaella’s shoulders, a gentle expression on her face.

Rhaella noticed some of her grandmother’s things packed in a bag.

“Are you going somewhere?” Rhaella asked. 

“ The King does not have much longer, I venture,” Rhaenys said. “I plan to visit him briefly, offer him comfort.”

Rhaella had no strong connection to the King Viserys, based on her father’s rants regarding him, they might have shared some common interests. 

“I wish not to return to Dragonstone for a time,” Rhaella said. Rhaenys’s head cocked slightly to which Rhaella ignored.

“Let me come with you,” Rhaella asked. Rhaenys contemplated the question for a moment. 

“I’ll arrange for a letter to be sent to Dragonstone, lest your father raises all seven hells at your absence,” Rhaenys said.

It was hardly a joke. Her father’s temper was not to be trifled with.

Rhaella followed her grandmother to the moor. They came into view of the large she-dragon, Meleys.

She watched as her grandmother saddled Meleys, who continued to laze about in the grass, half asleep. 

“The red queen has grown quite docile I see,” Rhaella commented. She approached the dragon with caution. 

“Nothing to be hostile about these days I suppose,” Rhaenys said. 

Rhaella slowly reached her hand out to the dragon. It had been long since she’d seen Meleys, Rhaella doubted that the dragon even remembered her.

Meleys gave a slight snarl, causing Rhaella to pull back slightly. 

“Oh stop that Meleys.” Rhaenys scolded. 

Rhaella opted to brush her hand against the dragon’s side,to which she allowed.

“Baela told me you refuse to take a dragon egg,” Rhaenys said.

Rhaella felt herself turn cold at the topic. 

“The dragon that was hatched to me was malformed, I refuse to cause such a fate onto another,” Rhaella said. Her voice had grown distant. 

“Rhaella, that wasn’t your fault,” Rhaenys said.

Her grandmother’s words were no remedy for the growing numbness pulling at her.

She was undeserving of something so innocent. It was possible that something was all wrong with her. The Gods had made themselves clear.

Damn them.

Rhaenys helped her Rhaella onto Meleys. Rhaella secured her arms around her grandmother.

“Allow me to tell you this granddaughter,” Rhaenys spoke again. There was assurance in her voice mixed with something else Rhaella could not quite place.

“Men should shake in fear the day you claim a dragon for yourself.” 

[kyaa-q]

A Train Wreck (part 2)

Lee Minho x fem!reader warnings: lots of angst and tw for verbal abuse/toxic relationship wc: 10k6> AO3 link :) | Part 1 synopsis: Your life has changed a lot throughout the past 6 months, since you started dating Jun. Events lead you to slowly distance yourself from some of the people you loved the most - Stray kids. Even your friendship with Bang Chan, your closest friend, was damaged after that day. Now, you find your life to be like an unstoppable train wreck hurtling toward disaster. You're gradually losing the bonds that had always kept you sane, for a serie of events that turned your world upside down. It feels inevitable: you will crash. Could someone help you avoid the collision? Could someone take the wheel with you, and help you get control over your life again? You don't know anymore. There's only one thing you do know: you are not welcomed and Lee Know, in particular, might hate you. And his opinion about you hurts more than you wanted it to.

Or: Y/N is in an abusive relationship and ends up distancing herself from her friends (Stray Kids). She thinks everybody hates her, especially Lee Know. She doesn't understand the effect he has on her (and vice-versa).

Minho’s chuckle still echoes in your mind as you’re slowly pulled back to the present. The faint buzz of your phone on the table catches your attention. You don’t recognize the number showing on the screen.

Still not feeling entirely as yourself, you pick it up. “Hello?” The sound of your voice rings weird in your ears.

You reach for your cup and sigh melancholically when you find it empty. Should I get another one? At the counter, the barista laughs a little too loud of something the cashier just said.

“Hi.” The male voice greets you from your phone, though you barely register it.

Maybe I should go home.

A nausea knot twist in your stomach at the thought.

But where else can I go?

A sudden shattering sound makes you jump and you whip your head. The cashier quickly makes his way going through the tables until you spot the source of the crash. The couple begins a succession of anxious apologies, met by constant reassurance from the cashier.

You could’ve sworn the noise had come from your phone, though.

You shake your head. I definitely need to go home and get some sleep.

“Who is it?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear and start collecting your stuff.

“Ouch. So you actually don’t have my number saved.” You hear a soft laugh, followed by a frustrated click of a tongue. “That is fair, I guess. Why am I hurt, though?” He murmurs what you can assume that is mostly to himself. You grab your bag to leave and force yourself to snap out of the heavy haze clouding your mind.

There is something familiar about the man, but you can’t really put your finger on it. It bothers you. The feeling of missing something important is there, but it’s overshadow by exhaustion and you decide that thinking takes too much energy – which you have none to spare.

You rub your temples. “I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Who do you wish to speak to?” You take a quick look at your phone screen on your way out, realizing it’s way later than you thought. “Are you sure you called the right number?”

“Very sure, Y/N.” His voice is soft and reassuring.

You sigh again. “So, how can I…” You start, but something makes you stop.

The way he says your name itches a particular spot of your brain. It’s not simply familiar – it’s somehow intimate, and you picture the warmth that wraps you when you go inside a house after walking through the cold in the middle of the winter.

A face also comes in your mind, but you almost laugh. It comes out as a weak breath instead.

It’s unlikely. Flashes of angry howls through closed doors bring back the pain and shame from that specific day, that hasn’t stopped haunting you even weeks later.

It is unlikely, you tell yourself. Very unlikely.

Still, his name falls from your lips before you can stop it. “Minho.”

“Hello, Y/N.” He replies and you know that it is, unmistakably, Minho.

In a heartbeat, the clouds in your mind vanish and you feel particularly awake. You resist to acknowledge the feelings – of relief and… yearning? Longing? – that filled your heart after the realization that Minho was calling you.

Minho, of all people.

You step outside and the cold spring air fill your lungs. Your gaze shifts to the darkening sky, extending beyond the towering buildings that rise above the ground. You wish you could see stars.

It was impossible to ignore the strangeness of it. Minho never calls you. Literally. In fact, you couldn’t remember a single instance where it had happened. Not in the beginning, when you first started showing up at the studio as Chan’s friend, and especially not after Jun, when his despise became obvious and spread like dark tentacles that you tried so hard to overlook.

“Hey. How can I help you?” You ask coolly. Then, a thought surfaces in your mind making your panic spike. “Is everything okay?” The words come out rushed. “What happened?”

“Everything is fine, Y/N.” He reassures you and, for some reason you don’t understand, you believe him. “Nothing happened.”

Thank God. You exhale audibly.

The relief is short-lived. “Then why are you calling?”

Minho chuckles, but you don’t allow yourself to feel bad for being straightforward.

“Are you free on Saturday?” The casualty in Minho’s voice is still off-putting.

“It depends.” You reply, warily.

His laughs reverberates in your chest. “Of what?”

“You’re acting weird. What’s going on?” You blurt out.

“Weird how?” There is amusement in his voice, the realization leaving you almost disturbed. He’s enjoying it.

“Come on, Minho. Get to the point.”

“You’re no fun.” He sighs, though clearly still enjoying himself. “The comeback is around the corner and Chan has been working relentlessly. Even though it’s nothing new, it still doesn’t mean it’s suddenly good for his health.” You bite your lip as he continues. “We managed to bargain with him, so he is taking a day off and we thought it would be a good idea to celebrate the comeback. Or whatever the excuse was. I guess you can call it a group effort to give that guy a break, even if it’s just for a night.”

All your defenses are dismantled, you know it. The familiarity of the situation threatens to suffocate you as your throat tightens, unable to stop the gratitude of squeezing your heart at the picture of those guys taking care of each other.

And somehow including you.

The tears burn the back of your eyes. God knows how Chan has been and still he had called you on that very same day. You don’t remember what you said – if you even said anything – and you can’t help but wonder if, maybe, he had called you in search of a friendly ear.

If that were the case, you had failed him terribly.

While you desperately tried to fix everything, you ended up making things worse. You knew now how mistaken you were when you thought that distancing yourself would make things better. Yes, you knew why you were acting so wary and evasive, but how could Chan have any clue? None of them did. How could they? By being scared of bothering your friends, by trying not to burden them, you singlehandedly decided to withdraw yourself. Simple as that, you pushed all of them away and then you went further. You had convinced yourself that you were doing this for them.

How could this be considered a selfless choice in any shape of form? How much of your actions were guided by altruism and love for your friends, and how much of it was led by selfishness and, especially, fear of being hurt again?

You shake your head, chasing off the thoughts in your mind and wiping away a single stubborn tear that escaped rolled down your cheek.

Perhaps you had been annoying the boys to no end. Perhaps they all had grown seriously tired of you and simply didn’t know how to bring it up. Perhaps you had crossed their boundaries and became a source utter of discomfort and displeasure. Perhaps they even hated you, while you remained oblivious to it.

Perhaps.

But then what?

“Just so you know,” Lee Know interrupts your thoughts and you wipe another tear from your face. “You are coming. I’m calling just to make sure you cancel whatever you may have planned in advance.”

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. It’s not up to discussion.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, and when he continues, his voice is quiet and soft, “Chan misses you, you know.” Your heartbeat falters in your chest. “And it’s not just him.”

The thoughts fly chaotically inside your head and you stop yourself from stating out loud once more how odd the situation is. The fondness in his voice isn’t new, you’ve heard it before. You’ve heard it when he spoke to Han, discreetly checking how he was feeling in the after stage. You’ve heard it when he bickered with Chan and the way he called hyung afterwards. You’ve heard it when he teased Hyunjin, when he complimented Jeongin and when he spoke of Seungmin to other people.

You witnessed different and subtle ways of caring Minho had toward every member. Outside the group Minho was extremely reserved, many times seen as cold-hearted – a huge mistake. It was hard to know how much it affected him really, though. You’ve always admired him secretly and from afar for his strength and resolution.

From afar, you say, because you were part of the “outside the group” team, obviously. Minho was a mystery to you, a distant figure that you respected and stopped trying to understand a long, long time ago.

In the beginning, you had wondered if you were the problem.

Because you had seen his affection when it came to the members, the indifference towards you was awkward to say the least. He was never directly rude, though his detached attitude could be – and indeed was – seen as such sometimes. One day, you were chilling on the couch at the studio as 3RACHA worked on a track, Minho suddenly stormed into the room. You immediately sat straight, surprised by the sudden and unusual burst of excitement coming from him, breaking the quite monotonous atmosphere the room had acquired. Minho walked past you and went straight to Chan and Changbin, giggling as he showed them something on his phone. Han left the live room, confused about the fuss.

Minho turned the screen to Han and they both spoke energetically, with Chan laughing along. Even Binnie, though shaking his head, clearly bit back a smile. The latter caught you staring in confusion, and waved off the commotion. “Silly boys, Y/N. They’re like children.”

“Excuse you!” Han exclaimed dramatically, “The new chapter of Demon Slayer is anything but silly!”

Chan laughed louder and Minho’s head jerked in your direction. He blinked a few times, assimilating the unexpected presence of a fourth person he had not realized before. Suddenly, he stiffend his posture and gave you a short bow, murmuring something to the boys and then turning to leave the room right after.

Not before you caught the bright pink shade in his ears.

“Is it me?” You asked a little later on that very same day. “Have I done anything to upset him?”

“What are you talking about?” Asked Changbin, swinging in one of the leathered chairs.

“Minho.” You explained, waving off the surprised expressions on their faces. “I’m just wondering if I did something and if I should apologize to him.”

“Are you serious?” Han’s shocked face seemed a bit of an exaggeration, you thought. “Do you think he doesn’t like you?”

“Come on, Hannie. I’m not blind.” You shrugged, though it came off a little forced. “I just don’t want to be in bad terms with any of the members.”

You were grateful for your friendship with Chan. He was an amazing person and you were so lucky to have him in your life. His life wasn’t easy, obviously. When he wasn’t busy with schedules of an idol life, he was busy working and doing music, so it was heartwarming when he went out of his way to introduce you to the others, especially to 3RACHA. Changbin and Han had welcomed you from day one, and you rarely felt so immediately comfortable around people you had just met, like it happened with them. You met the other boys a couple times, and even ended up hanging out with Hyunjin and Felix once or twice. They were wonderful, you knew, and you also were highly aware of the importance the group had to them.

Your heart ached watching what true love and acceptance looked like.

And because you knew how much each of them meant to each other, you started worrying about Minho. What if Minho didn’t like you? What would it mean to Chan, and the others? You didn’t expect everyone to love you, obviously, but you hoped to hold a neutral image at least. What if you couldn’t? Then what?

 “You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.” Chan said, and he pondered his words. “I can’t speak for him, but I’m sure that, with time, you’ll both get to know each other better.”

“So… does he not hate me?” You tried one last time.

Binnie’s eyes widened and Han chocked what you thought to be a laugh. “Absolutely not.” Han said, cleaning his throat. “I can assure you that.”

You rub your eyes, trying to stop a headache from forming.

In the end, it all comes back to Chris. It’s obvious that Minho cares about him, and so do you. It makes sense to unite forces for a greater cause. Kind of. It almost makes sense when you think of this as some common ground.

“Okay. Sure.” You say finally, feeling like your brain was replaced with jelly. “I’ll go.”

“Great!” Minho sounds pleased with himself, oblivious to the conflict happening inside your head. Good for him, you think bitterly. “Oh, there’s one more thing.” You grunt, but he continues. “No boyfriends allowed.”

Your body tenses and you feel your stomach drop.

This is not gonna end well.

“Minho…”

“That’s not up for discussion either. Sorry, Y/N,” He says, not sounding sorry in the least. “I don’t make the rules. Text me if you need a ride.”

“Minho, I don’t think this is a good idea.” You urge, scared he might hang up on you.

He does not. Instead, his voice becomes lower but steadier and assertive. “What is a not a good idea, Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath. “I know you don’t like Jun…”  You start, but your thoughts are a mess. They stumble upon one another and the necessity of having Minho understanding inflates more and more inside your chest. He waits in silence, patiently, as you struggle to put your thoughts into coherent words. “And maybe that’s all you see, someone who you don’t like and you want to avoid. And I get that, I really do. I don’t blame you, but… But it’s not that simple, Minho.” You try to swallow the lump growing in your throat, in vain. “And you know it is not. It’s easy when you are not the one dealing with him afterwards. I know you don’t like him, but this is not the way out.”

Minho doesn’t speak for another moment and your words linger heavy in the air.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is restrained and devoid of any strong emotions. It’s difficult to know what he is feeling and you can’t help but resent him a little for it. He’s able to keep himself collected while you’re a goddamn mess. “Do you think it’s because I don’t like him?”

“I mean… Yes?” You laugh but it comes out lifeless and dry. “Come on, Minho. Are you gonna tell me you actually enjoy Jun’s company?”

“Of course not, Y/N.” He breathes out, exasperated. All the teasing and amusement from earlier are gone without a trace you could actually think you’ve imagined it all. “It’s evident I don’t like the guy. That’s not the point.”

The blunt admission doesn’t trouble you near as much as you thought it would. Rather, it’s the determination weighing in on his last sentence that makes you stagger. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m missing, Minho.”

“Don’t be sorry.” The determination is still there, along with what you think is anger. You don’t feel like you’re the target of it, though. He takes a deep breath and, when he speaks again, he chooses his words carefully. “What would happen if you came without him?”

The answer is awfully easy. The fight unfolds vividly in your mind and you look past it. You know Jun will be mad when he finds out, that he will ignore your calls and texts for weeks – maybe days, if you’re lucky. It’s not up to you anyway, since Jun appear to have his own time that changes depending on his mood. You know he will come back as if nothing happened despite that, eventually. You know that none of you will speak of it until another fight breaks out, only then might it be brought up again. Which is fine! It gives you plenty of time to worry about it in the future instead. The first few days are always the hardest, though, and the guilt is suffocating – you can feel it, even now. A chocked wry laugh comes out of your throat. How is it possible to feel guilty for something that has not even happened yet?

It’s because, you realize, the remorse doesn’t come from this specific and hypothetical scenario. The lingering heavy pressure that fills up your chest comes, alternatively, from all the other countless arguments you had throughout the past few months.  These fights planted seeds of shame and guilt in your heart and watered them. The seeds bloomed into thorny vines and craved marks in your heart like carving stone.

These apprehensions run through your veins blended with your own blood. The constant fear and dread of taking too much space, of being too loud, of being selfish and a burden, they are part of you like stretch marks.

You’re aware that fights will happen regardless of what you do, but still, deliberately giving them motives feels even worse.

“I don’t want him to be mad, Minho.” You say instead, and silently wonder why you feel comfortable talking about this with Minho, when it’s something you hardly feel with yourself. “You know the picture it paints. If I went to a party where he was specifically asked not to come, that’s like cheating.” You cringe at your own words. “Kind of. I don’t know, Minho. You know what I mean, you’re not dumb. You would get mad too.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” He states nonchalantly and it surprises you. You scoff, annoyed, but he continues. “I’m serious. You’re asking whether I’d be mad if my girlfriend went to a party with her friends without me, right?” You feel a frenetic energy growing inside you, your entire body buzz with tension. It feels wrong, forbidden. Minho, on the other hand, is still as tranquil as he has ever been, unaware of the vileness of the conversation. “If so, then the answer is no. Of course not. Thinking my partner will cheat on me only because I’m not around is kinda dumb, isn’t it? If my presence is the only thing stopping them from doing it, then why am I with them? I obviously don’t trust that person at all.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs and your breath is caught in your throat. You know Minho is not teasing you, his tone is devoid of malice, and he comes off as anything but judgmental – which makes it somehow worse. Deep inside, you wish he were disapproving, critical of you. You wish he showed disappointment and disdain for your choices and actions, anything that would sustain the twisted image you had of yourself. You wanted him to put the blame on you, right in your face, with the same fierceness he had displayed that day at the company building. You needed him to, so you could maybe start making some sense of things.

Instead, he was collecting the few convictions you had and putting them under a different light, showing you how they change and distort when viewed from other angles.

He is wrong, you feel it in your bones. He does not understand. Minho is not getting the full picture. You open your mouth to tell him, to explain what he’s so badly missing.

Nothing comes out.

If my presence is the only thing stopping them from doing it, then why am I with them? I obviously don’t trust that person at all.

You squeeze your eyes shut. He is wrong. He doesn’t understand.

“What if you don’t tell him you’re coming?” He questions, and you inhale air back into your lungs.

“What?” The night has fallen and you shiver.

“Are you seeing him on Saturday?” He asks, with a low but stern voice.

You try glimpsing inward, at the hurricane of thoughts swirling in your mind. Silently, you thank the solid wall helping you to maintain balance.

No, you're not seeing him on Saturday—at least, you haven't planned anything. Of course, you haven't. Jun went silent for over a week and only came back today. Before you could plan anything, you both ended up in a fight. There's still a chance you might make up before Saturday, though.

Actually, Jun can call you at any moment. Or not. He can call you in the next five minutes or in the next five days. He can simply show up at your place at any time, as he’s done before.

Including on Saturday.

The possibilities of things going wrong are endless.

But, obviously, you’re not saying all of that to Lee Know, so you stick with simplicity by saying, “I don’t think so.”

“Then come.” He appeals, making your heart squeeze, “And don’t tell him.”

Oh, if things were that simple. You shut your eyes, imagining how it would be to see the world through his eyes.

What would happen if he were to be standing in front of you right now? What would you see? Would you catch the same glimpse of disappointment you did that day? Would you find shame and pity in his face, when facing the mess of person you’ve become? Would you find anger and contempt?

Or would you see his face matching the softness and understanding you hear in his voice right now?

You open your eyes wide.

It made no sense. You question your own sanity.

“Why are you being nice?” You can’t help but ask. Fuck it. “It’s weird, Minho. Why would you even care?”

“The way you talk, I’m actually starting to wonder how poorly I’ve treated you.” The trace of hurt among the playfulness in his tone did not go unnoticed. “Am I this monstrous?”

“That’s not it.” You cut in quickly, your thoughts and feelings tangling to the point of becoming an unrecognizable mess.

“Y/N.” He says, and you curse the effect he has on you every time he says your name.

Why does it feel so intimate? Why does it feel so profound, like he’s reaching for the edges of your broken heart and feeling its wounds with the tip of his fingers?

But most importantly, why does he sound to be in as much pain as you are?

“You will be safe.” He says, and the certainty in his tone makes you defensive. He means well, you know, but it is hard to stop the hold back the grim laugh.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Minho.” You are safe now. Who does he think he is, implying otherwise? He knows nothing about Jun and your relationship.

He knows nothing about you.

“Sure. I probably don’t.” He dismisses, a little far-fetched, and the graveness in his voice fades away. “Anyway. Come up with a dozen theories of why I’m suddenly being nice now, I don’t mind. Actually, I’d love to hear them on Saturday, so be creative.” You want to protest, but he continues, “And save my number, for God’s sake. Is Chan’s the only number you have saved on your contact list?”

Contrasting feelings battle inside your heart and mind. You feel on the edge, like your world has been turned upside-down. The exhaustion weighs in on your shoulders, and you ache for your bed.

You look up at the sky again, allowing the darkness of nocturnal silence embrace you. It’s a shame you can’t see stars. “I actually have Bin’s and Han’s too.”

“Really?” He wheezes, untying just a little the knot of tension between you two.

“And Hyunjin’s.” You don’t know why you add.

“Now you’re just trying to hurt me.” The smile grows on your lips. “See you on Saturday.”

You hum, too tired to argue, and he hangs up.

You stare blankly at your phone. Your body is both numb and buzzing with a weird energy you can’t name. The thoughts in your head spin so quickly that, just as a Newton’s disk, a blank space is left.

A notification pops up and catches your eye.

Unknown: I really meant it when I said I’m not giving you the chance to skip this one.

Unknown: Lemme know if you need a ride.

Unknown: and save my number.

On your way back home, through bright streets and packed sidewalks, you allow your mind to wander.

Going to anywhere explicitly without Jun was a powerful statement by itself. The fact that it was with the members had an extra impact. Until now, the boys had maintained an overall neutral approach when it came to Jun (except, obviously, for Minho). This changes things, though. Could it be that the request came from Minho individually, and not from all of them? Did Chan know about it? Had he agreed with it? What if Minho was asking you to come without Jun for his own amusement, for the drill of it?

You rub your temples, finally arriving to your apartment. I’m going insane.

As you press the elevator button, one thought stands out amidst the confusion of feelings.

Why would it matter?

What would change if it were a request coming from Minho or even from Chan himself? Jun was never the biggest fan of your friends and he never tried to hide it, not once. They, on the other side, although never explicitly stated not liking Jun, always kept an overall polite approach toward him. Being honest, you’d be surprised if they had any slightly positive opinions about Jun. Could you even blame them? Could Jun blame them? What right had Jun to be upset if the people he so clearly disregarded ended up despising him back?

You step into your apartment, close the door and take off your shoes. The place is pitch dark, but you know all the corners and walls.

If, in the worst case scenario, Jun did end up throwing a tantrum, then what?

You shake your head, reluctant. It is like a big silent lake in your mind with dark and still waters – you do not wish to know what lays underneath. This train of thought is like throwing stones on the water, disturbing the unprovoked.

A resentment starts blooming in your chest, and you direct your mind toward Minho and his motives.

That is not the point, though. The voice echoes in your head.

Even though your better judgment tells you that you should not trust people this easily, still, you believe him. The resentment and anger that had barely bloomed withers, powerless.

Minho hadn’t called you for some evil plan to sabotage your relationship.

Minho called to give you a second chance.

You arrive in your bedroom and turn the lights on at last, flinching from the sudden brightness. The bedroom isn’t cramped, but looks rather small due to the expanded bed. Normally twin-sized, the bed had the structure to be pulled out and expanded, turning into a full-sized one. It looks comfier, and the messy sheets call as siren songs.

In between pillows and blankets, you sigh in relief.

There are many things you still fail to understand, that day at the company is, certainly, the biggest of them all. As time passes, you struggle more and more to make sense of what you’ve heard back then, and in other circumstances, you would’ve thought you had imagined it. Minho and his motives were just a small part of the whole picture.

In the end, one feeling stood out from the tangle: you want to make things right.

Shutting yourself away would not solving anything – in fact, it had only made things worse. It did not help you feel better with yourself. You still couldn’t think of a good way to talk to Chan and the others about it. The disappointment glazing in Minho’s eyes still haunt you to this day, hand in hand with the anger in his shouting.

And on top of all of it, there was what Minho had said on the call. He did imply that they, Chan at least, were suffering, didn’t he? Chan misses you. And it’s not just him. These two sentences kept repeating in your mind like a broken disc, being as soothing as they were painful.

How did it change things?

Could it be that, by trying to push them away so they would not get hurt, you had caused even more harm?

Certainly, there were a lot of missing pieces from this huge puzzle you were trying to solve. Regardless of that, by the time you fall asleep, you are sure of two things:

First, you want to make things right.

Second, you want to go to that party.

The days passed with no major events and you ended up not telling Jun. You weren’t entirely okay with that, as the guilt was still very much there. The sense of wrongness persisted in not telling him all of your plans and routines, especially if they didn’t include him. It was hard to shake off the feeling of betrayal, and you relied on Minho’s words for comfort more often than you were willing to admit.

Jun also had his part on making things easier. For the first time, you thanked the absence and the silence from his end. It’s easier to not speak about something when you simply don’t… well. Speak.

For once, you chose to be bold and you chose to be selfish. You would go and hang out with your friends, leaving the consequences for the future you to deal with.

It was around 5pm. You had already showered and was going through your wardrobe, thinking about what to wear. That was when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Lee Know.: I meant it when I said we are not giving you the alternative of not coming. This is not up for discussion.

Lee Know.: Lemme know if you need a ride.

Lee Know.: and save my number.

Lee Know.: I’m coming to pick you up at 6.

You rolled your eyes. I never said I needed a ride. Minho seemed to be pushing all your buttons and being very aware of that.

You: Thanks, I’ll pass. Tell me where it is and I’ll call an Uber.

The response was almost instantaneous, and made you frown.

Lee Know.: can’t. sorry.

The audacity. Two words and your felt your blood boil.

You: ??? what’s your problem?

You: I said I’m going, you don’t need to escort me.

Annoyed, you let the phone on the coffee table and marched towards your room. You chose a black romper that, even though the neckline was lower than what you would usually wear, it had long loose sleeves that made it one of your favorite pieces of clothes. It was elegant, but mainly comfortable with a very casual vibe to it. It fit the occasion. You dried your hair and put some makeup on, keeping it the simplest you could. Although Minho had called it a “party”, you had attended some of these gatherings before and you hoped it was going to be the same: just some close friends reunited in the dorms. Nothing classy and no glamour. Just a bunch of people hanging out with each other and having fun.

You picked white sneakers and went back to the living room.

You were putting the sneakers on and Minho had yet to reply. If you ended up being late, he would be the one to blame.

Between tying your shoes and cursing Minho, you heard a jingling of metal followed by the click of your front door being unlocked. Your breath was caught in your throat when you saw Jun crossing the doorstep, his gaze finally finding yours.

Fuck.

The argument unfolded unsurprisingly, but by no means coolly. It was like a scene of a movie that you’ve watched countless times and you know all the lines by heart. He flipped out about you sneaking out, as expected, but nothing came even close to the way he looked at you after you said he could not come along.

First, he was furious, thinking you were doing so to make him jealous. Then, when he understood that it was, actually, the boys themselves who asked you to come alone, he was livid.

You tried to cool it off. You explained how stressed the boys were and how this was something to distract them when comeback is so close. You tried telling him that it was something for them and by them, and that they had all the rights to invite whoever they wanted. It was understandable they wanted to keep it between actually close friends – which Jun, clearly, was not.

It had little to no effect. At least, not the one you wanted.

Between cursing and outrageous claims, Jun accused you of choosing them over him. You asked, bordering on pleading, when has it become a competition? Why does it have to be one over the other?

Tears burned on the back of your eyes as you begged for understanding, for sympathy. Jun, meanwhile, laughed wryly. I can’t tell if you’re this naïve or if you’re simply playing dumb. Almost like you both spoke different languages, and you hated how dumb you actually felt.

You like the attention. He said spilling venom, and you looked at him horrified, unable to form any words. I’m right, am I not? I’m so disappointed, Y/N.

That rang a bell in your head.

Maybe it was because you had spent even more time recently thinking back to that time in the elevator, but, even involuntarily, the comparison was inevitable. By putting that event with Minho next to the current Jun, it became obvious to you how little the latter affected you – especially when set side by side. The tears rolling down your cheeks started to dry.

So now, even as you stare at Jun’s horrified expression, like he’s just seen the most atrocious of atrocities in your phone, the fact that the quarrel happened in such a predictable way doesn’t weigh in your conscience as much as you thought it would.

Jun laughs sharply and you know that, whatever it was that Minho had the fortune to text back in the worst moment possible and catch Jun’s attention, made Jun angrier. It is pointless to argue and you don’t feel particularly angry having Jun going through your phone. When you lay back on the couch, all you feel is tiredness.

Jun speaks again but the words go past you without much solid meaning. Joke. Humiliating. Rich. Whore. He drops your phone carelessly, falling to the carpet with a muffled thump. He leaves the apartment with big and loud steps, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Seconds slowly tick by as you’re left alone in silence, the ringing in your ears reflecting the state of your own mind. You force yourself to take deep breaths, calming down your wild heartbeat at the same time that the lump in your throat starts to shrink.

When you finally reach the phone laying on the carpet, your mind is blank and you feel oddly numb. You unlock the device and find the chat with Minho already open. You tell yourself it is normal for your hands to shake.

Lee Know.: I meant it when I said we are not giving you the alternative of not coming. This is not up for discussion.

Lee Know.: Tell me if you need a ride.

Lee Know.: and save my number.

Lee Know.: I’m coming to pick you up at 6.

You: I never said I needed a ride. Tell me where it is, I’ll call an Uber.

Lee Know.: can’t. sorry.

You: ??? what’s your problem?

You: I said I’m going, you don’t need to escort me.

Lee Know.: your boyfriend. he is the problem.

You sigh heavily - God damn it, Lee Know.

At that moment, as if he was listening to your thoughts himself, the phone rings in your hands. You answer it and the words seem leave your mouth on their own accord, “He just left.”

“Where are you?” He asks, after a moment. Minho’s voice is hard, while yours is shaky. You feel exposed, and you vision blurs. You don’t want to start crying again.

“I’m home.” Your voice trembles as you sniffle. I can’t do this now. “It’s okay. Everything is fine.” You gather yourself and speak with a confidence that you both know to be a lie.

“I’m outside.” Minho tells you and it takes you a moment to understand what it meant. Outside…?

You bolt upright and dash toward the balcony, spotting him as soon as you reach the ledge. Even from several stories high up, Minho’s dark figure stands out, standing next to a black car parked across the street. When his eyes meet yours, even at this height, your heartbeat hiccups.

“Do you want me to come up there?” He questions, maintaining eye contact despite the distance.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.” You dismiss promptly. You were confused about many things, but having Minho in your apartment at that moment sounded undoubtedly like a bad idea. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Y/N, are you sure you are okay? I can call Chan and…” Minho’s voice trails off, his glance shifting from you to something across the street. “Oh, fuck me.” He swears under his breath, so lowly you barely catch it.

“What’s up? Minho?” You bend over the ledge a little, as an attempt to see whatever caught Minho’s attention.

Then your mind connect the dots, and you feel an utter idiot for not considering it earlier.

Jun just left the apartment. It couldn’t be more than five minutes since he had slammed the fucking door behind him. Which meant that Jun was still in the building by the time you picked up the phone.

Was indeed, because you’re sure the other figure you see stepping out the main entrance right now is Jun.

Your eyes dart toward Minho again and you say, soberly and carefully. “Minho.” All the weakness from a moment ago was gone. “Don’t.”

You start hearing Jun’s voice on the background and, though you can’t tell what exactly he is saying, you don’t have to. He’s angry and you watch his figure slowly approach Minho standing as still as a statue on the other side of the street.

You turn around and run.

Jun’s voice gets gradually louder and clearer, indicating he’s getting closer. You press the elevator button anxiously multiple times, but the elevator seems to take forever to arrive. You curse it silently. You curse the elevator and the lack of technological advance to build faster elevators. You curse the building for being too high and curse yourself for not living on the first floor.

“Leave.” Minho’s voice is cold as ice and sharp as a knife and sends shivers down your spine. “You don’t wanna do this.”

Fuck it. You take the stairs.

Jumping two and more steps at a time, you fly downstairs. “Minho.” You call brethless – a beg, a plead, an order, even you can’t tell. He cannot get into trouble, especially an argument in public. If Minho is seen by anyone in public, a fan or not, and it ends up reaching the internet, he’ll be screwed. He cannot stain his image, he’s a fucking idol, for God’s sake! “Please.”

“What is your problem, dude?” You make out Jun’s words, and his bold anger is maddening. Jun should know better than to cause a scene with Minho. He needs to know better. Jun cannot be that immature.

He can’t be. Right?

But rather than the idiotic bad temper, it is the fact that you can clearly hear him now, meaning that he is closer to Minho than you thought, what really troubles you.

Hurry, hurry, hurry. Your loud footsteps echo across the staircase mixed with the sound of you panting.

“Have you not caused enough damage to that poor girl?” Jun goes on mockingly.

“Excuse me?” You hear Minho say between gritted teeth.

“I know your type, big boy. I see what you’re doing.” The proximity between them makes your stomach sink, you can hear Jun even now that he’s not shouting. “You never liked me, huh? Was it because I stole your little toy?”

You feel sick.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” Minho says grimly, “And I’d ask you to not come any closer with this finger pointed.”

“Minho!” You call out again. He needs to back off now. You feel the tears burning on the back of your eyes. Where the fuck is the first floor? Faster, Y/N! Faster faster faster faster.

Jun cackle dryly. “Oh, Cut the crap. We’re not dumb, you know? We heard that little show you put on.”

Jun wouldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t do it.

“Minho, don’t do anything!” You plead between short breaths, over Jun’s voice. Minho can’t listen to him. “I’m almost-“

The momentary lapse of focus makes you stumble upon your feet, and you let out a yelp as you stumble down. You desperately grab the handrail to stop yourself from falling. The attempt, however, is awkward and you barely manage to steady yourself as one of your foot continues its descend as the rest of your body is jerked backwards.

You find yourself laying stiffly lying on the stairs, still holding on the handrail with one of your hands. Your heartbeat is as fast as the wings of a flying hummingbird, it is stuck in your throat. You let out a breath, then follow to take multiple deep breathes as a way to slow down your heart. Still, you don’t attempt to stand up just yet, not trusting your legs to not act like jelly after the shock. You’re okay.

A moment after, you register the slam of a door being opened extremely close. A fear of having someone seeing you like this, sitting on the dirty ground of the staircase so obviously affected starts forming in your mind. Before you can articulate it, and perhaps stand up to compose yourself, Lee Know enters your line of sight. Oh, so I was on the first floor.

Damn, so close.

His eyes widen as he assimilates the scene in front of him, and you fear his eyes might pop out of his skull. He went paler by two tones at least, and you wonder how bad you look. You start reassuring him you’re fine, but when you’re about to stand up, Minho already flew and is by your side, stopping you.

“Do not move.” He takes your hand from the handrail in his, holds it for a moment, and places it on your side. You watch him as his eyes run through your body, inspecting it. Being the main focus of his attention is intense, and you shift in place, uneasy. “Did you hit your head? Your back? Do you know what your name is?”

You blink, surprised by the overflow of questions. There is something so tender about the look in his eyes that lit up an entire lighthouse in your chest. There is also a fear of someone who has seen a ghost – or went through a near death experience from falling down the stairs – and you have the urge to take his hand on yours, but you hold yourself back. The apprehension in his demeanor is something new to you and worth to note. His hair looks soft and it’s shorter than it was last time you saw him. The shade also changed, a chocolate kind of brown replaced the black – and you decide you like it just as much. Your eyes travel down to look at what he’s wearing.  The black bottom-up shirt has the first and second bottom open, making you instantly shot your eyes back up. You find Minho tilting his head to the side. “Y/N?”

“Yes?” The word comes out as breathless as before, and you blame it on the fall. You cough and close your eyes, breathing in slowly. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’ve asked you a question.” Minho says, and you spot a hint of amusement in the sea of concern in his voice.

You open your eyes. “You’ve asked several questions, actually.”

He smiles softly, which works against your goal of slowing your heartbeats. “Yet, you haven’t answered not even one.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t say anything and keeps staring, waiting for you to go on. “Really. It was just not the most graceful of my falls, I guess.”

He cracks first and chuckles, which gets a laugh from you and soon you’re both cackling.

The laughs have calmed down when he inhales deeply, close his eyes and let his head fall back, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He breathes out. Even though he’s not looking at you, you feel the need to look down, fidgeting.

You murmur, “I was scared you could get in trouble.” It doesn’t give half the picture of what was going through your head and it sounds pathetically silly, but you don’t elaborate any further.

“So you thought that running downstairs would be a good idea?” There is a shadow of teasing in his voice. You had expected Minho to make fun of you. You could see him telling you how dumb and reckless you were, saying how even kids know they shouldn’t run when going downstairs. You expected to be blamed for something so stupid. Instead, you encounter fear when he asks lowly, “Do you have any idea how badly you could’ve been injured?”

This rough concern coming from him was unsettling – you knew he was a caring person, but he’s only shown it when it came to the other members. You had never experienced it yourself before. “What else could I do, Minho?” Your voice doesn’t falter. “What was I supposed to do? Just wait and hope you’re not seen causing a scene? Chris would kill me.”

“I was not causing a scene.” He’s bitter, and you understand. After all, he is right. He wasn’t the one adding fuel to the fire.

“Would that even matter?” Your question comes out as a plead, and for once you’re not embarrassed. You both know what you mean. You’re aware of how they have to watch even the most innocent of actions when in public. Tabloids have the power to mess with someone’s image, it doesn’t matter if they are true or not. The public doesn’t care, and neither does the company. His carrier is intrinsically involved with public image. What could happen if someone recognized him arguing with Jun, and ended up posting on the internet? Idol Lee Know, fighting with a random civilian on the street. Would it matter who was the one who started it? The company had taken severe actions for much less. “You should’ve gone back inside the car and locked the damn door.”

It’s his time to roll his eyes, but before he respond, the slam of a door echoes throughout the staircase. You tense, your gaze shifting towards the stairway. Minho, on the other hand, simply stands up, but with his eyes still fixed on you.

Jun goes up a few stairs and shortly reach both of you. “What the hell?!” He shouts at Minho, spotting him first. Minho doesn’t acknowledge his presence. “What the fuck is wron-“ He follows Minho’s stare only to find you and, probably thrown off by the strange image of you half sitting half laid on the floor of a public staircase, Jun’s behavior shifts. The aggression is replaced by concern and confusion “Oh my God, Y/N. Are you okay?” He mentions to step closer towards you, but Minho blocks his passage with an arm. You see Jun’s face getting red with anger again. “Who do you think you are?! She’s my girlfriend!”

Although Jun storms at Minho, the latter doesn’t even glance at his direction. Instead, you find Minho searching for your eyes – and when they do find them, you don’t think of your heart skipping a beat. Somehow, you understand the silent question in his gaze: he wants to know from you whether he should allow Jun to come closer or not.

It makes your heart swell.

You don’t want Minho to give in – you don’t want yourself to give in. Although it shouldn’t be some kind of competition of who has more power over who, you think. First, to get some of your dignity back, you should at least look at them in the eye. You grip on the handrail once more and propel your body upward, rising to your feet.

At least you did, for a brief second. Then, you’re taken by a sudden strike of pain that hit your right ankle like a lightening. You cry out and collapse to the floor again – or you would, if it wasn’t for Minho. Before you know it, Minho has one arm around your body and pulls you closer to him. Leaning on him, you regain your balance and stand on one foot – the one not hurting.

“Are you okay?” He asks lowly as he stares down at your feet.

“Yes.” You breathe out and follow his gaze. “Fuck. Shit. It wasn’t hurting before. I swear.” You look at him apologetically, and you don’t understand the need to apologize.

“I know, Y/N.” He meets your eyes and soothes your side with the hand steading you for a moment. “It’s okay. Let’s take you to the hospital.”

You shake your head anxiously, “It’s fine. We’ll be late if we don’t leave.”

“I can take her.” Jun chimes in with a hint of smugness, reminding both of you of his unfortunate presence.

“I don’t need to be taken anywhere.” You snap at him and unconsciously try to step back from Minho. The pain shots through your body once again and you clench your teeth, instantly leaning back on him again.

Minho lets out an annoyed sigh. Suddenly, he lifts you up and holds you bridal-style. “Ya! I can walk!” You squeal, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach and the increasing warm on your cheeks.

“I’m sure you can. But as you said it yourself, we’ll be late if we don’t leave and we don’t have much time.” He says, turning around. You see Jun’s shocked look, and becoming more and more horrified after Minho says, “If you excuse us, you’re in the way.”

“I said I can take her. You can go on and meet your friends.” Jun doesn’t hide the venomous intent.

“Oh, I will.” Minho replies, indifferently. “With her. Now, move.”

Both yours and Jun’s faces get redder and redder, but you guess it’s from different emotions. “Or what?” He growls, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s gone too far. This bickering went too far.  You want to apologize, to clarify things. You open your mouth and nothing comes out – you don’t know what to apologize for. You almost say “It’s not what you think!”, but you realize it sounds as idiotic as not saying anything.

“I’ve been told to keep myself away from problems, and, as you can see, my hands are quite busy.” You groan quietly, and hides your face on Minho’s shirt. Slightly bad choice – his scent wraps around you like a blanket, and you become hyperaware from the steady thud coming from his chest, far slower than yours. Oh my God, can he feel my heartbeat? “So I’m afraid we’ll have to stand here for hours just staring at each other’s faces. It doesn’t sound much fun, does it?” Minho tilts his head to one side, “Although my face is way more pleasant to look at.”

You tug Minho’s shirt, “Minho. That’s enough.” Jun makes an outraged noise, and you exasperate, “Come on, Jun. Stop being childish, you two. Can we go, please?” The last request, directed at Minho, comes out way softer than the rest and you feel your face burning once more.

In disbelief, Jun steps aside. As Minho passes by him, you murmur a sincere apology. You feel Minho’s shoulder tense, but he doesn’t stop walking.

Jun doesn’t follow you outside the building. Minho crosses the street toward the parked car in silence. There is a tension in the air, and you know he is angry. Minho is definitely mad at Jun, for being an ass, but you feel he is mad at you too. The silence is intimidating, though, and you don’t dare to break it.

When he reaches the car, he shifts his hold onto you to just an arm for a brief moment, enough so he could open the car door. He does it so smoothly you could’ve missed. Gently, he places you on the passenger seat, pushing the seat backwards to give you plenty of space to stretch your leg.

His hands hover for a moment, hesitantly, but before you can ask, he removes them and let them fall on his sides in closed fists. Minho’s expression is grave, and you can almost see the gears spinning in his head. He inhales deeply and runs his fingers back on his hair.

When he comes to look at you again, the somberness is gone. He’s locked his thoughts and emotions somewhere far away inside his mind and if you had one wish, it’d be for you to have the key.

Although his voice is soft, it feels somehow forced. “Are you comfortable? Does anything else hurt?”

“I am fine, I promise.” You shift anxiously on the leather fancy seat, “Extremely comfortable.” You add, giving him both thumbs up and a smile.

He scoffs dryly, though some tension washed off his body. Pleased with easing things a little, you think that, perhaps, leaving with Minho and then going to the party to meet you friends again doesn’t have to be so painfully awkward. Things are fine, you think. There is a big chance that the awkwardness exists only in your head, that it might not be the same to the others. Maybe, hanging out with them will be as natural as it always was. Maybe, they don’t hate you. Maybe, things will be alright.

After all, they are your friends. You don’t need to be on the edge.

You thought Minho was going to close your door and walk to the driving seat. Instead, out of nowhere, he comes closer, hovering over you. You yelp and hold your breath, dizzy by the unexpected and definitely not usual proximity. His perfume hasn’t left you yet. His side profile is so close that you can see all the small dots on his skin. You want to caress it. Your eyes move to his long dark eyelashes. You’re jealous. You are amazed by how sharp his features are, and you wonder if it would be weird to have your fingers tracing his jaw. Then his cheekbones. Then his nose.

Then his lips.

“Found it.” He whispers to himself. Suddenly, your backseat reclines a little and you’re caught by surprise. “Is it better?” He finally turns to face you. Still close, but not as close as before, you’re sure it doesn’t take much to notice the flushed mess you are. You feel you were caught doing something very, very bad. And wrong. Oh my God, so wrong.

You shake your head, trying to shoo the wicked thoughts away. When you look your eyes, though, you feel your sanity slipping through every crack in your mind as a smirk grows on Minho’s lips. “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

God help me.

All you manage to do is nod once, gaining a hum in satisfaction from him. He backs away and close your door, and you watch him walk around the car and enter on the driver’s side. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm down the pounding inside your chest. He puts his seatbelts on and you wait for him to start the engine. There is a moment of silence, forcing you to open your eyes.

Minho is staring at you. With an eyebrow raised and failing to hold back a smile, he looks at you with curiosity. You look at him back, challenging. “What?”

“Seatbelts, Y/N. Or should I put them on too?” He teases, and your eyes open wide. Definitely not. Shortly you are fastening your seatbelt as Minho finally gives up on holding back and laughs. You cross your arms and curse him under your breath, while he starts the engine and pull off.

A few minutes later, the car dashboard signalizes Minho is receiving a call. Involuntary, you glance at the screen at the same moment Minho takes the call. It’s Chris.

“Yes, Hyung?”

“Hey, are you on your way? Did you get Y/N?” Chan’s voice comes through the speaker. Your heart aches a little, realizing how long it has been since you started avoiding them, and how much you missed the casualty and warmth.

“I don’t think we can make it, Chan-hyung. Y/N probably got a sprained ankle or something of the sort.” You catch Minho’s eyes shifting from the road to your stretched leg just for a moment. “I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“To the hospital?!” Chan’s surprised squeal makes you blush, embarrassed for causing trouble even now. “Oh my Gosh. I’m gonna kill that dickhead. That was him, wasn’t it? That fucker I will-”

The sudden shift from surprise to anger caught you off guard. You open your mouth to say something, but the words don’t come.

“It was not the dickhead, for the matter.” Minho cuts the flow of cursing off. “Also, you’ll like to know we’re in the car right now.” He adds quickly, at the same time you try to think of something to say. “She can hear you.”

Chan audibly chokes and coughs. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.” He manages to say, cleaning his throat. “I’m sorry. Hi Y/N.”

He’s obviously embarrassed, which makes you feel slightly better. “Hi Channie.”

“You should’ve started saying that, Minho.” Chan says, lowly, and a smile grows in your lips once more when Minho murmurs something under his breath. “Are you okay, sweetheart? What happened?”

His soft voice was enough to dismantle any kind of discomfort, you thought. “I’m okay.” You start.

“She fell downstairs.” Minho chimes in, and you shoot an angry look at him, which he ignores bluntly. “She thought it would be a great idea to run down several stories of stairs, like a damn child.” Minho says wryly, keeping his eyes on the road. “She’s lucky it’s not anything more serious.”

“I was trying to save your ass!” You protest.

“My ass did not need to be saved.” He states.

“Oh, sure.” You roll your eyes. “Clearly you were not about to jump at my boyfriend’s throat. I wasn’t even there and I could tell.”

“Excuse me?” His voice falters with anger and he scoffs, “I was about to jump at his throat? I think you might mistaking the parties here, dear.”

You ignore the pet name and point your finger at him. “You should’ve gone back inside the car the moment you saw him and you know it.” His eyes travel from the road, to your face, then to your finger and back to your face.

“Are you actually pointing a finger at me right now?” He raises his eyebrows and turns his eyes back to the road. Heat spreads in your cheeks and you recoil your hand.

“Should I ask or…?” Chan speaks up hesitantly.

“No.” Minho says fiercely and you huff, crossing your arms across your chest and looking away.

“You didn’t get into trouble, right, Minho?” Chan asks again.

“Of course not.”

“You’re welcome.” You chime in, grimly, and you don’t face away when Minho shoots an angry look at you.

“Good to know you two are getting along.” Chan offers, with a hint of fun in his tone.

You gasp and utter “We are not getting along.”

At the same time, Minho says nonchalantly, “A hundred percent.” You stare at him in disbelief, but he refuses to glance back at you.

“Do you think it’s serious, Minho?” Chan asks and the shift in his voice is so abrupt that, for a moment, you don’t know what he is referring to.

You catch Minho’s eyes shifting from the road to your legs again, and you feel the growing heat in your cheeks. You’d give anything to go back in time and choose some jeans or anything that covered your legs instead.

“It’s probably just a strained ankle, hyung.” He glances away and you shift anxiously.

“I am fine.” You say, exasperated. “I even told him we should head to the dorms instead.”

“That’s because you’re stubborn, not fine.” Chan cuts you, and you see the corner of Minho’s mouth turning up. “Keep me updated, Minho. We’ll talk later.” Minho agrees monosyllabically and hangs up.

Minho stays quiet during the rest of the ride. You risk one or two glances in his direction, but he seems to remain unaware, his attention fixed on the traffic. Sometimes, you catch his jaw clenched, and he holds the wheel so tightly for a moment that his knuckles go white.

But here's the thing: besides these small and subtle gestures, his expression remains painfully plain. It's puzzling, and it intrigues you against your will. You keep telling yourself that not only do you not care, but also it has nothing to do with you. The man would probably not even make the effort to reply if you asked, or maybe you'd hear a 'None of your business,' if he felt like it.

After a moment, you decide that you don't mind. You reach for the air to ask what's bothering him, to seek permission for a glimpse into his inaccessible mind, but you exhale right after. The question dies on your tongue when he takes a turn, and the large white building emerges.

Maybe for the best.

He parks swiftly, quickly turning the car off and getting off. When you turn to open your own door, he’s already standing outside and doing it first.

“Should I get a wheelchair?” Minho tries, hesitant, his hands dance on the air unsure of what to do.

A short laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “It’s not necessary, Minho.” You mention to get off and, when he offers his help, you accept it. “Thank you, it’s okay. I’m sure I can handle it.”

He holds your hand with one hand, while the other presses your back giving you balance. Minho doesn’t answer right away and when you look up, he has a confused look on his face. He blinks once, then twice, assimilating your words. “What?” You can’t help but ask.

“I’m not leaving.” He declares, and it’s your turn to blink confusedly.

“Chan is waiting for you.” You explain, firming your weight to your good foot.

“Yes.” He moves to your side still holding your hand firmly, while having his other hovering on your back. “And for you too. So let’s go inside.”

You don’t move, still staring at him. “You’re going inside with me? You don’t have to.”

A soft smile blooms shyly on Minho’s lips. “Silly. You can barely stand. Shall we?”

A feeling of déjà vu fills your chest, and you shove it back inside. You let him guide you into the hospital, scolding yourself silently for finding yourself in front of this building with Lee Know by your side more often than you deemed appropriate.

[parkitaco]

super belated bday ficlet for @astrobei!! (+ my stonathan debut 👀)

Jonathan wakes up with a splitting headache.

This, unfortunately, is nothing new to him - he usually has a headache of some sort these days, as unrelenting stress and trauma will tend to do to a person. There's always something plaguing him. Most of it's his own fault, due to his general inability to let go of anything ever, but still. It's not a pleasant way to be.

He can hear clattering in the kitchen, presumably his mother getting a head start on the weekend's chores. It's still early, if the shaft of weak light streaming in through the gap in the curtains is any indication, and he'd sort of been looking forward to sleeping in as long as his anxious brain ever allows him to, but he's always been a light sleeper and he knows it's pointless to go back to bed now. He groans, sitting up and tossing his covers aside as he runs a hand through his hair.

Jonathan knows it's a little ridiculous, the way his brain works. Summer started two weeks ago, and his job is a decent one, even if the men at the Hawkins post make him want to tear his hair out for a myriad of reasons. The Mindflayer is gone. The gates are closed. Will is safe. Jonathan should not be this stressed.

And yet.

He gets dressed quickly, wincing when he catches sight of his eye bags in the mirror. He hasn't been sleeping well. He hasn't slept well since 1983, probably. Every time he closes his eyes he sees blood, grey skin stretching obscenely over gnarled muscles, gaping mouths with too many teeth to count. His brother's eyes, corrupted from their usual hazel to a dark, swirling, angry color as he strained against the rope tying him in place.

A red-hot poker, sizzling as it met flesh. Jonathan's pretty sure he's more traumatized from that than Will is. He's the one who had to stand by and watch, after all.

That's selfish, though, and Jonathan strives not to be selfish. It's hard to win, in a household with a harried, overworked parent and a younger sibling who seems to get cursed at every turn, but he tries to do as much as he can. It feels like he's doing everything, some days. There's never enough of him to go around.

"Morning, hon," his mother greets when he enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Jonathan lies easily, stepping around her to grab an apple off the counter. He leans against it, biting into the apple with a satisfying crunch that serves to jumpstart his overtired brain.

If his mother notices the lie, she doesn't mention it, simply humming a noise of assent as she scrubs at a plate in the sink. Jonathan had meant to do the dishes before going to bed last night, he realizes with a stab of guilt - they'd been piling up, neglected all week, and it had been bothering him, but then Will had asked him for assistance with the evidently very important matter of deciding what to draw for his friends' next DnD campaign, and he'd forgotten.

"I can help with those," Jonathan offers now, guilt twisting in his gut as his mother works at a grease stain, and she waves him off with one soapy hand, showering him with flecks of lemon-scented water.

"Don't worry about it, hon," she says, which is what she always says, and just like always Jonathan wonders how, exactly, he's meant to stop worrying about things. He's pretty sure that worrying is his sole purpose in life. "Doing anything fun today?"

Fun. Jonathan does have fun, sometimes, he supposes. He has fun with Will, though his brother has been more and more concerned with spending time with his friends lately, which is- fine, it's fine. Jonathan has friends of his own, sort of. It's a good thing, that Will's figuring out how to get back to normal.

Still, Jonathan feels a little lost sometimes, without his brother there to hover over. Like that one night, on Halloween last year, when he'd let Will go trick-or-treating without him, and he'd sat in the car for a solid ten minutes after, wondering what he was supposed to do with his evening.

That was the first and last party he'll ever be attending, thank you very much. He hadn't even lasted for fifteen minutes before something demanded his attention - Nancy Wheeler, in all her overwhelming, drunken glory, clinging to him all the way from the car to her room.

Jonathan tries not to think about the way that mess had begun. Him, watching a drink spill over Nancy's white blouse. Him, listening halfheartedly to raised voices from the hall, watching a bathroom door fly open and a boy come storming out, leaving the girl behind to stare moodily at herself in the mirror. Him, Jonathan Byers, following the boy instead of the girl, stepping out on the porch and murmuring a soft I'll take her home, don't worry.

That had been the same night Will's visions started in earnest, and Jonathan had been off at a party, caring for drunk girls and their jilted exes instead of his own family. He can't win. Ever. Everything he does is just a little wrong.

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan blinks, snapping himself back into reality and staring blankly at his mother, who's smirking from where she stands by the sink. "Huh?"

"I asked what you're doing today," she repeats, smiling, and he offers a smile that turns into a grimace halfway through.

"Don't know," he says tightly. "Is Will here?"

"No, he went to Mike's," Joyce answers, already back to the dishes, the water a gentle spray over her hands. "I have to go to the grocery store in a little while, and I have a couple other errands to run- oh, did you ever make it to the pharmacy, hon?"

Jonathan is ninety percent sure she never asked him to go to the pharmacy, but he figures he probably should have known to go anyway. They're low on ibuprofen, of which he is in need of constantly. "No, I'll go today."

His mother smiles absently over her shoulder at him. "Thanks, hon."

Jonathan nods, a little distracted by his mental checklist, which is constantly growing - pharmacy, library, laundry, an endless list of tasks that never really seem to disappear. God, he's tired. Maybe he should have tried to sleep in after all. "No problem," he says, and is only sort of lying, because the truth is that there are no problems, not really - other than the underlying ones, such as money being tight and everyone being traumatized, things are fine. There are, strictly speaking, no specific problems.

It never seems to feel that way, though.

His mother heads out after an hour or so, reminding him to eat breakfast and ruffling his hair on the way out the door. Jonathan spends a half hour making scrambled eggs (and then remaking them, after burning the first batch horrifically). He eats them slowly, one hand holding open the book he's been trying to read for the past three months, always ending up too distracted by the everything else around him to get more than a few pages in. He's never been much of a comic book person, but he gets why Will likes them - they're definitely far more digestible than anything he's ever tried to read. But Jonathan's a bit too serious of a person for stuff like that. Bright colors make his headaches worse.

It's almost ten by the time he starts getting ready to go to the pharmacy, book abandoned on the table and keys in his hand. Maybe he can go to the record store - he has some money, after getting his first paycheck from the Hawkins Post, but at least half of that is going to need to be used to cover their bills this month. Probably better to wait a few more weeks, until after rent is due and he can properly assess how much is left over.

He grimaces to himself and pulls the front door open in one fluid motion, shoving his wallet in his back pocket and flipping through his key ring for the right one - and almost crashes directly into Steve Harrington.

They both yelp and stumble backward, Steve looking sensibly chagrined as he drops his arm, which Jonathan now sees had been poised to knock. "I- sorry," Steve says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Sorry."

Jonathan stares at him for a beat, one hand still holding his keys a bit uselessly. Dimly, he wonders if there's a new supernatural horror come to haunt him - that seems the only logical reason why Steve Harrington would be at his house, on his own, at ten in the morning on a random Saturday in June. They don't do this. They're not- friends, they're probably something closer to enemies if he thinks about it. They don't show up at each other's houses unannounced except in dire circumstances.

But that one time, a snide voice in Jonathan's head pipes up, he did. Remember?

Jonathan banishes the thought, on account of the fact that a., Steve had come to apologize for literally beating him to a pulp, which does not connote friendship in any way shape or form, and b., they'd both nearly been eaten alive less than five minutes after. Not exactly a good track record.

Steve grimaces, and opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can Jonathan blurts; "What are you doing here?"

It comes out sounding a little ruder than he intended, as do most of the things he says, but to his immense relief, Steve seems more put at ease by it than anything. He laughs, a short, huffy sort of sound that's more endearing than it should be. "Um. I wanted to talk to you."

Jonathan and Steve are not friends. They do not talk. Is he having a stroke? "About what?"

Steve shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing away awkwardly. "Jesus, Jonathan, I don't know. I was just gonna see if you wanted to come for a drive or something." He glances back at him, sheepish, and he does an awkward sort of shrug-twitch thing with his shoulders, eyes falling to the keys in Jonathan's hand. "If you're busy, though-"

"No," Jonathan says before he's even aware of it, thinking of his mother asking if he was doing anything fun today and how spending time with Steve Harrington is probably not really all that fun, but is at the very least an interesting concept. Better than blowing money on records that should be going to his family. "I was just gonna- pharmacy," he says, gesturing vaguely. "My head, uh." He pauses. He doesn't usually tell people about his headaches. Or any other ailments, really. "Nevermind."

Steve squints at him, looking stuck between a laugh and a frown. "Okay. Is that a yes, then?"

The pharmacy can wait, probably. "Yeah, sure." He coughs. "Yes."

A blinding smile splits across Steve's face, a genuine one. He never used to smile that way, Jonathan remembers - two years ago, it was all closed-lips and wry smirks and raised eyebrows. Kind of insufferable, if you ask Jonathan, but then again, no one ever does ask Jonathan.

It's- nice, is the point. If you asked Jonathan, right this second, what he thought of Steve's smile, he'd say that.

"Where are we going?" he asks, trailing after Steve to the car parked haphazardly in his driveway and shoving his own car keys into his pocket.

"Just- for a drive, man, I don't know," Steve says, pausing with one hand resting on top of the open driver's side door and looking mildly exasperated. Now that he knows he has Jonathan's attention, he supposes, he's back to behaving like a prick.

(Not really. He's not much of a prick, anymore. Not that Jonathan would ever admit that aloud.)

Despite himself, Jonathan smiles a little as he climbs into the passenger seat. "Okay. Got it," he says, tinged with amusement and sarcasm, and Steve gives him a dirty look that doesn't reach his smiling eyes as he backs out of the driveway.

The radio is playing softly, some sort of Cyndi Lauper bullshit spilling from the dash as Steve drives. He's a good driver, Jonathan notices a little fondly, better than he would have expected, with the whole being-a-prick thing and all. He's careful. Like he cares about keeping Jonathan alive and well, which is- bare minimum, really, and it's probably just as much about his own self-preservation, but still. It's nice. Jonathan's always a little pleasantly surprised, where Steve's involved.

But he doesn't want to think about that for too long, so instead Jonathan rolls down his window, letting the cool early-summer air waft over him. "Any particular reason we're doing this?" he asks, just for the sake of distracting himself from his own thoughts.

Steve shoots him another look, though he looks distinctly more amused this time. "You ask a lot of questions," he says wryly, and Jonathan snorts, glancing back over at him. "Don't you ever just, like. Go with the flow?"

At this, Jonathan outright laughs, and surprises himself with it a little. "Go with the flow," he repeats, a little incredulously, and Steve's cheeks pinken a little as he pointedly looks back at the road. "I don't think I'm a very flowy sort of person."

"I'm getting that," Steve grumbles, and Jonathan laughs again. "I just meant - you're so tense. Like, I get stressed out just looking at you sometimes."

You look at me? Jonathan thinks, and then immediately banishes the thought because- no. He's not going to start asking questions like that. "Yeah, well, not all of us can be the perfect Steve Harrington," he says, and it comes out a little more biting than he intends. He winces, an apology on his lips, but it gets stuck in the back of his throat. Better to be a little mean than a little too incriminating. That's how they operate, him and Steve.

Steve coughs, halfway toward a laugh but falling short. "No," he agrees, and sounds like a person trying desperately not to sound as hurt as they feel. Jonathan bites back another apology. "Guess not."

Jonathan's never been good at letting things go. Desperate to fix it, fix them, fix everything, he corrects; "Well, I guess the kidnapping probably mars your record a little."

The statement works precisely how he expected it to - with a cough and a splutter and a reddening of tanned cheeks. "I am not- kidnapping you," Steve squeaks, and there's that laugh again, bubbling up from somewhere in Jonathan's ribcage that he wasn't previously aware of. Maybe that's where he's been keeping his serotonin all this time, locked away in his chest somewhere. "You said you wanted to come!"

"I said I would come," Jonathan corrects, "I didn't say I wanted to."

Steve scowls. "You did want to. You- you want to hang out with me so bad."

Jonathan's not so sure about that one, mostly on account of the fact that he hadn't really known that hanging out with Steve was an option until today, but now that he is, he can definitively say that- maybe, possibly, he likes it. A little. Maybe.

"Don't make me beat you up again," he says, for lack of a better response, and this time Steve laughs, loud and bright in the summer air, and the sound settles something in Jonathan's usually-nervous system. People don't usually laugh with him like this. It's a bit odd, realizing that he's- funny. Likeable, maybe, in the right set of eyes. Or maybe that's just the Steve Effect. He puts people at ease.

"You wanted to," Steve says again, a little more quietly, and Jonathan stays silent, an admission by omission.

They pull into an abandoned parking lot, somewhere on the outskirts of Hawkins where Jonathan's only been a handful of times. It's a decent spot, raised on a hill overlooking downtown, grass growing through he cracks in the pavement. Pretty, in the bleak small-town way that Hawkins typically offers.

He shoots Steve a questioning look, and Steve smiles as he kills the engine. "No one ever comes here," he says, which feels a little like a confession even though it's not, doesn't mean much of anything at all. "I mean- I do, but. I don't know. There's probably, like, better and quieter places to hang out farther out of town, but I get kind of- um." He flushes, running a hand through his hair. "It seems sort of depressing, you know? I like to be somewhere where I can be close to where people are without having to actually, you know- talk to them."

There's a beat of silence, the radio having gone silent the moment Steve shut the car off, and Jonathan allows himself a moment to examine him, a little, the twisted grimace of his lips, the flush steadily rising to his cheeks, the faraway look in his eyes. Steve is a little confounding, sometimes.

Then:

"Sorry, that sounded dumb."

Jonathan blinks, shaking his head on instinct. "No," he argues reflexively, but finds he means it when he adds, "I know what you mean." Under normal circumstances, maybe, he'd poke fun, ask why Steve has suddenly gone philosophical on him, but there's a weird energy in the car, something delicate and vulnerable that Jonathan isn't nearly cruel enough to break.

Steve meets his eyes earnestly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, which Jonathan is- not looking at, not even a little bit. "Yeah?"

Jonathan's mouth suddenly feels very dry. "Yeah," he confirms hoarsely, and then, because that's a little too raw even for him, "Yeah, it's- that's what photography is like, kind of. Using a camera to distance yourself while still, um. Still seeing people, as they are."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Maybe I should take up photography." He glances back out the window, lost in thought, and Jonathan, overcome with a strange kind of confidence, nudges his arm gently.

Steve turns back to him, frowning, and he tilts his head at the window. "It's boiling in here," Jonathan says, which is half-true. In truth, it feels a little too closed-off, like anything could happen here, anything could be said, and only the two of them would ever know it. It feels like if he's not careful, he might do something dangerous.

Luckily, Steve only nods, unstrapping his seatbelt and climbing out of the car after Jonathan, who clambers up onto the hood of the car with a considerable lack of grace.

"Scratch my car and you're dead to me, Byers," Steve says, but he doesn't sound like he means it even a little, especially when he hops up onto the hood seconds later, knee knocking against Jonathan's.

There's a few moments of silence, both of them staring quietly out at Hawkins spread below them, the breeze ruffling their hair. They make an odd pair, Jonathan knows - Steve, in all his letterman jacketed glory, and Jonathan with his old band t-shirt and eye bags and headache. But oddly, it works like this, in the silence and summer air, the two of them opposite ends of the same spectrum.

"I'm not perfect," Steve says after a moment, less like he's correcting Jonathan and more like he's speaking it into existence, like he's afraid to admit it. "Just- just so you know."

If this were any other day, Jonathan would laugh, make a joke, deflect. But today is different, so he just bobs his head once, a quiet acknowledgement. "I know."

Steve glances at him, brows drawn together in concentration. "No, I mean it," he says, "I'm not- I mess things up, all the time. I think I'm- I don't know. If you're not a very flowy person, then I think I'm too flowy, or something." He bites his lip, eyes raking over Jonathan with an intensity that leaves him feeling oddly exposed. "I wish I was more like you," Steve says, with a quiet reverence that makes something stutter in Jonathan's chest.

He shakes his head once, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "No you don't," he assures him, and Steve's frown deepens, "I'm exhausting."

"You're driven," Steve argues, looking almost offended on Jonathan's behalf. "Not the same."

"I'm a nervous wreck, Steve," Jonathan says with a laugh, but it falls flat. Too close to the truth. He swallows. "All the time."

Steve stares at him for another couple seconds, then releases a soft breath and turns back to stare out at their pathetic little town. "Maybe we should switch," he muses, voice low but sending sparks through Jonathan's nerves all the same, "or- meet halfway, or something."

A year and a half ago I was arrested for beating you up, Jonathan thinks and doesn't say, and now you want to meet me halfway.

They make an odd pair.

"I'd like that," he says, and Steve's gaze snaps back to him, something clicking into place in his expression.

"Yeah?" he asks again, and again looks hopeful and earnest and all of the emotions the old Steve would never have been caught dead exhibiting.

Jonathan's throat is so very dry. He nods. "Yeah."

The breeze ruffles through his hair, and a hand presses against the side of Jonathan's neck. Far in the distance, a bird squawks, and here on the hood of a car a boy meets Jonathan's eyes.

The car creaks beneath them, and Jonathan leans in.

Like everything else, kissing Steve is pleasantly surprising. He's gentle, more gentle than Jonathan might have expected given his reputation, and his lips are soft when they press against Jonathan's own. He tastes like soda and smells like detergent and is careful when he lays a hand over Jonathan's chest, right where his heart is throwing itself against his ribcage. Jonathan presses in closer without meaning to, hand grappling for purchase against the surface of the car before grabbing Steve's waist instead, pulling him closer with a gentle creaking of metal beneath them.

Steve hums, a soft, unintentional sound, and pulls back, the carefully blank look on his face not quite hiding the gleaming look in his eyes, fiery and terrified at once. He shivers once, Jonathan's thumb brushing gently over the cotton of his t-shirt, tucked under his jacket.

His hair is falling into his eyes. Jonathan brushes it away without thinking about it, and only pauses when Steve's breath catches somewhere in his ribcage. Jonathan offers a shaky smile and presses in again, lips connecting with Steve's softly and briefly before he pulls back for real.

"What," Steve says, and then pauses like he doesn't know where to begin.

Jonathan smirks. "Too many questions."

It takes a second, but Steve's face falls into a (feigned) scowl in one swift motion, much to Jonathan's delight. "Wh- I didn't even ask anything yet!"

"Good," Jonathan replies, smirking as he lays back against the windshield, "Don't."

"You're a prick," Steve says, and doesn't seem to mean it in the slightest when he follows suit, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

Jonathan presses his leg against Steve's, enjoying the solid warmth of him next to him. "Right back at you." He closes his eyes, letting the summer sunlight wash over him, and Steve shifts beside him, leg pressing more insistently against his own.

Jonathan's head doesn't hurt at all anymore.