#you know when you hear a song for the first time and it leaves you TOTALLY speechless

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Drunk On You

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader summary: your boss picks you up after a night out and you smother him with sex jokes and your feelings warnings: suggestive, tension tension tension, reader needs to chill, sackable offences but hotch is a softy, hotch sees the colour of readers underwear (inesert that one charli xcx song), hotch tracks readers location (relax joe goldberg), pining, protective!hotch, hotch is just the perfect man yes i am a throw up drunk leave me alone word count: 5k

not proof read players i shall do that tomorrow morning on corporate time

It was an unusual Saturday night for Aaron. The house was quiet. Missing Jack’s antics – he was spending the weekend camping with Jessica and Roy – and missing you.

No sweet perfume lingering in the air, no soft humming as you loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, a task Aaron had insisted you didn’t have to worry about because you were the nanny, not the maid. But you never listened. Just like you never let a pile of laundry sit unfolded or a toy stay out of place for too long.

Aaron had never given much thought to the little details of domestic life before, but you had a way of making them feel... noticeable. You were woven into the fabric of his home in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

The quiet should’ve been a relief. No FBI cases waiting for him, no screaming unsub demanding his attention, no late-night paperwork eating away at his free time. He should’ve been able to enjoy the peace.

Not when he knew where you were tonight. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, casual and offhanded, telling him about the birthday party you’d been invited to. About how the birthday girl’s idea of a good time was getting steaming drunk and finding a guy to make out with.

Aaron had brushed it off at the time, forcing himself to nod, to keep his reaction neutral. It wasn’t his place to feel anything about your plans – he knew that. But the thought of you out there, surrounded by strangers, drinking, laughing, maybe kissing someone who didn’t know you the way he did...

He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face as if that could wipe away the thought.

It didn’t.

With a quiet sigh, he turned to pour himself a glass of bourbon, the rich honey liquid swirling in the dim light. Even that was a reminder of you. A gift you had given him on your one-year anniversary of working for him and Jack, wrapped neatly with a note that had read:

For the best boss ever – because even superheroes deserve a drink.

He had smiled when he first read it, tucking the note away in his desk drawer instead of throwing it out. He told himself it was because Jack might want to look back on it one day.

Now, as he took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through his chest, he wondered if that had ever really been the reason.

His hand drifted to his pocket before he could stop himself, fingers curling around his phone. He pulled it out, the screen glowing softly. His thumb hovered over the familiar green app, hesitation flickering through him.

He shouldn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t.

But the temptation was there, gnawing at the edges of his restraint. You had been sharing your location with him since you started working for him and Jack – your idea, not his. Just in case, you had said with a smile, if I’m out with Jack and you can’t reach me, at least you’ll know where we are.

It had made sense. It was practical.

But Jack wasn’t with you tonight, and here he was, opening the app regardless.

His job had shown him first-hand what kind of vultures lurked in the world – predators who waited for the right moment, who preyed on people like you. People who were too kind, too trusting. People who laughed freely, who lit up a room without realising it, who believed the best in others even when they didn’t deserve it.

He told himself that was why he checked. That was why his eyes scanned the map, searching for the little blue dot that told him where you were.

A bar downtown.

Of course.

Aaron sighed, setting the phone down on the counter like it burned him.

You were fine. You were an adult. You were allowed to go out, to drink, to do whatever you wanted.

But the thought of you – tipsy, surrounded by strangers, maybe some guy with his hand on the small of your back, leaning in too close – made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to analyse.

He braced his hands on the counter, exhaling through his nose, willing himself to let it go.

Then his phone buzzed with a message from you.

Having fun?

He frowned, reading it twice, his grip tightening around the device. A second later, another message popped up.

Wait. Don’t answer that. I know you’re home. You don’t have fun.

His lips twitched despite himself. Then another message came.

I can hear you rolling your eyes from here.

This time, he didn’t fight the smile.

Aaron leaned against the counter, staring at your words, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He should tell you to be safe. He should remind you to call if you needed anything.

Instead, he typed:

How many drinks have you had?

The response was instant.

Not enough yet.

He let a breath out, his thumb tapping idly against the screen.

Pacing yourself, I hope.

The read receipt popped up but no response came. His jaw tightened. You always responded quickly, even when you were busy, even when you were teasing him, there was never a delay.

A minute passed. Then another.

Aaron forced himself to set the phone down, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the darkened screen, willing it to light up again. He was overthinking it. You were probably distracted, mid-conversation, laughing at some joke he wouldn’t understand. You were fine.

He did his best to keep busy for the rest of the evening, but his mind kept drifting back to his phone. Every so often, he checked it – switching between your last text and the location app.

You hadn’t responded.

You hadn’t moved.

He told himself not to read into it. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe you left it in your bag somewhere and hadn’t checked it. Maybe you were just having fun.

Still, the glass of bourbon remained untouched beside him, the usual pull of exhaustion never quite setting in. It wasn’t until the clock crept past one in the morning that he finally let himself lie down on the couch, forcing his eyes shut.

Just an hour, he told himself. Then he’d check again.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, his neck stiff and the room bathed in darkness, the first thing he did was grab his phone.

3:27 AM.

The uneasy weight in his stomach turned into a knot as he swiped open the location app.

Still at the bar.

He frowned, sitting up fully. A quick Google search confirmed what he already knew – the bar closed at 3 AM. So why the hell were you still there?

His pulse pounded in his ears, a dull thrum beneath his skin. A dozen possibilities ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe you were waiting for a ride. Maybe –

Maybe something was wrong.

You should’ve left by now. You should be home.

Before he even registered the thought, he was on his feet, grabbing his keys from the counter. He barely remembered locking the door behind him, barely noticed the cool night air as he climbed into his car. His hands were steady as he punched the bar’s address into the GPS, but his chest was tight, his breath slow and measured in a way that only happened when he was forcing himself to stay calm.

He wasn’t overreacting. This wasn’t just some irrational impulse. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you needed him – if you were alone, stranded, or worse – then sitting back and doing nothing wasn’t an option.

Aaron gripped the wheel tighter as he pulled onto the street, scanning the sidewalk. The bar had emptied out, its neon sign flickering against the damp pavement, and the only movement came from a few stragglers loitering near the entrance, voices loud and slurred.

Then he saw you.

Sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, leaning back on your hands like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Absolutely shit-faced.

His jaw tensed as he threw the car into park, cutting the engine.

You were smiling at something in the distance, your head titling slightly, eyes unfocused, lost in a world far from this dimly lit street.

The streetlights bathed you in a soft, golden glow, casting shadows over the flush in your cheeks, the curve of your shoulders, the bare skin catching the night air. You looked otherworldly – untouchable, ethereal, like something that didn’t belong in a place like this.

And yet, here you were.

Aaron swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away, forcing himself to find something – anything – else to focus on. He had no business looking at you like this. No business letting his thoughts wander into places they didn’t belong.

But it was impossible not to.

The hem of your dress barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, fabric pooling over your legs that seemed long and endless in a way that felt entirely unfair. He had never seen this much of you before – never had to resist the temptation, to let his eyes trace the lines of your body, the soft slope of your knee, the stretch of smooth skin illuminated by neon light.

And God help him, it did something to him. Something that should never be spoken aloud.

You never dressed conservatively for his sake, you dressed for yourself. Some days you showed more skin than others, but even then, the most he’d ever been allowed to see were glimpses – your ankles peeking beneath the hem of a sundress, the curve of your calf when you curled your legs beneath you on the couch.

But tonight? Tonight, he was drunk too. Just on something else entirely.

Not appropriate. Not his concern. Not when he was supposed to be mad at you.

But then you tilted your head up at him, squinting slightly, as if trying to make out his face through a fog. “You look an awful lot like my boss,” you mused, shading your eyes with one hand like there was a blinding sun overhead. “He’s very handsome.”

Aaron dragged a hand down his face, inhaling through his nose. You were drunker than he thought.

“Alright, that’s enough. Get up.”

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering the request, then stretched your legs out further, the movement drawing his attention to just how much skin was on display.

"Mmm, I don’t think so," you sighed, leaning back on your palms. "I’m enjoying the view."

“The view of what exactly?” He looked across the street where there was nothing but darkened storefronts.

A slow, knowing smile spread across your lips. "You, sir."

Aaron stilled.

You squinted up at him, tapping a finger against your chin. "Do you like being called sir?"

"What?"

You waved a hand, bracelets jingling with the motion, as if you were letting him in on some great secret. "I was talking to this guy at the bar earlier," you began, voice light, careless, like the words weren’t about to drive him insane. "He was telling me how he made his ex-girlfriend’s call him as sir – you know, when they did things…without clothes."

Your name left his lips, almost a warning but if anything it only amused you.

“It’s probably something I could get behind."

Aaron’s teeth clenched.

Enough.

“Get up.”

You pouted like a spoiled thing, tilting your head. "You’re no fun at all," you huffed, dragging out the words like a complaint. Then, as if your mouth didn’t already have him questioning his patience, you added, "You know, a few Sex on the Beaches would cheer you up immensely."

Aaron didn’t take the bait, didn’t argue, didn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he crouched down, hands settling on your waist, fingers pressing against warm skin that he should not be noticing. He ignored the way something turned inside of him when he lifted you easily, the way his grip instinctively tightened to steady you.

"Have you ever had sex on the beach?"

His hands froze just for a second. His fingers stilled against the fabric of your dress as he tugged it down, as if correcting some mistake that should have never happened in the first place. A correction, a reset.

But the damage was done.

You looked up at him, slow, expectant, lips curved like you were waiting for something.

“Get in the car.”

“That’s not an answer but I will get in the car regardless because it’s cold.”

Aaron swallowed, his throat dry as he watched you turn toward the vehicle. You walked unsteadily, your balance off, your steps slow. And he followed, forcing himself to keep his gaze fixed on the back of your head.

Not the dress. Not your legs. Not the bare skin he’d already seen too much of tonight.

But as if the universe hadn’t tested him enough, as if fate was sitting back and laughing at him, just as you reached the door, he stepped forward to open it for you at the exact moment your purse slipped from your fingers, falling to the ground.

Without hesitation, you bent down to retrieve it right as Aaron was behind you.

His jaw locked so tight it ached.

He whipped his gaze away immediately, staring hard at the sky, at the roof of the car, at anything that wasn’t the colour of your underwear.

This was some kind of punishment. It had to be.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing at his sides, forcing himself to stay rooted in place instead of stepping back like a man guilty of something.

Oblivious to his suffering, you took your time grabbing your purse, steadying yourself on the car as you straightened. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, blinking innocently "What was that?"

He dragged a hand down his face before stepping forward and reaching past you to yank the car door open. “Nothing. Please, just get in the car.”

For once, you didn’t argue. You turned, dropping into the seat with no grace and all recklessness, your legs folding awkwardly, your limbs not quite cooperating with the rest of you. A quiet oof left your lips as you settled before Aaron shut the door.

He took a second longer than necessary to collect himself, inhaling deeply before making his way to the driver’s side.

By the time he slid in, his hands were already working his quarter-zip sweater free, the fabric bunching as he pulled it over his head, revealing the plain white t-shirt beneath. He always ran warm – too warm sometimes – but tonight felt different. Without a word, he passed the sweater to you.

You blinked down at it. "What’s this for?"

Aaron kept his eyes ahead as he started the engine, adjusting the car’s heating. “You’re cold.”

You said nothing as you shifted beside him, pulling it over your head, the sleeves hanging loose around your wrist. You let out a small, content sigh, curling into the fabric like it was the cosiest thing in the world.

Aaron risked a glance as he drove. Big mistake.

You were looking at him –  right at him – chin tucked into the collar, eyes warm and drowsy, but not nearly as unfocused as they should have been. No, there was something else in your gaze, something aware, something playful.

“Are you warm enough?”

You sighed, stretching slightly, shifting in your seat in a way that only made this worse for him. “I am indeed. How did you know I was here?”

“You share your location with me.”

You gasped theatrically, twisting in your seat, attempting to tuck your legs underneath you despite the seatbelt digging into your skin. "Aaron Hotchner," you accused, voice full of scandal, "were you stalking me during my non-working hours?"

Aaron stopped at a red light, his focus shifting to you once more, scanning your face, searching for any signs of distress beneath all the teasing and drunken charm. “You were still at a bar that had closed. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You grinned, leaning your head against the seat, voice loose and lazy. "I am more than okay, boss. I’ve had like thirteen strawberry daiquiris, and I saved all the colourful umbrellas too. For my scrapbook – look!"

You reached for your purse, the movement uncoordinated but enthusiastic. The small bag sat on your lap, and when you flipped it open, the contents spilled into clear view – too clear.

Aaron’s gaze moved down instinctively.

And then his knuckles went bone white.

Cigarettes. A pack tucked neatly inside and several golden foil wrappers glinting beneath the streetlights.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel too tightly, his stomach twisting with something he couldn’t immediately name. His heartbeat, slow and steady just moments ago, kicked up and not in a way he liked.

“You smoke?”

You blinked, glancing down at your purse, then back at him confused. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you – he looked at the evidence sitting in your lap. "Since when do you smoke?"

You followed his line of sight. "Oh!" You let out a bright, almost delighted laugh, completely unaware of the storm brewing next to you. "No, no, no! Those aren’t mine! I – oh my God, this isn’t even my purse!"

Aaron didn’t move, didn’t blink.

You giggled, digging through it with renewed amusement. "I was wondering why my lipstick wasn’t in here! This explains it. Me and Lily must’ve switched at some point." You lifted the pack of cigarettes between two fingers. "She’s the smoker. And a terrible one at that. She always has to borrow lighters."

He still hadn’t breathed.

You tilted your head at him, then followed his line of sight back to the golden wrappers glinting between the folds of fabric.

Your brows furrowed before you rolled your eyes. "Oh, relax, dad. Those aren’t mine either. Lily’s got a very active love life and clearly she came prepared tonight."

Aaron’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen. Not even a little. Not when you were watching him like that – lips twitching, barely holding back a grin, fully aware of what you were doing. Then, as if you hadn’t already pushed him far enough, you plucked one of the golden squares between two fingers, twirling it slowly, letting it catch the light.

"What?" you murmured, feigning innocence. "You want to borrow one?"

He turned his head, just enough to meet your gaze, just enough to silently tell you to stop before he lost whatever fraying patience he had left. “Put it away.”

"Oh," you sang, drawing the word out as you tucked the packet back into Lily’s purse, "you’re one of those."

"One of what?"

Your lips curled. “Like it raw. I spoke to another guy, and I think they call it a breeding kink these days.”

Aaron nearly slammed the breaks. His head snapped toward you so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he must have misheard you – because there was no way you had just said that.

No way.

But there you were, sitting in his passenger seat, swaddled in his sweater, smelling like alcohol and trouble, blinking at him with wide, deceptively innocent eyes, looking at him like he was the most entertaining thing in the world to you right now.

“You’re going to regret saying all of this tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, as if you’d already accepted your fate. “I figured I was already out of a job when I asked you if you’d ever had sex on the beach.”

“You’re not out of a job,” he muttered, because he could never fire you. Never get rid of you. Never let you slip out of his orbit, no matter how much you tested him.

“That’s a shame.”

His brow furrowed. “Why is that a shame?”

“Cause then I’d have an excuse,” you hummed, your voice quieter now, softer, like you were sinking into the weight of the alcohol.

“An excuse for what?”

You turned your head, blinking over at him, your eyes softer now, so much softer than the teasing from before. "For making things messy."

Aaron gripped the wheel tighter. "What does that mean?"

You sighed dramatically, stretching your legs out as if this conversation wasn’t about to end him. "It means," you said languidly, like you were talking to yourself more than him, "if I wasn’t your nanny, if I didn’t work for you, if there weren’t so many reasons why this would be a bad idea, I’d let myself say it."

“Say what?”

“You’re smart, Aaron,” you murmured, your voice slow, dragging over the syllables like you were fighting sleep.

His chest felt too tight.

And when you smiled at him – sleepy, real, unguarded – Aaron thought he might actually break.

"You know what.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

He said nothing, the only sounds filling the space between you were the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from your side of the car for the rest of the journey. You weren’t fully asleep, not yet, but your body had started to melt into the seat, exhaustion creeping in despite your best efforts.

When Aaron pulled into his driveway, he shifted into park and glanced at you, debating whether you were even awake enough to get inside on your own. But the moment the car stopped, you stirred, blinking blearily at the windshield before frowning.

"This isn’t home."

Aaron’s stomach twisted because of course you didn’t see it that way. Even though you were there more than he was. Even though the house felt different when you were gone. Even though he thought of you as home.

He tried to push the thought aside. “Well, do you have your keys since you swapped bags with your friend?”

You frowned again, like you were trying to process his words but they were taking longer than usual to land. Then, after a moment, you groaned, slumping against the seat. "Shit. You’re right."

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

He stepped out first, rounding the car, but before he could even reach for your door handle, you had already pushed it open – or tried to.

Because your coordination was horrible.

The door swung open too fast and you nearly followed it.

Aaron caught you instantly, his reflexes sharp despite the late hour and lack of light.

“Easy, angel,” he cooed, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. They were gentle. Not the way he spoke to his agents. Not the way he spoke to anyone else.

His arm stayed secure around your waist, keeping you upright, while his other hand reached past you to shut the door.

And that was when you did it. Without thinking, without hesitation, you rested your hand on his chest as you leaned into him like you belonged there.

And damn it, it felt like you did.

He guided you carefully toward the front door, his hand never leaving your waist. This wasn’t the first time he’d led someone inside after a long night, but it was the first time he’d felt like this.

Once inside, he lowered you onto the couch, easing you down with so much care, like you were something fragile, something precious.

“Stay here.”

Aaron disappeared down the hall, moving toward the laundry room where he knew you kept a spare change of clothes for the nights you spent with Jack.

He was back in the living room within seconds, noticing the way you had kicked off your heels and curled yourself onto the couch.

Handing you the bundle of clothes, his fingers brushed yours for half a second, and he hated the way it made something in his chest tremble.

“Thank you.”

"Just get changed."

A sleepy grin tugged at your lips. "Yes, sir."

He clenched his jaw, ignored you, and turned toward the kitchen – because standing there any longer, watching you wrapped up in his sweater, looking at him like that, wasn’t something he could afford to do.

He heard you shifting behind him, the rustle of fabric, and then –

"Aaron?"

He stopped mid-step.

There was something different in your voice now, something smaller, something hesitant.

When he turned, he found you still in your dress, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself, his sweater now abandoned on the sofa.

"The zip." You turned your back to him. "Could you just undo it, please?" Your fingers pointed toward the back of your dress, granting him another view of something he had tried all night not to think about.

Wordlessly, he stepped forward, his fingers hovering briefly before carefully gathering your hair and sweeping it over your shoulder, baring the zipper to him completely.

He gripped the delicate thing between his fingers, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the way you shivered beneath his touch. But as he pulled the zipper down, revealing the smooth expanse of your back, his suspicion was confirmed when he saw the goosebumps rise along your spine.

When the zipper reached the base of your spine, he let go, immediately stepping back, needing distance.

“You’re all set.”

You didn’t move right away, standing there with your back still to him, the dress loose around your frame, his sweater still abandoned on the sofa. Then, after a moment of stillness, you turned your head just slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

"Thanks."

Aaron didn’t respond. He just turned and made it into the kitchen successfully this time, moving on autopilot, bracing his hands on the counter.

He was going to make you something to help with the inevitable headache you’d have in the morning, then he was going to go to bed, and by tomorrow, this would just be one more thing he’d force himself to forget.

By the time he had the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water in his hands, you were quiet. The kind of quiet that made him pause, his footsteps slowing as he neared the hallway.

He hesitated, listening carefully, trying to gauge if you had finished changing.

“Are you decent?” he called out.

“…Define decent.”

“Just tell me if I can come in.”

Another pause, then the sound of shifting fabric before you finally replied, "Yes, you can come in, Hotchner."

He stepped into the living room to find you sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your hair messy from the night.

“Take these, they should help with the headache.”

You took the glass, cradling it between your hands, but instead of drinking, you chewed the inside of your cheek.

"Is it a bad time to tell you that I’m a throw-up kind of drunk and not a headache kind of one?"

Aaron stared at you, expression completely and utterly blank. He’d dealt with some of the worst criminals the world had to offer, but nothing could have prepared him for you in this state.

“Are you going to be sick now?”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes unfocused but still completely earnest. "I don’t know… I don’t like thinking about it because then I get anxious, and then the anxiety makes me feel even worse." You frowned, looking up at him like you’d just personally inconvenienced his entire life. “I am so sorry.”

He sighed, crouching in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees. He should have been exasperated. He should have been frustrated. But in that moment all he felt was patience – one that seemed to only exist when it came to you.

"You don’t have to apologize," he assured you. "Let’s get you upstairs and closer to the bathroom."

Your lips parted before curving into a teasing smile. "You’re going to make me sleep in the bathroom?"

Aaron huffed a breath, shaking his head. "No. You can have my bed for the night. It’s more comfortable than being down here, and it’s less of a trip if you need to be sick."

You blinked at him, as if processing the words in slow motion. Then your smile softened. “You’re the best,” you whispered.

He tried to ignore the way those three simple words nestled themselves somewhere they shouldn’t.

"Come on, let’s get you to bed."

He helped you up carefully, keeping his hands steady as you swayed, still a little off balance from the alcohol. You leaned into him instinctively, far too trusting, and he had to remind himself that you weren’t thinking straight, that this could mean nothing in the morning.

By the time you made it to his room, you were half-asleep on your feet, blinking slowly as you took in the space around you.

Aaron pulled back the covers, gesturing for you to get in. "Go on. You need to sleep."

You hesitated, standing there, fingers toying with the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore. “Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

He should have said no. Should have reminded you that you were drunk, that this wasn’t a good idea, that you wouldn’t even remember asking in the morning.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded.

"Okay."

You smiled sleepily, gratefully, before climbing into bed, curling up under the blankets.

Aaron sat down in the chair by the bedside, keeping some distance, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as your breathing started to slow, just as sleep almost took you, you mumbled, "You always take care of me."

Aaron let a breath out, watching as your body finally relaxed, as you drifted off entirely, safe and warm in his bed.

He wished he didn’t want to.

But he always would.

[gay-dorito-dust]

First time writing for Matt, don’t crucify me

Out of everything it was your heart, your breath and your voice Matt adored the most and honed in on whenever he can, most of which was when you were the least expecting of him to do so.

It brought him a comfort, a grounding feeling that only you could give him, reminding him that you were there just a couple feet in from of him but to Matt you felt closer than that in so many ways.

You could be taking the time out of your day to read a book, finding yourself reading it aloud to no one in particular, even making up voices for the colourful variety of characters and lost in the sorry unfolding before you; unaware of the fact that Matt was stood nearby, listening in on you and smiling to himself as he could hear your deep investment of the story, finding your little sharp inhales of air and gasps of surprise all the more adorable and if anything leaving him just as invested in the story as you were.

Matt didn’t have to have to be pressed up against your to hear your heart, but on those days where he needed to remind himself that you weren’t going anywhere the most after a rough night of being daredevil, he’ll find himself as close as humanly possible with his head on your chest as he focused on the song your heart made. Just happy to know it was something he was blessed enough to get to come back to night after night, reminding him of the days where he would pray for moments like these.

And now that he got them, he wasn’t about to let you go, his angel, his god given solace, and his personal heaven clothed in the comfiest clothes known the man as his fingers met the material he correctly assumed the second you had bought it home.

How ironic was it that the devil fell for an angel like you? Not that ironic for Matt as he found himself falling in love with you constantly regardless.

[mochinomnoms]

Hi, vacations are killing me rn (I am going on multiple walks to explore, and damn I am busy)

But I did have time to listen to vocaloid songs, and I got me a little idea~

It's very sweet too

Okay so there's this song that despite controversy (the controversy is actually silly dw about it) that's about mocking the trope of "tsunderes" so this girl has a crush on a classmate and calls them a "small fry"

I think yk where I am going

Hell yeaaaah the tweels get their own game turned on them because of all the teasing they do to their crush and have to risk that their crush is going to get tired one day and try to leave because excessive teasing is not that enjoyable

"Loser, loser.. despite all of my bullying, you still have a crush! ♡" (rough translation)

"Your reactions are just so cutee! I can't get enough ♡" - Something Floyd would say about his dear shrimpy

"Hm? Did you join my club to spend more time with me, Prefect? :)" - Maaybee something that Jade would say to his darling pearl

Their teasing can be really cruel sometimes, yet they still care? Maybe? It makes you feel overwhelmed and used because they keep stringing you along with all of their joking, pulling you close to only laugh at your flustered face but they are not clear with their emotions and it's frustrating!

One day, the two of them gang up on you cooing mockingly (perhaps) about how cute yet pathetic you are! You had enough you get up from your desk instead of curling yourself in embarrassment until the two leave you alone and get up to stay away from them

It's the first time you have done something that's out of the ordinary, and while normally they would enjoy this unexpected change, but it's different when you start crying while walking away from them, frustrated clearly!

"H-hey! Wait, don't leave me! I will apologize. I am sorry -" (rough translation again)

So they chase after you because they care deep down, but they are stupid

And I only thought about these two for the "small fry" thing, hehe

-Vaquita (I am alive)

hi vaquita! i missed you very nice to hear from you again!!!

i think i know what song you're talking about?? a miku one right? i'd have to look it up i remember hearing the discourse on it, but i don't really interact with discourse all that much so idk for sure

i think Floyd would get a kick our of a tsundere s/o most! just look at how popular FloRid is, i think part of that Riddle could potentially fit into the role of the tsundere (at least in the fics i've seen). But Floyd likes it so much because he thrives off the reactions and pushing your buttons. it's the fact that you try so hard to be composed and fail each time that he likes! Though, I can see him getting bored after a while if these are the same reactions you give, especially if he knows that you like him a lot. He gets frustrated that you won't just be upfront with your feelings, and if you can't do that why is he still playing around with you, putting in all the work when you won't do the same?

Jade I think finds it cute at first, but will get bored quickly since he sees through you so quickly. Why must you hold yourself back? Isn't it tiring, isn't it a chore? Wouldn't it be much better if you were honest with your feelings? With Jade, he's wanting to see just how deep your feelings go for him, and have you chase after him! Maybe if he changes up your interactions, you'll just have to force yourself to be more than a little tsundere, forced character development hehehe.

[hannieoftheyear]

Wedding songs & Carillons (l.jh)

So many years playing together, so many love songs connecting you, coming to an end. Jihoon's convinced this is his last goodbye, and you fear you'll lose him forever.

✧˖* pairing: guitarist!woozi x harpist gn!reader

✧˖* w.c: 2,9k

✧˖* genre: wedding band au, coworkers to lovers, angst, fluff.

✧˖* content warnings: confessing repressed feelings, crying, kissing.

🎧: marry you — bruno mars, if you leave me — seventeen, risk — gracie abrams

✧˖* note: I wrote this for @k-vanity 's love in the mix event! I had the idea of a wedding band au for a while and this was the perfect moment to write it!

✧˖* note 2: i did not proofread the second half, i'm sorry if there are any mistakes!!

dividers used

hope you enjoy ♡ let me know your thoughts!

As the wedding planner signals to start playing, and the first notes echo around the venue as the door opens and the bride and groom appear, taking their first steps as a married couple, your heart can only sink.

The piano and your harp harmonize in a beautiful mesh of melodies, creating the perfect atmosphere for the guests to admire the couple’s beauty and dance moves. So many years of playing with the same band allowed you to learn to be in sync, and to know which instruments go well together in which parts of the weddings. That's why, a few meters to your left, waiting for his turn and avoiding looking at you, sits Jihoon with his guitar.

It's impossible to think of a future in which he's not present. You wouldn't be in the band if it wasn't for him.

You've spent many years by his side, following his orders, learning all his tips and tricks and watching him form a band he could be proud of.

Jihoon could seem cold, a workaholic, and a severe leader that always wanted to be in control. But, somewhere in between the rehearsals in his garage and the parties you got hired to play in, you got to know the real him, the one that hid behind that harsh exterior.

On the job, Jihoon was as hard on himself as he was on the band. He knew what he wanted for himself and for the band, and he didn’t stop until everything reached the point he wished for. But deep down, he was a sensible man. His cold persona always melted when the wedding vows were exchanged, you could see it in his eyes, and you’ve caught a few glimpses of tears falling down the side of his face at the more sentimental ones. When a wedding planner requested a new song, he’d make you practice until it was ingrained in your muscles. But, as ruthless as he seems, he cares about his bandmates, and wouldn’t force you if you didn’t feel like yourself and asked to leave early.

It’s unclear to you when it happened.

Maybe it was when you graduated college and he was the first to hug and congratulate you.

Maybe it was when you just couldn’t get a song right and he stayed the night helping you practice.

Maybe it was when he comforted you after you went on a date with an asshole, and he made sure you were okay before dropping you off at your place.

Or perhaps it was when you had a tiring event in the suburbs, and on the ride back home he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You’re madly and deeply in love with Jihoon, with all his strengths and flaws, his talents and his occasional clumsiness, the loud laugh he lets out when you make a stupid mistake, the way his voice softens when he teaches a new song, his focused face when you’re arranging a new setlist, his hands playing the guitar like it’s his second nature.

It’s unclear when it started, but you realized too late. And after today, you’re not sure if you’ll ever see him again.

By the time the first song’s over, your hands have been playing on autopilot with your gaze lost to the floor below you, trying to resist the tears, or at least delay them until it makes more sense for them to come out.

You hear him before you see him. Jihoon comes to the stage along with the singer, and as he plays the first chords of the next song, the one you’ve been practicing non-stop since the new guitarist to replace him was hired, you barely have time to react before your hands move automatically again.

The wedding classic begins playing at the rhythm of your band, Jihoon’s guitar leading all of you for the last time, and you can’t stop the flash of nostalgic memories from appearing in your mind.

It feels like you spent a whole lifetime with him by your side.

Since he found the only video of you playing the harp you dared to post on youtube, and encouraged you to meet him and practice with the band, you haven’t looked back.

But everything has to come to an end, and it just so happens that your life with Jihoon is concluding right when you accept your feelings towards him. Some might call it cursed fate, you’ve started calling it the consequences of your stupid love-filled actions. But what could you have done? Stand in the way of the life he always wanted? Prevent him from following his dreams? Love means to want to see him happy, and if that happiness is waiting for him somewhere far away from you, then you have to let him go, even if that means you’ll never see him again.

So, yeah, you helped him get a famous producer's number. You talked to one of the friendlier wedding planners and asked her if there was a chance said producer could be invited. You stayed over-hours with him to correct even the smallest mistakes on his technique. You cheered for him when the producer offered him an internship on the other side of the country. Jihoon was finally able to do what he always wanted, and you were there for him every step of the way. Though it killed you inside.

“Thank you for everything guys, really, I’ll miss you. Give me a call if you’re in the city!”

It worsens when the wedding suddenly finishes. In the blink of an eye, without realizing, your last job together came to an end, and he’s actually leaving you.

“I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, but there’s a lot of stuff to figure out at home.” Jihoon apologizes as everyone’s packing their stuff in the backroom.

Air can’t find its way inside your lungs, blood doesn’t pump from your heart. Everything stops.

“You’re lucky we had the go away party yesterday! I’d kick your ass if not.” Someone jokes, but you can barely comprehend that Jihoon’s really leaving for good. In that exact moment.

Everyone goes hug him one last time, wishing him good luck with big smiles and pats in the back. But you’re incapable of doing so, frozen in place watching everything happen from the sidelines.

Jihoon opens the door, looking back one last time, and as your gazes connect, his pleading eyes begging for you to do something, the only muscle on your body that moves is your smile, barely there, as the only form of goodbye you’re able to give.

It’s when the door closes shut and you hear his steps echoing outside that you realize. It’s now or never. If you don’t pour your heart out to him, you’ll never be able to. You’ll have to live with that decision for the rest of your life.

Dropping what you were doing, your legs make the decision for you, running outside, after him.

The blinding sunlight takes a few seconds to get used to, but you scream his name, and his figure gets clearer and clearer ahead of you, until he stands right in front of you with a questioning look on his face. Whatever you had planned to tell him in the few seconds it took you to get to him, completely vanished at the sight of him.

You pause, catching your breath and staring into his eyes as your brain dwells on what to do. He’s so close, waiting for you, but with little patience. And just when he opens his mind to question you, you settle on what to do.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you rest your chin on his shoulder, hoping that, this way, what you can’t put into words translates into a tight hug. Jihoon reciprocates immediately, enveloping you in the warmest embrace you’ve ever felt, and the squeeze he gives you pushes you over the edge, releasing the stream of tears you’ve been trying to hide until he left.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.” You murmur into his neck, feeling his heartbeat so close to yours. “We’re gonna miss you.”

At those words, Jihoon breaks the long hug, with a subtle coldness in his stare that lets you realize you need to say more.

“I am.” Your heart urges you to clarify. “I’m gonna miss you. So much.”

The weight on your shoulders lifts at your words, letting you breathe for the first time in weeks.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you continue, “but I felt that it wasn’t my place, that it was too selfish of me.”

“It’s okay.” Jihoon’s soft voice makes you connect your eyes with his, after avoiding them before in case you were out of line. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“No, but, you don’t get it.” You’re irritated at yourself for not being able to find the right words. “I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

“The band’s going to be fine.” He chuckles, and your insides do cartwheels at the sound. “You’re the best, I made sure of that.”

“I know, the band’s awesome. Wedding planners are gonna be tired of always calling us.” However you found it in yourself to joke, it quickly goes away. “I mean living. I can’t imagine a life without you in it. The songs we play won’t change, the band will keep going, but it won’t be the same, because you won’t be there.” You’re losing your breath, but it doesn’t matter. You need to say what you feel, in whatever way possible. “You’re the one that gave my life a meaning. I-, I don’t think you realize how much you changed me, for the better.”

Tears begin building up at the corners of your eyes. His imminent, unescapable farewell being the last thing you want to hear.

“Don’t cry, please.” You feel the hold of his hand on your shoulder, a quiet comfort that just makes you break down even more. “You helped me too. I wouldn’t have dared to try if it wasn’t for you. Thank y–”

“No, you can’t thank me.” You can’t let him. “Of course I helped you. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.” How could you not? It’s obvious. “I’d do anything to see you happy, accomplishing everything you deserve to.” Even if it meant dealing with losing him forever.

Jihoon’s lips part in an intent to speak, but you’re quick to interrupt him. “And I know what you’re gonna say.” Maybe, if you keep talking, he’ll never say his final goodbye, and he’ll stay by your side forever. “You’re gonna say that you’d do the same for me, and I know you would. But I,” the church bells sound above you, a reminder of the little time you have left, and the words cascade out of you, “I’d do anything for you. Even standing outside a wedding venue that’ll kick us out in twenty minutes, embarrassingly crying in front of you telling you how much I’m going to miss you. Get back in contact with my ex to ask them for their producer’s friend’s number. Help you practice over and over again, and help you pack your things even if it ends with you on the other side of the country, far away from us, from me.”

His face softens with each word you put out to the world, eyes never leaving off you and your endless ramble of feelings.

“I don’t care if this is too out there, or too out of place, but I know it's my last chance to tell you that I love you.” At those words, you finally breathe. “I love you, more than a partner in the band and more than a friend. So much that I’m willing to help you move across the country and never see you in person again only to make you happy.”

“I–, I don’t know what to say.” Speechless, Jihoon doesn’t take any step away from you, the hand holding you close sliding down your arm until it reaches your wrist.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Even if your heart breaks. “I needed to get it off my chest, to tell you before you left.”

A wave of noise fills the silence, the wedding guests leaving the venue to head home interrupting the moment. You know it’s your sign to leave, and Jihoon’s continued silence doesn’t really persuade you to stay any longer either.

You mutter a quick goodbye under your breath, but you don’t get to go far, as his hand, tight around your wrist, pushes you back in front of him.

“You say I don’t realize how I changed you,” he begins, your eyes widening in slight shock at his sudden boldness, “but you’re oblivious to your effects on me too.” His words take the little breath you had left away.

“You don’t have to.” You only reply, convinced he’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Stop with that. Just let me finish what I have to say.” A part of you wants to chuckle at the use of his teacher voice, but you instinctively comply nonetheless. “I think I always thought of you as one of my closest friends. Seeing you evolve over the years we’ve worked together and grow into the amazing musician you are today, I’m so proud to be able to call you my friend. But in these past months, we’ve spent a lot more time together, and you helped me so much. You made me realize that my dreams were possible, you opened the way for countless opportunities and pushed me to work hard for them.” You’ve forgotten how to breathe. It feels like fire anywhere Jihoon looks and touches, your hands, your cheeks, your lips. “I realized I can’t live without you.”

“What are you trying to say?” The capacity to think has left your brain, leaving only a melted shell of you.

“I love you too.” Those three words you never expected to hear from him, so warm and full of truth. You can’t retain the tear that drips down your face. “We've seen so many couples choose to spend their lives with one another, and thinking about the future, I'm sure I want to spend mine with you.”

Jihoon’s body’s so close to yours, between the overthinking and the crying, you didn’t realize his chest almost bumps with yours, his face barely inches away from yours, his eyes shining looking straight at yours.

“What are we going to do now?” It’s too much for you. Your brain freezes as his eyes drift down to your lips, you can’t think, can’t move.

“First, I’m going to kiss you.” He says with a voice you’ve only heard in your dreams, full of tease and want.

You lean into the warmth of his hand on your cheek, tilting it just in time to feel his soft lips against yours.

Whatever you imagined his kiss to feel like, every single particle of your body exploding into fireworks was never in the picture. Your lips tingle as his glide over yours, electric and determined, a translation of feelings neither of you were able to put into words. If the whole of your skin blushing wasn’t enough, his hands travel to hold your waist, tight and secure to keep you from backing away. As if you ever would.

His hair feels soft between your fingers, tugging at it as you wrap around him to feel him around you even more.

If it lasts three seconds or ten minutes, you don’t know. But when your lungs sting at the lack of air, you’re forced to unmold your mouth from his, dreadingly. Both of you refrain from untangling your limbs, his arms around your waist and your around his neck keeping you both close.

“What’s the second thing?” You ask in a breathless attempt to ease the tension.

He chuckles, and the last of the fireworks inside your body erupt once and for all. You could never get tired of the sound.

“Come with me.” Another three words from him, but ones you’ve never even thought of hearing, that leave you breathless.

A thousand words fight to get out of you at the same time, muttering syllables and then going back to being stunned. “Wha- How? The band, I can’t just leave, and where- where would I live? Oh, god. There’s so much stuff to figure out.” Not even saying no, you instantly begin worrying about the future.

Jihoon’s lips on your again interrupt your frantic ramble, and you melt instantly. He seemingly learned how much effect he has on you quickly.

“We’ll find someone. You can teach them everything and come live with me after.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t just tell you he wants you to move in with him! “I have space for you, and you can come work with me, produce with me. If you want to, of course.”

He’s so serious about it, you don’t doubt it’s what he truly wants.

“You’ll get tired of me.” He smiles at your words, knowing your answer.

“Never.”

thank you so much for reading!

[arxiwon]

Hi I have a request, could you write something based on this part from Kendrick lamar‘s Song „Pride“

„Me I wasn’t taught to share, but care. In another life I surely was there. Me I wasn’t taught to share, but I care, I care, I care“

In Another Life | pjs

Pairing: Jay × Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Break-Up AU

Warnings: Emotional distress, heartbreak, themes of love and loss, unresolved feelings, heavy angst, implied moving on.

Synopsis: Jay was never taught to share, but he was taught to care. And God, he cared about you—maybe too much, maybe not enough. When the distance between you grows wider, he convinces himself that time will fix it, that love alone will be enough to keep you by his side. But when you finally leave, Jay learns the harshest lesson of all: caring isn’t the same as holding on. And sometimes, letting go is the only thing left to do.

The first time Jay realizes he might have lost you, it isn’t dramatic. There’s no explosive argument, no doors slammed shut, no shattered glass on the floor. Just silence. A silence that stretches too long, settles too deeply, and makes itself at home in the space between you.

He wasn’t taught to share, but he cares. He cares in ways he doesn’t know how to articulate.

You had always been the one to give more. More patience, more understanding, more love. And Jay? Jay took. Not because he was selfish, but because he thought you’d always have more to give. That you’d always be there, waiting.

But now, as he watches you from across the room—your laughter softer, your gaze distant—he wonders when you stopped looking at him like he was your favorite thing in the world.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, tilting your head.

Jay hesitates. His first instinct is to say no. To brush it off, let the moment pass, let things stay easy the way they always have. But something about the way you’re looking at him now—like you already know the answer, like you’re waiting for him to slip up—makes him pause.

He swallows. “Are we okay?”

Your fingers still around your glass, and there it is again. That pause, that silence. It presses against his chest like a weight he doesn’t know how to carry.

“Do you want the truth?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Jay forces a small laugh. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You exhale, setting your glass down with more care than necessary. “I don’t know.”

It’s not the answer he expected. Not the reassurance, not the soft words that make everything feel less heavy. Just three syllables, simple and honest, yet they cut through him like a dull blade.

Jay wasn’t taught to share—his emotions, his fears, his vulnerabilities. But he cares. And right now, caring feels a lot like drowning.

He wants to reach for you. To pull you close, press his forehead against yours, and tell you he’ll do better. That he doesn’t know how to be open the way you need him to be, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. That doesn’t mean he wants to lose you.

But he hesitates. And in that hesitation, he watches as you pull away first.

Because maybe, in another life, he was better at this. Maybe, in another life, he knew how to hold on before it was too late.

But in this one, he just watches you slip through his fingers.

And all he can do is care.

Jay doesn’t sleep that night.

He stares at the ceiling, the room thick with the weight of everything unsaid. The air feels colder, the bed emptier—even though you’re still here, just on the other side, facing away from him. He wonders if you’re awake, if your mind is running in circles like his is.

He wants to reach out. Just to feel you, to make sure you’re still within arm’s reach. But he doesn’t.

Because what if you don’t reach back?

Me, I wasn’t taught to share, but care.

He was never good with words. Never good at saying what he needed to say until it was too late. He thought love was something you showed, not something you had to say out loud. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe you needed to hear it. Maybe you needed something more than just his quiet presence beside you.

He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll talk to you tomorrow. He’ll figure out the right words, the right way to say them.

But when morning comes, you’re gone.

Not permanently—not yet. Your shoes are missing from the doorway, your coat gone from the rack. Your things are still here, but the absence of you still feels suffocating.

Jay sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. His chest feels tight, something sharp curling in his ribs.

He should call you. Or text. Something. But his hands stay still in his lap.

Me, I wasn’t taught to share, but I care.

Maybe if he says it enough, it’ll make up for everything else.

Maybe if he cares hard enough, you’ll come back.

—

But caring isn’t enough.

Because days pass. Then weeks. And though you don’t leave entirely, you drift further and further, slipping into a life that feels less and less like his.

Jay sees it in the way you stop lingering in the same space as him. How you don’t fill the silences anymore, how you don’t look at him with that quiet kind of warmth you used to.

And one day, he sees it in the way you smile at someone else.

It’s small—barely anything, just a passing moment. But he feels it like a punch to the gut.

Because he used to be the only one who could make you smile like that.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, jaw tight. He has no right to be angry. No right to feel this bitter, this hollow.

But God, he still cares. And it’s eating him alive.

—

The night you finally leave, Jay doesn’t say anything.

Not because he doesn’t want to—because he does. He wants to tell you to stay, wants to tell you that he’ll do better, that he’ll learn.

But he knows that if he really cares about you—if he truly, deeply loves you—then he won’t hold you back.

So he watches as you close the door behind you, as your footsteps fade down the hall.

And when the silence swallows him whole, Jay finally understands—

Caring was never enough.

And it never would be.

Jay tells himself he’ll be fine.

That time will fix the hollow feeling in his chest. That eventually, he’ll stop checking his phone, stop looking for you in every room, stop expecting to hear your voice in the silence.

But time moves forward, and nothing changes.

He still cares. And caring without having you feels worse than anything he’s ever known.

—

Somewhere along the way, he starts avoiding places where you might be. Not because he doesn’t want to see you—God, he does—but because he doesn’t know if he can handle it.

Because what if you look happy? What if you don’t look back at him?

But one night, he isn’t so lucky.

It happens in a quiet bar, the kind you both used to go to when you wanted to escape the weight of the world for a little while. Jay hadn’t planned on coming here, but his friends had dragged him out, insisting he needed to do something other than wallow in his own mind.

And that’s when he sees you.

You’re sitting by the window, bathed in soft light. Your head tilts back as you laugh at something, eyes crinkling at the corners. You look… good. Like the weight you carried with him is gone.

Like leaving was the right choice.

Jay doesn’t realize he’s gripping his glass too tightly until his knuckles turn white. He forces himself to breathe, to look away. But then your gaze lifts—just for a second.

And you see him.

It’s quick, barely anything, but he sees the way your smile falters just a little. The way your fingers twitch against the rim of your glass.

For a second, he wonders if you’ll come over. If you’ll say something, if you’ll let him hear your voice again.

But then, you turn back to your conversation.

And just like that, Jay realizes—this is what it feels like to be a ghost in someone else’s story.

—

Later that night, long after he’s left the bar, Jay finds himself staring at his phone.

There’s nothing stopping him from calling you. From typing out a message, telling you everything he never said when he had the chance.

But he knows it won’t change anything.

Because caring isn’t the same as holding on. And he lost that right a long time ago.

So he does the only thing he can.

He lets go.

And this time, he doesn’t look back.

[pagelets]

Rumors- C.S

Synopsis: when a romantic trip to the mountains gets a little tense because of a dating rumor. Inspired by this song.

Word count: 2.3k

Disclaimer: showering together, lots of touching, doesn't have smut but I don't think it's completely sfw (tbh idk haha).

Notes: Hi, guys! This lil idea popped in my head and I couldn't help but write it hehe. Also, reader has curly hair cause I forgot to take my delulu pills in the morning haha if your hair isn't curly just pretend it's so you can enjoy the story (honestly doesn't actually change anything).

It's the end of January. Lunar New Year holiday. The weather is still cold, and there's nothing better than spending this time in a warm cabin in the middle of the snow with the love of your life. Soobin has wanted to ski in the snow for a while now, and being able to take you with him feels like a dream.

He walks through the soft snow, leaving footprints behind. It’s freezing, and even with warm clothes, he feels his muscles stiffening, his cheeks reddening, and the hairs on his body bristling. He quickens his pace toward the cabin he rented for you both to spend a few days in, kicking off his boots at lightning speed the moment he reaches the porch.

In an instant, he's inside the house. It's silent except for the soft hum of the heater in the background. He takes a deep breath, the warmth of the room soothing his lungs, and his body, rigid from the cold, finally relaxes. He removes his winter jacket and walks through the house, looking for you. The wooden floor creaks slightly under his steps.

As he approaches the shared bedroom, the distant sound of water hitting the porcelain shower floor grows louder. He grips the doorknob and hears your sweet voice humming Heaven on the other side. He smiles— you’re his biggest fan. So he opens the door slowly, the fruity scent of your shampoo filling the air. He inhales deeply, hoping to intoxicate himself with your scent. You don't notice when he steps inside the bathroom. He finds it amusing. So he simply crosses his arms and leans against the marble sink, watching you with curious eyes.

When you turn to grab your toothbrush from the sink and find Soobin standing there with a goofy grin, you jump, startled, "Ah! Damn it! You scared me! How long have you been there?" "Long enough to enjoy your little performance" "Ah… that was nothing...". He grins, "I think it was adorable". He heard you sing before, but his words still make you blush. Embarrassed, you look down at your feet and change the subject, "Why did you leave so early?" "I went to buy food" "Why? I could cook for us" "I know, and I love your cooking, but I wanted to surprise you since you always cook for me. But… well… I didn't have the courage to give you anything I made myself", you laugh, "So you bought it instead?" "Yeah, but it’s a surprise. Spoiler alert, it's something you really like", he says, his voice is low like a whisper. You smile, "You're adorable" "No, you are", he replies, a bit shyly.

You observe him— he looks so good in long sleeve shirts with his long hair cascading down his shoulders, "Hey, Binnie", your voice is soft, almost sensual, "Hum?" "You're cold. Come warm up", his lips part slightly in surprise, "How do you know I'm cold?". You giggle and point to your nose, right at the tip. He mimics your gesture, trying to understand what you mean, until a lightbulb pops above his head, "Ah! My nose is red, isn't it?". You nod, laughing, he's so cute.

But he's not just cute, you know that. You've been beneath his bare body before, feeling the heat of his skin, experiencing how his raw masculinity turns you inside out just to put you back together again. And you see it now as he undresses before your eyes— first, the black long sleeve shirt, revealing his lean torso, his defined abdomen, almost as if sculpted by a renaissance artist. Then, the black sweatpants, followed by his boxers, which hide the very cause of your ruin.

You step aside as he enters the shower. The two of you stand under the cascade of hot water amidst the steam, just looking at each other. He swallows hard. Soobin has seen you naked countless times, but every time feels like the first— he’s mesmerized by your curves, every inch of you. And then, his body panics. His throat tightens, his stomach flutters, and his heart skips beats. Nerves take over.

You’re too perfect.

You laugh because the water makes his bangs fall over his eyes, "What is it?" "Your bangs", he blinks, unable to see anything. Running his fingers through his hair, he pushes it back. You look at him as if he were the Monalisa, mesmerized, barely believing he’s real, "I like it when you wear your hair up" "Really?", he smirks, stepping closer, "I should wear it like this more often, then. Since you like it so much". This time, you swallow hard. His voice is lower, more sensual, and he’s so close you can feel the heat of his body even with the hot water pouring down both of you.

The atmosphere in the bathroom grows heavy, the tension between you is almost palpable, like if you don't touch each other soon, everything around you will explode. Slowly, your hands brush his shoulders, running downward on his abdomen, timidly exploring every part of him. Even though you know his body by heart, every new touch teaches you something new— a new sensitive spot, a new place that makes him shiver.

He watches you without blinking, your touch sending waves of electricity and oxytocin coursing through his veins. Then, he touches you too. His hands move from your back to your breasts, squeezing gently, fingers brushing your nipples in slow, circular motions. You shudder, your breathing grows heavier, so heavy he can hear it. Then, his hands settle on your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you even closer, your bare bodies pressing against each other, warmth flowing through your skin.

Slowly, he leans in, lowering his head, his lips brushing yours. He murmurs, a smirk on his face, "You know… I would’ve joined you even if I wasn’t cold". You smile against his lips, and then he claims them in a warm, slow, mindful kiss— tasting every inch of your mouth, sensual and deliberate. There’s nothing cute about the way he holds you in his arms at this moment.

Your heavy breath blends with his, your hands gripping the back of his neck to keep your legs from giving out under the overwhelming rush of dopamine flooding in your veins. You feel his heart pounding hard against yours, his hands now sliding from your waist to your ass, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You giggle. He pulls away, laughing with you before resting his forehead against yours.

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply—your scent, your presence. You don’t need to take it further. Not every act of intimacy is defined by sex. Sometimes, a touch, a kiss, a single word is enough. Being close to him is enough for you.

After a few more minutes in the shower, you both decide to eat before his stomach growls loud enough to shake the mountains. He dries off and gets dressed quickly before his phone starts ringing:

‘Manager'

He frowns. He’s on vacation— with you. There’s no way they’re trying to burden him with work right now. He ignores it and turns his attention back to you, drying your hair with a towel, you look so beautiful in his oversized shirt. His phone buzzes again, he checks the screen:

'Manager'

“Shit", he mutters, "What is it, Binnie?” “My manager keeps calling me" "Then answer it", you say nonchalantly. He looks at you like you just said the most absurd thing in the world, "What?” “I’m on vacation with the love of my life. I’m not answering anything work related”. You laugh, he overreacts so easily, “Then just send him a text" “Why?” “So he knows you’re unavailable for the next 5 days”. He looks at his phone, then at you, “Well… only because you asked".

You smile, satisfied, and continue drying your hair. Soobin opens his messaging app, there's at least a hundred unread messages. His fault for keeping notifications off when he travels. He clicks on his manager’s chat— twenty messages asking him to call back. He exhales sharply.

Choi Soobin: ‘I’m unavailable for work matters. Please take that into consideration'

It takes less than a minute for a reply to pop up:

Manager: ‘Just look at this and tell me it’s not true'

He sends a link to a popular Korean gossip magazine, “What is this?”, Soobin mutters. His jaw drops as his eyes scan the headline:

‘TXT MEMBER CHOI SOOBIN RUMORED TO BE DATING ADULT FILM STAR'

Imediately, a lump forms in his throat. It’s almost funny how stupid it is, yet just the thought of you reading and believing it sends chills down his spine. He quickly replies to his manager.

Choi Soobin: 'Of course it is not! I don’t even know who this woman is'

Manager: 'Thank God. We’ll sort this out as soon as possible and make those responsible pay'

Choi Soobin: 'I don’t care about the money. Just make sure the truth is known'

Manager: 'I'll handle it'

Soobin locks his phone, his heart in his throat, and looks at you. You’re fixing your curls, first brushing through them to form ribbons, then scrunching them with your hands. He loves this little ritual of yours— the way you take care of yourself, the way you embrace yourself as you are.

He steps closer and hugs you from behind, burying his face in the curve of your neck and taking a deep breath. Your hair cream smells like watermelon, "I want to eat your hair". He looks at you through the mirror, your eyes meet and you know something is wrong, “What did he tell you? Do they already want to take you away from me?” “No. They don’t”.

He knows you trust him, and if he says it’s not true, you’ll believe him. But the people who spread dating rumors about idols are skilled at making nonexistent evidence look completely real. He fears you’ll find out— not because he lacks trust in you, but because he’s terrified of losing you. He can’t imagine a life without you. At the same time, he knows that if you go online, see the headline and realize he knew but didn’t tell you, then he’d really be at risk of losing you.

So he decides to ignore the tingling anxiety in his stomach and begins to speak. "Apparently, there’s a new dating rumor". You look away, stopping your hair routine. You swallow hard, not because you fear betrayal, but because you fear ruining his career. The thought of everything he worked so hard to build crumbling because of you is terrifying. "About… you and me?", you ask, your voice unsteady. Against your back, you feel his heart pounding like crazy, “N-no. It’s about me and an actress. A porn…”, he wants to tell you, but his voice falters. Still, you already know what he was going to say.

Your eyes widen and meet his in the mirror. Tears roll down Soobin’s face, "Y-you… you know it’s not true", he sobs, "Yn, I would never…”, he can’t speak anymore, fear grips every fiber of his being. You turn to face him but he drops to his knees, burying his face in your belly, soaking the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. You know it’s not true. The Choi Soobin you know would never do something like that. Even so, you let him have a moment to process the shock.

You run your fingers through his hair, holding him against you, "Hey, it’s okay," your voice is calm and sweet. He looks up at you, his face red, his eyes still teary, "Come here", you call him. He stands with your help, his body still trembling, "These people don’t even know you well enough to make a plausible rumor”, your voice carries a hint of amusement. He chuckles, though his voice is still hoarse, "I know". You wipe his tears, holding his face in your hands, "It’s okay. I know I’m the only one in your life" "Yes", he nods quickly, repeatedly, "The only one. Today and for the rest of my life". You smile, "I love you, Soobinnie" "I love you too, Yn. So much".

He seals the moment with a kiss. He tastes the salt of his own tears spilling from his eyes again. It breaks your heart to see what some people put him through. He pulls back slowly and wipes his face, "Don’t cry, baby. You are going to be okay" "As long as you’re by my side, I will. Please, stay with me for forever". He looks down and takes your hand, "Be my Mrs. Choi". This time, you are the one crying, but differently from soobin, your tears are out of happiness, "I can't imagine myself not being your Mrs. Choi". He smiles and presses a kiss to your hand— right where your ring will be.

At night, you both fulfill another dream: skiing together. You’re standing at the top of the mountain, the snow creating a white blanket covering everything below. You’re both terrified, "So… who’s going first?", you ask, trying to mask your nervousness, "I think the saying goes, ‘ladies first" "But the groom walks down the aisle first". Groom. Soobin is your fiancé now. It’s surreal to think about it, "BUT before being a groom, I’m a gentleman. So, I insist, you go first".

You roll your eyes and put on your ski goggles, "Fine. Pussy" "Hey! I’m not...". But you’re no longer listening. You’re already sliding down the mountain, skis on your feet. The wind rushes against your face, but the sensation is freeing, "YN! SLOW DOWN!", you hear Soobin shouting from behind, but you ignore him.

The speed is thrilling but you’re forced to stop when you see a child in your path. You brake, sliding until you fall into the snow like a sled. From a distance, Soobin sees you with your face buried in the snow and hurries over, worried, "Yn, Yn! Are you okay?". You hear the concern in his voice, but you’re laughing, "I’m fine! That was fun" "Thank God". He places a hand on his chest, relieved.

You take advantage of his lowered guard and pull him into the snow. You make snow angels together, laughing, enjoying each other’s company.

You know this man is yours.

And he knows you are his.

No rumor could ever make you both doubt that.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Ten: silent night

tw: gore

You’re dreaming of your dad again. 

Crooked fingers grip the steering wheel in front of him as he sits in the driver’s seat, maneuvering through swirling streets with faceless pedestrians. You’re cuddled in the back seat, covered in heavy blankets that weigh you down like you’re chained in a prison. They’re tight, serpentine binds. So much so you find it hard to breathe. Fat snowflakes flutter past the window as the engine revs, speeding through London with no regard for traffic lights or stop signs. If there were other cars on the road, your dad would have crashed long ago. 

Quiet megrim suffocates you as your ringing ears attempt to make sense of the song playing on the radio. Static drowns the notes, fuzzies them until you can barely hear it. Your dad hums the tune in a different key. Sweet, and off beat. He’s always been tone deaf. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

The acrid scent of blood fills your nose the moment you find his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thick patches of it stain his face, crusting around fat lacerations on his eyebrows, lips and nose. It dries; flakes off his skin just to be replaced by a fresh stream. Pulled stitches fray at the ends as they protrude from his skin like grotesque teeth, being devoured from the inside out by wounds he can’t outrun. Wounds that will never heal. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

Your legs squirm as you try to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close as if you’re trapped in a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

“You should slow down,” you warn him. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” The song repeats. You don’t think you’ve heard it make it past the first stanza. A bent record, forever scratching, doomed to repeat a song and never finish it. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures you. 

“Dad, please slow down.” 

The engine sputters and quiets down as the brakes engage with a gentle tap. Wheels dwindle and slow until the car halts in the center of the road. Traffic suddenly dashes by with quiet whooshes, as cars appear out of nowhere. Maybe they’ve been following you the entire time. They’re all black—like a funeral procession. Exhaust mixes with iron. The concoction is enough to turn your stomach as the scent sears your sinuses. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

“Are you afraid I’m going to end up like him?” your dad asks. Disfigured, bent, and disgusting fingers still grip the steering wheel despite the motionlessness of the car. You try not to stare, but the horror of it has you transfixed. “Like Aelin’s dad?” 

Your bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You already did.” 

He laughs at you, and it’s warm like velvet. Comforting just like it used to be when you were a kid. It reminds you of when he would read you stories before bed, keeping his tone even yet engaging—just calming enough to get your eyes heavy. Your skin itches to throw the blankets off of your body and wrap yourself in his mirth instead, but as usual, you are not strong enough. 

“I’m right here, darling,” he chuckles. “I know the accident was hard on you, but it’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone. You don’t have to be afraid of it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

Leather seats shift under your dad’s weight, and his eyes no longer look at you in the rearview mirror. You want to ask if he looks away in shame, but the question doesn’t quite reach your tongue. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks softly. 

You swallow. “I don’t know. I just… wish you didn’t leave me like that.” 

“But I didn’t leave,” he assures. 

“You did! You died! You’re dead and now I have nothing,” you retort. 

There is no denying that you are aggrieved. Betrayed in some aching way that still haunts the marrow of your bones and the ridge of your spine. He smiles and speaks as softly as he did when he was alive, but your father’s shadow looms over you, heavy and thick like a brume you can’t outrun. You’re not sure there has ever been a moment of your life where it hasn’t followed you. 

You’re not sure it will ever stop. 

“Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, all is-” 

The radio dies just as the engine does and a wave of tinnitus rings so loud you’re certain it can’t be coming from inside your own head. Someone else must be hearing this agony; it can’t just be you. You blink and witness in abject horror as your dad twists in his seat, hands leaving the steering wheel, torso turning so that he can fully face you. 

He looks just like he did all those years ago. Clothes perfectly pressed, dress shirt steamed, cuffs neatly creased. He always joked about how the first time he would ever wear a suit would be at your wedding—instead, he wore his first suit at his own funeral. They did a good job at making him look normal. Human. At covering the abrasions and scratches. At setting his fingers and nose straight. Still, there’s something wrong with his skin. There’s no fresh blood, it’s all pooled in his body. Heavy. Weighing it down. 

The mortician did a good job, but no amount of wax can fix the chuck of bone and flesh missing from the side of his skull. 

“Dad, please,” you beg. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Sorry, darling,” he says, but his voice is warped. Wrong. Gargled like his vocal chords decayed long ago. “There’s not much you can do. Not anymore.” 

Your only solace is the alarm on your phone. 

It vibrates next to your head where it echoes throughout your box spring mattress like a hollow cavern. It kickstarts your heart until it pounds so violently in your chest that you’re certain your sternum will shatter. You need it to stop. Need it to shut up. Need to kill it. Sucking in a shuddering breath, your hands fumble with your phone as you tap on the screen, shutting off the alarm and plunging your apartment into silence. 

Throwing yourself on your back, you stare at your water damaged ceiling as you try not to deliquesce into the bed. You can already feel it happening. Muscles convulsing until they liquify, bone marrow seeping out from your pores, soft duvet soaking up the essence of everything that once made you human. You feel the pillow beneath your head and the cotton of your pajamas as you try to ground yourself to the earth that threatens to crush you everyday, but your mind is always stronger. There is nothing you can do to free yourself from the heat of a car engine, or shattered glass in your lap, or the gunshot pop! of an airbag—

Once more, your phone buzzes. It’s soft, and non-intruding. A gentle nudge that pulls you back into your bed just as the heater kicks on with a quiet hiss. You breathe in the scent of your apartment. It’s stale. Stagnant air and old dish soap. You’d like to invest in a candle or wax warmer—like the ones your mom used to have. Maybe that way you could pretend that you’re still with her, if only for a moment. 

Everything feels lighter when you force your mind to remember where you are. That doloriferous anxiety wanes until it’s nothing more than a dormant beast in your chest. Sighing, you twist your body to grab your phone. It’s just before eight in the morning, and a text from Simon has your heart fluttering. 

Good morning sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour. Need me to pick up anything for the trip? 

Not even the primal terror lurking in your chest can stop the small smile that pulls at your lips as you read his message. Always so proper. So kind and considerate. For a moment, you forget all about crooked fingers and half formed skulls. You swallow back any tremulous sensation as you type your response back to him. 

no thanks, should be good (: excited to see you

You push your anxiety into submission—it’s Christmas Eve, and you have somewhere to be. 

A quick shower is all it takes to get your mind functioning properly again. Lukewarm water washes away the nightmare sweats and leaves you with a clean slate. Fresh, untouched skin. There’s a draft that seeps through the gaps of the bathroom window, causing your skin to prickle and tighten as you dry yourself off in front of the foggy mirror. On windy days, you can hear it whistle as it seeps through the gap. The cold prompts you to get ready with a sense of urgency, and it isn’t long before you’re swaddled tight in comfortable clothes as you shove last minute items into your travel bag. 

Simon arrives just when he said he would, and you can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but his jumper seems to hug tighter around his shoulders than usual. Muscles shift in his shoulders as he rolls out the morning tension, and you find your greeting tumbling out of your lips on a tongue that suddenly feels too fat. He stares at you with careful eyes, always assessing you like the good worker he is. He soaks up the buzz tingling through your nerves as you fiddle with your travel bag. Heat drenches your skin so thickly he can almost feel it from where he stands. 

Smirking, he reaches forward, fingers brushing against yours as he slips the bag out of your hand, leaving you no choice but to relinquish it. He keeps the straps firmly in his hand as he steps back, gesturing to the stairs. 

“After you, sweetheart.” 

Breakfast and warm tea brewed in a to-go cup waits for you in Simon’s car. It’s the very first thing you notice when he opens the door for you, and the sight has you biting into your lip. You try to mutter something about how he shouldn’t have, but he only shushes you as he ushers you inside. Really, it makes a good distraction. Focusing on trying not to leave crumbs as you devour a bagel sandwich leaves you little time to worry about why he didn’t bother to get anything for himself. 

It’s good. Better than good. Perfectly toasted bagel, melty cheese, seasoned avocado—it’s something too fancy for you to have ever ordered on your own. The tea is still warm by the time you hit the motorway, and a comfortable silence settles over you as the engine hums along the road. Towering grey buildings dwindle into quaint homes which then shapeshift between natural scenery and city views in the distance.

You try to remember the last time you left London. Escaped the prison that’s held you by the throat for the last few years, even if it were only temporary. Nothing comes to mind, and you feel your blood sing in excitement. 

Simon shifts in his seat next to you, and your eyes dart over to him. He’s only adjusting himself, getting his legs comfortable for the long ride ahead—he mentioned something about arriving around one—but your eyes can’t help but wander. You glance at the roll of his hips and the way his thighs fill out the fabric of his jeans. His stomach is soft, and it expands slightly as he sighs. His lips sit in a tight line while his eyes scan the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, thick fingers wrapped around the edge—

You blink and they’re crooked. Bruised, bent, and wrong. Compound fractures—bone piercing flesh. Jagged knuckles, fingers like the ridge of a mountain; you feel your stomach twist as that nightmare continues to haunt you. 

Before its tendrils have the chance to wrap around your spine, your hand dives into your pocket. Frayed string brushes against your skin, and you hook it like a fish on the end of your line before yanking it free. It’s the same distraction you always end up running back to. It keeps you moving and your mind focused on formations as you twist them into designs—always flowing, never stagnant. 

Even now, you can hear your father’s voice. You can feel his hands guiding you just like he did all those years ago when he taught you how to play. Move your left hand. They’ll cross if you don’t.

You move your right hand, and it knots; candle sticks now a cross. 

“Cat’s cradle?” Simon asks. 

As you unwind the string from your fingers to begin again, a nostalgic smile creeps on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone recognize it before. “Yeah. I play it sometimes to keep myself occupied.” 

“Didn’t know you could play it by yourself,” he admits. “Always thought you needed someone else.” 

“You can’t do as many moves as you can with another person, but it’s still fun,” you chuckle sheepishly. 

He hums as he adjusts the position of his hand on the wheel. His free arm rests on the center console next to you—his fingers twitch. “You should teach me.” 

A breathy laugh escapes your lips; you think he’s joking. It’s a stupid game with string. Nothing that means anything. Yet when you look at him and find his eyes flickering to you—his dark hue reading your expression—you realize he means it. 

You swallow, then smile. “If you’d like.” 

He shifts once more, leather seat creaking beneath his weight. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the sound. “I’d like doin’ anythin’ with you.” 

The whole ride feels warm after that. Bubbling mirth lurks beneath your skin, lighting it on fire, heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears until you swear you can feel the skin melt from your bones. It’s that same feeling that afflicted you the previous week after Christmas shopping. This fervor. This want. It continues to fester and metastasize until it lurks deep in your brain where it whispers. The susurrus gets louder the closer you are to reaching Manchester as the reality of your situation hits you. 

You’re going to be meeting his family. 

But as a friend, or something else? 

That question plagues you as Simon pulls up to a small home with effulgent lights lining the rooftop. They illuminate the sparse layer of snow that coats the city in crystalline sparkles, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re seeing stars. A thick evergreen wreath adorns the front door, and the sight of it is so nostalgic it nearly hurts. A tremble ails your knees as you climb out of the car, useless joints turning into jelly as you watch Simon retrieve both of your bags. Your hands reach out, ready to receive yours, but he raises his eyebrow as he closes the door with his elbow. 

“C’mon,” he urges. “Freezin’ out here.” 

Your legs shake with each step you take up the stairs to the door. A TV drones from somewhere inside of the house as quiet chatting mixes with whatever programme is playing. Giggles blend seamlessly into faint music and fuzzy, Old-Hollywood dialogue, and a faint sillage of cinnamon bleeds through every pore of the house. Voices cease as Simon clumsily knocks on the door, bags hitting against the wood as he attempts to balance everything on his own. A high pitched gasp bleeds through the door, followed by what you think is someone asking for Uncle Simon. 

You swallow your heart thudding in your throat as the door swings open and you’re met with a mess of bright blonde hair. Simon was right—Tommy isn’t bigger than him at all, yet he still towers taller than most. He grins at his brother, crooked teeth and all, as he slaps his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“About time you showed up. Joey’s been beggin’ for you all morning,” he teases, though he can’t quite mask the way his eyes flicker to you as you stand meekly to the side. “C’mon in. We just started a game of Candyland.” 

The moment you and Simon step through the threshold of the house, you’re enveloped by the aroma of fresh cinnamon and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas. A fat evergreen tree sits in the corner of the living room next to a coffee table that sports board game pieces and snacks strewn about its top. You recognize Joseph and his mother, Beth, who sit next to the table on the floor, rug cushioning their knees from the wood. The very moment his eyes land on Simon, little Joseph bolts to his feet. 

Suddenly, it’s a reunion. Everyone stands on their feet to exchange hugs and kisses while Simon attempts to return them with his hands occupied with bags. The walls echo the laughter shared between everyone, and your left ear buzzes and rings. Still, you stand there with a quiet smile, soaking in the familial love as you stay out of the way. Joseph clings to Simon’s leg, white teeth on display as he looks up at his uncle, and you swear you’ve never seen Simon smile or laugh so hard before. 

“Simon?” a voice speaks up from the kitchen. 

You turn to find a grey haired woman drying her hands off on a lighthouse themed tea towel. She’s short; surprisingly so for the two boys she’s brought into this world. Rose tint dusts the apples of her cheeks as she slowly crosses into the entryway, arms spread wide to envelop her son as best as she can with her frail frame. 

“Missed you, mum,” Simon whispers as he returns the hug. 

“It’s always good to see you,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. Her lips tighten as her fingers squeeze the side of his arm. “My sweet boy.” 

It isn’t long before her eyes begin to wander. They’re drawn to you, and she doesn’t even bother to fight against the magnetic pull. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think she was eager to see you. She removes herself from her son as she approaches you, hands reaching for yours as she pulls you away from the door and into her home. 

“It’s so good to meet you, Chip,” she says, hands patting yours. 

She already knows your name. 

You swallow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Riley,” you stutter back in response. 

Everything falls into place after that like a perfect line of dominos. Simon vanishes for only a short moment to put your bags away in some unseen room, and he returns just in time for Joseph to drag the two of you into the living room for a board game. There’s hardly any time for proper introductions as Joseph directs the game all the way down to what color pieces everyone uses—both you and Simon are assigned green—and despite your apprehension, it’s like you’ve been here the whole time. Instantly welcomed and assimilated into the Riley Family like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. 

So much information is shared in such a short amount of time that your brain begins to throb with the knowledge and fatigue. Questions are thrown about as everyone takes turns drawing cards and moving pieces along the board. You learn that Joseph’s favorite color is red because it reminds him of his mother’s hair, and how Beth works with school aged children as a teacher. Tommy works as a mechanic and is one of the reasons why Simon has a motorcycle, and the two brothers can banter well enough to go pro, especially with one another. The table erupts into laughter and playful cursing more often than not. 

They ask questions about you, too. They gently poke, prod, and peel back the layers you try so hard to wrap yourself up in. They don’t allow you to hide, and after a few hours of games, snacks, and movies, you start to think you might not want to anymore. Tucked into Simon’s side, lazy arm around your shoulder as he chuckles and laughs with his family, you start to realize this is the most at home you’ve felt for a long time. 

You attempt to remember the last holiday event you attended that you enjoyed, but the memories that emerge taste sour on your tongue. 

Halfway through How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Simon squeezes your shoulder. It’s soft—a gesture that warns you he’s going to move well before he does. He removes his arm from around you, body shifting forward on the couch, yet he makes sure to replace the airplane themed blanket on your lap that Joseph gave you because you look cold. You blink at him with heavy lids. 

“Gonna step outside for a smoke,” he assures. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep our seats warm,” you smile as he stands. 

Manchester is bitter and dark when Simon steps out into the backyard. His skin tenses and trembles through the fabric of his jumper as he lights the cigarette sitting between his teeth with a shudder. A hiss bleeds between his teeth as he exhales, hands burrowing deep into his pockets to stave off the cold. 

Truly, he is happy to be home, but those walls make his skin crawl. Old scars burn and itch every time he sees those photos hanging up on the walls, or when the wood floors creak a certain way. No amount of pine tree pollen or holiday cinnamon can fully cleanse the stale alcohol that permeates every pore in that house from shattered bottles and spilt cans. Each time he visits, he tries to override the memories. He tries to erase them and let them decay—create something new from the lingering pain. He’s tried to convince his mom to let him buy her a nicer place, or at least fix that damn bathtub, but she refuses every time. 

He swears that he’ll one day tear out every tile in that bathroom. 

A squeak sounds behind Simon as the sliding glass doors open, then quickly shut. He hurriedly exhales the smoke in his mouth before turning around, not at all surprised to find Tommy approaching him with his arms hugged to his chest. 

“Tryna bum a smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves the cigarette back between his lips. 

“What, and have Beth maul me in my sleep?” Tommy chuckles as he jams his thumb over his shoulder. “Been clean for nearly six years, and I don’t plan on throwin’ that away any time soon.” 

Dead grass crunches beneath Tommy’s feet as he approaches, but Simon’s chuckle drowns it out. “Good man.” 

Tommy hums as he stops next to his brother, still a good distance away so as to not get the stale scent of nicotine on him. Blue eyes keep flickering to the door where you, Beth, and Joseph continue to watch the movie, idle chatter filling the gaps of the film you’ve seen a million times over. He smirks, and it looks an awful lot like Simon’s 

“Didn’t realize you were bringin’ a girl,” he admits. “No wonder why mum seemed extra adamant ‘bout cleaning. How long have you two been together?” 

At that question, Simon takes a particularly long drag. It expands in his lungs; fills the space until there’s nothing left. When he exhales, it’s slow. Long. “We’re not together.” 

“Oh?” Tommy questions with a poorly restrained grin. “So, you just brought this completely random bird home to see the family? Nothin’ more?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon deadpans. 

“Ah. Complicated. Bullshit,” Tommy retorts. 

The brothers fall silent as laughter bleeds through the doors behind them. Both men turn to find Joseph wrapped in Beth’s arms, swaying side to side as he points at the TV. You cover your laugh with the palm of your hand, but Simon catches on to the way your shoulders shake with the movement. 

“When are you gonna settle down? Start a family of your own?” Tommy questions, eyes still on his wife and son. “Sure mum’ll appreciate you gettin’ married before she’s too old to know where she’s at.” 

In an attempt to hide his laugh, Simon chooses to scoff instead. “I couldn’t do better than you ‘n Beth.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Tommy challenges. 

For a moment, Simon entertains it—the thought of a family. The thought of you. He’ll admit, he thinks of you often, but he can’t determine if it’s because he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, or because he’s still trying to solve the mystery of you. Of Andrei, of your reclusiveness; of everything. He can’t tell if his heart quickens because of you, or what might be chasing you. 

What a silly idea. With his line of work, and your obvious anxiety, he’s certain you’d want nothing to do with him if you ever found out what he does for a living. 

He doesn’t think he’d see you again if you ever caught sight of the blood that stains his hands. 

“I mean it,” Simon says, standing firm. “Buildin’ the life you did after everythin’ you went through, findin’ an amazing woman and havin’ a good son… I’m proud of you.” 

Tommy scoffs at Simon’s adulation like he’s about to spew something sarcastic at the man, but instead his lips pull into a reverent smile. Nodding, he sighs, breath spewing out in a fit of frost that’s quickly smothered by the bitter air as it rises and vanishes. An airplane flies overhead, its lights gently winking in the distance. 

“As the older brother, I think I’m supposed to be praisin’ you but… yeah. I’m proud of myself, too,” he admits. “To think about all the shit I had gotten caught up with. Fuck, surprised Beth ever saw anythin’ in me. Nearly got myself killed over drugs. Over that stupid fuckin’ debt. Needed my little brother to come save my arse. Still, I’ve got them. Somehow… I have them. Wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

Hot embers begin to burn too close to Simon’s fingers, and he discards the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out what remaining life it has left. He looks up at Tommy, but his eyes are focused on the smoldering remains of ash at his feet. 

“Do you run into him at all?” Tommy asks. 

“Who?”

“Marco.” 

Ravenous acrimony eats away at Simon’s chest at the name alone. Memories resurface—an overconfident prick with beady green eyes. He rubs at his knuckles as if he can still feel the way they split all those years ago. He presses against his fingers until they shift; their crack echoes dully off the dead grass and glass door. 

“If I did, he’d be fuckin’ dead,” he assures. 

Tommy chuckles, clearly caught off guard by his brother’s bloodthirst. “Well, I wouldn’t ever ask you to go that far, but… the cunt would deserve it. Besides, with your line of… work, I reckon it’s not too difficult to make people vanish.” He coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering second-hand smoke before he continues. “Speakin’ of that… does Chip know?”

“Know what?” 

“That you run with Price? That underground shit? The fuckin’ mafia?” Tommy clarifies. Simon’s silence is the only answer he needs. “You haven’t told her?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon reiterates. 

Some facetious response dances on the tip of his tongue—Simon can see it in the way his mouth twitches—but Tommy stays silent. He sighs, then nods before looking back through the door. Their mother is on her feet, slowly maneuvering around the living room in a slight waddle in order to open the door. 

“Yeah. I know it is. Just… be careful,” he mumbles just as the door slides open. 

“Dinner’s ready! You two should come back inside. It’s freezin’ out here,” their mother urges. 

Both men glance at one another with a curt nod before trudging through the grass back to the house. The very moment they step back into the warm embrace of their childhood home, everything else seems to fade away. It vanishes the moment Simon looks at you—still curled up on the couch, ready for a cat nap. Any worries—any sour memories and old scars—all of it lingers in the backyard with the smoldering remains of Simon's cigarette; unimportant, and long forgotten.

[alphalesbian]

Youll just be minding your own business when all of a sudden the inherant intimacy of solo instrumental music is realized upon you. Like youre just supposed to proceed normally after

[hayatheauthor]

Can you post something about different kinds of soulmates? The name on the wrist or red strings are nice but a little overused, maybe. Idk. Do you have anything different?

50 Types of Soulmates in Literature

The soulmate trope might feel pretty cliche to most but I love exploring them (great short story material, esp if you want to twist it into horror/thriller/non romance). Thanks for the ask! I hope this list is what you were looking for: 

Fate-Driven Soulmates

1. Shared Dreams – They meet in their dreams every night/[idea] after they turn [age].

2. Reincarnation– They reincarnate in every era and are destined to meet each time.

3. Aura Bonds – Their auras [change] when they’re near each other.

4. Mirror Messages – They see the other’s face in the mirror when they turn [age].

5. Starbound – Their soulmate’s birth constellation forms on them after their first meeting.

6. Heartbeat Match – Their pulses sync when they meet and get more uneven when they’re apart after that.

7. Shared Memories – They have flashbacks of past lives together.

8. The First Words – Their first spoken words to each other are tattooed on their skin.

9. Fragrance – They recognise each other by a unique scent only one’s soulmate carries (i.e. in the world you can only smell roses on your soulmate).

10. Scars – They have matching scars in the same place since their birth.

11. Colour - They only start seeing colour after meeting their soulmate. Can be changed to sound, touch, smell, etc.

Cultural Soulmates

12. Mehndi Marks - In Indian/Middle Eastern cultures, your soulmate’s name appears in your mehndi/henna.

13. Karmic Threads - In Buddhist traditions, invisible karmic bonds pull them toward one another.

14. Feng Shui Alignment – Their energies perfectly balance according to the Feng Shui elements.

15. Ancestor's Blessing – Their names are revealed through a ritual that summons past ancestors.

16. Name in Flames – In some folk traditions, a fire ceremony reveals their soulmate’s initials in the embers.

17. Feather Match – They exchange feathers that later glow when their soulmate is near.

18. Shared Songlines – In Aboriginal traditions, their paths align on the same Songline.

19. Palm Reading Prophecy – Their soulmate’s features or initials are foretold in their palm lines.

20. Dance of Fate – In certain cultures, a soulmate is revealed during a traditional dance when they naturally pair up.

21. Persian Tea Leaves – Their names appear during tea-reading rituals.

Object-Based Soulmates

22. Lock and Key – Everyone is born with a keyhole shape. When you turn [age] you’re blessed with a key that only fits into your soulmate.

23. Shared Journal – They write in the same journal without knowing how.

24. Twin Trinkets – When born, each person receives a magical [trinket]. Your soulmate has its twin. 

25. Compass of Love – A compass always points them toward their soulmate.

26. Two Halves – They carry two halves of the same [object].

27. Enchanted Maps – A map updates itself with their location when they’re near.

28. Eternal Rings – Rings burn hot or glow when their soulmate is close.

29. Song – When they turn [age] they hear a song sung in their soulmate’s voice. (Interesting: in this world, MC hears nothing. They think they don’t have one, rly their soulmate is just mute). 

Connection Through Nature

30. Tree of Life – Their world has a special garden you go to when you’re [age]. In the garden, a tree starts to grow when two soulmates are near. Note: if they ‘break up’ or one dies, the tree wilts and dies too.  

31. Blooming Flowers – When your soulmate is born, you get a flower bud [different for each]. When you meet the first time, this bud goes into full bloom. If you pass without meeting, it dies. This continues till you actually meet, and the flowers finally [fall off?]

32. Animal Guides – At birth you’re assigned a spirit animal who leads you to your soulmate when the time is right. (Ooh maybe your spirit animals are soulmates too OR hmo: they’re enemies! You haven’t met your soulmate yet because your spirit animals are doing everything to keep you [and themselves] apart). 

33. Shifting Shadows – Their shadows always reach toward the other. When you sleep, your shadows break away and meet each other. 

34. Bound by Seasons – They only meet during a specific season each year. Kind of like a Divergent ‘born into a season’ thing. (But what if a Summer and Winter end up being fated? But they can’t survive in each other’s seasons. [omg Tinkerbell] lol). 

35. Ocean Whispers – It’s said if you go to the ocean’s shore and say something there your soulmate will hear it when they go to the shore. (MC’s soulmate hates the ocean. They’ve never been. One day they finally go, and sit for hours as they listen to messages from their soulmate, who apparently lives by the ocean and has been calling to them every night). 

36. Star-Written Names – When you turn [age] only you see a name written in the stars. That’s your soulmate’s name.

Unconventional Soulmate Tropes

37. Memory Keepers – One soulmate is bound to forget each other in each new life, and the other is fated to remember and find them. The other only remembers if and when they meet. 

38. Parallel Lives – They exist in parallel universes but see glimpses of each other via [plot].

39. Shared Illness – They feel each other’s pain, sickness, and recovery.

40. Shared Mortality – They can only die when they’re together.

41. The Final Wish – When you turn [age] you get to make a wish and your soulmate has to fulfil it in order for you to meet.

42. The Sacrificial Lamb – One is destined to save the other through ultimate sacrifice.

43. The Time Loop – They’re stuck in a loop, meeting repeatedly until they get it right.

44. Dual Souls – They share one soul in two bodies, feeling incomplete without the other.

45. The Undying and the Mortal – One reincarnates endlessly, always finding their soulmate, if they fail to find them, their soulmate will not reincarnate and die forever. Except, you don’t know who’s the immortal one. 

46. Time Stopper: Time stops when you’re with your soulmate. It starts again when you’re apart. 

Sense-Based Soulmates

47. Sight: When you close your eyes you can see what they’re seeing. 

48. Warmth: You feel physically cold everytime you’re without your soulmate. Your heart turns colder every year, till when you’re [age] you both die if you haven’t met.  

49. Colour: You can’t see your soulmate’s eye/hair colour till your first meeting. The issue: they don’t know the colour, so often overlook this change. (Many resort to checking a colour chart every day till they see a new colour). 

50. Touch: You can’t feel anything till your soulmate touches you for the first time. Everything simply feels like its weight, not texture. 

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[confuzing]

Ok but what if Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu were the same person.

Little YQY is used to little baby SJ being a little strange. He talks about missing 'the internet' and one night when they almost freeze to death he solemnly informs YQY that "this transmigration experience sucks, 0/10 would not recommend."

As they grow SJ stops talking about odd things, but since he never explained about his past life to YQY he doesn't realize SJ is forcing himself to forget those memories of being warm and safe and happy because they hurt too much now when he is none of those.

The System is still there if course but since LBH isn't even born yet it's in low power mode. But that night locked in Qiu Manor after YQY leaves it pops up with a notification he's finished the 'Sorrowful Parting' quest and he loses it.

He alternates between insisting it doesn't exist and demanding to know why it only shows up when something bad happens to him. The System explains this is all necessary character development before he meets the main character.

SJ rages, not because he's not the main character but because he apparently needs to suffer for them, this person he's never met. Eventually the System turns off all notifications except essential ones, and that at least leaves SJ mostly alone in his own head.

And he takes that buried ache of his past memories and that he was apparently born to suffer and uses them to save himself when YQY fails him. Even though he promised. And he's fine- look, he's a Peak Lord! He's fine.

Until LBH turns up at the peaks, the System lights up for the first time in a decade, and SJ looks at this little boy and hates him. SJ can't see him without thinking about all the hurt he suffered, which the System insists was necessary for this boy's story.

So he does all those horrible things to LBH that he railed about as SY a lifetime ago and doesn't regret it. (PIDW is mostly lost to him, buried under the trauma, he doesn't know who LBH is, or who he is)

Until the qi deviation, which wipes all his memories except the ones he has buried. So he feels like he's a different person. He thinks he's transmigrated in late because he can't remember being 5 and teaching YQY carmeldansen.

A week after the deviation YQY hears SJ mutter something about Google and he relaxes, he does recognize this SJ after all.

Meng Mo pulls the memories out of SY's head after all. For all that SY draws the line between himself and SJ as different people he still remembers SJ's memories. But crucially not the ones from when he was little where his past and current lives overlap the most.

Sometime after the series ends SQQ is humming something modern- my heart says 'Never Gonna Give You Up'- and YQY casually mentioned he's always liked that one most of SJ's songs.

SQQ: What songs?

YQY: The ones only you know. You used to sing them all the time when you were little.

SQQ's head is spinning and he finds some privacy and questions the System which confirms he did in fact transmigrate as a baby like SQH did.

The memories come back slowly after that. He remembers telling LQQ he'll kill him after a bad fight, street kid him trying to explain to YQY what a T-Rex is... exactly what was going through his head when he dumped a cup of hot tea on an orphan he'd just met.

And SY has to deal with the fact that yes actually, that was him. That wasn't some other asshole. It's him, he's the asshole. Maybe that was the worst possible version of himself, maybe he got a second chance and changed for the better - but it was still him, and he's still capable of being that man again if he isn't careful.

[baepsays]

Musician Geto Suguru, who's in a band as their main producer and bassist.

Who sometimes audio records him and his partner while they fuck; to later hole himself up in his studio and listen back to those audios to get inspiration for their next album.

Sometimes he'd slip in the audio files of your moans in his songs, either making it barely recognizable in the background, unless you isolate everything to figure it out. Or just making it super obvious and the main focus of the song, and when his band members ask him where did he get such an unique audio without any copyright issue? He simply says— 'oh don't worry about it'. Half the members already know who the moans are by and half are blissfully unaware. Which is for the best maybe, because the ones who know can't seem to look you in the eyes next time you meet them without sweating a bucket's worth and blushing crazy.

And when Suguru shows you the new track(s) where he used your moans—at first you just hype him up, 'omg baby it's so good! New hit!' And when the obvious track comes around with a full on 20 second long intro of just you moaning and whimpering, with his bass in the background— the realization leaves you super embarrassed, as always. Then you beg him and wrestle with him to delete it, as always, we all know how effectively that works. The whole thing just ends with him manhandling you, and throwing you playfully on the leather couch in his studio, then fucking you on it. And of course he records that as well.

Later you just think; oh well yet another track with my moans on it for the world to hear. secretly you find it really thrilling and hot. And the fact your boyfriend is so obsessed you, is just a cherry on top.

.

.

.

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[wonryllis]

✶ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝒟𝐎𝐋𝐋? RICH BOY ENHYPEN PINNING AFTER YOU.

目录──────𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝓉𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘 ⋅ enhypen showing that you're not just one of the girls. wordcount total 2882 (approx 0.4k each) ⭑ CONTAINS— female!reader, fluff, suggestive, lots of swearing. % strongly recommend listening to ›› the respective songs while reading! jungwon's is inspired by ␥ kavin and kaning. ( THE ARCHIVE? ) PLS REBLOG ><

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

ぃ ⏤ now playing. HELLGIRL BY ARI ABDUL

"shit. you gotta wear this one, angel," heeseung groans in satisfaction, ignorant and indifferent to the fact that all the store employees could hear him, someone who never brings over girls to places like these, going insane over one. and the fact that you were unable to wrap your head around this situation just yet.

it was surreal and it was nerve wrecking. but heeseung was adamant that he needed you.

needed you to dress so fucking gorgeous and stand by his side as his date for the night while he paraded around greeting his parents' guests. showing them that he is capable of being committed by bringing along a partner for the first time ever. that's what he tells you—

"is this really fine?" you ask again, hands dusting over the sleek satin hugging your skin in a way that it tickled. heeseung stands up and strides overs to where you stand, arms sliding around your waist to pull you against him. "it's more than fine, absolutely stunning," leaning into your neck to leave kisses, "and so hot," right infront of everyone, no one daring to say a word to him, except you.

you who has been an exception to all his rules, you who has made him want to do things he has never wanted to before. you who has swept him off his feet.

you push against his chest in an attempt to stop him,"we'll be late, should go now," he hums in a low growl, lips nipping right against your ear before he pulls away with much exasperation almost unsated. clicking his tongue in annoyance for the staff to hurry the billing once he's done admiring you. unable to stand that anyone beside him see you dressed so pretty.

"just smile and follow my lead," heeseung tells you once you arrive at the venue. giving you an encouraging look as he instructs the valet to wait until you seem calm enough to step out. that's what he tells you— heart eyes and odd actions speaking for themselves. his hands find your waist when you finally walk up the stairs, breath shaky as you pass the entrance.

"relax angel, 'm right here, we can leave whenever you want," he kisses the side of your head, lips lightly touching your styled hair. never caring about who's looking and who's thinking what. if only you knew it too.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

ぃ ⏤ now playing. STAY BY ARI ABDUL

"look behind you, princess," the voice incoming from your phone suddenly sounds too loud, paired with faint footsteps coming to a halt. jay's lips break into a wide smile when you turn around in an instant to look at him. your eyes following his hands holding an enormous bouquet of red roses, before you notice anything else.

before you notice the want in his eyes. the want for you.

"jay? i thought you were in— " you speak into the phone, eyes locked with his, but before you can finish he hangs up the call. approaching you with quick steps and immediately pulling you into a kiss. one that's short but deep enough to convey his feelings. "berlin? yeah, but i flew back for you," he breathes out against your lips.

"why?" "you know why love," his fingers twirl the hair falling into face, tucking them away and cupping your cheek as he gives you a smile before stepping away.

he waits for you to say something, to address his feelings but like always you avoid it and like always jay lets you. alas there will come a time when you would no longer be able to deny his love, so until then he will continue to show you all ways you own his heart in. his forever princess."what about that conference you were going to attend with your dad?" you ask, accepting his bouquet.

watching him with a soft giggle as he struggles to pull out a single rose and place it behind your ear. "don't worry about it," in a reassuring tone he leads you to his car. teasing you of a surprise each time you question where you are headed.

asking you to have your eyes closed while he leads you to the rooftop of a high-rise building owned by his family, illuminated by pretty lights and flowery wreaths, and a firework show worth a million.

all just for you.

to pose a smile on your face and to be the one to put it. to be the reason of your happiness and to be the person beside you in your best memories,"happy new year, princess," jay whispers into you ear as you open your eyes to see all of it. "jay this—" you gasp in a trance, gaze hooked on the sky while his is fixated in the way the fireworks shine against your pretty orbs and the gloss on your lips,"it's all for you,"

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. MEDDLE ABOUT BY CHASE ATLANTIC

"you owe me. you can't keep avoiding me forever, doll," jake chuckles, noticing how you turn the other way after catching a glimpse of him. finding it adorable how you do everything you can to not cross paths with him.

leaving him no choice but to wait for you outside your university, leaning against his black lykan hypersport; attracting unwanted attention while his eyes only look for your cute panicked figure amidst the crowd.

"i told you it was a mistake—" you refute, throwing a glare at his smug face as he drives right beside you, following your every step, nonchalant about all the stares you both get as long as you agree to him taking you out. "get in the car," or the other way round, he's fine with both. frustrated and knowing you'd never be able to escape him, you decide to give in.

"you owe me lunch," jake grins as his eyes watch you get into the passenger seat just like the passenger princess you are.

his passenger princess. first and last in his beloved car.

"jake this— isn't this too—" your heart skips beats at the sight of the dock and the luxury cruise restaurant closing in, scared and nervous about how much you'd have to spend but jake just shushes you. getting out the car first and coming over to open the door for you; one hand holding yours and the other cushioning your head as you step out.

"just let me have your time and i'll let you off of staining my prada with coffee," he begs, afraid you'd walk out of here if he were to tell you the real reason. if he were to tell you that you have his heart and no matter what you do his feelings are not changing. if he were to tell you he wanted to take you out to all these places and spoil you rotten and occupy your mind like you occupy his.

if he were to tell you it was indeed not your fault for he bumped into you on purpose to find an excuse to talk to you.

"but—" jake shushes you again, fingers rubbing against your lips as he shakes his head before pulling out the chair for you and helping you sit properly,"don't think too much doll, just do as i say, please?" planning to keep you busy until the sun goes down so he can take you to for a ride on his yacht.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. BABYDOLL BY ARI ABDUL

"fuck baby, don't cry like that," sunghoon panics, his fingers grazing under your eyes to gently wipe the tears. afraid if he's not careful enough, he'll break you. "as much as i love the way you look so pretty like this, tears are not for someone like you," he has no idea how to soothe your frantically crying figure, slouched in the passenger seat against the expensive leather of his aston martin.

his hands fumble around in an attempt to think of ways he could just make you feel better and smile for him. those adorable crinkle of your eyes that have him whipped.

fuming each time he thinks of the moron who took that opportunity away from him by making you sad. he swears if he finds him, he'll beat the living daylights out of him. remind him not to linger anywhere around his girl.

sunghoon softly cups your cheek in his palm and leans in to kiss you, lips moving slow and sensual, "forget him, let me make you happy," he whispers into your mouth once he pulls away, foreheads touching and hands caressing your face lovingly. he makes sure your belt is secured before driving off to one of the luxury malls in the city, ones where you need to be of a certain level to enter.

a place you probably could never have the chance to enter if it weren't for him.

"my princess gotta shop her sadness out, hmm?" sunghoon coos as he stops outside the building, watching you gape in surprise, surprised himself that you are yet to realize just how much you mean to him.

"come on, i'll buy you whatever you lay your eyes on," he insists before you have the chance to deny him.

his hands rest at the back of your waist, leading you inside after handing his keys to the valet. dropping a soft kiss on your temple when you watch his vip card being inspected with a nervous breath of how elite this place has to be.

and knowing how new you must feel to all this, sunghoon pulls you closer with the intention of making it known that this is how it's gonna be from now, "get used to it, baby," you're not his yet but he's gonna treat you like you are. after all it's only a matter of time before it happens.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

ぃ ⏤ now playing. GOOD GIRL BY THOMAS LAROSA

"good girl, you did a great job," sunoo pats your head teasingly amused at the confusion adorning your features. "sunoo, what were you doing there! you don't even have marketing?" the way you close in, demanding an explanation assures him that you indeed were affect by his presence, by the eye contact he held with you the entire time you were giving your presentation.

walking into the lecture hall in the middle of it as if he owned the place and taking a seat at a spot that directly put him in your line of sight. smirking, raising his brows and pushing his tongue against his cheeks to distract and annoy you.

"would you believe me if i said i came to see you?" his hands took ahold of your wrists playing with your fingers as he waited for you to answer.

"liar," you whisper, suddenly conscious of the implication behind his words and it makes him chuckle, of course what did he expect? you're hard to get, and perhaps that's the reason he feels so attracted, almost crazy over you.

like something he has to have, someone he has to have.

he takes a step closer, his varsity hat poking against the top of your head as his eyes bore into yours just the way they did inside earlier,"see? what do you want me to say then?" he whispers back, tone suddenly changing into a serious one. "you can't just enter any class like that," your innocent claim goes through him from one ear and falls through the other. how naive you are.

"i can if it's my dad's university," he can't help but chuckle at the expression on your face when you put the pieces together and realize it. all those times you came across him in places with strict attendance, it all made sense now.

"as adorably as you scold me, you're gonna see me everywhere you go," sunoo warns, leaning in impossibly close, lips hovering over yours,"you should stop fooling yourself baby,"

his hands move from your wrists to rest against the wall behind, voice dropping an octave,"and you should stop fooling around just because you can," you bite back, pressing your palm into his chest to push him back. "i'm fooling around because i want you, and i will have you," "you—" "we have a party this weekend at our summer villa, come with me?"

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. SINNERS BY ARI ABDUL AND THOMAS LAROSA

"jungwon? what are you doing here? are you okay?" it makes jungwon happy to see you worrying about him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pant as he watches you walk around the counter to his figure by the door. finding his cerulean blue chevrolet corvette 2lz parked in his usual spot, and him still dressed in the armani and hermès set you saw him in an hour ago when he dropped you off at your uncle's flower shop.

"mhm, just wanted to see my pretty girl again," he grins cockily once you realize there's nothing wrong and he's just trying playing around like always.

albeit to jungwon, it's never been a play and you have never been a toy.

this has been his way of showing you that you're not just another girl he's chasing after; because yang jungwon has never chased as opposed to what you think. and to harbour such deep and honest feelings that compel him to do what he has never done, that should have given you the hint by now. perhaps he'll just have to try a tad bit harder.

"how do you wear this?" he struts inside, passing by you to the space behind the counter you previously stood at, dangling a lone apron by his pinky and raising his brows at you, waiting. "your clothes will get dirty!" your attempts to curb him fall through for jungwon's persistence to stay with you holds like a strong wall, incapable of budging.

"i don't really care," jungwon's hands loop around the strings in a way that has the apron falling off making you giggle as you give in and just step in to help him,"idiot, that's not how you do it," you mumble.

and all he can think of is how he wants to be your idiot.

"how does this look? i think it looks so pretty on you," he says, putting a messy wreath on your head. to jungwon there's always flowers blooming everywhere you go, sweet scent overtaking all his scenes believing that's how you intoxicated him.

you slap away his hands in a shy chuckle that he doesn't understand, did he say something wrong? not aware and quite literally clueless of his own effect. by the time the sun sets down, you're asleep with your head down on the counter, facing him. and jungwon admires the way you looks so pretty, prettier than any flower.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

ぃ ⏤ now playing. STUCKINMYBRAIN BY CHASE ATLANTIC

"riki?" oh. you're here? riki looks up at the sound of your footsteps getting closer, halting a metre away from him, like you always do, not too close, not too far and it drives him crazy. "what are you doing here?" you ask, confused to find him waiting outside your mundane apartment building with his out of place red ferrari sf90.

"uh, you left this in the car last time," he fumbles out a dior liquid blush, clearly brand new and a shade you have never used before.

"that's not mine," giggling, you walk over to the other side, opening the passenger seat door to fish out the gloss you actually did leave and waving it in the air to show him,"this is mine richboy," the soft sounds of laughter, your teasing voice.

his favorite thing in the world as of late.

you who has him smitten with infatuation, unable to get you off his mind no matter how much he tries. you who never gives him the answer he wants but never pushes him away either. you who makes him feel like a pathetic loser, you who makes him want to try as many times as he can to win your heart.

"it's a gift," he quickly improvises, wanting you to accept it, of getting a chance to give you something. "you're gifting me a blush?" you question and it throws him off, blush?,"wait, it's not a lipgloss— i, i had no idea, i have never—" riki swears, he really had no clue,"bought makeup?" he nods and it makes you burst into a fit of laughter again. it warms his heart, leaning against his car and watching you with eyes that speak volumes of his feelings.

feelings that anyone could notice, anyone but you.

he lets you revel in his silly naivety, content to know you are not longer sad as you were a few days ago.

"now this suits you pretty little face," he says once you seem to calm down, bewildered at his sudden compliment while he walks over to you.

cupping your face and caressing your cheeks,"so pretty," mumbling under his breath, loud enought to reach your ears,"it's boring when you cry, baby," his lips hover over your own as both of your heartbeats pick up in sync, breath getting caught up at the shift in the atmosphere. "let's go on a drive, we'll get you a bunch of pretty glosses to wear for me,"

TAGLIST ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @okwonyo @snoopypupp @enhabooks @jjunae @criminalyun

[cowboysandcigarettes]

show me who you are ─

the mark of cain weighs heavily on dean's shoulders, affecting all of you. when the bloodlust becomes too much, you know you have to help him. in the only way you can think of.

cw ─ slight angst, mark of cain!dean, very slight mention of sa/non-con (not from dean), blood, gore, canon-typical violence, smut!, fem! reader, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected p in v, sorry if i miss anything else!

☆ 💿PORNSTAR - nessa barrett

i wanna hear you talking dirty,

i wanna see it on your face.

⭒

it was getting worse, you could all see it. you, sam, cas - hell, even crowley could see it. the mark was slowly killing dean, and it was only getting worse.

it wasn't as obvious at first, just small outbursts here and there, but surely enough, it became more obvious. he was more snappy than usual, spent more time alone, and he would zone out more, hands either clenched into fists or one was clasped tightly over the mark on his forearm.

you didn't bring it up to him, that was the silent agreement that you, sam and cas had come up with, and you obliged to it. so you didn't tell dean how the far away look in his eyes made your brow furrow and your stomach churn with worry, or how your heart broke every night when you could hear him wake himself up from his nightmares. you didn't tell him how seeing him struggle, and refuse help, was slowly but surely breaking you down, and you definitely didn't tell dean that you missed him.

sure, he was right there, just down the hall from you, close enough that you could hear him in the ungodly hours of the night, restlessly rummaging around his room, but he still wasn't there. not the real him, not the dean that you knew. the dean you knew was being held captive by that horrid mark that not only haunted his dreams, but yours now too. you missed your dean, the one who told stupid jokes that made you choke on your beer. the dean who grinned proudly whenever you correctly named a song on the radio and who would sing a long loudly to his favorite led zeppelin songs, glancing at you as he drove.

drives are mostly silent now, save for the hum of the impala, or the quiet background noise of the radio, but still never those homemade tapes that he loved so much. he doesn't drink with you anymore, though he still does it an unhealthy amount. he drinks alone in his room, or late at night by himself in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes staring somewhere far off. the only reason you even know this is because one night, when you couldn't sleep, you went to the kitchen for a glass of water and found him there, only to have him get up and leave with only a nod of acknowledgement to you.

it was killing him, and if you didn't do something about it, it was going to kill you too.

the hunt was supposed to be a cakewalk. it was just a nest of vampires not too far from the bunker, and dean insisted that he was fine, that the mark's screaming wasn't too much for him to bear and he was feeling good enough to go with you guys on the hunt.

after sharing a look with sam, you reluctantly relented, agreeing to let him come along under the condition that if he felt the bloodlust creeping in, he would back off and stay behind in the impala.

that leads to now, where you were currently kicking yourself for not doing recon before going in. the nest was bigger than you and sam had originally thought, there were probably double the amount of vamps than you had previously thought, and when you, him and dean had crept into the nest, one of the freshly turned ones - a child, no less - had spotted you and screamed, awaking the whole nest. and so here you were, wrestling with one of the female bloodsuckers on the grimy floor of the abandoned barn.

her dirt-caked nails raked down the sides of your neck, making you hiss in pain as you brought your knee up hard, hitting her in the stomach, effectively pushing her off of you. as soon as she was on her back next to you, you scrambled up, quickly grabbing your machete that the bitch had knocked out of your hands and turning back to her. without even giving her a chance to bare her fangs, you raise your bloodied machete over your head, bringing it down with a cry, cutting her head right off.

taking a second to breathe, you stand up, panting heavily as you brush some hair out of your face, turning your head to the side to spit out some blood, running your tongue over your teeth to get rid of the taste. your moment of rests is cut short though, when you hear a loud thud and the sounds of a struggle from the room next to you.

gripping your machete tighter and taking a deep breath, you rush out of the room you had been in, leaving behind the bodies of the three vamps you had killed. you sprint out the door, crashing through the room next door, your heart racing as you see sam in a struggle with two bloodsuckers.

you rush over, cutting the head off one before he even has the chance to fully turn around. the other one drops sam in surprise, turning to you and snarling, his disgusting rows of fangs glinting in the low light. using the vampire's moment of distraction, sam grabs his own machete and raises it, slicing the vamp's head clean off.

"you okay?" you ask, chest heaving as adrenaline courses through your veins.

sam nods, raising a hand to brush his hair back from his face, his own erratic breathing evidence of the fight. "yeah. yeah, i'm good. are you?"

"one of 'em got me good with her nails, but nothing fatal," you answer, tilting your head to show him the marks. he winces in sympathy, eyes raking over the angry red marks before he bends down to pick up a vial of dead man's blood. "where's dean?"

"not sure, i lost him once they jumped on us," sam says, brows furrowing as he pockets the dead man's blood, adjusting his grip on his machete. "maybe we should-"

whatever sam was going to say is cut off as a scream comes from the floor below. you and sam share a look, fear spiking in your chest before you both turn, racing out the door. you sprint through the hallway and down the stairs, sam right on your heels as you skip steps, landing shakily at the bottom. your eyes scan the landing, and you turn to call out to sam, but before you can get a word out, a hand grabs your arm, throwing you across the room.

you hear sam call your name behind you, but he gets cut off, and you assume that he has a vamp of his own to deal with. you push yourself up with a groan, but as your sitting up, a hand grabs your arm again, hauling you up and slamming you against the wall.

"well, would ya look at this," the vamp spits, his yellow stained teeth shown in a grin as he leans in, his putrid breath in your face making you want to vomit. "the winchester's brought their little girl toy. how nice of them to bring us a gift."

"go to hell," you spit, the words strained as his hand fists in the collar of your shirt, pressing against your neck as he raises you higher against the wall.

the vamp only grins wider, running his tongue over his small, cracked lips. his dark, greasy hair falls in front of his eyes, and his bloodshot blue eyes make him look crazed. he's bleeding from a fresh cut on his forehead, and you wonder if one of the boys had already got into it with him.

"ooh, and she's feisty," he snarls, smirking cruelly. he raises his other hand to brush his grime-covered fingertips over your forehead, running them through your hair.

you turn away from his touch, struggling in his vice-like grip as bile builds in your throat, but his smirk only grins, a low, dark chuckle leaving his crusted lips.

"that's just fine," he whispers, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he leans in to nose at your neck, inhaling deeply, ignoring your struggle in his grip. "i like it when they fight back."

his words make your heart pound, your chest tightening with panic, eyes wide with fear as you struggle in his tight grasp, arms flinging and nails scratching at anywhere you can reach, but he doesn't even flinch, his grip not loosening at all. you open your mouth to scream, hoping to get the attention of one of the boys, or anyone that will help you at this point, but the hand that was in your hair slaps over your mouth just as you part your lips, your scream muffled into his palm.

"ah-ah, be a good girl and stay quiet," he tuts, pulling back to bare his fangs to you. you just stare at him, eyes wide with fear as you continue to struggle in his hold. you squeeze your eyes shut as he leans in again, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"let her go."

your eyes snap wide open at the familiar voice of dean, gaze landing on him over the vamp's shoulder, relief filling you at the sight of him. he was standing there, blood splattered all over his clothes, face and hair, his grip white-knuckled on his machete. sam stands behind him, his own eyes wide with fear as they flick between dean and you in the monster's grip. you try to call out to them, but the sound comes out as a muffled whimper against the vamp's hand.

the bloodsucker turns his head to look behind him, his smirk faltering at the sight of dean. his fangs retract, but his grip on you stays vice-like.

"well if it isn't dean winchester," the vamp snarls, his hand over your mouth tightening slightly, making you wince. "come to save your little doll?"

dean's jaw clenches, his expression darkening even further as he stares at you and the vamp, taking a menacing step forward.

"i said - let her go," he growls, something dark flashing in his emerald eyes.

the vamp's eyes widen in fear at the look on dean's face, and his grip on you loosens slightly. that's the opening you need, and with all the strength you can muster, you bite down hard on his hand, simultaneously kicking your leg as hard as you can into his crotch.

the monster cries out in pain, his hands dropping you as they fly to where you kicked him. you fall to the floor with a small thud, catching yourself before you hit your head. you quickly stand up while the bloodsucker is distracted, and sam immediately rushes over to you, grabbing you and pulling you into his arms, backing you away from dean and the vamp.

"sam, wait, dean-"

"the mark's got him right now," sam cuts you off, his voice thick with worry as he holds you to him, soothing your trembling form. "we just gotta stay out of the way, there's nothing we can do."

his words sink in, and it's then you realize that the barn is quiet. your eyes widen in realization, and you turn your head to look up at sam, heart pounding in your chest.

"he killed them all?" you ask, your voice just barely above a whisper. sam's grim nod is enough to make you feel sick.

your attention is torn from that information as you hear the vamp cry out in pain, and when you look up, you see dean's got him on the floor, the vamp's head twisted at an odd angle as dean steps on his back, machete raised over his head.

"this is less than you deserve for touching her, you disgusting son of a bitch," dean spits, and you watch in horror as he raises his machete over his head, bringing it down in one smooth stroke, blood splattering across his face as he cuts the vamp's head clean off.

the barn is silent, save for dean's heavy breath and the pounding of your heart. dean's sleeve is torn, and you can see the mark pulsing an angry red, burning into his skin, the sight making your chest tighten even more.

dean doesn't move, he just stands there, chest heaving and eyes blazing as he stares at the dead body of the vamp, his knuckles white as he grips the machete, blood dripping from the blade onto the old wooden floor.

your heart aches in your chest, and you pull yourself from sam's arms, giving him a reassuring look when he tries to stop you. taking a deep breath, you take a small step towards where dean stands, your body still shaking slightly from adrenaline.

"dean?" you call softly, your voice gentle, trying not to startle him. you don't flinch when his eyes snap up to you, and though his body is still tense, you can see something soften slightly in his gaze when it lands on you. "can you put the machete down, please?"

to your surprise, he does as you ask, the blade falling to the floor with a clatter that echoes through the empty barn. you take that as an invitation to step closer, your eyes never leaving dean's as they follow your movements, his lips parted slightly as he breathes.

when you reach him, you tentatively reach your arm up, placing your hand on his arm, but he jerks back, sucking in a breath as he seemingly snaps out of whatever haze he was in. he takes a step back from you, eyes flickering between you and the severed body of the vampire on the floor.

"let's just go," he says, his voice hoarse and cold. with one last flickering glance up to you, he bends down to grab his machete before turning on his heel and walking to the entrance of the barn.

⭒

the drive back to the bunker had been silent and filled with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. once you were back inside the bunker, it wasn't any better, dean not saying a word as he storms ahead, rushing off to his room and closing the door abruptly behind him.

you and sam don't say much as he checks over you for any serious injuries, and you for him. he just hugs you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before heading to his own room. you follow suit, shedding your bloodied clothing in your room before grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom attached to your bedroom, which the boys had agreed to give you as one of the few that had it's own bathroom.

in the shower, you turn the heat all the way up, scrubbing the blood from your stained skin, washing off the hands of the vamp who had grasped you. you rub until your skin is raw, and even though you did the other day, you shave, just to feel that sense of normalcy instead of the sickly unease that crawls in your nerves. you wash your hair twice, ridding yourself of the blood and dirt you had collected in the barn, sighing as the steam melted against your skin.

as you stood there under the burning stream, you thought about dean, about the look in his eyes, the empty way he had walked away from you, and all of the pain he had been going through since he had taken the god-forsaken mark. you knew that the guilt from succumbing to the blood lust weighed heavily on his shoulders, and you just wished that there was some way you could focus that anger, that need on something else. and that's when the idea came to you.

immediately, you shut off the water, grabbing a towel and wrapping your hair in it, grabbing another one to wrap around your body, rushing back into your room and grabbing a different pair of clothes than you had previously chosen. you trade out the old sweatpants for a pair of sleep shorts, large sweatshirt for an old t-shirt that you stole from dean months ago, and tossing your plain panties, instead grabbing one of your nicer pairs, a dark red lace number that hugged you perfectly, foregoing a bra.

you tried not to think about how ridiculous this was as you slip on the clothes, taking your now semi-damp hair out of the towel and running your hands through it gently, getting out the leftover tangles. you splash water on your face, drying it off with a towel as you look in the mirror, chewing on your lip as you decide whether to put a bit of makeup on or not. you decide yes, just throwing on the slightest bit of mascara and eyeliner, adding just a bit of blush, and swiping over your lips with your cherry lip balm, pursing your lips to properly coat them.

you lean back and study yourself in the mirror, cringing at the bright red scratch marks on your neck before taking a deep breath as you consider what you're about to do. fuck it, you think, go big or go home, right?

with those words of wisdom to yourself and one last deep breath, you turn and walk of out the bathroom, and then out of the door to your room, heading into the hallway, your bare feet pad on the concrete floor as you make the short walk just a few doors down to dean's room. you stop in front of his door, taking a shaky breath before raising your hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking softly.

you hear shuffling, as if he's getting out of bed, and then the door opens and he's suddenly in front of you, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorway.

your breath hitches at the sight of him, your stomach flipping as you look up at him. his hair is spiked and damp, reflecting the shower he probably just took, his stubble highlighting his jaw. his plaid pajama pants are slung low on his hips, just enough to show a sliver of skin between the waistband and the hem of his black t-shirt that hugs his shoulders tightly, stretching over his chest.

dean says your name in a low voice, tilting his head as he looks down at you. you snap out of your trance, flushing slightly as you realize you were caught staring. "what're you doing here?" he asks, and doubt pools in your chest.

"i...i have a proposal," you say, nervously biting your lip as you look up at him.

dean's eyes track the movement, his jaw clenching as he flicks his gaze back up to your eyes, brows raising in question. "a proposal?"

you nod, shifting anxiously on your feet. you take a breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you smile nervously up at him. "can i come in?"

he doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at you, pushing off the doorway and stepping back, allowing you to walk by him. you step into the threshold of his room, forcing yourself to push away the nerves as you stand in front of the bed. your eyes follow him as he closes the door behind you, walking over to stand in front of you, arms still crossed over his chest as he looks down at you.

"so, what's this proposal of yours?" dean asks, the rough timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. you snap out of it, meeting his gaze head on as you speak.

"okay, i was thinking about the mark, and the blood lust." you can see his jaw clench at the mention of the mark and your stomach flips, but you continue. "so i thought, what if...what if there was another way to channel that?"

something flickers in his eyes at your words, and he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. "what d'you mean?"

you swallow nervously, biting your lip as you consider what you're about to say. "before i say it, i just want you to know that if this makes you uncomfortable then i can just go and we'll pretend that this never happened and-"

dean cuts you off with a grunt of your name, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes at you. "just spit it out-"

"i want you to fuck me." the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, both yours and dean's eyes widening at the bluntness of them.

"you want me to-"

"fuck me," you restate, deciding to just go with your forwardness. "i was thinking about what the mark makes you feel, and how it makes you turn that into blood lust, but then i thought about what if you could channel it into something else. give you some other way to let go."

dean doesn't say anything, just stands there, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched so tight your worried he's going to break something as he stares at you, eyes raking over your features as if something in them is going to tell him that you're joking.

you look away as you flush under his stare, regret and embarrassment seeping into your chest. when he still doesn't say anything, you shake your head, biting your lip as you turn to head back towards his door. "i knew this was stupid, i'm sorry-"

dean doesn't even give you the chance to finish your apology as he grabs your arm and spins you back into his chest, pulling a gasp from your lips.

"stop doing that," he growls, and when you look up into his eyes, they're so dark it makes your breath hitch. his hand that's not gripping your arm comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it lightly. "drivin' me fucking crazy."

you're too dazed by his sudden proximity to respond, the woody, leather filled scent that's so purely dean invading your senses and making you dizzy.

"let me get this straight," dean says, his voice low and slightly strained as he thumbs at your bottom lip, his eyes glued to the action. "you want me to fuck you, to get rid of the blood lust?"

you nod, lips parting automatically as he tugs at your bottom one, eyes wide as you stare up at him. "yea-yeah. it would still be letting that energy out, just in a different way," you tell him, your voice slightly breathless.

"and you want that?" he asks, eyes lingering on the way your lips brush his thumb as you speak before slipping back up to meet yours. "you want me to let go with you, sweetheart?"

you nod again, swallowing thickly as your mouth goes dry at the nickname. even though you'd heard it from his lips a thousand times before, this time it felt different, heavier, and you felt it weigh on your heart. "of course, if it'll help you-"

"no," dean cuts you off, growling your name and gripping your jaw tighter. "i'm asking you if you want this. not if you want to help me, i'm asking if you want me to fuck you, because if i won't touch you if you don't want this."

"i want this," you answer without hesitation, your voice breathy and your eyes wide, pupils blown with lust as you look up at him. "i wouldn't do this if i didn't want it."

dean groans, eyes clenching shut as if it's physically paining him to hold back, and his hand on your arm slides around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. when he opens his eyes again, the sapphire green that wormed it's way into your heart is almost entirely swallowed by lust-blown black, the sight making your heart stutter.

"if we do this," he starts, his voice dangerously low. his hand caresses your waist before moving to your hip, gripping the flesh tightly through your clothes. "i'm not so sure 'm gonna be able to control myself. i don't wanna hurt you."

you shake your head, eyes determined as you hold his gaze, your hands coming up to his chest, fisting in his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. "you're not gonna hurt me, dean," you whisper, pushing up on your tip-toes so that your lips are a breath away from his. "i want this, i want you to let go with me. i want you to use me."

dean just stares at you for a moment, his hand on your jaw moving to cup your cheek as his eyes bore into yours, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. as soon as his eyes flick back up to yours, something snaps in him and he surges forward, crashing his lips to yours.

you moan at the intensity of the kiss, your hands moving from his shirt to wind up into his hair, fingers tangling tightly in the still damp strands. his hands are suddenly everywhere, moving from your cheek to grip your hair, the hand on your hip slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin, groaning against your lips when he finds that you're not wearing a bra.

your lips part instantly as you feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, moaning into his mouth as he tilts his head, running his tongue over your teeth before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. your head is spinning as your teeth clash, your hands in his hair holding him tightly to you, arching your body into his.

when you both finally remember you need air, you pull back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your now swollen lips. dean rests his forehead against yours, his hands finding a place at your hips, gripping them tightly as he catches his breath.

"last chance to back out," he breathes, looking at you with hooded eyes that make your knees weak.

"not a chance, winchester," you whisper back, your voice equally strained as you pant softly, trying to force air into your lungs.

dean groans at your words, and without hesitation, he slams his lips back to yours, one hand fisting in your hair as the other creeps up your back, pulling your shirt up with it until he has to pull away to tug it off you, throwing it somewhere. his pupils grow impossibly larger as he takes in your bare chest, your nipples pebbling as they're exposed to the cool air. his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he's on you, surging forward and capturing one of the hardened buds in his mouth.

you yelp softly at the sudden action, the sound melting into a moan as you arch into him, hands grasping at his hair to hold him to you.

"fuck, dean─" you gasp, head falling back as his tongue swirls around your sensitive skin, his hand coming up to cup your breast that his mouth isn't currently ravishing. after he's satisfied with the job he's done, he switches, bringing his mouth to your other breast, his hand moving to cup and grope the one his mouth had just been working at, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

when you whimper his name as he bites at your bud, he pulls himself away from your chest with a pop, lips slick and eyes blown as he looks down at you. you stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted as you pant, just taking in the sight of him, so worked up over you.

"fuck," he groans, jaw clenching as his eyes greedily rake over your flushed features, his spit-slick bottom lip caught between his teeth. your hooded eyes follow the movement, your faces close enough that you can feel his breath on your heated skin, which sends a shiver up your spine.

you've seen dean shirtless many times─patching him up, or when motel rooms got too hot, but this was different. now, his toned chest was heaving with heavy breaths, his tan skin flushed with desire just for you.

you're staring, lips parted as you pant heavily, your eyes greedily raking over every inch of skin he's offering to you. your hands twitch to reach out, to feel every ridge, dip and curve of his body, and you're too far gone to deny yourself.

you rush forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and attaching your mouth to his neck. your lips trail up his neck, sucking at a spot under his jaw that has him groaning your name in a way that makes your knees weak. you're sure you would've collapsed by now if dean's arms weren't wrapped so tightly around your waist you could feel his biceps flex against your skin as your mouth ravished his neck and up to his jaw.

you're craning your neck to reach his skin, and you're body feels so hot you're worried that it's going to burst into flames if you don't do something about it. the chorus of more, more, more chants in your head, fueling your trembling legs as the walk forward, walking dean backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

he falls to sit on the bed with a grunt, his grip never loosening around you as you follow him, crawling into his lap eagerly, moaning into his neck when his bare chest presses against yours. you arch against him as you bite and suck on his neck, lips trailing down to nip at his collarbone, leaving a path of spit behind you.

"shit─need t'feel you, baby," dean rasps, his hands moving to grip your hips tightly, grinding you down onto him. you whimper in agreement, reluctantly pulling away from his salty skin, licking your lips to savor the taste of him.

you sit yourself up on your knees in his lap, cupping his face in your hands as you tilt his head back to look up at you, your thumb tugging at his bottom lip just as he did to you before. just the sight of him sends a wave of aching desire between your legs, your panties growing wetter by the second.

dean looks absolutely wrecked. his plush lips are parted and spit-slick, swollen from your bruising kisses, the white of his teeth peeking through the brightened pink as he pants heavily. his hooded eyes are so dark, the mossy green almost completely gone as he stares up at you with such reverence it makes your pounding heart stutter in your chest.

his rough hand squeezing your hips brings your attention back to the moment as he turns his head into your touch, lips ghosting your palm, his eyes staying locked on yours.

"c'mon, sweetheart," dean groans, his voice almost breathless as he squeezes your hip again, the action almost pleading. "can't take this anymore, just need you, need t'feel that pretty pussy 'round me."

his words make you moan softly, but they snap you into action. you scramble off his lap, stepping back from the cage of his legs as you hook your fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts, bending over towards him as you tug them down, shimmying them over your hips and thighs until they fall to the floor.

dean's eyes hungrily watch your every movement, jaw clenching tightly and a low groan escaping his lips as the delicate red lace of your panties is exposed to him.

"son of a bitch," he mutters, his voice a breathless whisper so quiet you almost miss it.

feeling spurred on by his words, you step out of your shorts, leaving them on the floor as you stand between his legs again and start to sink down, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him. but his arm shoots out to grab yours, stopping you from dropping to your knees with a grip so tight you think it might leave bruises. your pussy clenches at the thought, the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing the mark of him on your skin, as a reminder of this chance you may never have again, nearly making your eyes roll back.

"no, no," dean practically snarls, straightening you up as his hands go to the waistband of your panties, ripping them from your body with a ferocity that makes you gasp. "next time baby, i promise, i'll let you use your fuckin' gorgeous mouth on me, but right now i need to fuck that pretty pussy until you can't even think anything but my name."

a breath leaves your lungs in a shaky gasp, the filthiness of his words making your head spin.

"okay─" is all you can manage, your voice shaking as he tugs you back into his lap, groaning when he feels your bare, hot core against his still clothed and straining cock. he doesn't hold the position long though, because in a blink of an eye, he has you flat on your back, breasts heaving as you stare up at him, your eyes wide and needy.

you part your lips to comment something about how he still has pants on, but the words catch in your throat as a moan when his fingers suddenly swipe through your weeping heat. you arch your back against the mattress, trying to push yourself up against his fingers as they circle your throbbing clit, sending sparks of pleasure behind your eyes.

"that's it, that's my girl─ fuck, you're so fuckin' pretty," dean praises, leaning over you to suck one of your peaked nipples into heated mouth.

his words make you whimper, and your hips buck up desperately into his hand, chasing the burning pleasure he's making you feel. "shit, dean, please, please─"

your whines are cut off into a moan when he plunges the same fingers that had been working your aching bud into your sopping cunt, your walls instantly tightening around his digits.

"i know, pretty girl, i know," he croons, his raspy voice muffled against the heated skin of your chest. his plush lips trailing up to your neck, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin as he noses under your ear, teeth tugging gently at your earlobe. "jus' give me one before i fuck you, yeah? wanna feel you come around my fingers before i fuck you stupid on my cock."

you whimper in response, tossing your head back against the mattress with a moan as he drives his fingers into your heat again and again, curling them just right to hit that gummy spot deep within you that makes your toes curl.

"oh god, oh god─" you babble, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the band in your stomach tightening, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. "dean, close, m'so close─"

your words only encourage him, his teeth tugging at your ear once more before he trails them up to your jaw, resting his forehead against your cheek. he presses his lips to the burning skin there as his thumb moves to circle your clit, making you cry out under him, your hands flaying to his shoulders, nails digging into the taut skin as you buck against his hand.

"yeah? y'gonna cum, baby? gonna soak my fingers like the good girl you are?" dean coos, lips moving against your cheek, letting his teeth graze your skin. "c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fingers so this perfect fucking pussy can take me like she needs to."

you fly over the edge with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you, stealing the air from your lungs. your legs tremble around him, and you can feel his smug smirk against your cheek, your mind too fuzzy to comprehend the words he mumbles against your skin.

his fingers don't stop, working your soaked pussy until your whining, squirming away from his touch as your eyes flutter open, mouth slack as you gasp for breath. your eyes flick up to dean as he moves his face to hover over yours, and his hand has moved but he's not saying anything, and he's just staring at you, and the reverence in his eyes makes you want to shrink, but there's nowhere for you to go.

"dean," you whisper, your voice still shaking and barely audible as your eyes search his, trying to read his expression. he still doesn't say anything, just watching you with his devastatingly beautiful eyes and making you feel like he's worshipping you with his gaze. "what's wrong? do-do you want to stop─"

"do you know," dean mumbles your name, cutting you off effectively. "how fucking beautiful you are?"

the unexpected compliment makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you're sure he can hear it. all you can do is stare up at him, and he's so close you can count every freckle on his impossibly perfect face, the moment so intimate it makes your heart clench in your chest.

"you drive me goddamn crazy," he continues, pushing himself up to stand between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. his hands drift down to the waistband of his pants, pushing them and his boxers down in one swift movement, his eyes never leaving yours as he kicks them away. "you make me forget everything, y'know that? you make me forget about this damn mark on my arm, you're in my head and then suddenly, all the mark wants is you."

your eyes drift down to between his legs, your mouth watering as you see his cock, hard and heavy in front of you, already red and leaking precum. when you continue to stare, dean leans over you again, grasping your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"i mean, fuck, just look at you, sweetheart," he breathes, his gaze raking over you, lingering on your heaving breasts before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "look so fucking gorgeous...all fucked out 'n stupid just from my fingers."

you only whimper in response, the sound breathless and soft as your spinning head tries to process his words. "please, dean," you rasp, your pleading eyes searching his, lifting your hips up to try and feel hi until he groans softly, eyes fluttering. "need you, please, fuck me.."

he stares at you for another moment, his jaw ticking and you can feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh. he finally moves again, reaching out and grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips and placing it under you. when he decides you're properly situated, he settles between your spread thighs, grasping one tightly in one hand while the other pumps himself slowly. he leans over you, guiding himself to your weeping entrance as your hands fly to his shoulders, grasping at the hard muscles.

he suddenly stops just before his leaking head brushed your folds, the hand on your thigh tightening as his eyes flick up to yours. "condom?" he asks, his voice strained as he forces himself to hold back.

you shake your head, biting your lip as you watch the way his pupils dilate, the sight making your aching core clench around nothing. "wanna feel you, all of you."

"fuck," he groans, his eyes slipping shut as he pumps himself faster, lining up with your aching pussy again. "baby, you're gonna be the death 'f me."

you just hum in response, your eyes glued to where he rubs his red, swollen tip through your puffy folds. with one more squeeze of your thigh, he pushes in, punching harmonic moans out of both of you. your back arches, eyes rolling back as your tight walls stretch around him, the pleasurable burn making your nails dig into his skin.

dean watches you, eyes wide and blown so dark with desire he looks almost crazed, staying still as he lets you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "that's it, look at you, takin' me so well," he praises, rolling his hips gently to see your reaction.

"ohh shit," you moan, a gasping whimper catching in your throat when he rolls his hips again. he grasps your hips with both hands as leans over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. he stays like that, keeping still longer than he did before, and it doesn't take long until your squirming under him, whimpering softly as you grasp at his shoulders. "move, dean, please─"

as soon as the plea leaves your swollen lips, his hips snap harshly against yours, making you cry out, your eyes flying open to meet his. your mouth goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream and your brow furrowing as he pistons his hips into you, changing angles slightly until he hits that gummy spot deep in you that makes you cry out his name.

"yeah, yeah, i know, pretty girl, that's it right there, huh?" dean's voice is strained, the words a groan against your lips as he licks into your slack mouth, making you mewl under him, the sound only encouraging him to go faster. "squeezin' me so tight, shit, perfect fucking pussy was made for me, fuck─"

he pounds into you mercilessly, your tight walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as his tip hits your cervix, making stars flash in your eyes. you swear you can feel him everywhere. his hot breath against your parted lips, calloused hands gripping your thighs and sliding up to your chest to pinch and tweak at your hardened buds, his cock making you so full you swear you can feel him in your throat.

you can feel your release creeping up on you, your hands slipping down to grip his biceps, moaning when the muscles flex under your touch. dean seems to sense that you're getting close, and he moves one hand from your chest, trailing his fingers down your torso until he reaches your clit, rubbing tight circles on the aching bud.

the sudden overwhelming pleasure makes you cry out, eyes rolling back as you claw at his skin, broken mewls and gasps leaving your lips. "dean-!"

"yeah, fuck, beautiful, say my name," he groans, dropping his head to your neck, his hips never faltering their bruising pace. "want you scream it when you cum around my cock."

"oh shit," you gasp, hands flying to his back, nails dragging down his skin as you feel yourself getting dangerously close to the edge. "close, shit, m'close dean─"

"yeah, i know, baby, can feel you squeezing me." his fingers speed up on your throbbing clit, and with just the smallest bit of added pressure, the band in you snaps. hard.

you think you scream, but your brain shuts off as your orgasm crashes through you, the pleasure mind-numbing and paralyzing. dean continues to fuck you through it, his hips faltering as he feels your walls clamp down on him with your release.

"fuck, that's it. good girl, good fucking girl," he grunts your name into your neck, his voice strained as you feel him twitch in you, his thrusts just extending your orgasm and melting into another one. "you don't know how fucking long 've wanted this. your perfect fucking pussy gripping me so tight, fuck─ you were made for me, fucking made for my cock, never gonna let you go after this, ngh, you're mine now, sweetheart. all fucking mine."

he continues to babble as his hips falter, lifting his head from your neck to crash his lips to yours, devouring your mouth with his teeth and tongue.

"gonna cum in your tight fuckin' pussy, gonna fill you up, make you feel me for days." you whimper into his mouth, the two of you more so just panting into each other's mouths rather than kissing.

"please, dean, need it, need you so bad," you moan, feeling that band tighten once more. "wanna feel you, please, please─"

"oh fuck, gonna cum," he gasps your name into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening, and somewhere in the back of your fucked out brain you register that there are definitely going to be bruises there tomorrow. "fuck, m'gonna cum─"

he thrusts once, twice, burying his face in your neck and then his hips still, pressing his cock as deep into you as he can get as he twitches, groaning loudly as he spills into you, his release hot and heavenly in your tight walls. the feelings sends you over the edge again, a weak, broken cry leaving you as your vision practically goes white with pleasure.

you stay like that, trembling and panting softly under him, your eyes hooded and hazy, your shaking hands slipping from his shoulders and falling to his biceps weakly. for a long moment, dean doesn't move, just breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your sensitive skin with every breath.

eventually, he shifts his hips, moving to pull out, and the movement makes you whimper from the oversensitivity. instantly, dean pulls back from your neck, his brow furrowed as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with concern.

"shit, did i hurt you?" he asks, and you can hear the panic creeping into his tone. "i'm so sorry sweetheart, i didn't mean to─"

you cut him off with a shake of your head, forcing your eyes to focus as you look up at him, a weak, fucked-out smile forming on your lips. "you didn't hurt me, dean," you assure him, your voice raspy. "i'm fine, just sensitive."

"oh okay," he says, nodding and lets out a breath as if he'd been holding it.

he takes another moment, eyes raking over your face again, and he looks like hes't going to say something, but he bites his lip, pushing down whatever it is. slowly, he lifts himself on his arms, pushing up so he's almost sitting, squeezing your thigh comfortingly as he pulls out. you wince slightly at the movement, shivering when you feel his release dripping from your spent cunt.

he pulls away from you completely, standing up and walking over to the corner of his room and your stomach sinks as you watch him rifle through his stuff. you knew this was coming, the part where he awkwardly mumbled a thank you and you take his rejection without a word, making the walk of shame back to your own room, and you never speak of this again.

you can feel the familiar burn of tears forming behind your eyelids as you push yourself up, placing your feet on the ground. you don't look up at him as you lean over, grabbing your discarded shirt from the floor. you bite your lip anxiously as you stand up from the bed, intending to put your shirt on only to stumble and sway as your weak legs shake under you.

"woah, woah─" dean's arm comes around your waist, catching you before you can fall and you lean against him without really meaning to sighing at the warmth of his chest. "where do you think you're goin'?"

he turns you in his arms so your chest to chest with him, and you keep your eyes glued to his anti-posession tattoo, not quite ready to look him in the eyes and see the rejection. "i'll just get dressed and go back to my room─"

"hey, what? no," he interrupts, confusion lacing his words. his hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to look into his eyes. his brow is furrowed, and you have the sudden need to reach up and smooth the crease with your fingers. "why would you do that?"

your lips part to speak, but no words come out as the intense emotions in his eyes steal your breath.

dean says your name in a low voice, his gaze roaming over your face as his thumb stroked your cheek gently. "did you think i was gonna kick you out?"

"i...i didn't think you'd want me to stay," you admit in a breathless voice, eyes wide as you stare up at him.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, just gazing down at you as his hand raises to brush some of your hair away from your face, and if hekeeps looking at you like that you think you might catch on fire. "i meant what i said."

the words are so simple, so blunt that you don't know what he's referring to. "what are you talking about?" you ask, slightly breathless as your brow furrows in confusion.

"what i said, earlier, i meant it," dean repeats, the hand that's not cupping your chin raising to your forehead, his thumb stroking at the crease between your brows, the tenderness making your breath hitch. "i've wanted you, wanted this for so long, sweetheart."

his words stop your heart, and you look up at him with wide, shocked eyes. you can feel your pulse pounding in your chest, your shirt in your hand falling to the floor as your lips part in shock. "you have?"

"yeah," he mutters your name, both of his hands moving to cup your face now, and you subconsciously lean into his touch, making him smile softly. "i have. i'm honestly surprised you didn't notice before. even cas said i was bein' obvious."

your head reels from his confession, the words processing in your still slightly hazy mind. "you...what?" you ask, still staring up at him with wide eyes.

"i mean, hell, how could i not want you?" dean chuckles, almost to himself as he gazes down at you. "you're smart, 'nd funny, and you could kick my ass any day of the week. not to mention you're so fucking beautiful it makes me weak."

"you...you really mean that?" you ask, brow furrowing in doubt. "you're not fucking with me?"

he shakes his head, smiling down at you as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks affectionately. "you, this...it's all ive wanted for a long time."

"i..." you start, unsure of what to say as you search his expression for any hint of him lying. when you find none, a smile matching his spreads across your lips, and you lean into his touch, bringing a hand up to rest over his. "ive wanted this too. for a while, actually."

dean grins at you─a real, wide, boyish grin that lights up his ethereal features, making your heart stutter in your chest. "i guess we're both idiots then."

"i guess we are..." you agree, pushing up on your tip toes to ghost your lips over his. you hover there, just breathing him in, eyes flicking between his before you close the gap, pressing your lips softly to his.

its nothing like the kisses you shared before. in fact, it's really just the gentle press of your lips to his, savoring the way his smile feels against you, and you suddenly don't know how you've lived your whole life without kissing dean winchester like this. you certainly don't think you can live without it now that you've experienced it.

after a few savored moments, you pull away, smile staying on your lips as your eyes flutter open. your hand slides along his arm, and you feel him tense when your fingers brush over the mark.

"i trust you, dean," you whisper, curling your fingers over the raised skin, squeezing his forearm lightly. "i know you would never hurt me, and i need you to know that im not going to leave."

"but-" he starts, but you cut him off by raising your free hand to press a finger to his lips.

"no buts," you counter, shifting your hand to cup his cheek, smiling lovingly at him. "just because you think you're dammed doesn't mean you actually are. because you aren't. no matter what you think of yourself, it will never change the fact that you, dean winchester, are the good man. the best man ive ever known, and ill be damned if i let you think any less than that."

"sweetheart..."

"stop. don't fight me on this─"

"i wasn't gonna fight you─"

"yes you were, i could see it─"

he says your name, low and serious, but there's still a soft smile on his face. "you're too damn good for me."

"what did i just say─"

"just let me say this, will you?" he says, giving you a look that makes you shut your mouth, eyes locked on his. he sighs, just staring at you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "youre too good for me, i know that. you're too smart, too kind, just too damn good. but damnit, i want to be selfish so bad and keep you for myself."

you just smile at him, eyes slipping shut as you lean up again to kiss him a little deeper than the one before, but still soft nonetheless. "you have me, dean," you whisper against his lips, your eyes still closed. "you've always had me."

"i don't want to hurt you," he mumbles, and you can feel his furrowed brow as he leans his forehead against yours.

"you won't hurt me."

"you don't know that─"

"yes, i do." your tone is sharp, and it makes his eyes snap open to meet yours again. at this proximity, you can see the specks of gold that flicker in the deep emerald that makes your heart skip a beat. "we'll figure this out, dean. we'll get through this and get that damn mark off you. we'll figure this out, together."

dean smiles at that, a soft, relieved curve of his lips that makes the corners of his eyes crease. he looks at you with so much emotion and affection that you want to just crumble into him and never let him go, hide him away from the world so that it can't hurt him more than it has. "together," he repeats, his voice a hushed whisper.

you can tell that he believes you, and the thought makes pride swell in your chest. you may not know much about your fucked up lives at the moment, but the one thing you know for sure is that you were never going to let dean go through it alone. ever.

a/n, this ended up being way longer than i intended, but oh well. anyways, i can't get moc!dean out of my head, so here we are... and happy late new years!

ps, the end was written at 3 in the morning (again) so i sincerely apologize if the ending is rushed