#I stayed up late reading last night and it was just

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

#do not. look at me #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

[diorcities]

⠀   ⠀ ── ☆ ⁺彡 nct dream as spiderman !

if you saw it the first time, no you didn't! 🫵😭 reposting this again to add something i missed in the first one. happy reading!! library.

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ mark: ultimate spiderman. broken specs and lame excuses. eating a sandwich against a skyscraper. homemade suit. attracting things with his webs (esp. you). quick reflex. stuttering. with great power comes great responsibility. yapping his adventures. “i can do this all day” energy. stacks of books and scrapped formulas for new types of web fluid. atlas carrying the weight of the world. falling in love with your best friend. stay up late saving the world... or the semester. confession on the roof of a building at sunset.

you're deposited at the top of a skyscraper with your heart beating a thousand times an hour thanks to the adrenaline sedating your senses. you feel dizzy... and alive as you catch your breath, bathing in the evening light where a masked man stands in front of you. he helps you regain your balance as you hear him laugh, his voice blown by the same wind that ruffles your hair. “yn.”

you're unable to react when your senses are drunk with the rush of joy, which is hard for you to catch the hesitation in his voice. “yes?”

you see him take off his mask and your breath freezes in your throat the moment he appears in front of you. mark, your lab partner. sunset bathes his face with a golden halo outlining his features and the light finds its way to his eyes, holding a plead.

“you know… it's okay if you like only spiderman.” he chuckles awkwardly and brushes his neck, “well, actually, spiderman is me, uh… but… i couldn't just let you kiss me if you didn't know it was me, in case it bothers you, i hope not. i hope you don't think i'm a creep or that i forcibly kissed you… actually, you kissed me..., well maybe it was bad that i kept going after you did, but i like you so maybe i did take advantage of the situation a little...—”

the last thing you notice is his eyes opening almost as soon as it takes for your feet to snap out of place and launch you towards him. his arms are waiting to hold you almost immediately and while you might be surprised by his quick reflexes, you can hardly think properly when you join your lips with his.

mark looks at you in awe before a smile rises on his lips as you smile. “spiderman, i'm so sorry, but i like someone.”

gloom tints his eyes, “do you?”

you hum, and even though you're kinda rejecting him, he lets you wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “his name is mark lee. and he's my lab partner before he's new york's friendly neighbor.”

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ haechan: spiderman by accident. anti-hero. wired headphones. a random stop at a gas station for snacks. bruises and cuts. original anomaly. boyish teasing. upside down kiss. across the spiderverse suit. street smart. smugly comments. sneaking out after being grounded. “he looks worse than me.” grimaces when you cure a ugly looking wound. piles of love letters from admirers. quiet confession while you cure his wounds. strawberry lollipop. enemies to lovers. stay up for a late night swinging around the city with you.

the knocks on your window, though light (as if the person was instantly regretting it) were enough wake you up as you rushed out to open it.

on the other side awaited you an elusive shadow that remained static until you took his hand and ushered him into your room, and the night light finally caught his shattered suit.

“i had nowhere else to go, did i wake you?” his voice is soft and hoarse, and you really give him points for downplaying it when he repress flinchling when you touch the purple scrape on his chin. “it's not that bad.”

you make him sit up in bed and find it funny how he tries to do it because he starts stirring as if he's afraid of ruining the sheets. “i'll treat them.”

“don't bother.” he makes a pretense of continuing to talk until he notices the severity on your face and your decision to do so, and more importantly, notice how your eyes run all over his body taking into account all the cuts that show the destroyed suit on his skin. “he looks worse than me.”

you frown y and avoid looking so affected, keeping yourself busy looking for the gauze and alcohol, and then sitting next to him to begin healing the cuts on his chest. you work slowly and carefully, he doesn't say anything until you finish.

his hands grasp yours when you falter as they brush against his neck. “i'd like to keep it on.”

“is it because you don't trust me?”

“it's because i'm scared you won't like me once you find out who i am.” his voice comes to you so soft and low.

you seek his eyes, you make him see. your feelings, your emotions; you take his hand and guide it to your heart. “i'll never stop liking you, lee donghyuck.”

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ jaemin: the sidekick who got superpowers. quiet extrovert's best friend. admiring the view of the setting sun. saving a kitten from a tree. visit at a nursing home. bingo in the afternoons. villains are friendly with him. classic suit. backward cap. funny clapbacks. “oh, it's just a scratch.” (frozen steak in black eye). subway ride home. eepy cats on a windowsill watching the falling snow. love at first sight. romantic telerage signal on the brooklyn bridge.

you had noticed that jaemin was acting strangely lately, but you couldn't imagine what you were about to discover when the screen of your phone showed his name. with a sigh, you answered, bracing yourself for another conversation full of excuses and evasions.

you kept moving down the crowded catwalk self-absorbed and a little troubled. "jaemin, we need to talk about—”

“yn, please, can you look to your right?” he interrupts with his voice full of nervousness and excitement.

confused but intrigued, you hang up and look to your side as your gaze took over the sunset of the city and the brooklyn bridge, taking up all the space, and just at that moment you notice that you were walking in a sea of static people, looking in amazement at a giant message formed by cobwebs that said: "i love you.”

the phone line remain silent until his calm voice fill your ears. “do you like it?”

your mouth feels dry and you can't string something coherent. between surprise and charm, you can barely articulate words. “are you friends with spiderman?!”

“what- no! better.”

better. does that mean… “are you his sidekick?!” that would explain why he has been absent from your date. that'd explain it all.

he laughs, and you sense a bit of struggle in his voice. “look left now.”

at that precise moment, a figure descends from the sky and with a jerk his arm wraps around your waist and your feet stop touching the ground. with a fluid movement, he pulls you both away from the cheering hustle and bustle and you squeeze more against him, watching the world blur and your whole body hum.

your eyes close and you let yourself be fully carried away by him, melted into the warm sensation that embraces you, until your feet touch the ground again. your mind feels light and your senses are put on alert when you look down and see how far the two of you are from the actual ground, holding him with hurry. “i got you.”

you look at him overcome by emotion and surprise and your eyes take note of jaemin's gentle features when he removes the mask. “i will always got you, baby.”

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ jisung: wrong place at the wrong time. friendly neighbor doing errands for elderly people. clumsy swaying between buildings. awkward execution but good results. inner dialogues. thinking out loud. “from your friendly neighbor, spider-man”. shy giggles. stealing kisses. drinking soda on top of a moving subway. be late to class. stark enterprise intern. iron spider suit. meet up cute. confession by accident because he says something you said to jisung, not spiderman.

it might seem cute to him that you're so clueless if it weren't for the little problem that he was too and you were always in trouble because of it. in addition to that, it's not that he was an expert and a good performer, he was generally clueless as well; he sometimes wished he couldn't be in front of you.

you've crouched in a corner while he awkwardly fights a couple of thugs, and when he's done he's spent half his ration of cobwebs, knocked over a dumpster, and maybe has a rib or two bursts.

he laughs, he doesn't know why. maybe because he wants to soften your eyes open in alert as you hug your bag tightly. some belongings have fallen to the ground thanks to the forcing, and jisung picks them up as he makes his way to you. “are you okay, ma'am?” the unopened box of pasty colors lies wet when he picks it up. “ew…”

“no! my crayons.” his gaze shoots up at you as you emerge from your stupor, just as you see that your journey to the tool store has been in vain.

jisung helps you pick up what can be saved, until your eyes stay glued to the ground, looking for something as he remembers what. “your notebook.” it was the first thing he caught with his webs before it fell to the wet floor of the alley, because he knows how important it is for you.

a pair of cobwebs hold it in place on the wall when he peels it off. “thanks!” you smile and he thanks the mask for hiding he does it too.

“thank you, spiderman. and i'm sorry, i know it's dangerous going out so late… i just needed to buy more paint.”

“right, your art project.”

he doesn't even realize what a gaffe he's made in time. it's not when he takes his eyes off your notebook and watches you look at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “eh… well, i assume it is, cause why i would know. not that i know … okay! i hope you arrive safe at home, i gotta go,” he says the words too fast and trips over the container on his way out.

“i see you in class tomorrow.”

“okay!— i mean, no, no. i don't even go to brooklyn visions.” he incriminates himself more and more as he speaks. “totally don't see me there, cause i don't even go to school.” jesus christ, he really wish he could shut up once and for all.

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ jeno: intern at oscorp co. bitten by an upgraded spider because he's a little clumsy. social butterfly. lowkey popular at school. non-prescription glasses. nyu hoodie. crush on the quiet girl from his math class. “one last call”. hybrid suit. stolen kisses. last man standing. lost backpacks. wants to redeem the villains. she fell first but he fell harder. being snatched away for him. accidental confession because you joked that he was spiderman.

it was known that after a few catches at fast-paced people would begin to suspect. jeno had to seriously get his spider senses in order and stop acting before he could think, but it was almost impossible for him to do so when it came to you.

it was the fourth time he'd caught something before it fell to the ground that day, and even if you apologized for being so clumsy, jeno was frustrated because he couldn't not do so; suddenly, he wanted to protect you from everything.

he likes it, and maybe it had to do with him liking you.

god, he wasn't very good with words, and he might be a little silly because he can't show it with actions either. and he spends all day looking for a way to get you to agree to go out with him and he may also spend his time imagining scenarios where you don't like him back, and it scares him.

and that's why he doesn't have time to register that he needs to be careful when the enriched senses strike because you're always in your head, and he just catches a beaker of precipitation inches off the ground.

“wow,” you say and something tingles inside, like it was trying to warn him. “you're spiderman, aren't you?”

perhaps it was telling him to keep his big mouth shut.

jeno looks at you dumbfounded and suddenly he can't spin a coherent thought while you stare at him with those eyes ‘cause then he can think properly. “how d'you know?”

he wants to hit himself right there when you suppress a smile because it is at that moment that the possibility arises that perhaps you didn't know and that maybe (not sure yet) it was a joke.

actually… he could downplay it and flip it if it weren't for the fact that a light bulb finally light up above his head, because maybe he could... take advantage of spiderman's charms for the first time. “i am spiderman.”

but then he says it so weird that you start laughing and he thinks you think he's joking, “dead serious.” his eyes follow you chuckling a lot and he can't help but smile too, until you stop all of a sudden.

maybe you didn't know... fuck, he's screwed up very bad this time.

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ chenle: rich boy experimenting in his father's laboratory. vigilante. sassy retorts. unpremeditated actions. advance suit 2.0. savior of the girl in distress. knocks on your window at midnight. finger guns. “that's the best you can do?”. childhood friends to lovers. vengeful. misunderstood. traitor trope. the sound of a thunderstorm. whispers at 3 am. random hugs. mean to everyone but you. no confession needed when you know your bestfriend fully.

the buildings pass on either side of you like a gray blur as you swing like a bullet through the air, your hair dances in the warm breeze and makes it harder for you to see clearly the one who holds you tightly and safe as he takes you somewhere protected from danger.

there's fear sitting in your chest that begins to fade as his swaying lulls you and you close your eyes letting yourself go until your feet touch solid ground.

“are you okay?” you hear his voice muffled by the mask, “are you hurt?” he says again, now with a tinge of alertness in his voice when your grip don't let go.

and he allows you. he doesn't let you go, and you don't want him either. and as the adrenaline goes down and dissolves in your system, your other senses resurface and even though your fear comes back something triggers in your mind. something... familiar.

you separate yourself from him with thousands of sensations crossing your features as you study the mask. your eyes drenched in something akin to shock and revelation as your hand reaches out the hem. “don't.”

his hands grab yours to keep you from lifting it up. “chenle,” you pronounce with a heartbeat, and his grip loosens.

his face is revealed underneath the cloth and you hold your breath as his closed eyes slowly begin to open. “how did you know it was me?”

“you're my best friend.”

ㅤ 𓂂 ☆ renjun: a radioactive spider missing at a science convention. spidey senses. overly intuitive. scrapped prototypes. city at dusk. gliding in the sky. leap of fate. upgraded suit. late summer nights. string lights. origami stars. sign language. sidewalk chalk drawings. not a quitter. “i am nothing without the suit”. skateboard tracks. volumes and mixtapes. scrapped knees. humming a lost song. self-sacrifice. exes to lovers. he removes his mask without knowing you're sitting on his bed.

he had mastered and perfected his technique of not making noise when entering his room. he knew the gears on the front door would make noise, so he opted for the window. the fire escape led him to the tenth floor where he slipped into the room by climbing up the ceiling.

he almost screams victory, taking off his mask, before his enriched senses tell him something isn't right, almost at the same fraction of a second when you drops with a pronounced daze the lego sculpture and it shatters on the floor. “you're spiderman.” more of a rectification than a question as if you couldn't believe it. “oh, my god. you're spiderman.”

he comes to you and hushes you. “yn! what are you doing in my room!?” your mouth opens in amazement before your features are bathed in disbelief.

“you told me to come!” he puts a hand in your mouth and the unexpected approach makes you hesitate.

“alright, alright…” he says in a whisper. “be quiet, yeah?” he asks, looking into your eyes. “don't freak out.” you nod, “seriously, i can tell you'll scream the moment i remove my hand, so promise me.” he removes his hand and awaits for your reaction.

you're puzzled, “you're spiderman…,” you breathe and he grins smugly before you hit him not so lightly.

renjun puts a hand to his mouth after letting out a sound more outraged than painful. “you're spiderman and you didn't think to tell me?”

“well… i was thinking of telling you…”

“i kissed you!? spiderman and renjun!” you say, almost stupefied. “didn't you think to tell me you were the same person? i was planning on rejecting you!” when you're done, you're just left breathing artificially, and you look at him in disbelief when he doesn't say anything.

his mouth opens slowly when he sees you waiting for something. “i was afraid you'd say that.”

you frown and stay there confused by his words.

“you're telling me that you lied to me because you were afraid? afraid of what?”

“i was afraid you'd pick him.”

“renjun, what are you talking about?” you sigh, exhausted of lies.

“of spiderman. i'm nothing without the suit. no one paid attention to me when i was a nobody.”

“i did!”

#nct dream scenario #nct dream imagines #nct dream reaction #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #haechan fluff #mark fluff #jeno fluff #jaemin fluff #renjun fluff #park jisung fluff #chenle fluff #♡dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream reactions

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice (1)

VA! MC x OM! Characters

TW: Eh it's more fluffy than smutty I'd say, but minors DNI. Loads of random lore for the sake of immersion. Now to brainstorm the rest of the characters.

INTRO

Tagging: @romaissa @eliciana @your-favorite-god @april-notthemonth69 @ikevampharem @k8tznd8wgz @futureittomain @m-majoko @the-auguer @yurinayumi @i-am-empress-irish @deepazur @rippedbutnotamasterpiece @pomegranateboba @ra1ns70rm @anjodedesgostoeerros @sammywo @annoyingbiscuitathleteland-blog @ourfinalisation @creativecupcake @snowthatareblack @angelofbooksworld

"After a freak accident, you and a group of 5 people get teleported into a fantastical world together. Who will you team up with to try and leave this place? Or will they convince you to stay and have a new life with them here instead? Or will you stumble across the biggest secret that this new world holds...?"

You read out the summary for them at a group dinner at Diavolo's castle. Apparently, it was to celebrate your debut as a VA. They all clapped and bombarded you with questions. You tried to answer as many as you could without any spoilers.

They were supposed to have already started playing the game but the game servers got a little overwhelmed and had to go under maintenance with so many people downloading and making accounts at the same time. So Diavolo hosted this party instead.

"So how many endings can you get with a single character?" Simeon inquired.

"Well on an average there's around 12 endings per character, but there's a varying number of endings depending on the character you choose. I'm not sure I remember for all of them-"

"We just want to know yours." Belphie smirked.

"Oi come on, it makes it sound like you're all just going to play my character, don't do that! The other characters are also incredibly well written!"

The sheepish grins and side glances told you that they were clearly going ignore your last advice.

"Honestly you guys, one of the characters here has a teleportation ability, one can read minds, and another one has insane fighting skills - the only thing you know about my character is that I don't have a name!"

"Omg this means they are definitely building you upto to have the most OP ability of them all!" Levi exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh yes that's usually how it goes in these tropes. The most unassuming character ends up giving you the secret ending." Solomon nodded in agreement.

"Both of you, shush! Just play the game normally okay?! You will get to interact with all the characters anyway until the second phase." You reprimanded, sighing, knowing no one would listen anyway.

Lucifer - Saved by the Belle

"Before Tyla takes us home tomorrow, would you like to spend your last day here with me, Lucifer?"

Lucifer and you worked with loyalty and rigor under Tyla, an old world Sorceror. It was because of you two specifically that Tyla's magic was powerful enough to create a portal back home. Your character was so much like you - it felt like he completed this whole journey of freedom with you, and not just an image on screen.

> "Of course, MC. In fact...I would like to spend the night with you too."

MC blushed on screen, looking away and nodding. "Oh? Well then... I'll look forward to it."

He enjoys this way more than he thought he would. He visits for the last time, all the places you both had been together. The first tavern, the first forest path, the first temporary abode - the HumbleBee Inn.

> "It's late. Should we go back here again, for old times sake?"

"Why not? Maybe they'll accidentally put us in the same room again and get overbooked so we have no other choice. Maybe this time it'll be a bit more...eventful." You said with a sly and knowing smile as you skipped ahead.

Lucifer's knee jerked upwards, hitting the table. Just what kind of lines are these? And what are those expressions? Who else was in there listening to you when you recorded this? The way your voice sounded, Lucifer was convinced you were thinking about someone special. If only you saw the effect you were having on him.

> "I've been holding back all day. Forgive me if I'm too rough."

Lucifer pushes you against the wall, caging your body. You blush in the dark, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. It was driving him insane. He could feel his pants getting tighter at the crotch.

Last time he endured the sexual tension of sharing the bed with you, constantly trying avoid your body even though he was desperate to feel it's warmth. This time there wasn't any reason to deprive himself.

"It's okay...I can take it. Please don't hold back..."

Oh hell, you were about to be the death of him. These...are these really the sounds you'd make in bed? Godamnit you are ruining his mind. He can't relax until he's jerked off now. And it's all your fault.

The next couple days, you notice Lucifer hesitates to keep eye contact with you. In fact, he has a rather visceral reaction every time you simply call his name, standing at his door. Only he knows how badly he wants to pull you into his bed to ravage you - practice your lines with him, why don't you?

Mammon - Stranded Together

"Guess they didn't want either of us huh, Mammon?"

Nah Mammon was mad at this ending. He gets why the group left him behind - he made too many questionable choices like stealing the last reserves of food or money (so you never went hungry), running away from the monsters instead of staying and fighting with the group(with you ofc so you wouldn't be in any danger), finding new shelter and not telling anyone (except you).

> "I'm so sorry...it's because of me that they left you too. You did nothing wrong yet...no this will not stand! I'll go threaten them into taking you too!"

"Mammon wait- no don't! Alright fine I was lying! They didn't leave me...I chose not to go!"

Mammon was stunned. He stared at your character blushing and looking elsewhere while holding onto his arm. His heart beat just a little bit faster.

> "Wait...what? But you wanted to...don't you want to go back and keep looking for your family?!"

"Who knows if the family I was looking for even exists?! But you...you are real. And you are so kind to me, and so great. So..."

Your character moved in closer and closer to him. Mammon leaned back too far from the screen, falling backwards on the floor. He was not ready for what was about to come.

"If I really want a family that bad...I can just make one here...with you. But only if you wanted that too ..."

> "I do! Of course I do! We can both find work and home in the kingdom now that big monsters are all dead! I'll be yours and you'll be mine!"

Mammon pressed it on instinct, not knowing his character was gonna grab yours and pin them to the ground. His face burnt up in excitement seeing you all cornered like this. You blushed and whispered as you leaned in to kiss him.

"Hehe...Mammon...I'm all yours already. But there's others ways you can claim me if you like..."

Your sleeves fell loose, and off your shoulders and his hands began to wander. Mammon almost screamed the house down, grabbing at his sheets, humping his pillows, struggling to look away from the screen. But he couldn't stop.

How the fuck was he supposed to face you tomorrow at the breakfast table?! Yet, Mammon re-played that part at least 30 times. And now every time you whispered to him in class, Mammon had to grip his knees and stop himself from imagining the unholiest things.

Leviathan - Power of Friend-ship??

"We did it! We actually did it, Levi! Can you believe it?! Look even the people are cheering for us!"

Levi punched the air in glee, he definitely must have gotten the best ending right?! That was such an intense combat scene - he almost cried when he thought you got swallowed by the Giant of The Depths, then he watched you burst out of its stomach with all the other victims while he slashed through its neck. You and him - the two underdogs dealt the final blow. At this point, every other character was shipping you two together.

> "Let's go Army of the Third Lord!"

MC cheered and high fived him from the screen, while the rest of the group danced in celebration! Ah MC had already become one of his favourite characters of all time. He had already preordered the action figures, posters and a body pillow (yes the ecchi one).

"Come on Levi, won't you join the celebration feast!? Everyone is calling for you!"

Oh no this was Levi's nightmare. Loud and crowded parties - but it was you asking him to go, what if he missed out on an important secret ending. Just to be safe he chose a neutral option to see what you would prefer.

> ... I'm not too sure.

"Then...would you like to celebrate in private with me? I know a quiet place with a good view."

Levi almost fell out of his seat. It's happening. This is where he unlocks the hidden erotic ending. The blush on your face, the way you held out your hand for him to take - biting down on his knuckles in excitement.

> I'd really prefer that! Thank you!

You smile and nod, leading him by the hand to a nearby pond. The moonlight shimmered on the water, the reflections dancing on your skin as you both lay down next to each other. Levi could feel himself falling for you all over again.

"Look Levi, in the pond! The Gloriees are back! Aren't they beautiful?"

Levi looked at the pond in awe, glowing orange fishes swam around in the waters, jumping in and out. He watched the fishes swim around the hand you put in the water. It was like you and hundred Henries in the water.

> "So beautiful..."

"They are my absolute favorite....they have the same color as your eyes..."

Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him closer and Levi feels all his self restraint jump out the window. He tried to grab and kiss you but ended falling in the water with you instead.

"Oh? I didn't know I excite you so much... don't worry, it makes me really happy..."

You rose from the water, laughing and coughing slightly, your entire body now laid bare through the transparent white cloth. And if that wasn't already bad enough, he heard your moans as his character started going at it with you in the lake. You were so professional, so skilled at it...he thought he was prepared for it but he clearly wasn't.

Levi couldn't resist jerking himself off there and then, soiling his computer screen with light ropes of his cum. Now every time you announced you were going to shower, this image just popped into his mind, giving him instant boners at the most unfortunate times. And god forbid he sees you walk out of the shower with your hair wet - he'll have to rush to his room to hide that he's creamed his pants.

Satan - Bridge to Televithyia

"Satan, I will be waiting for you always. I know if fate wills it, I'll definitely get to see you again."

Satan cursed himself for this ending, almost chucking his phone at the wall. His magical powers no longer worked since the portal now connected him to his own world. And while you could use all your magic here, it would lose all power in his world. With both worlds needing help after a long and destructive battle, you both knew it was selfish to abandon your either of them - especially since you two were the only Great Guardians left.

> "I will find a permanent path between our worlds. I swear upon my life, MC."

Damnit this game had better not cut his story short. He was willing to keep going, trying to fix the playthrough so he could make a good ending out of this. Just you wait MC, he's not letting you go. A part of him wanted to go into your room and hug you, just to make sure you're there atleast in real life.

Satan rubbed furiously at his eyes as you waved him goodbye. His total playtime could rival Levi's. After gathering enough resources and magical knowledge - he could finally get started on creating the bridge. But to his pleasant surprise, he only needed to build half of the bridge, because there you were standing on the other - building your own path towards him too.

"Satan...is this a dream? Are you really back? Or is this another magical illusion again...?"

Satan blushed as you rushed to hug him peppering kisses all over his face. He had to physically get away from the game, walk around, and silently scream into his hands before he could calm himself down. Because he knew even better things were yet to come.

> "It's really me, MC. I'm sorry did I make you wait too long? I missed you so terribly...I have so many things to tell you about..."

"Come with me, we've been rebuilding our town. I know a place we can catch up...it's a special place I helped build with you in mind."

Satan follows you, your arms intertwined. You point out places to him - old renovations and newer projects. You tell him about everything that's been happening since he left.

How some endangered species came back to life, how the remaining smaller beasts were tamed and how the cursed were given peace. You stopped suddenly in front of a quaint little cottage.

"Welcome to my humble abode. I'm sorry I didn't prepare a separate room for you...because I thought you wouldn't mind sharing a bed with me..."

He blushes and grips your hand as you open the door to your room. He sees pictures of both of you on the wall and next to the bed.

> "You already built a home...with me in mind. *Smiles* Yet...the bed looks in it hasn't been slept in for a while? Did you get no sleep for the past few days?"

"Actually I haven't slept in the bed yet. I sleep on the sofa - I know it's silly but I really don't like sleeping alone in a place of two..."

Satan grips the phone tighter, as he makes his character push you on the bed. How sweet - you both get to enjoy it together for the first time. He climbs after you, trapping you underneath him.

> "Good thing I'm here now, MC."

He cups your face and trails his hands downwards, undoing some buttons on your clothes. You kiss his palms and tug down his collar.

"It's a pity though...I don't think we'll be using the bed for sleeping tonight afterall..."

He watched the screen, slack-jawed as I heard your sultry voice echoing through his room. He fell back on his pillow, hurriedly attaching his earphones. It proved to be more lethal. He could almost imagine you in his bed right now, kissing your way down his chest, while he fondles your bottom.

When you approached him later asking if he liked your work in the game, he had to cover half his face to hide the redness. He couldn't possibly tell you that he had downloaded snippets of all your moans and saved them to a secret folder. Or that he listened to them quite frequently.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me Lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me x reader #wow im uploading after 4 months and I did only 4 characters... #don't you just love when work stress and writer's block double attack and cripple your creativity entirely...yeah me too

[itsangelll]

"𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒" ღ

pairings: 2008 Tom x f!reader

warnings:THIS IS NOT PROOF READ I apologise for any spelling mistakes. Eating out Dom!tom sub!fem!reader praising

A/n: finally another fic posted 😭 I hope you enjoy <33

You were going to one of Tokio hotels meet and greets, they announced it months ago and you've been dying to go, when you bought the ticket it felt like ages went by until the day finally came. You saw Tom sitting there, his usual beanie and cap, dreads hanging out of the back, the baggiest clothes you've ever seen.

It shocked you when you laid eyes on him. never knew a man could seriously be that gorgeous, as you waited for what seemed like ages, it was finally your go you’ve never been this nervous before in your whole entire life. You first got greeted by Bill, Gustav, then Georg, then finally it was Tom. He looked up at you his demeanour changed very quickly, his eyes softening.

“Hallo” he said in that German accent you were gonna fall (let this happen to me) but greeting you like any other fan “Hi” you smirked a tint of red showing up on your cheeks.

He was really sweet and kind of flirty, playing with his lip piercing from side to side as he looked you up and down. As you were about to leave he grabbed your hand, his hand resting on yours a soft smile spreading on his face “Here take this” He said shyly, you grabbed it and smiled brightly. You were really hoping it was his number it was! “call me sometime xo” his number was scribbled on the note.

You looked behind you seeing him one last time before you left, he caught your eye winking, before turning his attention back to another fan. You couldn’t believe it you were ecstatic you seriously got your celebrity crushes number, you felt like this was all a dream but it wasn’t. After that you guys went on a few dates chatting for hours, getting kicked out of places staying up all night with each other, sending some lewd pics to one another as well.

e seriously did care for you respecting your wishes of not doing anything sexual, cause you were nervous but you never told him the truth was you thought he wasn’t gonna enjoy it and that you’d fuck it up. After around 6 months of dating you and Tom were sitting on the couch you were scared but you wanted to.

“Tom can I talk to you about something?” turning around to face him “Mm sure schatzi what’s up?” turning his face to yours, you sucked a deep breath in finally building up the courage to talk to him about this “I’ve been thinking lately and well I’m ready” your eyes darting towards the ground he grabbed your hand “are you sure? cause we don’t need to if you are-“ “I want to.”

Interrupting him, you couldn’t even comprehend what you just said or what even got you saying this but one thing led to another, Tom grabbed your hand and led you upstairs when you guys got into your room he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you close then placing his lips on yours.

Wrapping your arms around his neck your lips moulded with his, melting into his touch. You’ve never been this close with anyone before, but with Tom it felt amazing adrenaline was pumping through your veins each passing minute.

Tom pushed you softly on the bed, removing his shirt revealing his toned torso, you couldn’t help but wander your eyes around his body, “are you really sure about this?” He asked tracing circled on your thigh you nodded, He took off your shirt and skirt leaving you in your pink lace set, Tom groaned at the sight of you “you look beautiful” his tongue grazing over his bottom lip.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear softly sliding them down and throwing the piece of clothing somewhere in the bedroom, his eyes wandered down to your wet glistening cunt, “such a pretty sight” he murmured. Tom moved your legs apart giving more access, he dipped his head between your legs without any warning his tongue delved deep into your wet soaking cunt.

You couldn’t help but moan you had no idea he could be so good at this, “Fuck Tom yes please just like that” your hand tangling in his hair he let out a groan of satisfaction, he attacked your clit kissing and sucking showing no signs of stopping your head was spinning your eyes starting to go glossy from the pleasure.

His hands gripped at your thighs bound to leave marks tomorrow, he moved his tongue up and down between your folds hitting that g spot repeatedly arching your back, your thighs suffocating him but he loved that feeling, he loved that he knew no one could ever get you feeling like this ever. His hand moved up to kneed your breast, your nipples hardening underneath his touch, “Fuck Liebe you taste so so good.” his voice vibrated against your cunt.

You felt pure ecstasy the way his tongue felt on your clit was amazing, the knot in stomach tightening each minute “T-Tom im close” you moaned out your legs starting to give in gripping his hair even tighter his tongue moved faster against your clit, with that you came all over his tongue. He moved his mouth once at your walls once again collecting any remaining juices.

Tom then hovered over you and pressed sloppy kisses against your neck then holding you close to him, “you did so well for me Miene Liebe I love you so much.”

A/n: another fic outt I’ll try and keep actively posting but this is not proof read and I was a bit tipsy while writing this but I hope you guys enjoyed mwah mwah bye cuties <33

Taglist:

@itsmealaiah

@tomssexdoll

@bambiwrites

@memzyyy

@madzandmore

@jadedchar

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tokio hotel x reader #billkaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tom kaulitz smut

[redcherrykook]

𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙯𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙨

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode one!

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting, brief hospital setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments

Notes: Hey lovelies! This is my first time on tumblr. pls be nice! leave a comment if you like, feel free to go to my ask! to request drabbles of this couple

If you want my playlist to this, lmk!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

A picture speaks more than a thousand words, so do eyes

At least when 26 pairs of them stare at you for being late, again. To be precise, for the 5th time in a row.

"Miss Y/n? what a surprise" Mr. Jeon stares through his glasses, direct and monotone as usual.

Bowing, you try to sit down at your desk that´s next to the door. "What is it this time? Couldn´t find your pens?" A almost routine like greeting from your teacher when you show up to class late. He tries to guess your reasoning each and every time, while increasingly mocking you. Just last week, when you showed up in a stained Shirt, he asked if you had to wash your clothes first before coming to class. You bet he found that hilarious.

On this day, his creativity seemingly died down, while his sarcasm certainly did not. "No sir, simply could not catch the bus. I apologize" you shake your head. Turning back to the Presentation behind him, wordlessly he resumes the lesson.

So likewise, you sit there. Waiting for it to be over. Photography has never been your strong suit but as a performing arts major, you needed this class to pass.

Not that you ever passed his class before, not in your first semester and certainly not in this second one.

"I will hand back your portfolios for the midterm preparations. I´m far too busy to be disappointed with them, although there are a few that gave me nightmares" his steps are small but powerful as he walks around the classroom, head pointed to the floor, his fluffy brown hair making it hard to read his face. It was blank, no one needed to see it to know. With his arms folded across his chest, he stands still.

If any other teacher had joked about having nightmares from awful projects, the class would have bursted into laughter and groans. In mister Jeon´s class, it remains silent, because for him, it´s not a joke.

Grabbing the pile of folders on his desk, he parades around the classroom, silently throwing folders down on the desk of the student it belongs to. Occasionally, a sigh of relief can be heard from your classmates.

When he reaches your desk, he slams the folder down, scoffing with his belittling smirk. It´s rare to see his face outside of his blank expression or unamused scoff, but when it does change, it is never positive.

Failed, repeatedly.

For one, because you prioritized other classes, far more important ones. Staying up until ungodly hours in the night to research for your English literature class and at the same time, trying to recall the notes for your practical music exam took a lot out of you. On second viewing, because your shitty 3 year old camera is barely holding on and you have no sense of stylistic layout or skill for settings and atmospheres. Not in pictures, at least.

Like you said, photography has never been your strong suit.

The bell finally releases you from the horrible strings of mr. Jeons depressing class, that is until his stern voice stops you from actually leaving.

"I have never had a student as careless as you" his scoff is as belittling as his eyes that look down at you. Without having to say it, they tell you how highly he thinks of himself, how lowly he thinks of you. Mr. Jeon has never been nice, too straight forward, never showing understanding for any misdemeanor. Handed the assignment in 5 minutes late? He would not dare grade it, even touch it. If you had worked tirelessly? , too bad. Ignoring the evidence of eyebags and puffy faces, he believes everyone simply lacks discipline.

"You show up late every time, fail every single exam, barely pass any group participation. Do you need this class for credits? I would drop out and take something that doesn´t require thinking, like theater. You have no chance of passing here" The words fall off his tongue naturally, so do the last footsteps of students leaving the class.

"I do not understand sir, why this concerns you at all. You have no consideration or awareness of my circumstances, I would expect some empathy from someone who´s job it is to interact with people" Honesty is not owned by him, for once, you decide to not let people treat you as if you were below them.

Once again, a scoff paints his lips as he steps closer, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly like he is taken by surprise from the sudden change of heart you seemingly underwent. Maybe it is just that no one has ever tried to talk back to him, knowing it leads practically nowhere. You know that as well, but the need to try and scream for the smallest drop of understanding, maybe even reassurance overcomes you with the sudden confrontation.

"Understanding? I think you are the one that needs to understand. Grow up, the world isn´t made to adapt and cradle you" It´s now your turn to scoff, your head shaking with a laugh of disbelief.

"That is exactly what I meant. The way my life is, I am well aware, mr. Jeon, that the world does not give a fuck about its people. Maybe, just maybe you know" you pause, searching his face for reaction as the frustration boils up, begging to be led out. As expected, it reads nothing. "You could try to see things apart from yourself, not everyone lives a life like yours"

"Oh my god, you poor little thing hm? What is it, lost your Phone? Got broken up with? People like you will find anything, anything in order to avert the blame. Its so-" he stops, his eyes darkening, the tattooed hand slips out of his pocket to swipe right through his hair. In a whisper of disgust, he resumes "...pathetic"

As a means to shield yourself from the way he spits out his words, your voice raises.

"Lost my home among other things, that good enough?" The words leave your mouth hurriedly, while wishing to be met with a soft smile. Stupidly enough, you know that´s very far from the reality that will weigh down on you in a matter of seconds. According to him, you are delusional anyways

The secret of yours that you had kept so warmly, so safely deep down in your mind had crept its way out your mouth, betraying you shamelessly. Not as shameless as the blatant lack of sympathy from the male stood in front of you.

" Good enough? Everyone has some shit they went through. You´re simply a loser, a lonely loser who cannot get over themselves. Get some help kid if you can´t do things for yourself but stop expecting people to let everything slide because of your helplessness. This huge victim complex of yours is infuriating. Did you expect me to cry and say oh what a cruel world, you poor little girl, i will let you pass my class?" Relentlessly he rants, with every word the sound of a distant laughter in your mind grows.

Regret.

Every second that passes he manages to give you further proof that you were never to find a spot in people's uselessly stern hearts.

Stammering to leave, the only words you manage to utter are "You´re heartless" mustering the courage to look at him is as far gone as your belief in his existence of ability to care.

Out, you want out of this wall tightening lecture hall that´s suffocating you with the strong hands of his stern voice.

"Good thing I don´t rely on the validation of others. I´m suspending you from this class to save you some work you would not do anyways" he turns sharply, walking back to his desk.

Parallel to him, you storm out of the University. Anywhere, anywhere is better right now.

Clouded by the tears of your resurfacing past you run along the streets. History repeats itself, the cycle of trust and naitivity is your biggest weakness.

Giving a way a piece of you for someone to keep safe, for someone to listen to, to care,

It has never worked before.

Stupid.

On and on unsure at this point if you were running from his words or ones of your own mind. They laugh at you, telling you their "I told you so"

Being powered simply by fear, and really, only fear, is far from enough to keep running, but you can´t stop. You can´t see either. Apparently, neither can the biker that runs into you, knocking you cold to the ground.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"She really did not show up, expected, Good." he mumbles to himself while sorting the material on his desk. The small cubicle like space in the teachers workroom is decorated with photographs of his very own camera. Simple, organized, plain.

"Who did not?" Mrs. Park´s curious voice rings next to him, as his fellow art subject teacher, they share most of their students.

Nosy, he thinks.

"Lee Y/n. I suspended her recently and I-"

"You mean the girl from the accident?" Do casually she mentions it.

The cut off on the other hand, is sharp and unexpected. Jungkook is shocked for one, because someone interrupted him and two, because of the mention of you in an accident.

"Excuse me, an accident?" mentally cursing at himself for appearing to show interest in the situation, he diverts his attention to the teacher next to him. It must be a misunderstanding.

"Jungkook with all due respect how did you think a girl lying in the hospital for the past three days is going to show up to your class? You and your high expectations" She shakes her head, having completely misjudged the situation. Surprisingly, that is not his priority.

"Three days? How come I have not heard of this? How unreliable" He scoffs, old habits die hard, certainly for Jeon Jungkook.

Mrs. Park hums, reluctantly whispering "Probably because people are.. speculating. She has lots of problems , if you understand what im trying to say" it is subtle, fleeting, but her eyes glance up at with the raise of an eyebrow

It flashes to Jungkooks as briefly as his coworkers judgemental eyes. His mind goes on to remember his conversation, well, argument with that stupidly helpless student of his.

Three days ago.

Mentally, he shakes his head.

Bullshit.

Even if she tried something, he isn´t to blame.

Right?

"Anyways, I think she is in Incheon hospital now. I might visit her later, she used to be in my literature course" Mrs. Park voice fades out as she stands up to leave.

Doumbfounded he sits there, tied to the chair by the revelation that he might have sent someone to a hospital.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I can not believe I´m driving to the fucking hospital. He curses at himself while punching in the address of Incheon hospital onto his phone. It´s okay Jungkook, you´re doing this for YOUR sanity. Has nothing to do with that idiot. The words keep reassuring him of his selfishness, maybe trying to convince him that what he is feeling is not empathy, no, it is just to soothe his mind.

Why was he anxious in the first place? Not like it would make a change.

And so, 25 minutes of staring blankly at the road commence.

Blankly, because he needed to focus.

Blankly because he was not willing to face the possibilties his thoughts hold at the moment.

When he finally arrives, the huge metal doors welcome him in.

Straight to the receptionist he goes, asking for your room, providing proof of acquaintance with the patient.

What a hassle it was to gather everything, he remembers

And yet it does not stop him from heading up to the second floor.

Having just woken up from your second nap of the day, you audibly groan when the door opens, expecting to see a nurse.

"What the fuck" staring at your asshole photography teacher that is, somehow, in your hospital room.

"Good afternoon to you as well" he replies, as always, far removed from any and all emotion.

"Am I having a nightmare?" Questioning the validity of this surely odd situation, you sit up, combing through your hair. He Sighs, removing his coat and sitting at the chair across from your hospital bed. He would never dare to think he should ask if you even find it tolerable he is there.

He wants to speak to you, so he will.

"No, unfortunately not" Without knowing what to say further, because frankly he does not even know why he came here, he remains silent.

"Did you seriously come here? For what, to tell me to go to school because everyone has accidents and i need to get over myself?" The bitterness of your words match the usual one of his own, tainted ones. However this time, his eyes shift briefly.

Worry.

You think, at least.

"I get it, I was an asshole. Don´t tell me you jumped in front of a biker because of it" the strong, decorated hand of his makes it´s way to rub against his forehead as his voice comes out in a low groan of frustration. No need to sugarcoat, this is all he needed to know from you. Right?

Deciding to use it for a little revenge, you leave his semi question uncommented.

"Came here to apologize? Soothe that non existent conscious of yours, mr. Jeon?" his eyes dart up to meet yours, is it as though he really believes his words may have been the cause.

Regret, maybe. If he is capable of such.

"Fuck seriously? Yes, okay. I came here because" he stops, his tongue pressing the inside of his cheeks as he looks out into the window. The words leave his mouth without him even knowing that prior to hearing it out loud, that is what he felt.

"because I got worried that I made someone try to..." he cannot bring himself to finish that sentence.

"Is that really what people are saying? God that´s awful how am I supposed to go back to College with this being my reputation" small, barely audible you chuckle.

"Ah, no. Well.. partially i guess. I ran out after the hatred you threw at me and unlucky me, your so called cruel world strikes again" At the quoting of his words you make a mockery out of his monotone voice, the absurdity of this conversation still not catching up to you.

"Don´t worry, if that is even possible for you, I will just get over my accident" With an annoyed laugh, Jungkook stands up to stand in front of your hospital bed directly, hands in his slack pockets ever so casually but somehow, dominantly.

"I get it you idiot, I was an awful bastard that day, my god give me a break. I came here, all the way here to fucking try and talk to you, give me a chance" his eyes look down at you, bored, plain. His mouth betraying him once more, spilling the unknown truth from his plump pierced lips.

"You sure have a way of asking for things. I want you out quick so, make it fast will you mr, Jeon" your reply makes him tilt his head to the side quickly, muttering a finally under his breath.

"I decided to not suspend you. And I´m deciding that maybe, you should tell me your circumstances. I´m not going to be held accountable if you try some shit"

This is about him, of course.

Just now he,s taking an actual look at you, trying to decipher how hurt you actuallyare, he would never bother to ask though.

The bruises on your arms become visbile to him, looking them up and down with tightly pressed eyebrows. They look older, some of them appear fresh.

Is she being hurt? his mind wanders

A snort from you makes him snap out of his thoughts "What? So you can laugh at it?"

He groans in response, "If you stopped being so stubborn and listened to me maybe you would know why. I´m taking your advice god damn it, I´m trying to build understanding" both hands are now running through his longer hair, the frustration of the wall you build up almost making him give up. Deep down, he knows he can´t blame you. The consequences of his own actions are catching up to him slowly, just as the realization of his heart softening ever so slightly does.

Silence fills the room, being the loudest sound to present itself.

"Fine" you roll your eyes at him. Unlike him, you want to show some grace, show him that yeah, it is possible to go through shit and need help. Sometimes people need to be ripped out of their tunnel vision egocentric world to understand their flaws. At the same time, you worry your good heart will once again only lead you too give more than you should be.

"Took you long enough" he remarks snarkily

"Nevermind then"

"Oh my god"

You laugh at his response, making eye contact with him as he laughs too. Small that is, before catching himself doing so. Still, it made a smile try to creep up your lips at the unfamiliar sound.

"That was a first" as if you´d pass up a chance to embarrass him.

"Don´t mention it" returning to his habits as always, the stern teacher voice is perfectly matching his lurking stance. ´´You´re below me´´ practically radiating off of him. What a shame, you had just begun to find him pleasant.

"Okay so, summary: Was admitted into our shitty foster system, got a whole bunch of friendship trauma, had to run away from said foster horror house and am now basically homeless in a women´s shelter. Oh and before you ask, I have a scholarship. I may be poor but I am not a criminal" the hands up in a surrendering pose make up for the awkwardly tense situation after having revealed something so personal to your photography teacher. For the second time. Right now, it´s impossible to tell what he is thinking.

Nodding he starts off his sentance,

"you were right that is a lot. Fuck, now i get why you called me a heartless asshole. Had no idea a twenty-one year old can already live that much shit. I swear, I was convinced you were bullshitting because you just did not care about my class" his rambling turns into muttering when he makes his way back to sit down on the chair, the usually bored eyes of his look a lot softer now, while his words are as insensitive as they have always been.

"You are meaning to tell me that outburst you had on me was because you were pressed i didn´t take your class seriously? I just suck at photography, but i tried" in a subconscious motion your hand clutches your chest melodramatically, a slight smirk tugging on the side of Jungkook´s mouth.

"I know you suck, saw all of those awful collages. I did mean some things I said, someone needs to teach you how to grit your teeth and stand up for yourself, would have taken you seriously much sooner" His deep brown eyes roll with the memory of your conversation, sighing deeply he shakes his head.

Oddly enough, his truthful joke about your inability for photography makes your heart a little warmer. The belittling presence of his turning into a much closer, normal one. While the distance of his emotions is undeniable, the closeness of his growing interest in your life is as well. His mind is occupied with your conversation, unable to focus on his only mission, that is to protect who he is. The mask slips but really, does he still feel like wearing it?

"If that is what you tried to express someone needs to teach you how to empathize and communicate with people, mr. Jeon"

He wants to leave the mask off for just a little longer

"Jungkook" his first name slips out of his lips seamlessly, in the heat of the moment, lost in the fact that for some reason, he wants to understand you. Not in a suggestion, he´s still Jungkook, no is not an option if he set his mind to it. He´s demanding you to adapt to him

"What?"

"Call me Jungkook. We have been far from professional anyways. Calling me mister and all that formal shit makes it weird" his face scrunches up briefly, the embarrassment of acting more like a highschool bully than a teacher is slowly catching up to him.

You can´t help but laugh softly at this whole mess. In a hospital, constantly fighting while simultaneously trauma unpacking with your heartless, maybe not so heartless after all photography teacher who now wants you to call him by his first name.

Cruel world, as he puts it.

"Sure, Jungkook" his name leaves your lips in way so naturally it makes him jump inside.

What the fuck?

"I guess we could learn a lot from each other then, idiot" never failing to remind you of his stance on your personality, the sound echos in the room when his eyes meet yours,

but it is not his eyes that matter in his moment, they have returned to their stern nature long ago,

It is the fact that he softened his voice, as if he was afraid to let you in his mind. As if it was only possible for him to let one small spot of his soften at a time,

While you were just as afraid,

"Yeah. Deal?"

He naturally irritated face showing up to greet you once more

"Seriously? What are you, 12?"

"With the way you're acting i should be asking you that"

Unamused, he manages to mutter out

"Deal"

It's like the nurse had waited for you to be done before entering the room, informing you that visitor time is up and Jungkook needs to leave. Your eyes dart to his as he puts on the coat he had hung up previously, thanking the nurse before shifting his body slightly to hover over your sitting form.

"See you in class then" with that, he leaves you to rethink everything that had happend the past days. More over, he leaves you wondering just how honest he was about the little deal you guys made.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts army #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #enemies to lovers #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #smut #angst #fluff #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan fanfic #jjk x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #bts fanfction #bts jungguk #bts jk #jeon jungkook x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #redcherrykook

[almostgenerallyalways]

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

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

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together. 

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

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

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.” 

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.��� You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

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

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

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

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #top gun: maveric fic #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfiction

[spence-whore]

Like I’ll See You Later

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Request: OMG A SPENCER FIC BASED OFF THIS SONG

A/N i apologize for getting this out so much later than what i said it would be posted! I got really down after losing the edit then lost motivation to write. I have spent all day trying to rewrite this because i wanted to actually be able to put out something i loved, like that edit, instead of half assing something then getting it posted. On another note though, two quick things before you read this. One, I did not set this up like I did the dress inspired imagine. I felt like the way the song is written, it wouldn’t make sense to try and tie the lyrics into the story. You will be able to tell that this is heavily inspired by the song though:) last thing, i went on the feminine route in this due to the dress lyric. I am still using they/them pronouns but yeah! I hope you guys are doing good and that you enjoy<3 reminder as well, I’m shit at editing this stuff lol so overlook it like usual

Trigger warning: mentions of men hitting on y/n and sexual tension big time

.

.

.

.

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Spencer knew that something he was going to have to deal with whenever he started dating you was seeing people hit on you. He got to witness it all of the time while you two were just friends. Part of him doesn’t hate it though because he knows that he can trust you and knows that at the end of the night, you come home with him.

Tonight was going to be one of those nights.

Before you had even left the house, Spencer was practically drooling over you.

You were wearing a short, black dress. You had your hair done and were wearing makeup. The second you turned the corner to walk to the front door, Spencer’s mouth just dropped.

“Might wanna close your mouth there, bub. You might catch flies.” You said, winking at him, teasing him.

“Holy shhiiiiiiiitttttt.” Spencer said walking towards you and pulled you to him. He had a tight grip on your waist, just staring at you. He moved the hand that was on your waist, to your hand. He raised your arm and gently spun you, so he could look at you. “You wanna just stay here? I can send Courtney a quick text telling them you weren’t feeling well. I would rather just stay here honestly and maybe just spend some time in the bedroom.”

You laughed really loudly and shook your head at the man. “I promised Erin and Alex that we would come celebrate with the crew tonight. I might take you up on that offer though, once we come home.”

All of the crew had been working on a really big project for the last few months and finally finished it. Whenever the idea of celebrating got mentioned, both Erin and Alex had messaged you, inviting you along. You worked at a different office but whenever you had the chance, you were visiting the crew. Everyone at the office loved you, so they were begging you to come.

You were stood in front of Spencer once he finished spinning you, just giggling and shaking your head. “We don’t have to stay late, the second you’re ready to come home, you can come and let me know.” You suggested, looking at Spencer with raised eyebrows and a smile on your face.

“Absollllutely dude.” Spencer said getting a big goofy grin on his face.

The two of you headed out of your house and headed to the restaurant. Spencer was about to go crazy, just sitting in the car with you. Looking at you, he felt like he was staring at a beautiful statue you would see in a museum.

Whenever you finally arrived at the restaurant, you met some of the crew outside. Courtney and Shayne were stood off to the side talking till Courtney saw you. “Woooah, Spencer, I might have to steal your partner from you. You look hot, Y/N!”

You just giggled and shook your head, “Do you see yourself, dude? You look amazing like always.”

The entire group stood outside, talking for a few minutes before you all headed in. While walking in, Spencer caught multiple different guys looking you up and down. He walked up right behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist. Whenever he glanced back at the men, he wanted to laugh because they looked like their hearts had just broke.

“Whatcha doing love?” You asked Spencer, turning your head to look at the man behind you.

“Just making sure some people know that I’m yours.” Spencer whispered in your ear then kissed your cheek.

You just laughed and shook your head at Spencer.

All of you sat down at a big table and ordered your food. Everyone was in their own little conversations, rambling about random things like they were going to do during the weekend. A few minutes passed by and Angela said she was going to the restroom and asked if any of the women around her wanted to follow. You stood to follow her alongside Courtney and Kiana. While the four of you were walking away from the table, you had not even made it four steps before a guy stopped you. He almost ran into you and backed up very quickly, checking you out.

“I’m so sorry. Could I possibly buy you a drink as an apology?” The stranger asks, with hope written all over his face.

You just awkwardly laughed and shook your head no. “It’s all good! Accidents happen. I’m gonna pass on the drink though. I’m here with my partner and some friends.”

You quickly walked around the guy and kept walking towards the bathroom.

Back at the table, Spencer and Amanda were watching the situation go down. The guy eventually walked past their table and was mumbling about how you were rude.

Spencer just laughed and shook his head at the man. Amanda looked at Spencer in amusement.

“I love that you don’t let stuff like that bother you.” Spencer hears from Amanda. Spencer looked over at her and he just smiled and shook his head again.

“It doesn’t bother me because I’m confident in the fact they want me and only me at the end of the night.” Spencer says while picking around at his food.

“I can tell you one thing,” Amanda says taking a pause to swallow her drink. “Anyone that thinks they would be lucky enough to take Y/N is an idiot. They literally look at you like you have placed each individual star in the sky, just for them.”

“I would do absolutely anything and everything for them. I would give them the moon, if I could.” Spencer says in a soft voice, looking down because he doesn’t show that side of him very often to his coworkers.

Amanda got a big grin on her face because she realized Y/N had gotten back in time to hear him say that.

“And I would give you the sun if I could.” Spencer heard you say and felt you kiss his cheek.

Amanda went back to talking to Vida and Erin while you continued talking to Courtney and Kiana about the new show you had started watching.

You felt like holes were burning in the side of your head, so you turned your head to look at Spencer and he was just staring at you with a smile on his face.

“You’re just a smiley boy tonight.” You whisper and elbow his side softly.

Spencer giggled and grabbed your hand. “How could I not be whenever I have you beside me? Just seeing you turning other people down because you want me is hot.”

You laughed really loud and leaned back in your seat. “So, me being a loyal partner is hot?”

Spencer just looked at you annoyed. “How about you learn to take a compliment?”

You frowned then shook your head, trying to not laugh.

Spencer couldn’t really keep his eyes off of you though because he just wanted to go home and to spend some time with you. The way you looked in your dress was driving him absolutely inside. So, he thought, if you got to psychologically torture him, he’s going to do it right back. You scooted back up, to the table, to continue your conversation with others and to eat. He slid his hand under the table and rested it on your thigh. You shot a look over at him and he was acting like everything was normal, looking over at everyone else. He didn’t stop there though. He started lightly brushing his thumb on your thigh, hitting the bottom of your dress in your process. He kept this big smirk on his face the entire time.

You learned over towards him, “What’re you up to pretty boy?”

Spencer turned his head towards you and leaned towards your ear. “I don’t know why but something about the way others look at you really makes me want to just take you right here and right now.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, so you tried coughing to play it off.

The rest of the night, Spencer was driving you insane. Anytime anyone walked by and looked at you, he would take it one step further. He always made sure no one could see what he was doing though. At one point, he had your dress brushed up, showing off a little too much of your thigh under the table. You got lucky though because someone spoke up about being ready to go home. Everyone started to comment on leaving, so you set up quickly, pushing your dress down.

“Yeah, I’m getting pretty tired too. Spence, you ready to head out?” You asked, ready to just run out of the restaurant and back to Spencer’s car.

Spencer nodded his head and slowly pushed back from the table. The two of you said your goodbyes and made it out the door, slowly with others following.

“It was so good to see you! You need to stop by the office soon!” Alex said, pulling you into a quick hug with a big smile on his face.

“Of course, I would love to!” You said back and waved at Erin.

You and Spencer finally split from the group, walking back to his car. You were trying to act unphased but Spencer knew you wanted to break into a sprint back to his car.

“What’s wrong Y/N?” You hear Spencer ask softly.

“Nothing.” You comment back, shrugging your shoulders.

“That’s funny because I think we both know whenever we get home, I’ll be seeing that dress on the floor.”

#spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew imagines #smosh x reader #spencer agnew fluff

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You're Special to Me

Can you write a fic where Remus keeps on comparing himself to roman (negatively) and the other sides also doing it, albeit unknowingly. It’s alright if you can’t, no pressure! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-esteem issues, self-doubt, remus has some abandonment issues

Pairings: platonic creativitwins

Word Count: 3761

The others have a nasty habit of comparing Roman and Remus. It starts to get grating after a while. Good thing Roman's always thought his brother was the best.

1.

“Remus?”

Remus pokes his head out from under the whale carcass, adjusting the brim of his rain jacket to see Logan wading dubiously through the trail of viscera from here to the door. “Oh, hey, Pocket Protector, whattya need?”

“We had a brainstorm scheduled to start five minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah, I was wondering when you were gonna show up.”

“Yes, so if you wouldn’t mind—wait, ‘show up?’”

He tosses a chunk into the piranha tank and the water froths up. “Yeah. You asked to have a brainstorm with me, so I was waiting for you.”

“Ah, I see. Typically brainstorms are held in the study or the living room.”

“Yeah, Ro’s are.”

Logan blinks. “Hm?”

“ Roman’s brainstorms with you are in the living room or the study or whatever. That’s ‘cause he can do the whole write-stuff-down-talk-it-out thing. I gotta be doing something.”

Logan dodges a spray of…something Remus isn’t going to name but rhymes with a really frizzy hairstyle, clutching his notebook to his chest. “Would you opposed to having a brainstorm in one of those locations if you bring something to do?”

“Peachy keen, Lolo, but there’re rules about me bringing my projects to places.”

“That is true,” he mutters under his breath, “is—so I take it you would prefer to have the brainstorm here as you…work?”

“Yep.” When Logan doesn’t say anything for a moment, Remus lowers his bone saw and glances over at him. “Is…is that okay?”

“Well, I’m going to have to change my state of dress, and take audio recordings that I’ll have to transcribe later, but yes, I believe that is acceptable. You’ll have to give me a moment to change.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Logan nods and weaves his way carefully around the mounds of blubber starting to grow around Remus’s work station. Remus watches him go, a chunk falling slowly off of his shoulder, before he looks back at the carcass. He still has a few hours of work to properly strip it to where it’s usable, and this kind of work is nice for brainstorming ‘cause it’s mostly rote at this point, but there’s a sudden greyness to everything. Like if he raised his tools and tried to keep going the whale might turn to paper in front of him.

He sits there amidst his carnage, the faint sound of the piranhas nibbling away in the sloshing water behind him. He looks down at his hands, at the calluses and old scars. The bone saw lies limply across his knee.

Logan didn’t seem angry that he’d misunderstood what he wanted, but he did seem disappointed. Like he really wanted Remus to not be doing this and come to the study to do the brainstorm. Like Roman. But Roman’s process wasn’t Remus’s process and Logan had asked specifically to brainstorm with Remus.

The familiar sound of rain boots squishing through viscera brings him back, glancing over to see Logan wading through toward him with a recorder in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

“Whoa, cool jacket.”

“Thank you, I had Virgil help me design it after the one you made for him.” Logan brandishes the recorder and eyes the whale corpse. “Well, shall we get to it?”

“I’ve already got a few ideas.”

2.

Remus bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, barely resisting the urge to flap his hands. This is it! He’s finally been allowed to join in on the communal baking day where everyone gets to make their own dessert for movie night. He stayed up late last night thinking of all the delicious things they could make and finally, finally got his list down to just five options. He’s really leaning toward the strawberry fruit tart but the lemon squares look so good but the pumpkin spice cookies would be so much fun to decorate—

Something shoves him gently into the wall and he grins as Roman ruffles his hair a little too hard.

“Roro!”

“Hey, Re, you look excited.” Roman chuckles as Remus chews excitedly on his costume collar. “You ready?”

“I’ve been waiting all day for this!”

“Roman? Is Remus there?”

“He’s all yours, Padre.” Roman winks and ruffles his hair again. “Go get ‘em.”

Remus bounds into the kitchen, startling Patton a little as he sets something on the counter. He reaches into his pocket for the piece of paper—he even wrote it on paper this time to make it easier—and opens his mouth to explain his options, when—

“Good, I wondered where you were. Could you go ahead and measure the white sugar out for me?”

Remus pauses. Patton looks at him expectantly, holding out the cup. He takes it slowly, glancing at the containers and bowls already amassed on the counter. “Uh—what?”

“The white sugar. Granulated sugar, if you’d prefer. It’s in this one over here—“ he indicates a white paper bag— “and it just goes in that bowl there.”

A bit of grey flickers across his vision. “But we haven’t chosen what we’re making yet.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t tell you. We’re just gonna be making chocolate chip cookies.”

He frowns. “Ro said we get to choose what we make.”

Patton’s smile twitches a bit. “Oh, I just figured it would be—since we always have chocolate chip and it’s your first time—the others have already made their choices, they did it yesterday—“

Patton keeps talking as the list in his hand slowly greys out. They did it…yesterday? And didn’t tell Remus? But Ro said that he could pick…

“…so I figured this would be the easiest.” Patton’s still talking. “But if you really, really want to make something else, then—“

“No,” he grits out, shoving the list in his pocket and going over to the sugar, “I love chocolate chip cookies.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad, I love them too! Yeah, so that just goes in there.”

As they bake, or as Patton tells Remus what to do and watches him carefully as he does it, he can’t help thinking that this isn’t at all what Roman said it was like and how he doesn’t…really want to do it ever again. But at least he can eat as much of the cookie dough as he wants while Patton isn’t looking.

3.

“…hey, Snakey?”

Janus looks up from his book with the patented what-did-you-do-how-much-of-your-mess-am-I-going-to-have-to-clean-up expression and Remus squirms under it. He raises an eyebrow.

“Would you teach me how to dance?”

The expression morphs into one of surprise in an instant. He sets down his book. “Certainly, I can teach you. What for?”

”There’s a, uh, thing in the Imagination next month that me and Ro are putting on and we, uh, part of it’s a ball thing.”

“Mm. Will the rest of us be invited?”

“…I think so? I dunno, I need to talk to Ro. We, uh, no one else knows about it yet.”

“Ooh, a secret, I do love those.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Janus chuckles, getting to his feet and holding out a hand. Remus takes it and blinks as Janus takes them to a room in the Imagination he’s never seen before. Which in and of itself isn’t all that weird, because there are plenty of things that Ro makes that he never sees, but this one feels…familiar, almost. Like he’s seen it in a dream or something and only just now actually being able to picture it clearly.

At the very back of the theater, hidden in the shadows, some of the red seats look a little faded.

“Alright,” Janus says, “we’re going to learn a very simple waltz.”

“Okay. What do I do?”

“Well, you’re part of Thomas, and Thomas knows how to do a box step, which means most of it is already in there somewhere.” Janus taps the side of his head. “So, put your arms around me—no, no! Remus, put me down.”

“You said put my arms around you.”

“Not like that, like this.” Janus takes one of his hands and puts it on his waist, holding the other one out to the side. “Don’t—we’re not about to charge someone, Remus, relax.”

He goes all noodley and Janus sighs, making him stand back up with his arms not held out like he’s brandishing a weapon. Once they’re standing in a way that he approves of, he starts explaining how the steps work.

“Can you show me your box step?”

“While I’m holding you?”

“Good point.” Janus takes three very large steps backward and folds his arms. “Go ahead.”

Remus does his box step. Janus looks at him with his head tilted and sighs again. Every time he sighs a few more seats get a little greyer.

“I suppose it could be worse. Now, here’s what I’d like you to do: hold onto me, yes, like that, and do your box step. I am going to do an opposite box step and we are going to just try that, okay?”

Remus nods, looking down to make sure he doesn’t step on Janus, and starts his box. Janus moves back but he’s moving in a way that makes Remus have to let go.

“Hold onto me.”

“But you moved.”

“We’re dancing, Remus, we’re going to move.”

“But you—okay.”

Despite Janus’s patience—and fond exasperation that sometimes isn’t quite as fond—Remus can’t help but get hot behind the ears at how his body just doesn’t seem to want to do any of this. But every time they turn to face the back of the curtain, he sees memories of Roman dancing effortlessly in the big palace ballroom and he grits his teeth.

The curtains have gone grey by the time Janus calls an end to the misery of a lesson.

4.

“C’mon, Emo, you can do it…” Virgil’s next inhale is almost a whine. “Shh, shh, it’s…it’s okay, just…just try and breathe.”

“It’s not working.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re panicking—“

“I know I’m panicking! Knowing I’m panicking doesn’t help!”

Remus winces as Virgil almost shoves him away, He goes, because when someone’s having a panic attack and they let you know you’re making it worse, then you leave. But he can’t pull away too much because Virgil is hurting himself and that’s why he got summoned in the first place.

“Little spider,” he tries again, and Virgil lets him shift a little closer, “I’m…I don’t know what to do.”

Not the thing to say when someone’s having a panic attack. Virgil sobs again, curling up even tighter, beginning to make small hitching noises whenever he can draw breath.

“Remus? Virgil? What’s—oh. Oh, no.”

”Ro?”

Roman hurries toward them, falling to his knees next to the shaking pile of Virgil, immediately pressing a kiss to his head and going to wrap his arms around him.

“Wait, he doesn’t want to be…” Remus trails off as Virgil immediately clings to Roman, latching on like a limpet and refusing to let go.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, Stormcloud, I’m right here. Shh, shh, shh, you’re alright, you’re safe, nothing’s gonna hurt you right now.”

It’s not fair of him to be jealous when Roman gets Virgil to calm down almost right away. It’s not fair of him to be resentful that Roman’s who Virgil wants when he’s upset. It’s not fair to be upset or offended by what someone needs to come out of having a panic attack. That’s not cool, it’s not right, it’s not fair to Virgil or Roman or himself.

But Remus watches Roman cuddle Virgil and press gentle kisses to his forehead, and he looks down at his own hands that still have some Kraken slime on them from when he got summoned, and he sinks out before Virgil’s feeling all the way better.

He hates himself a little more for it, but not as much as he hates himself for not being the person that Virgil wanted.

5.

It would be easier if Roman were shitty about it.

If he made a point to hold it over Remus’s head, or if he tried to help out of pity or pushed the others into including Remus when it was obvious that no one really wanted to, it would be better. But no, Ro doesn’t even seem to know it’s happening. Which is shitty in and of itself, but the others don’t even realize they’re doing it sometimes and it’s never where Roman is anywhere within earshot. It’s just glaringly fucking obvious that Remus is not Roman and everyone else fucking knows it.

It would be better if they weren’t both Creativity. It would be better if Roman and him weren’t constantly lumped together. It would be better if he was actually capable of truly hating Roman.

But he can’t. Because Roman’s his brother and he loves him more than he hates himself.

He doesn’t hate himself, not really. He loves his energy, loves his drive, loves his willingness to do whatever, explore whatever, be whatever, he wouldn’t want to be like anyone else because then who would be him? But he hates the way that the version of himself he wants to be is the exact fucking opposite of everything he has to be in order to not be always a little bit worse than Roman.

Even his fucking Kraken prefers Roman.

He’d shown up to Ollie’s pond with his favorite chum and the ball with the holes big enough for his arms so they could play catch, but Ollie had sniffed around and seen that there was only one of them—and it wasn’t Roman, and he’d drifted off into the corner of the pond to sulk. No amount of coaxing or bribing had been able to make the Kraken do anything more than half-heartedly chuck the ball not even halfway across the pond.

Remus left before he started crying and went to the dark underwater sea cave deep underneath the black tower’s subbasement. He shifted enough so he could breathe underwater and curled up in the thick kelp forest where no one would be able to find him unless they poked around with a flashlight. The kelp dissipated the sound waves of his sobs, a tentacle in his mouth to muffle them even further. Along the bottom of the cave, tiny tetra fish nibbled at his scales.

He’d stayed there for at least an hour before he realized that no one would come to look for him, so he’s been drifting ever since. Every so often the tears return, the kelp absorbing them as readily as ever, at least until they taper off again and he just floats there, in the water while the fish nibble the dead skin away from his scales. There was something comforting about the greyness of the water, how smooth and quiet it was, how easy it was to just look at the shape of the kelp and the movement of the fish and just drift…alone.

Yeah, it’d be much easier if Roman was shitty about it. But he isn’t, and that’s just another way that he’s better than Remus.

+1.

Remus doesn’t even have time to lie down and close his eyes before someone’s grabbing him around the waist and sinking him into the Imagination. They crash into a pile of pillows and he gets a mouthful of one, spluttering.

” Ro!”

”Hey, you always do it to me! Payback time!” He barely gets himself free before Roman’s throwing a pillow at him. “Now arm yourself!”

“What—“ he dodges Roman’s swing— “hey!”

“No talking, only pillow fighting!”

Remus manages to get the big green pillow up in front of his face just as Roman launches himself off another pile and come barreling down at him. He rolls onto his side and swats Roman across the face. Roman yelps and laughs and swats him back.

“You’re not winning this time!”

“I didn’t win last time! I— ack!”

“C’mon, Re, I know you can do better than that!”

“Oh, it’s on.”

The two of them turn the pillow piles into a war zone, launching projectiles and themselves from various places until Roman gets Remus’s arms pinned and he can bap him lightly in the face over and over and over.

“ Ack—ppth—Ro!”

“Do you yield?”

“Yeah, yeah, you— pffthp— I fucking yield.”

Roman chuckles and presses a big smacking kiss to Remus’s cheek, rolling off of him and sprawling out across the pillow carnage with a contented sigh. Remus winces, pulling himself into a sitting position, grabbing one of the plushier pillows to hold.

They’re in one of the higher tree canopy tents, he realizes as he takes in their surroundings without the distraction of plush warfare. Overlooking the massive waterfalls with the help of the full moon and the soft glow of the amber lanterns overhead, he can spot a few of the others in trees surrounding the falls as the rush and roar of the water fades soothingly into the background. The soft sweet smell of fresh water wafts upwards, mixing with the cool night air. He curls up a little more, hugging the pillow, watching the water rush by.

“So,” Roman grunts as he sits up a few moments later, “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mhm.” Something pokes his side and Remus yelps. “You sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure, I— eep!”

”You really sure?” Fingers keep poking and kneading his sides and trying to get under the pillow. “You really, really sure nothing’s wrong?”

“I said no!”

He moves without thinking. One second Roman’s sitting next to him and the next he’s sprawled near the other side of the tent. A horrible itchy guilty mess starts building in the back of Remus’s throat and he looks away before he can watch the shutter fall over Roman’s face.

Because that’s why Roman did all this, isn’t it? He noticed Remus was upset and because he’s a good brother, he took him to their favorite sleeping spot and had a pillow fight with him and asked him if he was okay. Because Remus isn’t like Roman and he didn’t appreciate any of it and then he just shoved Roman away when all he was doing was trying to help and he really is just the worst brother ever, isn’t he?

”I could’ve done that better,” he hears softly before the gentlest arms wrap around his shoulders and there’s a warm chin on his left one, “I knew better, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“You’re fine.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Re, I just—I’m worried about you.”

“…you are?”

“Yeah. You’ve been—you’ve been kinda grey lately, you know? I’ve tried asking the others if they know what’s been going on, but they don’t—whoa, hey, hey,” Roman whispers when Remus starts to sniffle, “hey, c’mere, let me cuddle you, hey, talk to me, what’s going on?”

“‘M sorry, it’s not your fault, promise—“

“Hey, hey, uh-uh, none of that, you’re okay.” Roman pulls him into a weird pretzel ball of limbs and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “Does it have something to do with the others?”

“…it’s not their fault either.”

“Now I think we both know that might not be entirely true.”

“‘S stupid.”

“It’s making you upset, Re, it’s not stupid.”

“But it’s true!”

“What’s true?”

“You’re—you’re better than m-me.”

Roman goes very still for a second, then he pulls back and cups Remus’s face in his hands. “What the hell do you mean, ‘I’m better than you?’”

And just like that, the whole sorry story comes driveling out of him. About how Logan didn’t really want to do the brainstorm, about how Patton didn’t let him pick what he wanted to bake, about how he couldn’t comfort Virgil properly, about how hard trying to learn how to dance was, even how Ollie didn’t want to play with him. And Roman looks at him and his face falls and then he’s shaking his head and squishing Remus’s cheeks a little.

“You’re not worse than I am and I’m not better than you. We’re different, and that’s fine and good. Who gives a shit if Logan got a bit messy, you’re the one who can multitask way better than anyone else here. You have the discipline to actually train with all of your weapons and you can fight with all of them. And who the hell does Patton think he is that he can regiment who can bake what? I’ll bake with you next time and we can make whatever the hell you want. And as for Virgil—you know he only started coming to me because he missed you, right? I’m serious,” he continues when Remus’s eyes almost bug out of his head, “he said that your energy was really comforting when he was growing up and I have a similar one so he started coming to me. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles, but he’s still too caught up on everything else.

“I don’t give a shit what they all think, you hear me? I think you’re incredible and you’re my brother. I’m the only one allowed to start our stupid sibling rivalry shit.”

”What about me?”

“Fine, you can start it too. But only us, okay?”

Remus sniffles. “But then why didn’t Ollie want to play with me?”

“Because you don’t sneak him treats when you play Toss.”

”Wait, you what?”

“Uh, I mean—“

Remus grabs a pillow and thwacks Roman over the head with it. Roman bursts out laughing and half hugs, half tackles Remus to the ground.

“You’re fucking great all on your own, Re, you don’t need anyone else’s approval.” He leans up a bit. “But you always have mine, okay? I’m always gonna think you’re the greatest.”

“Even when I put slime in your bed?”

“I’ll get you back by putting dragon splines in yours.”

“You better not.”

“Don’t put slime in my bed, then.”

Remus gives another sniffly little laugh and Roman ruffles his hair. They both lie down to look at the waterfall, arms wrapped around each other.

“…hey Ro?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re the best brother ever.”

“No,” Roman says, booping Remus’s nose, “ you are.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

[t1red-twilight]

OMG OMG can you do something with angst request #10 "i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore" with peter :)))))) Ive been sad and need some angst to match the mood and who better to ask!!!

bereavement

summary: “i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore.”

content/warnings: gn!reader, andrew!peter, angst, major character death, grief, descriptions of ptsd, disordered eating (if you squint)

notes: omg tysm!!! i GOTCHU girl (gender-neutral). i really really tried with this one, i hope you enjoy it. i hope you feel better, dear anon. this fic made me cry lol

word count: 1k

masterlist

you had had a grueling day at work. you hadn’t slept the night before; your head plagued with dreams and regrets that you would carry as long as you would live. everyone was bothering you in some shape or form, plus, you had forgotten your lunch.

all you wanted was peter. you opted to walk to his home instead of trying to bear the late night traffic.

when you saw him, your shoulders finally released the tension that they had been holding.

“hey, pete.” you sat down next to him. “you would not believe how hard work was today. a rude older lady harassed me about messing up one of her forms, even though she was the one that filled them out.” you slouched and looked at the ground.

the honks of busy city life filled your ears. the smell from the rain lingered. “i forgot my lunch again. i don’t have enough to eat out right now either, so i just didn’t have lunch. but that’s not a big deal.” stomach pains were something that you were becoming quite familiar with. inhaling deeply, you continued. “i canceled more plans. i know you don’t want me to, but i just want to spend any time i have, with you. I can’t bear to be further away from you.” the sound of him scolding you felt like whispers against your damp skin.

you reached up and wiped a lone tear from your cheek. smiling as wide as you could handle, you tried to ignore them.

“i want to move to somewhere quieter, but i could never leave you.” you fiddled with your fingers out of habit.

there was a pause. your ears rang. “you don’t ever have to worry about me leaving, okay? i promise. i’ll stay here as long as you need me too.”

you waited; your eyes trailed downward, head turned away. the street was still slick with the combination of the oil from the city mixed with the rain. your breathing was fitful now, tears soaking the neckline of your top.

“i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore,” you choked out, your hands rubbing the sockets of your eyes. you scanned the graveyard before returning your gaze to where peter rested.

Peter’s headstone was simple; he never would have wanted something grandiose. you and may picked out a simple granite. it was more may’s choice than yours, you had been too hysterical to even cope with the fact that the funeral you were planning was his.

even through hysterics, it never really hit you that he was dead. not until he sunk in an urn into the earth.

he always insisted an urn, better for the environment. neither you or may could handle having him sit on your mantle. you both decided that it felt too dehumanizing.

his headstone read: Peter Benjamin Parker: Lover, Son, Hero.

“it’s not getting any easier. i still love you more than anything, peter. i’m not capable of loving someone else, i think.

“you’ve ruined me romantically.” you laughed at the thought. it was a joke, even though it rang truer and truer as each day passed.

“you are the highlight of my existence. good lord, peter. you mean so much to me. there is nothing that i wouldn’t do to see you again. or, at the very least get your pillow to smell normal again. it reeks of me.”

-

peter died in your arms.

you could not quite recall the turn of events completely, but you could very clearly remember what he had said to you last.

he stumbled into your apartment through the fire escape. it got blurry after he thudded onto the carpet.

there had been some criminal ransacking the city who had a particular vengeance for peter. every time peter went out, he came back worse and worse. the name of the scum that killed him laid dormant somewhere in your mind. you refused to even think about him, as far as you were concerned, he was beneath you.

you had known that peter’s crime fighting could result in something serious, but pete had always insisted that everything was going to end up all right.

“i got him,” he had said. you ran over to help him. everything you remembered was from the third person, like you were watching yourself from above. you couldn’t recollect anything you said in response. “finally you’ll be safe from-”

from this point everything was crystal clear. you could name the shampoo still faintly straggled in his hair. it was your shampoo; now tarnished with the intense irony scent of blood that congested the throngs of your shared bedroom.

“peter, we have got to call an ambulance.” you were getting frantic. you tried as hard as you could to hoist him up, but he resisted. his arms rested atop your shoulders as you tried and tried to lift him up.

“it’s my time, love, it’s-”

“no. just let me get you to the hospital. if you hold on just a little bit longer, we can get you fixed up, okay?”

he inhaled like he was going to say something. his forehead fell to your shoulder.

“honey?” you shook him. “peter?”

“pete? peter?” you hand moved to his scalp. you tried to thread your fingers through his hair to no avail. the matting from his blood halted you fingers as soon as you began.

“c’mon, darling. stay awake, okay?”

“peter?”

your screech was pathetic as he laid limply in your arms. his chest was concave and his left foot had been barely hanging on.

-

you changed your shampoo after that; the smell of it only ever brought you that night. whenever you closed your eyes, you saw visions of peter. you could not decide which was worse: the memories where he was happy, or the play-by-play of his soul shrinking away from yours.

nights were now filled with television reruns, your ceiling, anything that could keep you awake occupied your time. when you were asleep you could be with him again. but, you never wanted to wake up. the hollow throbbing pains of having him ripped away from you again when you woke made you an insomniac.

you doomed yourself to repeat this cycle. it was as if you ever managed to get over peter, you’d lose everything that you had of him. so, you clung to every crumb that remained. even though those crumbs were slipping through your fingers like sand and disappearing with time as days passed.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker angst #x reader #angst #andrew garfield!peter x reader

[muxshwriting]

come to bed

Aleksander Morozova x reader

summary: you always work so hard for Ravka, your husband only wishes to reward you for such hard work || warnings: SMUT, I say again SMUT, PinV, unprotected sex (stay safe), slight aftercare, fluff || word count: 982 || masterlist

REQUESTED: would love love LOVE a soft/supportive/proud Darkling x Reader! Like, reader has had a long stressful day, and he’s really proud of the work she’s done and the strong person she is and ahhh! Make it as smutty as you feel comfortable!

The work seemed to last forever, piles upon piles of never-ending paperwork. You didn't even notice the sun slipping below the horizon, the room now only lit by candles. When you finally lift you head to glance at the grandfather clock, it reads 11:11, far later into the night than you intended.

Aleksander slipped through the door, leaning against the doorway watching you work. He was wrapped in a night robe, having readied himself for bed. But Aleksander couldn't sleep without you anymore. You had held him close every night, steadying his heartbeat and calming his turbulent dreams. He was so lucky to call you his, to come home every night to your shared bed and make everything alright. He was often the one slipping into bed late at night, working well towards midnight on war plans, committee hearings and requests from the crown. Nights like these were rare, you staying up late, engrossed in work.

Gently, he cleared his throat, alerting you to his presence. You finally look up from your papers, an unstoppable smile covering your features. He makes his way through the room, pulling you from your chair and into his arms, holding you close. His hands press into your shoulders and you lean your weight onto him, finally relaxing.

“I love you.” The confession is whispered into your neck, matched with kisses pressed into your skin. “Come to bed.” He's so gentle with you, showing you nothing but devotion.

You sigh slightly, head dropping to your chest. “Aleksander- There's work to do. I can't-“

“You've done enough milaya.” He whispered back. “Ravka can have you again in the morning, but can I have you now?”

As you turn to meet his gaze, there’s a glint of hunger simmering in his eyes. “Well,” you never could say no to his perfect face. “I suppose Ravka can wait…”

With a cheeky grin, Aleksander lifts you off your feet, gently tossing you over his shoulder and carrying out of your study. Your shared laughter echoes through the empty corridors as you playfully swat at Aleks’s back. He throws you down onto the bed, crawling on after you. You raise your head to meet his in a heated kiss and all breath exits your body.

He pulls back, eyes blown with lust. “Are you sure?”

“Get back here.”

That's all the prerogative he needs to kiss you even harder as your fingers work under his shirt to trail his marble skin. He breaks your kiss to breathe, pulling his night shirt over his head and throwing it across the room. A lazy smile covered his lips, able to completely relax with you by his side. He crawled back toward you, straining his neck so that your lips could join onto his.

His hands trail down your body, hugging your sides and coming to a rest on your hips. It’s a gentle weight, a reminder that he’s there, that he loves you. He whispers those precious words, just to make sure. You sink into the feeling, the warming glow he provides. The hunger inside you grows, the warmth becoming a fire you don’t want to put out.

“Please…”

“Please?” He whispers back, careful not to disturb the night. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you.”

Your breath quivers as you stare into his eyes, growing erratic as his hand slips lower. His fingers finally dip into your folds, pressing into you one at a time. Your yearning for his touch even though you have it. It’s not enough. You just need him.

“Sasha… I need you.”

The words got stuck in his throat as he looked down at you. There were no words to describe you, nothing that could convey the perfection Aleksander saw. His breath stuttered as he surged forward. His lips tugged at yours, tongue slipping inside as he removed his fingers.

You whine at the loss, words stuck in your throat, only coming out as broken sobs of begging. Your legs hook together behind his back, pulling him closer until he finally enters you. It's perfect, like it always is. Him, pushing up against the gummy spot in your walls, sending jolts of pleasure up and down your spine.

Your legs part as he falls between them, fitting like he had always belonged. Your walls clenched around him, breath hitching as he moves. His fingers trail across to interlace with yours as he coaxed more and more noises from your lips.

He wasn’t quiet either, his pleasure audible as he thrust his hips into yours. They were sinful to listen to, only bringing you closer to the edge you were hurtling towards. You could feel it growing with every thrust, every brush of your g-spot.

“I’m gonna-“

“Hold on.” Aleksander grunts out. “Hold on milaya, I’m almost there…”

Your back arches as pleasure ricochets through your body. His name is the only word you can utter, coming out as whines and moans you can’t control. Aleksander’s lips connect with the junction between your shoulder and your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the skin there as he whispers praises and sweet nothings.

His words tip you over the edge, sending you into a blinding pleasure that doesn’t seem to end. Your vision goes black, only hearing your heartbeat thumping in your ears and feel Aleksander emptying himself inside you.

You’re not sure if you passed out or was so taken by pleasure but hence you come back to Aleksander is gently wiping a cloth between your legs, pressing kisses to each of your thighs.

“Aleks-“

He pauses to look up at you, a contagious smile covering his face. “Yes milaya?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He says it back proudly, because he is proud of you. You are everything and more than he deserves every single day and he will forever remind you until you believe it too.

a/n: my first request!! hope you enjoyed! Also, my first time writing smut so please don’t hate me if it’s bad. Let me know if you want more stuff like this or send me a request yourself! also, happy pride!

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #darkling x reader #shadow and bone #grishaverse #muxsh #muxshwriting

[herearedragons]

The Hanged Man (chapter 1)

Read on AO3

Notes: This fic relies on some plot points from the short story "The Reaping". If you want the full context for the fic without having to read the short story (which I do recommend, btw), see the AO3 notes or scroll to the bottom of this post.

Edér had imagined his own death way too many times.

There was the war, for one. He'd try not to think about it much, but sometimes things would happen and leave him wondering if that would be him, too.

Stabbing. Slashing. Arrows. Bolts. Broken necks, burned bodies. Slow deaths from wounds gone bad.

And besides your usual pick of deaths, there was Eothas.

Edér knew for a fact he wasn't the only one thinking about it. Lots of soldiers back then were going to sleep every night wondering if they'd just be... smitten out of existence, before they ever woke up.

Close your eyes, and the next thing you see is your god, and he goes well, Edér, you chose the wrong side, so welcome to being dead. No rebirth for you, either. Right into the void with you.

Not the most fun thought to fall asleep with.

Lately, though, it had all been the same thing. The rough, heavy noose around his neck, hands tied behind his back; the creaking of old barren branches above his head, and all of Gilded Vale staring up at him.

The funny thing was, now that he was there for real, it almost felt fake. The rope against his skin; the barrel that would soon be kicked out from under his feet; the silent grey crowd; there was a weird flatness to it all. It was all wrong, just a little off from how it appeared in his recurring dreams.

His dreams didn’t account for the rain, either. 

It was just a light drizzle, but Edér had been standing under it for a while, in the same shirt and trousers he fell asleep in the night before, and by now he was soaked and chilled to the bone.

Part of him was starting to wish they’d just get it over with.

And to think that he almost got out. He should have left as soon as the bell tolled three times yesterday, instead of putting it off until next morning.

Maybe he could have tagged along with that Watcher and the twitchy elf that had been staying at the Black Hound. They were strange folks, sure, but neither of them looked too sturdy; they could have used a protector on the road.

He almost asked to come along with them. Even now, Edér wasn't sure why he didn't.

Same reason why he’d waited this long to leave, probably.

A few feet away from his improvised gallows, Urgeat the magistrate was droning on and on about the "inestimable" Lord Raedric, his care for Gilded Vale, and his love for his wife.

His wife.

When his door got kicked in first thing in the morning, guards swarming in to drag him out of bed, Edér thought it was about Eothas. He figured maybe it was also about the rebels, or because someone saw him talking to that Watcher, and that was somehow also a crime now.

He didn't think they'd say that he murdered a woman.

Lord Raedric's wife. He still didn't know all the details of it - nobody bothered to tell him, since they were all thinking he did it - but what he gathered was that she turned up dead somewhere in the village, and it was close enough to his house to make them think he was involved.

Urgeat was just getting to that part in his speech, now.

Edér had never even seen her up close.

"...spreading dissent and worship of a dead god are, of course, far from the only crimes committed by this man. When words of deception no longer satisfied his foul goals, he turned to murder, and took the life or our beloved Lady Ygrid - "

"Didn't do it."

Even from this distance, Edér could see a sour grimace form on the magistrate's face as soon as he was interrupted.

"Silence, murderer," Urgeat said.

Edér shrugged; the noose shifted uncomfortably on his shoulders.

"Just setting the facts straight," he said. "Didn't do it. Ain't ever laid a finger on her. Sure, I’ve got blood on my hands, but last I checked they were all soldiers."

Not all of those soldiers were Readcerans.

Standing on that barrel gave him a great view of the crumbling shell of the temple behind the villagers' backs - and, standing just beyond it, the house that once belonged to Osgod Rask.

They did find the corpses, eventually. Some settlers moved in, took Raedric up on his offer of land; smelled something foul in the cellar, opened it, and saw what became of the two men in the years that had passed since Edér left them there.

Those settlers didn't stay.

"So you would like us to believe," Urgeat said dryly. "However, lies will not get you out of this noose. I would advise that you save your breath."

Edér couldn't hold back a snort of laughter; not that he was trying that hard.

"Right! 'Cause I have so much breathing left to do still."

Was it his imagination, or did he hear a giggle somewhere in the crowd?

Nobody liked the magistrate. Fact was, were it him in the noose instead of Edér, they'd all be clapping and cheering.

Nobody was cheering for his hanging, at least. He’d like to believe there were some people in the square doubting that he actually did it.

The problem was that it didn’t matter.

Three tolls of the bell spelled death. Before the lady’s body turned up, it meant death for a lot of people, and probably exile for just as many; by the time Raedric was done “appeasing the gods”, Gilded Vale would have been a ghost town.

But now… Now the lord’s wife was dead, and they had one person to blame for it. And, while they were at it, they could blame him for everything else, too.

Maybe there were some folks left in Gilded Vale who didn’t want to see him hang, but they would take it if it meant that he would be the last.

Something drew his eyes back to the empty Rask house.

Daeg's ma, Lifa, had this look on her face when the bodies were found. Whenever Edér was around, she'd get that same look again, like somehow she knew. 

Edér didn't regret what he did. Daeg raised a weapon against a woman and her child, which in Edér's book meant he got what was coming to him - but it didn't mean Lifa deserved to die without ever finding out what happened to her son.

Gods know he’d give a lot to find out what happened to Woden.

"Tell you what, Urgeat," Edér said. "You're gonna hang me, at least hang me for something I did."

He took a breath, preparing to confess to everything that happened with Elafa and her child and the two guards that night - and then the words never came out.

There was a figure walking through the ruins of the old temple.

"Well?" Urgeat inquired impatiently. "If you wish to add to the list of your crimes, I will not stop you, but, by the Wheel, make it quick."

The stranger was wearing a heavy black cloak with an unusually large, baggy hood. Edér couldn't see their face, but they were moving, quickly and purposefully, towards the gathering.

"I take it you have changed your mind," Urgeat said. "Very well. Let us continue - "

"Stop!"

The cloaked stranger had crossed the temple, and stopped at the foot of the tree. She was the one speaking; by the sound of it, she was a woman.

Urgeat let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh.

"Miss,” he said, "Perhaps you failed to notice that we are in the middle of an official proceeding. Whatever business you have, I am sure it can wait a minute longer."

"It cannot," she said. "By the duc's authority, I demand that you stop this execution right now."

"By the duc's - excuse me, who are you?"

In response, she simply reached up and pulled back her strange, heavy hood.

A murmur rolled through the crowd.

She was Ondra-touched. Blue skin the color of a clear sky; black eyes with no whites, two glowing dots for pupils; glowing white hair, a crescent moon-shaped growth on her forehead, and two curving horns, glowing also.

That last part explained the weird shape of her hood.

Edér had never seen this kind of godlike before, but he had heard of them.

During the war, word was that there was one of them in his division. Edér had never met the guy himself, but heard that he could fly, and that any wounds he received would heal right up. Whether the rumors about his blessings were true or not, it was impossible to say now; a few weeks in, the godlike took the brunt of a spell from a Readceran priest and died.

"Agent Selene Moonborn of Dunryd Row," said the Ondra-touched woman. "You may address me as Agent Moonborn, or Selene. Do you need to see my credentials?"

Moonborn... She sure was.

Wait - Dunryd Row?

"I would greatly appreciate that," Urgeat said, but his tone was no longer as snide as it was a moment ago. In fact, Edér was pretty sure that he heard a tinge of fear in his voice.

No wonder. If this was an actual Dunryd cipher, something serious was going on.

Selene approached the magistrate, her cloak swaying silently, and held something out to him. The drizzling rain didn't seem to bother her much.

While Urgeat was inspecting the item she handed him, she looked up over his shoulder. Her eyes met Edér's for a moment, and almost immediately moved on, taking in the rest of the hanging tree.

Was he just a part of the scenery to her, dead already?

"...Very well," Urgeat said, finally. "Welcome to Gilded Vale, Agent Moonborn. As you can see, you find us at an unfortunate hour; we have just lost our lord’s heir, and now our lady as well. Fortunately, her murderer has already been apprehended, and we are in the process of bringing him to justice."

Selene's eyes returned to the magistrate standing before her.

"That man?"

"Edér Teylecg. A troublesome individual. Eothasian." 

Urgeat spat out that last word like it was a curse.

"I see," Selene said. "Unfortunately, you can't execute him."

What?

"...What?"

That was probably the first and last time he and Urgeat had ever agreed on something.

"The murder of a thayn, or a thayn's immediate family, falls under the duc's jurisdiction," Selene explained matter-of-factly. "In the absence of a representative of the duc's authority, the local authorities may investigate and persecute the crime; however, with a Dunryd Row investigator present, that is no longer the case. In other words, you can't execute this man until I have conducted a thorough investigation and determined that he is guilty; in fact, if you do hang him right now, it will be considered a crime and I will have to arrest you."

Something mesmerizing was happening. The longer she spoke, the more Urgeat seemed to shrink away from her; at no point did she raise her voice, but there was an underlying pressure to the calm, even cadence of her speech that seemed to have a nearly violent effect on the magistrate.

Even with a noose around his neck, Edér found that entertaining to watch. Judging by what he was seeing in the crowd, he wasn't the only one. Though, the villagers weren't exactly on the agent's side, either; many of them were smirking, but just as many were eyeing her with suspicion.

Urgeat made one last feeble attempt to resist:

"Lord Raedric - "

"I would be very grateful if you could arrange an audience with the lord for me," Selene said. "Tell him that a Dunryd Row agent arrived to investigate the murder of his wife, and would like to hear his testimony. I would like to see the body, as well."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I will relay your message to His Lordship," Urgeat said, finally.

Then, the magistrate turned around. His face was even more grey and dead-looking than it usually was.

"You heard the agent," he said to the surrounding guards. "Take him down."

If Selene's appearance earned a murmur from the crowd, the sound they were making now was more like the distant rumble of thunder.

Something was happening that had never happened before, and now every mind in Gilded Vale was feverishly working on the same question: what does this mean for me?

Every mind except for Edér's, that is. He was a little busy trying to come to terms with standing on solid ground again.

Still cold, still with his hands tied, still accused of a murder he didn't commit - but, somehow, alive.

The same guard that took the noose off his neck walked him up to where Selene and the magistrate were talking.

The crowd around them was beginning to disperse. Urgeat never gave an explicit dismissal, but the guards had stepped away from the tree and started giving the rest of the villagers move-along-now looks.

Most folks got the hint, and those who didn't got pulled along by those who did.

Selene glanced at Edér again as he approached; this time her gaze lingered. It felt as though she was assessing something about him.

Eventually she nodded to herself, seemingly having reached a conclusion, and said to the guard standing beside him:

“Untie him, please.”

The man just shuffled in place awkwardly and looked at Urgeat.

"I don’t know if this is wise," the magistrate said. "He may become violent."

Only if you keep talking, Edér thought; usually this kind of thought would come right out of his mouth, but not this time.

He wasn't in a hurry to go back to the tree just yet.

"If he does, I'll protect you," Selene said. 

Her voice and expression were dead serious, but she was definitely taking the piss at Urgeat here.

Edér decided that he liked her.

The guard unsheathed his sword and began to saw at the rope at Edér's wrists; meanwhile, Selene turned to him and began speaking.

"Edér Teylecg, by the duc's authority, I am placing you under arrest. No harm will come to you unless you attempt to resist or flee, or your guilt is proven."

The rope fell off.

"Noted," Edèr said.

It was as if she didn't hear.

"Is there a jail in Gilded Vale?" Selene asked, turning to Urgeat again.

The magistrate smiled thinly:

"There are the lord's dungeons."

"Understood," she said. "House arrest it is, then. Please inform the vilagers that they are not to visit the suspect while the investigation is ongoing."

And, just like that, Edèr’s fate was decided.

*

The walk back to his house was silent.

Edér was leading the way, the agent following behind. He could barely hear her steps; a couple times, he even got the urge to turn around and check that she was still there.

He didn't. Wouldn’t want to do anything that she could interpret as "trying to flee or resist"; Edèr had a funny feeling that, despite not having any visible weapons and being a head shorter than him, Selene had her ways of making him regret that.

His mind was still all over the place, trying to work out what his current reality looked like.

He didn't die. He was walking the path back to his house, which, about half an hour ago, he was never going to do again.

There was a Dunryd Row cipher walking behind him. She somehow knew about the murder that happened just this morning; she couldn't have come all the way from Defiance Bay, could she?

Where did she come from?

Why did she stop the hanging?

It was fun watching her have a go at Urgeat, but, now that the magistrate was gone and Edér was alone with her, he did very much want to know what she was planning to do with him.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know what a cipher could do.

There were plenty of folks who came to Gilded Vale saying they were one, and claimed all sorts of powers: some said they could see the future, some that they could read minds and souls. Most of them turned out to be a fraud, and at least a few of them ended up on the tree.

Nothing he could remember about them gave him a frame of reference for what a real Dunryd Row cipher was capable of.

Killing him, probably. Whatever else they taught their agents, Edér was pretty sure they had that part covered.

He was still thinking about that when his house came into view.

Suddenly, Selene's voice sounded behind his back: 

"Stop."

He stopped.

"Is that your house?" she asked.

"...Yeah."

"Do you live alone?"

"I do."

"There's someone inside."

…Well, that wasn't right.

"It's just one person," Selene said after a moment. "We can approach. Stay behind me."

Before Edér could ask how she could tell, she walked past him and headed straight for the door.

The only option left was to follow her.

Up close, Edér could hear it too: something was happening inside. There was a heavy scraping noise, like something was being dragged across the floor.

The door gave no resistance when Selene pushed it open; the bolt got broken earlier that morning.

She stepped inside.

The room was a mess. There were drawers open; his clothes were in a heap on the bed; the tools that were supposed to hang on the walls were laid out on the big dining table.

The scraping noise was coming from the far end of the house, where a man was trying to drag a chest out of the corner.

The chest was heavy. Edér knew that, because that's where his Saint's War armor was; his sword and shield, too.

There wasn't much left in the house worth keeping under lock and key, but his armor and weapons were two of the things he did think could be stolen.

Turns out, he was right to worry.

"Excuse us," Selene said.

The man stopped struggling with the chest and froze.

"...Who's that?"

The shadows made it hard to recognize him, but, as soon as Edér heard the voice, he knew.

"Algar, you sheepfucker! Couldn't wait 'til I was dead?"

At the sound of his voice, the man jumped and straightened up at once, turning around to look at them, white as a sheet.

Sure enough, they were looking at Algar Bramweg: reedy, thin-haired and watery-eyed. Came back from the war with burns on his face and left arm, but he came back. 

He was a meek guy, but Edér used to think he was alright. Until that moment, that is.

"Edér!" Algar nearly squeaked. "Wh-what are you doing here? Aren't you - "

"Hanging on a tree?" Edér asked grimly. "Matter of fact, I was. They let me down so I could see who was in here, stealing my stuff."

"Well, I - I thought you wouldn't be needing it anymore!" Algar glanced around with the look of a cornered animal in his eyes. "...I'll put it back. I'll put it all back. I - what happened? Who is this?"

With that last question, he gestured wildly at Selene, who was just standing there the entire exchange.

"Agent Selene Moonborn, Dunryd Row," she said. "I take it you weren't in the square when I arrived. All you need to know for now is that the hanging has been postponed, and this building is now off limits. Please return everything you may have taken from here; it could be evidence."

Algar looked completely lost, now.

"...Evidence?"

"In the investigation of Lady Ygrid's murder," Selene clarified. "Like I said, this is all you need to know right now. If you're confused, ask one of your friends who were present for the hanging; I don't have time to repeat the details."

Algar looked over at him.

Edér shrugged:

"I'd do as she says, if I were you."

When Algar was done emptying his pockets, it turned out that he had picked up a couple of smaller tools, Edér’s entire whiteleaf stash, a handful of copper pands - and the book of prayers that survived year after year of purges in spite of Raedric’s efforts, safely hidden on top of one of the ceiling beams.

That last one puzzled him.

Algar didn’t just take the book - he was looking for it. There was no way for him to stumble upon it on accident.

“Alright,” Edér said, “The coins and the whiteleaf, I get. Tools, too. But what did you need that for?”

Algar didn’t quite meet his eyes when he answered:

“Well, so many of those got burned or thrown away, I figured - the right folks would pay a fortune for one that’s still intact.”

So he was going to sell it. Made sense; more sense than Algar secretly being a devout Eothasian, anyhow.

Once Algar had left, Selene shut the door behind him. She regarded the broken bolt for a moment, then said:

"This will have to be fixed."

It wasn't clear whether she was talking to herself or to him.

Then, she turned around and addressed him directly:

“Please, take a seat.”

It was damn weird to be invited to sit down in his own house. Felt like an insult more than anything else; Edér had half a mind to say something about it, but thought better of it.

He pulled a chair out from the dining table and sat down.

As soon as he did, he regretted it. His body realized that he was no longer on his feet, and took it as an invitation to crash; immediately, his limbs felt heavy, and his head began to spin.

The entire morning was now catching up to him. Waking up to guards in his house; being dragged to the square; standing in the rain, counting the seconds left until his last breath.

How long had he been awake for? An hour? Felt like two entire days, at this point.

Black bones of Eothas, he’d almost - 

No, wasn’t the time for that. He’d think about that later, or maybe never.

He kind of liked that second option better.

His hands were shaking just a little; probably because he was still really cold.

Edér looked up at the agent.

“Mind if I start the fire?”

“...Oh.” It was as if she’d just realized the same thing he did. “Not at all. If you want to change your clothes, I’ll wait by the door.”

Well, that was nice of her.

He took her up on that offer.

Once he’d gotten a fire going in the firepit and changed into the clothes Algar so kindly left out for him on the bed, it was much easier to believe that he was, in fact, still alive.

Algar was going to take his whiteleaf, but he’d left the pipe right where it was. Figures; he had his own.

“You smoke, agent?” Edér asked, just as she stepped back into the room.

“I don’t, but you can go ahead.”

And so they sat down at the table, the fire in the middle of the room casting their shadows onto the far wall, the smoke from his pipe rising like a sheer curtain between them.

He was at home, now, and a little more certain that he could handle whatever Selene was about to throw at him.

“Suppose I should thank you,” Edér said. “If it weren't for you showing up when you did, would have been one more corpse on that tree - and Algar would’ve been smoking my whiteleaf just about now.”

For the first time since she walked out into the square, he saw Selene’s expression become something other than a distant, observing look.

Her eyes narrowed just a little, her pupils twinkling like twin stars in the night sky; she didn’t really smile, but her face softened in a way that made him think that maybe it was her way of smiling.

“It was a close call,” she said. “I’m glad I could stop them from hanging an innocent.”

Whatever Edér expected her to say, that was not it.

He didn't think he'd feel that much relief at hearing her say it, either. Of course he didn't murder the lady; he knew that. Half of Gilded Vale probably knew that too, but none of them would ever say it out loud if they wanted to stay safe.

But how did Selene know?

"...You figure that out with your cipher powers?"

The only other option he could think of was that she killed the lady, and Edér really hoped it wasn’t that.

“Good guess,” Selene said.

Her eyes drifted away from him for a moment, like she was considering something, or hesitating.

Finally, she said:

"I'll get straight to the point: I wasn't sent here to investigate the murder of Lady Ygrid. As far as I know, no one outside of Gilded Vale even knows that she’s dead.”

It took him a moment to process what she was saying.

“...Wait, so… what’s all this for?”

Selene sighed. Something was gone from her voice and her posture now - that invisible pressure she used against Urgeat. It was as if an act had been dropped.

“I came to Gilded Vale on Dunryd Row business that had nothing to do with Lady Ygrid. I happened to arrive just as an execution was happening. I read the mind of the man about to be hanged and knew that he didn’t commit the crime he was being accused of, so… I intervened in the only way I could think of.”

…By lying to Urgeat.

Wait.

She read his mind?

So that was true about ciphers, then.

Oh gods. How much did she see? Did she know about - no, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t have helped him, had she known.

Was she listening right now?

“I’m not reading your mind right now,” Selene said.

Edér couldn’t help but laugh nervously:

“You’re not really helping your own case here. How’d you know I just thought that?”

She shrugged:

“It’s the first thought people have when they realize I can do this.”

Oh.

“...Well, alright, that’s fair.”

“Sometimes, I can’t help but overhear the thoughts of others,” Selene said. “Usually, those thoughts are surface-level and charged with intense emotion. Feelings of pain or anger, for example. In your case, you were thinking pretty loudly that you didn’t do it.”

Well, now he had to ask.

“...Was I… thinking about anything else?”

Selene met his eyes, unblinking.

“You were cold. And you wanted the magistrate to shut up.”

“...That sounds about right.”

She didn’t hear about the bodies in the cellar. He must have had some unbelievable luck.

Better not waste it.

“From now on, I’ll always let you know when I’m listening to your thoughts,” Selene said. “I’m saying this because I would like us to be allies.”

She leaned forward, cutting through the protective curtain of whiteleaf smoke and bringing her face just a little closer to his. The glowing markings on her cheeks, a dot and an upturned crescent moon under each eye, stood out starkly against her skin.

“I want you to help me find the real murderer of Lady Ygrid.”

This answered the question of what she wanted from him, at least.

"Why do you think I can help?" Edér asked. "If you really read my mind, you saw that I don’t know anything."

"About the murder, maybe, but you know Gilded Vale," Selene said. "I could use the help of a local. And, for better or worse, you're the only one in town I trust right now - seeing as you're the only one who wasn't almost an accomplice in another murder today."

"...Wait, what?"

She gave him an amused look.

"I'm talking about your murder, Edér. What do you think that hanging was?"

Well, that was a charged question, wasn't it.

He glanced over at the Eothasian book of prayers, still resting on the far end of the table. Was there even a point in trying to hide it again?

"Some folks 'round here would call it justice," he said, finally. 

Selene followed his gaze to the book, gave a little nod and withdrew, putting some more distance between them again.

"I wish I could say it's not the same in Defiance Bay, but I'd be lying," she said. "Where you have Raedric, we have the Dozens. They don't have nearly as much power, and that's the best thing I can say about them."

"Seems you don't like them much."

"I don't. Like your magistrate, they like to point fingers, and make my work - finding the truth - harder."

She paused for a moment, then asked:

"You fought in the war, didn't you?"

"I did," Edér said. "On the right side, mind you. Got any doubts, you can read my mind about it."

Selene shook her head.

"I believe you. I just wanted to say - that’s another reason you’re a good ally to have. You did the right thing, even if it meant standing up to your god; that takes more than bravery."

Edér nearly choked on the puff he just took from his pipe.

Gods damn. Would he ever figure out what she was about? Every time it felt like he was starting to get a beat on the conversation, she'd hit him with something else.

"Now here’s something you don't hear a lot these days," he said.

Now Selene smiled, but there wasn't an ounce of joy in it.

"I dedicated my life to digging up things others desperately want forgotten," she said. "Maybe I haven't gone to war against Ondra, but I can't imagine she's too happy with me, either. You had to go even further; I think that calls for respect, not persecution."

Edér stared at her for a moment.

"I've got to ask," he said, finally. "Are all of you Dunryd folks like this, or is it just you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're getting real involved in something you've got no stakes in. Sharing all kinds of opinions. Round here, that's how you end up on the tree; trust me, I know."

Something in her expression shifted; it became cold and pointed, and, for a moment, Edér was sure that he fucked up.

"I don't like seeing people be disposed of," Selene said. 

And then that chilling look was gone.

"...Besides, solving crimes is what I do. I wasn't ordered to investigate this one, but I don't think my superiors would mind, as long as I completed my original mission as well."

Edér decided that it was probably safe to start breathing again.

"You're goddamn weird, agent," he said. "I don't know what exactly I can do, but - I think I wanna help you."

Again, that smiling-without-smiling look.

"I'm glad," Selene said.

"Well... What's our move, then?"

She regarded him for a moment.

"Take a minute to recover. Clean up, eat something," she said. "Then, we'll go see the crime scene."

Notes (spoilers for The Reaping):

In The Reaping, Edér and his ex Elafa end up killing two of Raedric's soldiers, who were threatening Elafa and her Hollowborn child. Edér hides their bodies in an abandoned house; Elafa leaves the town with her child the same night.

#pillars of eternity #edér teylecg #herearedragons writing #project: the hanged man #and so it begins #oc: watcher selene #technically my birthday is tomorrow but I'm posting this early so people can get around to actually reading it

[creeppostss]

Smoke Sesh

pairing; Jeff the killer / NB!reader

warnings; smoking, shotgunning, fluff with sexual references and not proofread :3

summary; jeff not so nicely barges in your room for a midnight smoke. You give in and smoke alongside him. Fluff but it gets semi-sexual. I wrote this at 1 in the morning and it was too long for me to add actual fucking. If you guys hype this up enough I’ll write a part two where they ACTUALLY fuck.

You were sitting in your room, minding your own business. It was a late night, probably around midnight. The whole house was silent, everyone asleep in their own rooms. Or so you thought. The knock at your door startled you, making you jump and look over to the door. You stayed silent, and so did the person on the other side. But you sighed and decided to get up. You should’ve pretended to be asleep.

Upon opening your door you saw the last person you wanted to see this late at night. Jeffrey. You had honestly debated slamming the door in his face and going back to your bed, but something felt different. He looked calmer, nicer. He seemed it too. Since you opened your door he hasn’t tried to make a single snide comment. Surprising for him. Still, you didn’t let him in quite yet, leaning against the doorframe and glaring.

“Can I help you?” Your words sounded more bitter than you intended, grimacing internally. He did not answer you, instead going to push past you into your room. He took position on your bed, sitting upright. He looked at you and patted a spot on the bed beside him, beckoning you over. You groan, close your door, and move to sit beside him.

Once you’ve sat down, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He pulls two, avoiding the one cigarette in the pack that he’s flipped upside-down. He calls it his lucky. Smokes it last. Jeff discarded the box of cigarettes onto your bed, instead digging back in his pocket to find a lighter. It was something Nina had given him, so it was pink and flashy. He lit both cigarettes and passed you yours, then took his in between his lips.

It wasn’t often that you two were caught together. You mostly spent time alone. Arguing. Bickering. But that wasn’t special to you. He argued with everyone. So seeing him so quiet made you arguably more tense than if he was running his mouth. You finally brought the cigarette up to your mouth, inhaling deeply and holding it for a moment before the release. You had to try to not cough. You hadn’t smoked in a while. You figured now was a good time to ask what he had come for.

“Did you want something? You don’t usually come looking for me, y’know. Need a favor?”

Jeff grunted and took another deep inhale of his own cigarette. You were beginning to regret letting him light them in here, your room would be sticky and smokey after this. Jeff breathed out his smoke and looked towards you, some kind of look on his face. It was a mix between smugness and something you couldn’t quite read.

“Yeah, actually. Jack is crashing in my room tonight. He said he had a surgical experiment go wrong in his room. Said he couldn’t sleep there tonight. Big mess.” He cut off his own sentence, sticking his cigarette back between his lips. This allowed you a moment to speak.

“So what are you saying? You want to sleep here? In my room? In my bed?” You practically laughed at the idea, a look of disbelief and some kind of humor painted across your face. Jeff just nodded. Oh.

“Oh. Well, fuck. I mean-…I guess? That’s fine. Just for tonight though, right?”

He nodded softly again. Jeff glanced at his shortening cigarette, then back at you. It seemed like some kind of switch flipped on in his brain. He leaned in closer to you, making you lean backwards uncomfortably.

“I wanna try something.” And he didn’t let you respond. He took a fat drag of his cigarette, not inhaling. Jeff reached up and cupped your cheek, sticking his thumb in your mouth to open it up. Then he pushed close to your face, almost mouth to mouth. You were honestly turning a little red. Much to your dismay. Finally, the tension eased as he opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to push the smoke out of his mouth, letting it be inhaled by you.

The secondhand smoke was much harsher than the initial drag would be, so you only inhaled about half before you had to pull away to cough in the other direction. It burned your lungs, your throat feeling as if it would jump out of your body. Your eyes watered and made tears pill at the corners, threatening to spill if you coughed any more.

Jeff cocked his head and stared at you. He felt pity, disgust, many things. But there was something else. Admiration. After all, you still allowed him to shotgun for you even when you probably knew you couldn’t hold it. His lip pulled up on one side into some sort of half smile as he leaned forward to interrupt your coughing with a soft kiss.

You of course, didn’t expect that. But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t even tell if you wanted to. When he saw that you weren’t going to pull away, he allowed himself to deepen the kiss. Your entire figure softened and your hands relaxed, not remembering you had a lit cigarette in your hand. The tip of your cigarette touched your opposite arm, making you yelp and pull back while you glanced down at the residual red mark. Jeff frowned at you and took your cigarette out of your hand, snuffing it out on his own arm.

You watched him press it against his white skin, the burn turning a small portion red. You looked up at him, staring with an expression that screamed “Why the fuck would you do that.” He just looked at you and shrugged gently, smiling softly.

“We match.” Jeff discarded both cigarette butts to the the table that sat beside your bed, careful to not allow either of the searing hot tips touch your wooden table. He was being kind and it was strange. Maybe it was just because he was late, maybe he was high. God knows. Whatever it was, it was nice.

He looked back at you with some kind of light in his eyes, the most that you’ve seen since you’ve been stuck up in this “mansion”. It made you want to kiss him again. So that’s what you did. You slid your hands up his face and laid them to rest on his cheeks, careful not to touch his scars. You liked them just fine, you just knew he was insecure about them.

You looked at him for reassurance, and he leaned in and allowed you to kiss him. As you kissed him, your hands moved back and slipped into his hair. The feeling of soft, yet greasy hair filled your touch. His scent was something of smoke and musk. It was attractive. Your hands began to unconsciously play with his hair, almost roughly coiling into it. He grunted softly and repaid the favor, his hands finding their way into your soft locks. He tugged softly which made you moan into the tender kiss.

Jeff pushed you back into the bed and positioned himself above you, in between your legs. The makeout session began to get more heated and rough, the hands in each others hair gripping more tightly and more precisely. There was meaning in this kiss now. Something more than a late night fling. It was filled with passion and comfort. But that wasn’t enough.

You bit Jeff’s lower lip which made him groan, biting back at yours harder. Your breath was hitching now, heart rate beginning to elevate. Jeffrey was the first one to pull away from the kiss, and his breathing matched yours. Quickened. He licked his lips and looked down at your neck, immediately going down to press sloppy kisses and licks to the sensitive area. You shuddered and moaned under your breath, wrapping your legs around Jeff’s torso.

It was a bit of a funny angle since he was above you, but you didn’t care. You felt so good, so right. Nothing else mattered. The tenderness was continued for only a short period of time. The gentle kisses ended as he bit down into your neck, beginning to suck a deep bruise into the skin. Your legs tightened around his waist as you muttered his name, nails clawing at the back of his shirt.

How badly you wanted more. You had been deprived of this contact for so long that even this had your brain powered into overdrive. How badly you wanted to beg him, please, please, more. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to risk the chance of losing this connection you already had. So you bit your lip and kept the silence.

Jeff sucked at least three hickeys into your tender skin, pulling back and looking down at his handiwork. You could practically hear his heartbeat. It was fast, faster than yours. He was panting too, whether it be from arousal or lack of oxygen from sucking at your neck for so long was a mystery. But he didn’t progress. You knew he wanted to, and you wanted to as well. But you both knew that it was better to stop now before you got in too deep.

He wriggled himself free from your legs and laid down beside you. You both stared at the ceiling, but you moved first, flipping to lay on your side, facing away from him. You could hear a noise of displeasure from him, but then you felt the bed move. You waited patiently for something to happen, and you got what you wanted. He had moved so he could spoon you, arm going to wrap around your waist in a hug.

You knew this wouldn’t last. So you took it in while you could now. Even if he had just got you so pent up. And you could feel he was too, his more than half hard boner prodding into your ass. Maybe you’d help him with that later. But for now you relished in the feeling of being held.

You fell asleep first. Jeff just made sure you stayed asleep. Once he was absolutely sure you wouldn’t wake up, he pressed a kiss to the back of your head before cuddling closer to your warm body, falling asleep in the comfort of your bed.

#creepypasta #fanfiction #jeff the killer #smut #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #fluff #eyeless jack #he’s so cute #such a sweetheart #i know he’s crazy but he’s the one i want #he’s supposed to be a dick but #i believe he can be sweet #reblog stuff #reqs open #send asks #muah #<3

[shywhumpauthor]

Hey guys, so I just wanted to say that I’m probably not going to be putting out much writing for a bit. Like right now, I’m not actively working on writing anything. I feel kinda shitty about not writing though :/

I will probably (most likely, don’t want to say “definitely” though cause I know myself) put out some more short prompts/maybe some snippets in the next while but probably not any long pieces. Maybe. I don’t know maybe inspiration will strike tomorrow and this will all be a lie. But as of now, yeah.

​please stick with me here though I promise I’ll get back to writing soon.

I was also thinking about doing whumptober again, not sure if I will do it for a new series with characters or miscellaneous fills. Let me know?

#i feel crappy about not writing but also like #I started reading this book #and I read the first one in two and a half days #and I just got the second one Monday and I’m almost halfway through it #I’m really happy because it’s been a while since I’ve read a book and been excited like this #I stayed up late reading last night and it was just #such a good feeling #I haven’t done that since middle school #it’s been so long since I’ve found a book I could really get into #but also band camp starts next week #that’s two weeks long so idk what my writing will be like then #then school starts up again #my classes are a lot harder this year which I’m excited but also nervous for #and I have a job now so balancing everything’s going to take some getting used to

[kithj]

i finished house of hunger last night 5/5 could not have been more tailor made for Me

#i will write my actual thots later i just need everyone to know i stayed up way too late #to finish reading it last night and then was too wired to sleep now i have to go to work in a State

[byanyan]

the amount I've been hoarding away some of the memes I've seen on the dash over the last week or so is so not okay for someone with as many drafts as me ashfjdh

#me: i want to focus on getting through all my drafts when i get some energy back #also me: but good & juicy memes........ #I'm thinking I'm gonna lean more into doing whatever the hell pleases me once I get back to writing tbh #but I'm almost definitely throwing all the drafts into a paused queue that I won't start posting until they're all finished #will I reblog a meme or two to play with as I do that? probably. almost definitely. #fresh stuff always helps get my brain going again ahdjgsg #but know that drafts will be happening!!!! I did delete some stuff but like. not enough lmfao. I have too many great threads #that I can't bear to let go of and i've kinda accepted that at this point #sorry I'm so slow y'all pls know that me taking forever to get to shit has nothing to do with how much I'm enjoying our threads #the fact that I'm clinging to them despite wanting to start completely fresh & dump everything says a lot more about how much I love em all #anyway. may or may not write tonight? I'm going with the flow tonight & rn the flow is telling me to keep reading #I finished my reread of the second book in the millennium series last night (& stayed up way too late in order to do so ahdgksg) #& I've started my reread of the third today and I just. I can't stop. it's too good. #if I find the willpower to put it down at some point I might dabble in poking at smth but. if not perhaps tomorrow uvu #(also want to note I've been marking the books through my reread with pink page flags #whenever smth really smacks me in the face with how much byan was inspired in some way by lisbeth lmfao) #ANYWAY. love u guys!!! I'm lurking & hoping you're all doing well!!! 💜💜 #━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ ooc ⋮ don’t @ me.

[iguessitsjustme]

I don’t want to go to work today. Nothing I have to do today is hard ans I’ll do it but I don’t want to at all.

#rae irl #rae at work #ngl guys i did like 3 days worth of work yesterday in the morning #and then last night i stayed up too late reading and now i just wanna stay home and finish my book #but alas i must go to work