Yayy Practices and doodles!! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o💕✨

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

Tim Drake

Physical: I say this with love but he is one of those awkward teens who's faces look like they're ten but their limbs are like limp spaghetti noodles. Has an ongoing zit on his chin that ligit no-one notices but he's convinced it's the size of Kentucky. His eyes are big and puppy-dog looking, and when he's focused they get really wide and his button nose scrunches up. His eyes are really light blue, to the point where if the light hits them they look purple. His skin is pale and burns easily, but instead of looking supernatural it just looks weird since he has dry skin half the time. He is 5'1 for most of his teens, only getting a growth spurt when he hits 17 that leaves him at 5'5. His hair is pin straight but thick enough to tangle. He barely uses gel for his civilian identity, but drowns himself in it for Robin, making it into spikes. He's trying to make himself more intimidating, but he's instead he looks like Sharkboy from Sharkboy and Lavagirl. When he was 15 someone asked if he was in middle school yet and he just nodded blankly.

Mental: Tim Drake was the first character I have ever headcannoned as autistic. He was a weird little kid, but people just thought he was being stuck up and a know it all. When he was in third grade he had a sensory overload in the middle of class, and the counselor suggested he get tested for Aspergers (bc at that time that was what they would have called it) Janet was all for it, but Jack refused, saying that Tim was "Too smart to be a r*tard"

Janet gave in, but also researched how to help an autistic child. She was away a lot though, and since Tim didn't have an IEP he continued to struggle. He was often told that his stimming was disruptive, so he had to learn to stop doing it. When he was first starting out as Robin he was really happy about catching a criminal on his own for the first time, and he forgot himself and started bouncing on the balls of his feet and flapping his hands a little. He was mortified when Bruce noticed, but the next day there was a fidget toy sitting on the case files he was supposed to review with a note from Bruce saying he thought he might like it. Tim nearly hyperventilated with excitement and had to breathe into a paper bag. Bruce was concerned. Eventually, when Bruce gained legal guardianship over Tim he got him tested, and eventually diagnosed. There was an IEP, but it only really included letting him stim in class since Tim didn't want learning accommodations or counseling. Mostly the diagnosis was just a confirmation of what they already knew. Other than Autism, he is an anxious baby. Not just in a "Cute uwu shy baby" way though, he once threw up from nervousness after he thought he had disappointed Bruce. I think he's always had depression, but it only really flared up after Kon died. And of course, all the bats have PTSD of some sort.

Other: This is included in one of my fics, but I think the stuffed koala bear we see hidden under his bed in that one comic panel with his father is called BamBam. He got it shortly after the flying Grayson's deaths, when he first saw Batman swooping down to save Dick. He tried to say Batman but he had a lisp and the nanny heard BamBam so that was that. He is a serial clothing stealer. He was too shy to take any of Bruce's clothing at first, but he was given a tee-shirt as pajamas when he was staying over for one of the first times (before he moved there) and Bruce never got it back. If he had been questioned about it he would have said he forgot, and that would have been a lie. Bruce didn't mind, the shirt came down to his knees and looked adorable. Soon after that he gave Tim an old sweater of his that had "Shrunk in the wash, strangely enough. I guess the water temperature must have malfunctioned." It was still too large on him. It fell halfway down his thighs and the sleeves completely covered his hands.

An Accidental Confession

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~3.1k

Summary: In which you decided to a record a message explaining your feelings for Steve in case you didn't make it out of your mission alive. You don’t have any intention of it actually being heard by him, but you have no other choice to face your fear when it’s accidentally broadcasted across the entire compound.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff haha with hints of a cocky steve hehe.

A/N: Some dialogue credits go to Descendants of the Sun! (yes, this is a oneshot of a scene from it, bc I love that drama with my whole heart) 

Tags: Dedicating this to @sylvie-writes​ because she’s an absolute SWEETHEART. I LOVE YOU BB. go follow her!

"Hey, Y/N, check this out!"

You glanced up from where you were furiously typing away at the computer to see Peter with a wide grin on his face. "Hm?"

"Look what I found! Mr. Stark's old speaker set!" The teenager went around to behind the table and rolled out the speaker in front of you. "It was a bit souped up, but all it really needed was some TLC and here it is, good as new!"

"Found this old thing while he was cleaning up," Tony explained, "you wanna hook your phone up and give it a go?"

"Uh...sure, why not," you shrugged, standing up and pushing your seat in, making your way over to the two of them. You took your phone out of your pocket and plugged it in.

"Check, one, two," Peter spoke into the small microphone. "Check one, two, three. Hey! It's working!"

You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. "How old is this thing, anyway?"

"Older than me, that's for sure. Now play something!"

"Alright, alright. Let's see..." you scrolled through your playlists until you found the one you wanted, pressing 'play' and putting it on shuffle. "There."

"Fly Me To The Moon! May played it for me all the time when I was little," Peter exclaimed. "She always insisted I educate myself on older music. Now I'm glad she did."

Bucky and Sam stopped screaming at each other as they battled it out in Mario Kart, quieting down and humming to the beat as they held their controllers tightly. Wanda smiled to herself as she stirred the pot of soup on the stove, Bruce on the verge of falling asleep as he sipped his coffee at the kitchen island and read a news article on his phone. The energy within the compound seemed to lighten significantly as Frank Sinatra's soothing voice echoed off the walls.

You went out to the patio to relax, crossing your arms and closing your eyes as the sounds of chirping crickets and music mixed together in one soothing melody, the moonlight reflecting over the water. For a brief moment in time, you were at peace - and you relished in the temporary feeling of serenity. The 'city that never slept' was sleepy, for once. It wasn't all that late, but you were already beginning to succumb to fatigue's temptations.

But then, the song came to an end and switched off to something else.

"Hey, Steve. I hope this message never finds you because if it does...it means I'm most likely dead-" your all-too familiar voice came over the phone, thick with tears as you struggled to contain your sobs. "God, what am I even doing here? I have a gunshot wound that most likely pierced a vital organ so I'm just gonna bleed out here alone- why am I even doing this? I don't even know how much longer it'll be before you arrive with the evac team...so I just want to apologize in advance for not coming back to you like I promised. If I'd known I'd die in a foreign country, I would've lived a more carefree life instead of constantly worrying, like you always told me to just relax sometimes, I'm so, so sorry-"

Your eyes widened in realization and you rushed across the facility as fast as you could possibly go to the labs.

"Leaving words like this before dying is so uncultured- please, Steve...are you on your way? Please tell me you're on your way. If I'm really dying here I don't wanna die alone. Please hurry...I don't think I can last until you get here. Even so, you'll be the first to find me if I die, that is, if my corpse isn't dragged away or some shit like that - God, this hurts- I almost forgot how much it hurt to get shot...damn...I really underestimated the power of a bullet, huh?

Steve's bandaged fists fell to his sides, the punching bag swinging back and forth so wildly that it would've knocked him over if it weren't for his muscular figure. His brow furrowed in concern and he felt a small ache his chest upon hearing your voice crack - you never cried, and even if you did, which was extremely rare, you were good at hiding it from others.

But then a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips - you did ramble sometimes, and he found it rather adorable. It was, in fact, one of the main reasons why he admired you so much.

"FRIDAY? Where's the source of this audio?"

"It's playing from Mr. Stark's speaker in the lab, Captain," the AI responded.

"Thank you."

He unwrapped the tape from around his hands and exited the training facility, going into a light jog as he headed up to the lounge.

"If I knew that I'd die like this, then I would've told you my true feelings. That I'm in love with you and I really wished you'd kissed me when we were watching that movie together- it was Die Hard, wasn't it? I really wished you'd done something. We were sitting so close, and...I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was tempted to just run my hands through your hair and kiss you. And I almost did. I'm so in love with you, hopelessly in love with you...and if there's anything that scares me more than dying alone, it's probably thinking of a way to tell you, and the fear of being rejected by my best friend, my partner in crime-"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You were in love with him? He felt his heartbeat pick up speed at the thought. He always held that small bit of hope in his heart that you'd feel the same way.

Just as Steve arrived at the labs, you came bursting through the doors with a look of sheer panic in your eyes, your face drained of all color. You quickly unplugged your phone from the speaker as he watched on in amusement.

"Want some, Mr. Stark?" Peter offered through a mouthful of popcorn, holding the bag out to his mentor. "Seems like we're in for a treat here."

"Where'd you get these, kid?" Tony questioned as he reached over and popped several kernels into his mouth. "Mm. Caramel, a classic."

"I always keep some with me. Never know when drama will break out."

Steve laughed and shook his head as you quickly turned around on your heel and sprinted out of the room. It was so unlike you to act like this - normally you were rather guarded and stoic. To see you as anything but was not only amusing, but adorable in his eyes - it was one of the many things he loved about you, in fact.

"Music...really changes a lot of things," Peter cleared his throat awkwardly.

The super-soldier cracked a smile. "I seem to be in the center of that change."

He said a few quick goodbyes went to find you, as Peter and Tony continued enjoying their popcorn together.

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid, oh my god, why did I even record that damn message," you muttered, finding yourself going back outside again. You needed to clear your head and get away from Steve. The secondhand embarrassment you just knew was waiting for you was almost too much to even think about - what would he think of you now? What would everyone else think of you?

Steve had beaten you to it and was already out there, leaning against the glass railing  with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing an amused expression on his face.

"Oh my god! You scared me!" your voice heightened to a shriek. "What the hell, Rogers? How are you here? Why are you here?"

"I know you like the back of my hand, sweetheart," he chuckled lightly. "You always come out here whenever you're restless or stressed out. Figured you'd try to flee as soon as you heard," he gestured back inside, "all that."

"That was none of your business!" you squeaked. "It was a private message, not meant for you to actually hear! It wasn't for you!"

"Well, you did announce it, publicly," he defended himself, pushing himself away from the railing and raising his hands in surrender. "And it sounded like it was for me. You said my name."

"It wasn't for you!"

"Then why'd you say Steve?"

"It's a different Steve?"

"A different Steve with a stealth suit, Quinjet, and evac team?"

"Y-yeah! B-but it's really funny. Why are you listening to other people's recordings?'

"Like I said, doll," your face flushed at the nickname, "it was broadcasted publicly. I didn't listen, I heard."

"Because you heard it, you carelessly hear it all the way through?"

He smirked. "You know, you're really cute when you're upset." He smirked, taking several steps towards you. You instinctively stepped back. "But why are you running away? When you were about to die you wanted to confess." With each step he took, you took another backwards. "But since you lived, you changed your mind?"

"Confess? That wasn't a confession. That wasn't me."

"This cell phone is yours," he held up your hand that tightly gripped your phone.

"This isn't a phone- Y/N, what the hell are you saying? Stop talking," you cursed yourself under your breath.

"It's an honor knowing I'm in your will," he said kindly.

"If you know then that's enough," you exhaled, stepping around him to leave. Steve stopped you by placing a hand out in front, before moving it to grip your wrist. You felt your skin heat up rapidly under his touch.

You gasped. "Look! Thor set the toaster on fire!"

"I'm not fooled, sweetheart."

You moved to try and leave again, but he only tightened his grip. "Whether or not it was a confession, I'm going to listen to it, so let's not run away, shall we?"

You were silent for several moments before responding, swallowing hard. "Okay. I got it. I'll answer you so let go of me and let's talk. Really."

"Really, right?"

He obeyed, releasing his hand from your wrist. You quickly moved around him and ran back inside. Steve just laughed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

"She finally did it," Sam nodded in approval as he and Bucky finished their Rainbow Road deathmatch. "Good game, man."

"Yeah, good game," they shook hands, "but if I'm being honest...I didn't expect things to go down like that. If anything, Steve seems like he'd be the first to confess. The way they're dancing around each other like oblivious monkeys...damn."

"Couldn't have described it better."

...

You flopped onto your bed, panting heavily as you stared up at the ceiling. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt like passing out. Maybe I'll just die like this and I won't ever have to confess for real, you thought. That sounds much better than death by blood loss from a gunshot wound.

"Hey, darling."

You sat up and let out a short scream as you saw Steve leaning against your doorframe, that damn smirk still on his face. "What the hell? You can't just ambush me like that! How long have you been standing there for?"

"Long enough," he chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets and stepping inside. This time, you were too lazy to push him away, and just allowed him to sit down next to you at the edge of your bed. Steve propped his hand on his chin as he gazed at you, smiling.

You sighed and let your head fall into your hands. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Steve tilted his head in confusion. "How is this my fault?"

"Becau- never mind. I'm busy. I gotta go check up on the new lab I'm working on with Bruce."

You stood up abruptly, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist again. "I'm going to go to the labs, too. He asked me to help with a few things. I think you just found yourself an escort."

"I can go by myself, Rogers. I'm an adult," you gave him a pointed look.

"Ouch. That stung," he pretended to look hurt. "Last name calling? I thought we agreed on sappy pet names. And besides, you know what happened last time you went somewhere alone. You got shot."

"Whatever."

"Hold on," he tugged you back so that you had to sit down again. "Why do you keep running away from me? You confess your feelings in your will and then you run."

"It wasn't my will."

"You said you were scared to die alone."

"It wasn't me. Where is your bout of confidence even coming from?"

"I'm not asking how you feel about me at the moment. Don't feel bad that I found out how you feel about me. Because I'm in love with you too, and nothing can change the fact that I like you even more now."

You swallowed hard.

He smiled again. "And you look beautiful today, doll."

"Stop with the pet names," you mumbled. You couldn't stop the tremor in your tone as you spoke

"Hey hey hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Steve brought a hand up to your face, lightly skimming the tip of his thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away the tears that had fallen. "Hey. Tell me what's wrong, darling."

As soon as that last word left his lips, you lost it. A broken sob escaped from your mouth before you broke down, and he felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. Sure, he was lightly teasing you - but he didn't intend for his jabs to hurt you in any way. That was the last thing he wanted to do - to see you cry. He hated seeing you cry.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," he whispered, carefully wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him, rubbing circles onto your back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken the teasing so far. I'm so sorry, Y/N-"

It took nearly twenty minutes for your sniffles to die down and another ten for your crying to stop completely, but he patiently held you until you did. And when it finally stopped, it still took you several moments before you could bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"I look like a mess," you muttered, quickly ducking your head down to wipe at your nose. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this-"

"You look lovely, regardless," Steve murmured, kissing your forehead. "You'll always look beautiful in my eyes."

"You're such a sap," you mumbled, closing your eyes. "I hate you."

"You know you love me, Y/N."

"No I don't."

"That message told me otherwise. You sounded like you were pretty in love, judging by the desperate tone in your voice-"

"Shut up!"

"Make me," he challenged, a smirk appearing on his face.

You huffed and stood up, crossing your arms. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that, Rogers?"

"Watch your language-"

"Make me."

"Using my own words against me, are you?" Steve raised a brow as he stood up as well, walking towards you. You kept walking backwards until you felt your back hit the wall and internally panicked when you realized there was nowhere else to go.

"Shit," you whispered. "I'm not escaping this one, am I?"

"Not a chance," he chuckled wistfully. You felt your heart do somersaults and your stomach twist itself into knots as he met your eyes, a softened look to them that you'd never seen before - what was it? Just a few minutes earlier you'd find yourself squirming beneath his intense gaze but for some reason, you stayed put.

When his lips pressed against yours, you felt a crackle of electricity across your skin and the world fell away. It seemed as if time stopped and held its breath as it watched the two of you, his arm curving around your waist as his free hand rested at the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him. Though you were taken aback by the sudden gesture and terrified you wasted no time in reacting, sinking deeper into the kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips and fireworks exploded inside your chest - if there was a way to describe pure magic, this would definitely be it. And he felt it too - and he swore to himself that he'd never felt a bigger rush of adrenaline before until now.

You looked absolutely stunning to him in that moment as you pulled apart - with your half-closed eyes, reddened cheeks, and swollen lips - his doing, no doubt. Your gaze slipped down to his equally swollen lips and you felt your face flush at the sight. Steve was quick to catch what you were doing and pulled you back in for more.

This time, it wasn't as innocent and quick. It was more needy, passionate - months, no, years of pent-up frustration he didn't even know he had seeping into it. Years of not being able to tell you finally being poured out into one grand gesture - years of finally getting closure because he now knew the girl he'd loved for as long as he could remember felt the same way.

"Oh my fucking shit."

The two of you were practically gasping for air as you broke apart a second time to see a smug-looking Sam.

"You just- I didn't interrupted something between y'all, did I?" Sam cocked a brow. "Looked like you were this close to-"

"No," you exhaled, "we weren't."

"I'm a GENIUS for fixing that speaker! If I hadn't done so you guys never would've gotten together!" Peter squealed as he appeared by the Falcon's side. "I believe a thank you is in order!"

"I hope my timing isn't bad, but I have to ask," Steve cleared his throat and looked you straight in the eye. "that was a confession, right? And you didn't do it just because you felt compelled to. Be honest with me."

You let out a sigh of defeat. "Yeah...it was."

He broke into a gorgeous, million-dollar grin that made you weak at the knees. He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours as if he was going to kiss you again - but pulled back, much to your disappointment.

"I guess I'm the victor of this battle, huh," he whispered before releasing his hold on you and walking out, leaving you to stand there utterly shell-shocked and speechless as Peter and Sam began teasing you.

also for the kisses writing prompts, 2 of 2: i'm thinking #17 :)

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

(um this was a drabble bc I was having a lot of trouble existing today so please be kind ab it. This is totally unedited besides typos)

Martin hated the cold. It had been a long time since the Lonely, and most of that experience had been processed through therapy and quite a few broken plates. And he was fine, really he was, but the cold still sometimes caught him, chilled him deeper than any 0-degree day should. 

Today was not one of those days, thankfully. Martin was warm, bundled up in a thick coat, scarf, and hat, gloved hand enfolding Jon’s between them. The snow was falling thick and slow, and as it landed on Jon’s dark curls and stuck to his eyelashes, Martin’s heart only grew warmer. 

The afternoon had called to them, begged them to experience its natural beauty, and who were they to refuse? The park was a field of white, unmarred by footprints or the greyish sludge that comes with city winter. Martin’s camera, looped around his neck, beckoned him and he pointed with the hand that held Jon’s, drawing the other man’s arm up with his. 

“The tree?” he asked, “Just where those branches jut out? I think it’ll be a great shot.” 

Jon nodded, carefully stomping around the tree as to not disrupt the snow for the photo. Martin had practically begged him to be a subject for his photography class, only agreeing due to a lot of needling and more than a few bribes. Martin owed Jon quite a few cats one day. 

Martin almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing, tripod held limply in his grasp. Jon was a vision in red, stark against the white and brown of the tree. The dress he wore was elegant and form-fitting, flowing out the back. He reminded Martin of a cardinal, a vision in winter. Even though Jon seemed uncomfortable on his face, his body was the picture of elegance, lines sharp and corners soft as he tried to settle the long skirt around his snowboots, effectively hiding them.

“Martin?” Jon called, cheeks flushed from the cold and embarrassment of being so seen. “We ready?” 

Martin fumbled his way through an affirmation as he began to focus on his camera, lining up shots and calling for Jon to turn certain ways, angle his arms, not out, Jon, up, like you're floating!, and affirmed his every movement, trying to emphasize just how gorgeous Jon looked like this. 

Halfway through Jon’s face had gone from pink to red and his teeth were chattering so loudly that they cut through the city-quiet. “Alright, Jon, you're doing great, love. Let’s take a break.” He brought Jon’s coat to him and pulled it around his shoulders, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, careful not to muss Jon’s hair. Jon’s arms wound around Martin’s shoulders awkwardly at first while Martin’s cupped his waist, dipping his delicate bird with the care and tender firmness he deserved. 

When Martin felt cold and wet dripping down the back of his neck, assaulting his senses, he screeched, almost dropping Jon and compensated by gripping him tighter. “Jonathan fucking Sims!” He cursed his partner, swiping underneath his scarf with a free hand, trying uselessly to fling the already-melted snow out from his back. Jon was laughing outlandishly, eyes squeezed shut and struggling to breathe. “You prick!” Martin’s grip on Jon’s waist was firm and solid, and he trusted his strength, even as he dipped Jon lower until he was close to the ground, his curls brushing the snow beneath them. 

Jon squirmed, objecting between chuckles rippling out from him. “I-I, I couldn't resist,” he provided uselessly, as Martin scooped up a handful of snow. “You were being so fucking cute and annoying at the same time!” He shrieked as MArtin sprinkled the snow on his face, the look of malicious joy on his face unforgettable, on Jon only saw when Martin was feeling truly unstoppable.

“You’re useless,” Martin mused, voice full of love as he pressed the last bit of snow to Jon’s forehead and then kissed him, the cold and warmth passing between them so quickly he worried Jon may shatter like glass. He kissed away every last place he had sprinkled snow, warning away the frigid cold and lonely for as long as he could.

Martin hoped at least a few of the pictures were good. 

The Midnight Train (m)

Summary: It’s well known that Jungkook and Jimin are your willing blood bags. It’s a dangerous game, yet they’re so pliant in your hands, so eager to submit.

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader, Jimin/Reader

Warnings: smut fest, bloodplay, mild gore, edging, orgasm denial, cock rings, overstimulation, prostate milking, excessive amounts of biting and blood sucking lesgetit, unprotected sex (please use condoms!), handcuffs, bondage, some derogation, dirty talk, sub!jungkook, sub!jimin, dom!reader, basically pwp

Vampire!Reader, human!Jimin, human!JK

Length: 1.8k

Notes: HAPPY (belated) HALLOWEEN! This wasn’t a request, but something I sped through today to contribute some holiday spirit. I don’t usually do themed fics just bc I usually never put them out at a respectable time LOL hope you enjoy!

Playlist: SIREN | FAKE LOVE | The Truth Untold | Badbye

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You stare idly at the champagne flute in your fingers, thumbing the condensation absentmindedly as you lean back into your seat.

“Miss?” Your eyes trail up to meet the blushing gaze of the young flight attendant. He clears his throat as you regard him curiously. Your lips twitch at the resemblance, but you only grace him with a curt nod as you clear the table for the dinner tray.

“What would you like to drink today?” He asks, voice wobbly. His gaze is averted, likely intimidated by your cold beauty.

“Cranberry juice is fine,” you answer. His surprise is palpable and he nearly drops the glass as he fumbles with the bottle.

At your perceptible amusement, the attendant quickly finishes off your row, muttering unnecessary safety reminds before edging forward to the next pair of seats.

“Your meal waiting for you at home?”

You turn to the voice, meeting the sly, knowing look of your colleague. Your smirk was response enough as you twirled the silverware in your hand.

“I’ve always wondered,” she says, leaning in. “How do they taste?”

“Delectable,” you murmur, a thrill of wickedness seeping through your veins as you take a sip of your drink.

.

.

.

Jimin is the first to greet you as you unlock the door.

He bounds towards you, a happy grin on his face as he skids to a stop a feet away from you.

“Welcome back, noona,” he says softly, hands clasped behind him as his feet scuff the marble flooring.

Your breath blows out of you in a long exhale. “Hello, Jimin. Have you missed me?”

He nods, still shying away as he stares at the ground. “I missed you lots, noona. I always miss you when you’re gone.”

He winces almost immediately, flinching when you drop your suitcase. The clicking of your heels are loud, ominous with every step. His eyes are drawn to where you stand before him, but he stubbornly refuses to meet your gaze.

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

His teeth are caught in his lower lip as he chews it worriedly.

“I missed you too, baby boy,” you murmur. You can hear the way his heart speeds up at your words, and you know your irises are visibly ringed in crimson when the way he bravely steps closer.

“You must be thirsty,” Jimin offers, fingers already moving to unbutton his shirt.

“Ravenous,” you rasp. In a flash, you’re behind him, the breeze barely registering before you wrap an arm across his chest, his neck snapping to the side.

Your fangs sink into his skin, the sweet taste coating your tongue thickly as you swallow, moaning softly. He always tasted so delicious. A drug on its own, thick and heavy as it threatens to pull you under.

The toxins in your bite had Jimin trembling beneath you, desperately trying to still while your wandering fingers trail to his growing bulge, squeezing lightly.

“Hard already?” You smirk as you pull back, blood smeared across your lips as Jimin twists around to look at you with imploring eyes. You normally despise the mess that came with feeding, but you know Jimin loves it.

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve, shrugging it off and casually tossing the $3,315 Saint Laurent jacket aside as you took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

I told you not to be deceived

That the moment you take this hand, it’ll be dangerous

Jimin, a third year university student with crippling student debt and struggling to make ends meet in an independent lifestyle. A cliché and well-practised opportunity for a wealthy donor like yourself to step in and generously offer to cover all his costs—for a price. It was, he found, a delighted bonus that you were a pureblood vampire. He readily agreed to your terms and was more than happy to serve the role expected of him.

Silver hair, piercing charcoal eyes, body sculpted by the Gods themselves, his thighs. A beautiful specimen of mortality.

But more than that, he was gentle and kind. Always speaking and acting thoughtfully. Supportive and loyal to a fault.

The look you’re giving me when I’m so cold to you

The moonlight that shined on us is setting now

“Where’s Jungkook?” You murmur between kisses. You push him onto the mattress, pinning him down as you throw your leg over his torso, grinding down. You greedily swallow his breathless moan.

“He’s ah, writing an exam,” Jimin gasps, hips canting as you rip the offending clothing from his body, buttons scattering as you lean down to press a kiss over his heart. It hammers beneath your touch, skipping as you flick his nipple.

Can’t you see? Your hand that can’t let go

Is slowly getting red

Jungkook, a first year who was unfairly torn from his childhood to deal with his father’s involvement with the underground trade. If you hadn’t let a hand when you did, he would’ve dropped out entirely and moved to step into the same backend field despite his yearning and talents to be an artist. In him, you wanted to preserve innocence. You’d asked for nothing in return, and yet he insisted on compensation, gratitude pouring from his seams. Jimin was one of his closest friends, the reason for your introduction, and soon Jimin’s secret had become his own.

Chocolate tresses, doe eyes, an eight pack. The thighs. The epitome of masculine beauty.

But more than that, he was sweet and lively. Curious, as though exploring the world for the first time. Wildly competitive, instinctively protective of the people around him.

Now you’re bleeding, but are you still attracted?

You clearly know but why are you staring at me?

You know the exact moment Jungkook realizes. The door shuts quietly, imperceptible to all but your own ears, keys dropped on the table at the foyer. Your suitcase remains where it has been abandoned all day.

“Noona?” He calls, footfalls eager as he haphazardly chucks his bag aside to find you. You hide your grin as your thumb catches the slit of the cock in your hand, Jimin’s strangled cry alerting the younger man long before the both of you came into view.

“Hello, baby,” you utter softly. Jungkook is frozen at the entrance, irises already beginning to dilate as he takes in the sight before him. Jimin is splayed out against the comforter, looking fucked out and desperate as he begs you to let him come between slurred sentences. Bites litter his figure and Jimin looks so delirious Jungkook hardens instantly at the vision.

“You’re late.” The velvet edge to your voice jolts him to reality. He falls into it immediately.

“Please, let me make it up to you, noona,” Jungkook whispers. You survey him with a knowing glint and nod.

“Strip.”

He’s tied to the desk chair within the next minute, a cock ring fitted snuggly against his balls. You tap on the vibrations. His eyes roll back as the dry orgasm is ripped out of him.

You know

That I’ll hurt you

The beautiful me of your fantasies doesn’t exist

Your fangs scrape his inner thigh and he nearly cums again when you pierce his veins shallowly, the feeling of you drinking from him enough to have him writhing beneath your hold.

“How does it feel?” You purr. “Whoring yourself out to a vampire?”

“S-so good!” Jungkook mewls, fingers twisting in the silken sheets as he thrashed. “N-noona, please!”

“I want you to remember this,” you say. “What this felt like. What being with me feels like. How much pleasure I can offer you.”

“God, I love you, ___,” Jungkook sobs, eyes rolling back as he comes hard, semen staining his stomach and coating your hand.

The forest just for us, you weren’t there

The route I took, I forgot

“No more,” Jimin cries, tears leaking from his shut eyes as he babbles incoherently, his cock angry red and raw, yet he remains hard and so you pull orgasm after orgasm from him. His balls tighten as you clench around him.

“Please!” He screams as he comes again, choking on his spit as he throws his head back, nerves frayed. Agonized moans leak from his parted lips as he collapses into the sheets.

His eyes snap open as he feels a warm, wet heat engulf his sensitive tip, voice fraught and hoarse as he pants, fingers tangling in your hair as your fangs drag across his slit.

Jimin squeals, convulsing as whiteness blinds him, the force of his climax rendering him unconscious for a brief moment.

When he recovers enough to lift his head up weakly, he flops right back down, his dick twitching as blood rises once more at an embarrassingly and horrifyingly fast rate.

Jungkook, shamelessly humping your heat as he arches his neck for you. “One more,” he pleads, eyes wide and lips pouting. “Just one more, noona, please.”

Jimin hisses when his hand comes in contact with his raw, throbbing shaft.

His fingers claw at you, body twisting, and Jimin reaches his high as Jungkook’s hoarse cries echo through the empty manor.

Kill me, kill me softly

Have me be scattered as fragments

Their eyes are pleading you to give life to the words you could never speak. Are you asking me to stay?

So you don’t say anything. You leave the two mortals, trembling in the aftermath of your cruelty, exhausted and exchanging frantic, scared looks with one another. You know I would if you did.

You give yourself a quick run through the shower and wrap a towel around yourself, pausing to wet a cloth before returning to the bedroom.

Your deadened heart softens at the sight of their wrecked, tousled forms, their sleepy eyes blinking up at you as they struggled to remain awake.

Your fingers were gentle as you wiped their bodies off, careful at the multiple areas that have already begun to bruise, dabbing at the indents. They were drifting in and out, barely wincing when you pressed too hard.

“Just one night,” you whisper, kissing their foreheads.

But you all know that’s a lie.

I grew a flower that can’t be bloomed in a dream that can’t come true

edge (m)

➾ jeon jeongguk x reader

➾2.3k

➾ warnings: unprotected sex, oral, edging, breeding/ impregnation kink, sub!jeon, noona kink, ball play (whew)

➾ a pretty little anon suggested i start a breeding drabble series.... and so here i am :”) also tagging @94hixtape bc she was the one who keeps trying to make me a jeon hoe.... and inspired me to write sub!kook :@))))))

enjoy, friends :))))))

A loud slam of the door interrupts you as you’re typing halfway, and the sounds of belongings being scattered all over the hallway follows. Not even a minute later, Jeongguk peeks his head into the kitchen where you’re set up with your laptop, and judging by the look on his face, he’s had a hard day.

 Not as hard as you’re about to make him, though.

He sees you at work and starts to back away, the downcast expression on his face growing even more sombre. Jeongguk’s learned the hard way a few times not to disturb you while you’re working, but sometimes when he’s in one of his brattier moods, he likes to test your patience. But not today though, and that’s when you know something’s wrong. 

“Kook, come here,” you call out to him just as he turns away to head for the shower, and you swear you can almost see his entire body perk up with interest. “Bad day?”

At your invitation, he comes up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder, already nosing at the exposed skin of your neck. “One of the worst, noona.”

His sentence ends with a deep whine, and he never addresses you like this unless he wants to play, so you turn around and oblige him, giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek as you reach to massage his neck.

“Really, baby? What can noona do to make you feel better?”

Jeongguk doesn’t even hesitate this time, as his eyes light up at his favourite nickname. “I want noona’s mouth on my cock. Pretty please?”

Your eyes travel down his tall frame, and you realise that he’s wearing your favourite grey sweats, the one where you can see the outline of his cock if he doesn’t wear underwear. Reaching over to palm him through the thick material, you relish the feel of his soft cock. You’ve always liked touching him like this even if he’s not hard, it somehow feels a lot more intimate than you’d ever expect.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you reach into his waistband to wrap your hand around his soft dick, leading him to the bedroom with a firm grip on it. “Sit on the bed and take off your pants. Show noona how pretty your cock is like the dirty baby boy you are.”

Jeongguk pushes his sweats past his ass, his underwear following as he lets them pool at his ankles before sitting on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide automatically. He’s already beginning to harden in your hand, and it’s a little scary how fast he can get hard for you. In a matter of minutes, he’s already almost at full length, precum already dribbling from his tip.

You reach to cup his balls, rolling them in your palm and admiring how heavy they are. “When did you last cum baby? Your balls feel really full.” 

“T-two weeks ago,” Jeongguk’s breath is already starting to shorten as you work his pearly liquid over his tip.

His answer makes your core throb, and you can’t help but give his balls a gentle squeeze. “That long ago? That means you have a nice big load for noona today right?”

Jeongguk’s thighs are twitching as he watches you give an open mouth kiss to his tip before laving your tongue from his base up. He’s too preoccupied with the sight of your red lips around his cock to remember to answer, so you pinch his inner thigh in punishment.

“Fuck, ah! Yes, I have so much cum for noona now ahhhh,” he moans when you squeeze the base of his cock, increasing the speed of your strokes.

Giving him a sweet smile, you spit on his dick to get everything extra messy. “I guess I’ll have to work extra hard for that load, would you like that babyboy?”

“P-please, noona,” a choked sob comes from deep in his chest, so you take pity on him and swallow his cock down your throat, giving an extra tug on his heavy, full balls as your nose reaches his base.

You know how much Jeongguk loves it when you deepthroat him, so you give him a few good swallows. You can hear his breathing get even more laboured above you, and when you glance up to make eye contact, his forehead is already matted with sweat, and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip. Pulling off his cock with a deliciously obscene sound, strings of saliva and precum drip down your chin, but you know Jeongguk appreciates the mess even more than you do.

Pumping him harshly, you take a few deep breaths before sliding him back down your throat, making sure to let his head hit the back of your sensitive throat even as you continue to massage his balls. Jeongguk gives a few desperate thrusts under you, and you pull back to glance at him, reaching for one of his hands and threading it in your hair.

Jeongguk automatically knows what this means as he guides your mouth back down his cock, having been given permission to touch you now. His other hand reaches to lift your shirt over your breasts, palming the lace bra over your tits as his hips thrust home, burying his cock deep down your throat.

He spreads his legs wider as he forces your mouth down on him till he can hear you gagging, but he always knows just how much you can take. You allow him a few good thrusts into your mouth before you place both hands on his inner thigh and pull away. Jeongguk easily relents, but keeps his grip in your hair as he pants down at you, eyes watery and lips thick and swollen.

“Does my babyboy want to cum?” You whisper against his inner thigh, taking one of his balls into your mouth and suckling on it.

“Fuck, please noona, I haven’t cum in so long. I’ve been such a good boy.”

“Really?” You draw away from him, continuing to pump him up and down. “Where do you want to cum baby?”

“In your mouth,” Jeongguk answers automatically, and you take him back into your mouth, tongue dancing over his length playfully. “Fuck, noona, your mouth is so good, you look so good sucking my cock like this.”

He gives a few shallow thrusts into your mouth, and you can feel his length throbbing in your mouth, a sure sign that he’s about to cum down your throat. You ease up on your pace, pulling your lips off his messy length and squeezing his base hard till he stops throbbing, and then take him back in your mouth.

His salty precum is dripping down your chin, and just when he’s close to shooting his load, you pull back again, and Jeongguk lets out a frustrated sob.

“You better not cum in my mouth, noona doesn’t feel like swallowing cum today,” you warn him with a harsh squeeze to his balls as you begin to swallow him down again.

Jeongguk looks down at his cock buried deep in your throat with wide, desperate eyes, pleading for you to let him cum as he tightens his grip in your hair. Just to push him a little further, you sink all the way to his base, nose buried in his abs and swallow hard. You can feel his thigh muscles tense around you as he sobs out loud above you, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay.

After a particularly loud whine, you pull off his cock, only to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Noona, please,” he whimpers, cock twitching. “I’m so hard, I really need to cum.”

You reach over to wipe the tears from his cheeks, pushing him to sit back on the bed as you straddle his slim hips. “You’ve been such a good babyboy, just wait a little longer, can you do that?”

He nods, blinking back tears as you peel off your shirt and lounge shorts. His hands automatically reach for the back of your bra, and you allow him to unhook it. Jeongguk palms your breasts greedily for a few seconds before he reaches for your panties and pushes them down your thighs.

“Do you want noona to ride your pretty little cock?” You reach for him and slide his head against your drenched folds, feeling his thick mushroom head against your clit.

“Yes, fuck,” he throws his head back, exposing the column of his throat as one of his hands grabs your ass cheek. “Wait, noona, we’re all out of condoms. Did you remember to get more?”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, continuing to rub him against your clit. “But we don’t need them today babyboy, we’re going to play a game.”

“Wh-what game, noona?” His breath catches as he feels his tip slide into you ever so slightly.

“I’m going to ride your cock bare like this, and I won’t stop till I cum. And you’re not allowed to cum while I’m riding you, unless…” Your voice trails off. 

“Unless what, noona?”

“Unless you want to get your noona pregnant,” you whisper in his ear, feeling his grip around your waist tighten immediately. “I forgot my pill yesterday, so if you cum inside me…”

The consequences are left unspoken, but you can almost feel the way Jeongguk’s cock throbs even harder at the thought of breeding you, and there’s a gush of precum that drenches your inner thighs. Without giving him a second more to think about this rationally, you drop your weight into his lap, sliding his cock deep into your pussy.

“Fuck, ahhh, noona, I can’t,” he sobs immediately, hips bucking into you. “You edged me so many times already, I can’t hold back.”

“You better not cum inside your noona,” you warn him as you swivel your hips, walls clenching around him extra tight. You bite his earlobe harshly even as you slam your weight down hard, feeling his cock split you apart from the inside. You can feel how hard he is inside you, and the thought of him cumming inside you has you extra wet. “I don’t want to get pregnant, so you better not cum inside.” 

“Noona, please hurry and cum,” Jeongguk is caught in a dilemma, whether he should thrust his cock into your soaked depths to try and make you cum quicker, which would almost certainly push him towards his high as well. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Shhh, just a few more strokes, babyboy…” You soothe him with a kiss to his cheek, brushing back his damp hair from his forehead as you glide up and down his cock. You can’t help but to reach down and grab his balls from under you, closing your eyes with a moan as you wonder exactly how much cum he has for you.

“Noona, noona!!” His voice is laced with panic as you start to ride him hard, grinding your clit on him as he grips your ass tight. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, noona, get off!”

“Not until I cum, babyboy,” you remind him even as you bury his cock deep inside you, opting to grind on him instead. You can feel the head of his cock poking at your cervix, and the slight pain pushes you toward your orgasm. “Don’t cum inside me.”

You tug on this balls as you say this, and with a panicked shout, Jeongguk’s arms are around your waist as he tugs you down to his chest, laying you flat on him before he grabs your ass with both hands, thrusting frantically into your pussy.

“Fuck, noona I’m cumming,” he whimpers helplessly, cock pistoning in and out as you feel warm jets of cum against your womb. The sensation of him filling you up pushes you over the edge as well, and your walls convulse around him, seeking to milk him dry of every single drop.

“That’s a good boy, give noona all your cum,” you moan as you massage his balls again, squeezing extra tight with your walls. “There’s so much, are you still cumming babyboy?”

 Your pussy feels so full, and dribbles of cum are running down his length and over his balls as Jeongguk gives you a few last weak thrusts. You lay there contently, cheek against his chest as his warmth fills you up, and when he begins to soften inside you, you arch your back to let him slip out of you, and that’s when you feel his thick cum start to pool at your gaping pussy. You wish you could see the way cum is dripping out of you in a thick stream, and you reach back to push it back inside your walls. 

“Did you just cum inside your noona?” You glance at him, and he’s panting for breath with his eyes closed. Cum is still leaking out of your well fucked pussy even as you try to squeeze your walls to keep it in, and you realise that he was telling the truth, and you just took two weeks worth of semen deep in your womb.

“I’m sorry noona,” Jeongguk chokes out, chest still heaving. “I-I didn’t mean to, it’s just, you felt so good.”

“Shh baby,” you shush him as you press your lips to his briefly, feeling his breath slow as you comfort him with gentle strokes of his cheek. “I lied just now.” 

“About what?” Jeongguk draws back, arms around your waist as he hugs you close to him.

“Noona wanted you to cum inside, so it’s not your fault.” You slide your cum drenched pussy back onto his soft cock even as you whisper to him, “I want your baby.”

Jeongguk freezes for a good few seconds, registering your words. Suddenly, he flips you onto your back, holding your legs up high to make sure his cum doesn’t leak out. But his cum is so thick that what’s escaped didn’t even make it onto the sheets, just on a trail down your inner thighs, so he presses it back inside you with tender fingers.

“Lay back, noona, I’ll make sure you’re pregnant before the night ends.”

(Aza shows just how much he’s improved since starting to find healthier coping mechanisms - and seeing the closest thing to a therapist in ffxiv - and that Aymeric has some issues of his own too...

i.e i just felt like writing this bc i was in weird mood)

Stone Vigil was a hot mess.

That was Aymeric’s eventual assessment as wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his nose stinging with the near overpowering stench of dragon blood. With the revelation of Ishgardians carrying a trace of Dragon’s blood, it was standard practice for knights at risk of combat to cover their mouths and nose with a facial mask. Whilst it protected them from accidental ingestion, it made fighting a lot more uncomfortable.

Aymeric’s own facial mask was damp from condensation, and he irritably tugged it down beneath his chin, keeping his bloodied fingers away from his mouth. They were ambushed on one of the exposed corridors that led to the strongroom near the rear of the vigil, and he tentatively eyed the scorched stone and stress cracks running along the wall and floor where the dragons had barrelled through.

This corridor was going to collapse long before they finished fixing and reinforcing it. How many attacks had this vigil endured, now? They had reclaimed it due to Aza’s help, but the weakened walls, compromised foundations, as well as the insistent skirmishes, were making it more of a dangerous burden than a strategic reclamation. Their manpower was already stretched thin between the territory they already held and fulfilling their commitments to the Eorzean Alliance, that they couldn’t do anything more than keeping Stone Vigil by their mere fingertips. It was… frustrating, to say the least, to go through the depressing cycle of fighting back a dragon skirmish, fixing the damage done in said skirmish… only to go through it all over again a week or two later.

It was causing a lot of grumblings in the House of Lords, grumblings Aymeric could ill afford right now. He needed to find some way to break this vicious cycle…

“Lord Commander,” an exhausted knight pulled up next to him, drawing him out of his thoughts, “All men are accounted for and the dragons are completely routed. However, the corridor has taken extensive structural damage, so it’s been suggested by the engineers to relocate to a more stable location, sir.”

“Understood. Thank you, Knight,” Aymeric said distractedly. The knight saluted and dismissed himself – to be swiftly replaced with a much more welcome presence.

“Well, that was fun,” Aza said in the tone that implied it was the exact opposite, “I sure do love fighting dragons in cramped, narrow hallways while tripping over a hundred bumbling knights.”

“Yes, yes, you could have killed them all single-handedly,” Aymeric said with a quiet huff, “Unfortunately, they didn’t give us a chance to politely excuse ourselves from your magnificent presence.”

“How rude of them,” Aza tutted, slouching his shoulders in a near-comical exaggeration.

Aymeric looked him over, taking in his partner’s relaxed, satisfied posture. For all his belly-aching, he seemed to have found the fight invigorating enough to be in a good mood. There was blood speckled against his cheek, as well as thick, drying streaks of dragon’s blood smeared across his breastplate. The cloying smell of so much blood was beginning to make him feel ill, a nausea he ignored with some difficulty.  

“Anyway,” Aza said, straightening up and giving him a small smile, “I keep being heckled to move to ‘someplace safer’, so…?”

“The corridor’s structural integrity is unreliable at best, so, yes, best we move,” Aymeric confirmed, gesturing for Aza to start skedaddling. His partner did so, and they started to pick their careful way down the corridor. Debris and chunks of masonry threatened to trip them, and the cracked floor was slick with half-frozen blood and ice. Dragon corpses lay sprawled in the narrow space, all of them sporting the downy feathers of immature Aevis. Very young dragons, remnants of Nidhogg’s crazed brood.

It made Aymeric tired to think on it. He had naïvely thought that Nidhogg’s death would bring about the end of this, but the dragon’s brood stubbornly and insistently dashed themselves on Ishgard’s walls. They were too disorganised, too few and too weak to have any long-damaging effect, yet still they persisted. Did they intend to fight them down to the very last dragon pup? Didn’t they want peace at all, or was vengeance all they had left?

“You’re quiet,” Aza noted once they were two thirds down the corridor, “Something on your mind?”

“Mn,” Aymeric pushed those worries away, “No, I’m just tired.”

“Well, in that case,” Aza began, “We-”

“DRAGON!” Someone yelled, then-

The warning came a split second too late. Before Aymeric even processed it, before he even had a chance to whirl on the exposed side of the corridor – the Vigil violently shook beneath his feet hard enough that he almost staggered into Aza. A grinding cracking noise thrummed all around him, the groaning of stone pushed to the very limits, a very, awful, lurching feeling in his belly when he felt the stone floor shift beneath his feet, pale brick dust half-blinding him from the force of whatever the hell just rammed into the corridor-

In that frozen split-second, Aymeric’s mind processed several things at once.

The monstrously huge Aevis determinedly clawing its way into the narrow corridor, having rammed headfirst into the structure with the blind, maddened fury of a rabid animal. The chips of stone flinging everywhere as its claws tore at everything. The cracks of stressed masonry literally falling apart. Hot embers choking the air. The abrupt, terrifyingly cold knowledge of there is a thousand fulm drop beneath our feet and-

And by pure, beautiful, sheer instinct, Aymeric blindly lunged sideways into Aza, just as the floor gave way beneath their feet.

---

Aza weighed too much.

It was an awful, terrifying thought to have in that moment. Aymeric’s shoulder was a hot throb of agony, strained past its limit as he balanced dangerously, perfectly on the very edge of the massive hole that just opened in the corridor. Around him was yelling and shouting and the furious, pained howls of a dragon. Aymeric’s mind frantically pushed away all that noise and focused on his numbing fingers clenched tight around Aza’s forearm, the way the edge of the half-crumbled floor dug into his belly, the way he could feel gravity plucking at him, trying to tease him over and to tumble into that fucking terrifying expanse of steel grey below. It was taking all his core strength and weight to stop himself from sliding forwards, helped by the fact that Aza did not struggle or flail or do anything any sane man would’ve done when finding himself a thousand fulms above ground.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Aza was saying, his voice breathless and strained but calm. A dragon roared somewhere, “You’re good, Aym. You’re good. Just hold on.”

“I… am…” he forced out in a curt grunt, his free hand pressing hard into the stone when he felt himself almost slip forwards a damning half-ilm. His shoulder was on fire. He was losing strength in his grip. Fuck, he might’ve pulled something when stopping his partner’s very rapid descent, “Aza, I can’t… you’re t-too…”

“If you say ‘you’re too heavy’,” Aza laughed a little wildly, reaching up with his free hand to grip Aymeric’s bicep, “No, it’s good. I can- I can get myself up. Just- just stay like that, handsome, okay? It’s okay. Just stay there.”

The entire corridor felt like it heaved, masonry cracking somewhere out of sight. A flare of heat at his back, everything lighting up in a glow that reflected in Aza’s eyes. His partner was disturbingly calm. Aymeric was… calm. His mind compartmentalised everything, broken up into manageable chunks to deal with later. He focused on; Aza, his weight, his shoulder, the steel grey sky below their feet. Everything else was boxed up and put away. Later. Focus.

“I’m really sorry,” Aza said to him, “This is probably going to hurt a lot.”

Then, with an abrupt yank on his arm, almost making Aymeric’s vision go white with pain, Aza hauled himself up from sheer upper body strength alone, his fingers gripping hard into his shoulder, the other hand – the stone edge. Blindly, Aymeric gripped at him, shuffling back and half-dragging, half-holding as Aza scrambled and crawled over the edge onto solid ground. Semi-solid ground. Everything was still trembling.

“Phew! Okay!” Aza said shakily, giving him a wobbly smile, his face alarmingly pale, “It’s good. We’re all good. You did good, Aym, you’re amazing, holy shit, thank the Twelve for your fast reflexes, okay? Okay, so- oh, fuck, I forgot about the dragon-”

Aymeric, on his knees, still honed into that calm, focused edge, turned to see the Aevis reeling from one smart knight aiming a still functioning Bertha cannon into its face. It screeched, writhed, wildly spraying spluttering fire, sending knights scattering with shouts.

“Oi!” Aza roared, his near-death experience instantly forgotten as he leapt to his feet and charged forwards, “Fuck off, you stupid lizard-”

Aymeric knelt there for a few seconds, then quietly stood on weak legs and gripped his sword hilt with a trembling hand. He took that moment, boxed it up, and put it into the back of his mind for later. He followed his partner a moment after, grip steady and sure on his blade.

---

It hit him when they were back in Ishgard.

He was sitting on the sofa of their living room, well, sprawled more like, bone-weary and his shoulder aching. He’d lightly torn a muscle, according to the chirugeon, and whilst a dash of healing magic recovered the worst of it, he was told to do only light exercise for a few days. Aza, of course, acted like his arm had been ripped off and stitched back on again, and refused to let Aymeric handle anything heavier than the house key.

Despite the fact he’d been the one to almost die today.

Then, it hit him.

It hit him that Aza had almost died.

This wasn’t anything new. Aza almost died all the time. But it was always out of sight, something he heard about and never really saw with his own eyes. He saw Aza, injured and limping, wincing from serious wounds but alive and well enough to grumble and whine about it. It was different to hear ‘Aza almost died again’, different than actually, physically, holding his partner from the very jaws of death, to know that if he had been too slow, or if his grip slipped, or if he fell over too, or if the dragon had turned its attention to them, or if, or if, or if.

It hit him, that Aza could have very easily been one of those. Aymeric saw many of them, during the height of the Dragonsong War. Of knights plucked up and dropped several hundred fulms, to dash against the rocks. Of ‘heretics’ forced to leap from Witchdrop and having their bodies paraded through the Holy See, lauded as loyal martyrs who proved their faith by willingly leaping into Halone’s halls (as if they weren’t thrown, begging and pleading for mercy). As Lord Commander, Aymeric had stood and watched far too many of those, seen to many of those, scraped up too many of those, and even after twenty years of witnessing them he still felt clammy and nauseous whenever he had to look at those broken things.

Because, they were never bodies at the end. They became smears, stains, pulp, rather than corpses. Even just thinking about it made his pulse unsettlingly fast. To imagine it as Aza-

Aymeric shifted to lie down on the sofa instead. He felt a swell of nausea rise in his throat, and he clasped his hands over his belly, feeling the fingers tremble as he very carefully prodded at that bone-deep fear. He understood himself. He knew how he worked through moments like these. He had a system to compartmentalise his trauma and feelings and emotions and work through them piecemeal by piecemeal. Only. He did that by himself. Normally.

There was none of that here. Aza was in the kitchen. He could hear him lightly singing in that lilting, odd language of the Steppes. For some reason hearing it made his throat clench up and he had to take a very deep, long breath. Eventually Aza will have to come out of the kitchen and will know something was up. Aymeric wasn’t hypocritical enough to hide it from him either.

Something prickled at him uncomfortably – Aza was messing up his routine, something said anxiously, but that wasn’t meant to be a bad thing, was it? No, it wasn’t. He should be relieved and fucking happy Aza was here and not a Fury-damned smear somewhere. Still, anxiety lingered and gave birth to guilt. It just tangled up together in a very confusing jumble and he found himself unsure on how to pick it apart. This was going against his usual system and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t know how long he spent staring up at the ceiling, very carefully pushing down the burning tight feeling in his throat and chest. It was, rationally, a silly thing to be getting upset over now. Aza didn’t die. Dwelling over what ifs was useless. He should just be content that it all ended well and, honestly, he needed to get a fucking grip.

Still, emotions and rationality rarely, if ever, went hand in hand.

It took him a moment too long to realise Aza wasn’t singing anymore. The very second he noticed that, his partner leaned over the back of the sofa and into his line of sight. He looked worried.

“Aym?” Aza said warily, “I called your name like, five times. Did you fall asleep with your eyes closed?”

“…no,” Aymeric said roughly, “I’m having a moment.”

“Um,” Aza wavered, clearly not expecting that, “A moment? Like, a bad one?”

“Yes.”

Aza said nothing for a moment, then went, “Okay. Budge over.”

Aymeric budged over, but there was barely any room on the sofa anyways when Aza climbed over the back of it and wedged in the narrow space. Aza was half-sprawled on top of him, but Aymeric curled his arms around him and pressed his nose into Aza’s hair and smelled the lingering smell of metal, oil, sweat and brimstone. It wasn’t a very nice smell, but it was an Aza smell. That was enough.

Aza gently nosed at the crook of his neck, his hand resting on his aching shoulder and very lightly pressed his thumb against the tense muscle. It ached, teasing slightly into pressure pain, but Aymeric didn’t mind. His breath caught in his chest, shuddering audibly.

“You upset about today?” Aza asked him quietly, tilting his head enough to kiss the pulse point in his throat, “About us nearly falling?”

“A little,” Aymeric murmured, hating how his voice came out all strangled, “I almost dropped you.”

“But you didn’t,” Aza told him gently, “You caught me. Okay? You caught me, it’s all good.”

“I know. I shouldn’t be upset, but…” Logically, he understood that he caught Aza and everything was fine. Emotionally, he kept imagining Aza as one of those smashed up corpses and felt ill and clammy at the near ‘what-if’. It was exhausting and annoying. Around this point he would find some work to tunnel-vision on and work himself to the point of falling into a dreamless sleep. Probably not a healthy way of dealing, thinking on it.

“… Lucia tells me,” Aza began after a short pause, “That sometimes our brains are dumbasses and makes you feel stupid things, but those stupid things are still valid. So, you might feel dumb for feeling upset about me almost dying, because, well, I’m obviously not dead, but it’s still a valid feeling. If… that is what’s worrying you.”

“Lucia said that, in those exact words?” Aymeric asked, finding a whisper of humour in him somewhere.

“Shut up. I’m paraphrasing, you asshole,” Aza muttered, then continued in a slightly nervous tone, “I just mean, um, I don’t think you’re stupid for being upset about it. And, I won’t judge. I’ll just keep reminding you that I’m okay, in case your brain forgets, and you deal with it at your pace, okay?”

Aymeric was quiet for a moment, briefly stunned. Lucia was a very good influence and an effective pseudo-therapist, what the hell. He needed to give that woman a raise.

“Alright,” he said, “I’m very upset.”

“About dropping me?”

“Imagining you… if you dropped.”

“Mn. That sounds like it’d be messy.”

“It is…” Aymeric said a bit listlessly, “I’ve seen many knights or supposed ‘heretics’ die from fatal falls. It is… it is never a clean death. Some, they must have died on impact. A grim fortune for them, I suppose, but the afterwards, is… for those who needs to pick up the pieces…”

Aza nuzzled his throat, distracting him from the very uncomfortable, queasy clench in his gut, “Let’s not talk about that,” his partner murmured against his skin, lightly kissing his fluttering pulse point, “It’s making you all clammy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Aza sighed, “S’okay, Aym. Maybe we should talk about something nicer? You need a break, it sounds like.”

Aymeric took a moment to consider if he wanted to do that. He felt too tense and weary to really… no, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He was too tired and sore, too mentally drained. A break was needed.

“…did you see Lord Dounon’s atrocious hat the other day?”

“Ugh, you mean that ugly fucking pancake that’s sitting on his head?” Aza scoffed lightly, “Unfortunately.”

“I almost broke a rib trying not to laugh whilst staring at it.”

They spoke a little longer on a few Lords’ unfortunate fashion choices, but eventually exhaustion began to win its war against Aymeric. He failed to stifle a yawn mid-sentence, his eyelids drooping shut. He was so tired, and he grumbled when Aza laughed and cooed at him and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Take a catnap, handsome,” Aza told him, “Then you can shower the stink off you, eat something and face the day a bit more refreshed. I can call Lucia over too, if you want.”

That actually sounded tempting… and leagues better than what he would’ve done if left to his own devices, which was work himself to exhaustion and wake up hungry and groggy and unhappy, “Are you cooking?”

“Yup. Gonna make pancakes – if you go to sleep now.”

Aymeric muttered about tyrants, but Aza just laughed at him and kissed his nose again.

Like this, it was easy enough, to compartmentalise, take a breath – and relax. The anxiety was still there, but… it was better. Just a little. Just enough.

unbroken (steve harrington x reader)

word count: juuust shy of 2k

warnings: angst, fluff, language! i swear, you guys: in real life i’m SO prim and proper, but for some reason i curse like a frickin’ sailor when i write lmao

preview: “‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to feel like regular people again?’

‘I don’t know. But I do know one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I know that I love you, and I’ll always do everything I can to make you feel safe.’”

A/N: hi friends!!! this is just a little one-shot thingy (set some time after the end of season 2) that i randomly thought of whilst in the middle of writing something else, so i took a break and jotted this down. is jotted the past tense of jot? idk. anyway, sorry this is so short!!! also FORGIVE ME if i sound completely clueless about guns (there’s one mentioned in here) bc i’m very anti-gun (we need gun control NOW) so I don’t know anything about them. had to google “how do guns work? i’m a writer” and now the nsa is probably watching me. it’s fine! nsa, if you’re reading this, i’m literally just a clueless teenage writer. oh and enjoy my story! :) lol what if while i was writing this, the gov’t just broke down my door and took me away? that would be so

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your fingers shaking as you struggle to wrangle your hair into a tight french braid. You’ve got the handset of your phone jammed between your ear and your shoulder. It’s ringing, ringing, ringing. “Pick up the goddamn phone, Harrington,” you whisper through your teeth. You wait, but you hear nothing. Nothing but more fucking ringing. You finally finish your braid and tie it off, and then you grab the phone and slam it as hard as you can back onto the receiver.

Because of all of the crazy, unbelievable, and traumatizing shit you’ve been through, you and your boyfriend Steve have made each other an unbreakable promise: you call each other every night, no exceptions. No. Exceptions. Before this deal was brokered, you would both lie awake every night worried that the other was in danger, or hurt, or worse. Some might say you two were paranoid. Well, some haven’t been to hell and back. Some haven’t been attacked by literal monsters. Some haven’t watched the person they love almost die—multiple times. It’s not paranoia if the danger is real, so the nightly calls help you both sleep better. You can’t possibly go to bed in peace without hearing Steve’s voice. This is the first night in eight months that he hasn’t answered you on the first ring. So, you think to yourself, you’re going to his house right now. And you’re going to be prepared.

Irrational. Irrational. Irresponsible and irrational. That’s all you can think as you run from your bedroom to your basement, but your brain can’t seem to stop your feet from carrying you directly to your father’s safe under the stairs. You know the code. “For emergencies,” your dad had said when he gave it to you (right after the news about Will Byers’ disappearance spread through town). It’s your mother’s birthday. You’re so keyed up that it takes you four tries to get it open, but once you’re in, you grab the .45 without hesitation. It feels cold, foreign, and wrong in your hand. Good, you think. You would’ve been far more unnerved if it’d felt right.

There’s a glaring flaw in your plan: you don’t know how to shoot a gun. Shoving the pistol into the pocket of your jacket, you speed back to your bedroom (taking great care not to wake your sleeping parents), launch yourself at the phone, and hurriedly dial your best friend’s number. Her dad’s a cop and you know for a fact she’s been to the shooting range with him once or twice. She picks up instantly. “Hey Y/N, what’s up?” You take a deep breath and force a smile that you hope she’ll be able to hear through the phone.

“Heyyy, Grace! So, I’m writing a short story and I have a question for you.”

“Shoot!” You cringe at her remarkably apropos word choice.

“Can you… can you explain how to use a gun? One of my characters uses one and, uh, you know me: total perfectionist. Gotta make my work accurate!”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. You tap your foot anxiously, glancing over at the clock on your nightstand. It’s 10:06, four minutes since you last called Steve. A lot of shit can go down in four minutes. Your head starts to spin. She finally responds.

“This is for a short story?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of gun is it? In your story, I mean.”

“It’s a .45.”

She sighs heavily. “There’s a little lever thing on the grip. That’s the safety. Switch it down, aim, and pull the trigger.”

You know she’s suspicious. She doesn’t know anything about what you and the others went through, but she knows you’ve suddenly lost the ability to go anywhere by yourself, you haven’t turned off the lights in your room since last November, and you jump whenever someone shuts their locker a little too hard. She’s probably very scared, and you feel sick with guilt. You can’t think about that right now, though. All you can think about is Steve.

“Gracie, I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting. You know you’re a terrible liar, Y/N/N. Whatever the hell you’re doing, you better be careful.”

“I will be. Don’t worry.”

You hang up, frantically leap to your feet, and grab the first pair of shoes that you see (actually, you just grab the first two shoes you see, which is how you ended up in one black boot and one brown one). You slide open your bedroom window. It’s pitch dark and raining hard outside, so that should make the climb down the drainpipe a whole lot more interesting. Luckily, you make it to the ground with minimal injuries. You rush to your car and reach into your pocket for your— “FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!” You whisper-scream as you realize your pocket contains nothing but your dad’s gun. Suddenly, you remember where your keys are: locked in the fucking car. You did it this afternoon when you got home from school and promptly forgot about it. You absolute IDIOT.

Well, you think to yourself with a humorless chuckle, desperate times call for… throwing a rock through your window. After a quick search, you lift up a sizable stone from the street and lob it as hard as you can at your passenger window. It shatters with an ear-splitting crash. You glance up at your parents’ bedroom window to make sure they didn’t hear, and breathe out in relief when you see that the light’s still off. They’re gonna kill you when they find out, but at this moment, you couldn’t care less. You reach into the car to open the door from the inside, and in your haste, you slice open your forearm on a jagged piece of glass. “God-FUCKING-damn it,” you screech, feeling faint as you watch your jacket sleeve turn dark red. Great! Just great.

Shaking your head, you quickly brush the window shards off the passenger seat, climb inside, and clamber over to the steering wheel. Jamming the keys into the ignition, you stomp on the gas and speed off down the street. Your goal is to cram the fifteen minute drive to Steve’s house into a mere five minutes. You hope that neither the blood loss nor the anxious tears in your eyes ruin that plan.

You’re there in seven minutes. You pull into the driveway and slam hard on the brakes, tires screeching as you come to a jolting halt. Immediately, you pull the gun out of your pocket, stumble out of the car, and run up to the house—oh my god, why are all the lights off?—without bothering to shut off your car’s engine or even close the door. When you reach Steve’s front door, you knock about a million times. Your mind is jumping to horrific conclusions and you’re powerless to stop it. You hold your breath when you hear movement inside. You hold your father’s pistol tighter, going over Grace’s instructions in your head just in case: turn safety off, aim, pull trigger.

Fortunately, you don’t need to use any of that information because your boyfriend opens the door a moment later, his car keys in his hand and a worried look on his face. “Steve,” you choke out, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief. He looks you up and down, eyes widening in concern when he sees the gun in your shaking hand, the blood soaking through your sleeve, and the fact that you’re drenched with rainwater. He knows you well enough to know exactly why you’re here. “Y/N, baby, oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t call. This storm’s knocked out all the phone lines and the power on my street. I was just about to drive over to your place.” You don’t say anything. You just drop the gun and throw your arms around him. He pulls you close without hesitation. “Are you okay?” You nod into his chest, mumbling, “I am now.”

He leans back just enough to look into your eyes, leaving his arms around your waist. “Do you wanna tell me why you’re still crying, then?”

“I’m not crying,” you sob.

He breathes a laugh, sitting down on the front step and gently pulling you down with him. You’ve started shivering, and he notices. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he says softly before he sprints into the house. He returns in seconds with that thick wool blanket that’s always draped over the back of his living room sofa. He knows it’s your favorite. He drapes it over your shoulders and sits back down next to you. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Y/N/N.”

He wraps his arm around you and you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I hate living like this,” you whisper. “I hate that this happened to us. I just want to go back to normal. This is—this is too hard.” He tenses. “By ‘this,’ do you mean us? Do you… not want to be together anymore?” You remember that conversation you had a few months ago about how bad Nancy messed him up, how he doubts himself as a boyfriend, how he has a debilitating fear of you not loving him. You sit up straight and tenderly place your hands on either side of his face, staring deep into his eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be with you, Steve. I love you so much. This isn’t about my feelings for you at all—those will never change.”

Steve nods, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry. I know you love me, I do, and I love you, but I just—” He starts to ramble, so you gently interrupt. “No, it’s okay! God, you’re so sweet. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I know you, I care about you so much, and I’m not going anywhere. Loving you isn’t the thing that’s hard.” You look down. “It’s—it’s living in constant fear that I’m gonna lose you.” Your voice breaks, and he pulls you back into his arms. “Hey, shh. Look at me. Nobody’s losing anybody, okay?” He pauses to kiss you again, slowly and sweetly this time. “I’m not going anywhere, either. Everything that happened, all of the bad stuff, it’s all over. Everybody’s okay. We’re all safe.” You sigh deeply, sinking into his warmth. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to feel like regular people again?”

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I know that I love you, and I’ll always do everything I can to make you feel safe.”

You hug him tighter, and he pulls you onto his lap. You don’t know if he’s right about everything being over, but you know that you’ve never felt safer than you do right here in his arms. After a few minutes of peaceful quiet, he looks down at you. “You wanna stay over tonight? I could take a look at your arm and try to patch it up. Plus, you’re already out of your house.” You smile brightly. “Of course. But no funny business, Harrington. I’ve just had a very rough night.” He sighs in mock-disappointment. “Well, shit! There go my plans.” You giggle, resting your head on his shoulder once more. Another comfortable silence ensues before he speaks up again. “You’re wearing two different shoes.”

“I know.”

“Your car’s still running. And did you… did you smash the window?”

“I know. And yes.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that to me later. Is that how you hurt yourself?”

“I will. And yes.”

“You’re crazy. I love you. Also, you missed a whole section of your hair when you were braiding it.”

“Alright, watch it, Harrington.”

KingBurr night time shame posting

So in skype with @badromantics and @narwq I kind of came up with an entire canon era fic idea for KingBurr? Bc Alex wanted some KingBurr and I am nothing if not a fount of hastily constructed fic ideas. It spawned an RP so honestly my job is done. But here’s what I wrote anyways

It was total chaos. Burr knew that sharing a command of soldiers with Hamilton could end no other way, but somehow he hadn't expected this. It was a very small command, a scouting party at best and a way for Washington to satisfy Hamilton's undying thirst for command with little danger to his safety.

Hamilton was left quite safe, in the end. Burr on the other hand, the one left in charge of babysitting, was considerably less so. Before he could even draw his pistol, Burr found himself yanked off his horse and summarily dragged off, kicking and screaming, by a trio of camouflaged redcoats. In the chaos of the scuffle, no one noticed. Burr saw the nearby patrol burst onto the scene, putting a swift end to the battle. By that point, however, a thick gag was wedged forcefully between his teeth and Burr could do nothing but struggle and curse his godforsaken luck.

“Hamilton”, they addressed him as, after Burr was thoroughly restrained, forced to ride sidesaddle with legs tightly knotted and hands secured to the saddle-horn. “We've heard you talk too much,” They laughed, joking about the gag thoroughly leeching every bit of moisture from his mouth. It took Burr more time than he'd like to admit before he realized.

They wanted to capture Hamilton, not Burr. But they had Burr, who was the wrong man, and their mission was already a failure. They were also making their way as fast as possible to the nearest British-controlled harbour, speaking of a “Delivery for the King”, of all things.

In short, Burr was in a very unfortunate position, and it was all Hamilton's fault. As usual.

The situation became even more unfortunate when Burr found himself pushed to a kneel before the king himself. Burr was almost too tired to care, after an extremely unpleasant voyage and still tied up like a thanksgiving turkey. His only consolation was that the gag his soldier captors were so fond of was lost sometime during the ocean crossing.  

“Well, don't just leave him trussed up like that! Someone, untie this poor man.” Somehow, the first reasonable, intelligent words Burr heard came from the mouth of the man who ordered this fiasco. That knowledge did nothing to prevent the sigh of bliss when his raw, reddened wrists were finally relieved. For a moment, he forgot who he was in the presence of, licking at the painfully irritated skin and blowing gently. Pale, carefully manicured fingers slid suddenly between lips and wrists. Burr flinched back.

“No little one, allow me. It was my subjects who have caused this, after all.” Burr was seized by pure panic- everything coming together at once. King George the 3rd, the tyrant America was trying to free itself from, gently guided Burr's hands to his lips. At that moment, Burr was certain that his heart had stopped for good.

The hold was gentle, patient even. It might as well have been made of the strongest iron, Burr did not dear break it. There were guards behind him, guards that the King could order to run Burr through at the snap of a finger. Instead of doing so, the King carefully began to lick striped down Burr's bloody, raw wrists. The warmth of his mouth was uncomfortable, but the coolness as wet skin met air felt amazing, the accompanying breeze of gentle breath almost heavenly.

Burr pointedly did not forget this time, who he was kneeling in front of. He stared down at the ground, resolutely, trying not to feel too thankful at the relief. This was the man responsible for Burr's position.

“Oh, and by the way,” the King gave one last, long swipe of tongue along the bloodiest patch of skin, before placing Burr's hands back to his sides. “You aren't Alexander Hamilton.”

Burr had been expecting this moment. Regardless, his stomach dropped out and the buzzing feeling of pure panic took its place. “No, I'm not, your majesty.” Burr spoke on autopilot, his mind completely, utterly frozen. “I attempted to inform my guard of this mishap.” The excuse spilled from his lips. Burr was not a babbler, but he couldn't think. This was where he died.

-

“I'm not Hamilton,” He told them. It was a good day since his capture, Hamilton was no doubt seen to safety. They wouldn't let him go, but he could escape while they formed some counter plan- one that would never work with just the few of them.

“Nice try, Hamilton. We knew you were put in command of that party. And look, you're in officers dress.” They scoffed.

“I'm serious. My name is Aaron Burr, Hamilton and I were both put in command, I was to supervise him!”

They laughed, all of them, uproariously and entirely unnecessarily. “They also say you're small and talk a lot. Give it up, Hamilton, you're meeting the king whether you want to or not.

They were convinced. Burr couldn't say anything more, or they would likely gag him again. So Burr stopped protesting. There was no point, his fate was sealed.

-

“Yes,” the King's lips quirked up in a wide smirk, utterly confident. “Would you give me the honour of your actual name?”

He looked down at Burr like her were an errant child. Burr felt like an errant child, his heart beating a jackrabbit rhythm. “My name is Aaron Burr.” He swallowed audibly. The order of his death sat somewhere behind the King's false angelic smile.

“Ohh, Aaron Burr? I've heard of you.” Something cold tapped underneath Burr's chin. The King's sceptre, unforgiving, chilly metal. It pushed up at the underside of his jaw. Burr followed the motion automatically, not about to wait for more force. “Quite accomplished in your own right, and very intelligent from my reports. But they never mentioned how cute you were.”

Burr flushed, sudden warmth conflicting with paralyzing fear and morphing into a roiling, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He didn't answer- couldn't. “Oh, you like compliments?” The King's smile turned ever wider, white teeth flashing behind red lips. From Burr's perspective, they seemed sharp. Ready to eat. “That's precious. And settles it.” The King straightened, removing his sceptre from Burr's chin and twirling it idly. “Guards, please escort our guest to our prepared rooms.”

Burr was hauled to his feet, numbly. He couldn't feel his body and he certainly couldn't feel his emotions. It was too much. “Gentle! What are we, animals?” The King reprimanded. Miraculously, the guard's hold became softer, waiting for Burr to straighten himself.

“Wait,” Burr croaked, finally finding his voice. “What do you mean, 'settles it'? What rooms?” The answer felt obvious, but just out of his grasp. Burr couldn't think straight.

“I thought it was rather clear,” The King teased, suddenly leaning far too close into Burr's space. He stepped back instinctively, or tried to, but the guard behind him stopped the motion with a firm hand to the shoulder. “I can't be letting you go, not after all this work, but you are useless as the bargaining chip I intended Mr. Hamilton for. No offense my dear, but Washington wouldn't hand over a single horse for you. He's frustratingly practical outside of his few blind spots.” The King paused to roll his eyes, as if the tactics of General Washington were akin to a bickering sibling.

“I..” Burr trailed off.

“You probably thought I would have you executed? The thought did cross my mind.” Something danced behind the King's eyes, and for the first time, Burr knew it wasn't his impending death. Somehow, it felt worse. “But snuffing your life out would be an absolute waste. And your blush is simply adorable.” Burr stuttered, despite the situation. “No, I think I'll just be keeping you.”

The world stood still. No one else existed, just Burr and his thoughts. Then, reality came rushing back. “Keep me?” He parroted.

“Yes, absolutely.” The King nodded, and then gestured at the guard behind Burr. “Please behave for my royal guards, they're just there to do their jobs. I'll let you settle in for today. I'm sure it's been a long, tiring trip for you.” He lifted his fingers and waved them in dismissal. The guard tugged at Burr's arm, grip gentle, but firm and insistent. Burr allowed himself to be lead. His mouth moved, trying to shape some kind of objection or argument. But nothing came.

The King was keeping him, and that was apparently that.

Prank Master  (Dean Ambrose x Reader)

Finally! *mini-celebration bc exams are done and I can finally write again* I’m not dead! This one took a while, let me tell you, but I had a lot of fun doing it! It was requested by @greeneyedtrickster so sorry to keep you waiting! <3 The prompts used in this one from this list are 19, 111, and 114. Just funny, wholesome Dean pranking! Little bit of swearing, oops.

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

“Prank master? You?” Dean raised an eyebrow and looked over at you, smirking. “Yes! It’s a viable option, for me to be a prank master. Why wouldn’t it?” You laughed back and shot him a “Really?” look. “Obviously, you’ve never met me. I’m the prank master in this relationship.” “Uh-huh. Okay, sure.” You grinned and set your mind to scheming while Dean talked about his past “best” pranks. ---------------- “You realize he’s gonna be pissed, right?” Becky asked as you got to dragging the small bag of flour in place backstage. “If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.” “You didn’t have to help, Becky.” You pointed out. “But I did want to, so…” She shrugged and gave up. “So how is this going to work again?” “Dean walks by, you splash him with water, and I dump the flour over his head. I’ll show him who the real prank master is.” You grinned and giggled a bit while Becky shook her head in amusement, though it tried to come off as disapproval. She would’ve replied but the sound of feet coming down the hallway stopped her and you both got in place, her holding the bucket on one side and you with the flour on the other side, out of sight. “Dunno why she’s on her phone half the time when she doesn’t answer it.” You hear Dean’s mumbling as he approached where you texted him to meet. Becky caught your gaze and nodded before running out in front of him. His confused greeting was met with a splash from her cup of water, and while he was in the middle of cussing in more confusion, you ran forward and flung a few handfuls of flour at him. “Surprise!” You and Becky both stood back, giggling silently at your handiwork. He looked like a statue with it coated in a thick layer, most of it on his face, some on his chest area. “What the fuck?” He spat out flour on the edges of lips and blinked open his eyes, trying to clear the sticky flour. They focused quickly on your faces and flashed with recognition. “You…” He looked liked he was torn between getting upset and laughing his ass off. “I’m gonna get you.” “Shit!” Becky shouted and dragged you by the arm, both of you still laughing as Dean quickly chased after, shouting. “That’s gonna harden if you don’t get to it!” You shrieked as Dean caught up and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re helpin’ me with it.” He grinned and picked you up by the waist as you giggled and tried kicking out. Becky gave her own grin and ran off while you were occupied. “Every woman for herself!” “Now that you’ve been abandoned by your partner,” Dean put you down but reacted quickly enough to pick you up again, this time over his shoulder. He seemed immune to your half-hearted struggles, “it’s time to face the music.” You groaned as the kicks got less forceful, feeling like a sack of potatoes. “Don’t, please. I’m too young and pretty.” “Don’t worry, it won’t be today.” The casualness of it struck you as extremely funny, but you also caught the meaning. “Ah, shit.” ---------------- Nothing happened for a few weeks, but that didn’t stop you from being less wary about the whole incident. It was almost like you had to grow a second pair of eyes in the back of your head to anticipate everything. Every time Dean came around he seemed casual enough, not showing any signs of being different, or planning anything, but you knew he was crafty and could’ve had something up his sleeve at any time. The only time you could let your guard down was during and after matches, since those were the only places Dean couldn’t get near you. “Hey, how was it?” He grinned and threw you a towel as you walked backstage. You were still sweating and felt more than a little sore after the whooping you went through. “Exhausting, as usual. I keep forgetting Naomi can put up a fight.” You stretched and wiped your face before trying to go for your back. “Damn it.” You whined and tried to massage your neck at the twinge. “I’ll rub it.” He was almost acting like a considerate boyfriend, getting up and showing concern. Almost. “Oh no, no, no. I’m not an idiot, Ambrose. I’m not letting you anywhere near my back.” You shook your head and immediately became cautious, eyeing him. He rolled his eyes and held his hands up. “Is it so wrong that I want to take care of my insanely hot girlfriend when she’s in dire need of affection?” “Yes.” “C’mon, doll, it’s not that bad. What am I going to do? You really think I’m that bad to prank you when you’re already hurtin’? Who do ya think I am?” As much as you tried to avoid it, he shot you the damn puppy eyes he was so fond of using against you. You felt your self-resolve getting smaller and smaller until groaning out loud and dropping the towel. “Fine, fine! Just do it quick.” “Your wish is my command.” He smiled and quickly made his way behind your back. “Besides, I got this fancy new shit from online, supposed to be cleansing stuff for the pores or something.” You heard a packet rip behind you and tensed up instinctively, but a nice smell made its way through the room and you relaxed. “Are those roses?” You questioned as he sprinkled some on his hand. “Supposed to be the scent, I think.” His hands gently applied pressure to your neck and you melted. “Oh Dean, you always give the best massages.” You sighed as he worked the muscles, rubbing up and down. His hands moved under your shirt quickly, squeezing and rubbing up and down your back. Your neck was left tingling where he had touched. “But why’d ya keep the tape on your hands?” “I just forgot to take them off.” He shrugged, hands moving to the front now, this time squeezing and pulling you a bit closer as they slip up under your shirt. Your whole back was at this point beginning to tingle dully, your neck becoming a little hot, but it was put in the back of your mind as he inched to your breasts, giving one last rub down. “Shit, Dean,” you sighed before feeling him pull back, leaving you expecting for something more as he walked to the trash, peeling off the tape. “Why’d you stop?” You frowned and adjusted your bra, rotating your shoulders. Your nerves were on end, the itch becoming almost painful as you started scratching your neck. “’Cause I ran out of powder.” The Cheshire Cat grin on his face only grew wider. “How’re ya feeling?” “I’m-” You cut yourself off as everything started making sense. “Oh God. That’s your “I Did Something Bad” face! Was that fucking itching powder?!” Your back and front started screaming for attention you couldn’t give at once. “Where’d you get that?!” “A prank master never reveals his secrets or his accomplices, fledgling. The boys are innocent until proven guilty.” “We’ll see about that!” You huffed and stomped out the door to his laughs. “Everyone’s on my list!” “Stop itching and it’ll go away!” He called back as you groaned and continued off down the hallway, mumbling. “One of these days…” You schemed for the next time he pissed you off or pulled this again. “He’s lucky he’s so fucking cute…”

---------------- Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! As your friendly neighborhood writer would say, please tell me if you enjoyed it, a thumbs up would make my absolute day. Requests are open if you want a particular fanfic written! Thanks for reading, again! *Bayley hugs*

Rereading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix: Chapter Thirty-Five - Beyond the Veil

i am the opposite of ready for this.

(EDIT: sorry this is so long, i just have a lot of feelings OK)

- ok EW bellatrix is talking to harry in a baby voice and just... gag me

“Oh, you don’t know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,” said Malfoy softly. “He has a great weakness for heroics”

i meeeeeaaaan.... he aint wrong.

But the Death Eaters did not strike. “Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt,” said Malfoy coolly.

yall know lucius is just like ‘get me the FUQ outta here so i can go home to my family plz. lets not make this a thing’

- lol harry is being so casual rn, just trying to stall, asking questions about the prophecy and like, the death eaters are actually answering him??? wuts going on

“You dare speak his name with you unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with you half-blood’s tongue, you dare-” “Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” said Harry recklessly. Hermione gave a little moan in his ear. “Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch, but his dad was a Muggle - or has he been telling you lot he’s pureblood?”

JFC HARRY NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR SAVAGERY 

- damn what a waste for them to smash all the prophecies like??? those could have been important???

A baby’s head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUQ

Harry raised his wand but to his amazement Hermione seized his arm. “You can’t hurt a baby!”

UM HERMIONE I THINK IN THIS SITUATION IT IS PERFECTLY REASONABLE TO HURT A BABY

- OK shit is going BANANAS - hermione just got hit with some purple fire spell that made her pass out, neville just got kicked in the face REAL hard, ginny, luna, and ron are missing... like...i cant handle this rn

He had one hand on Hermione’s shoulder, which was still warm, yet did not dare to look at her properly. Don’t let her be dead, don’t let her be dead, it’s my fault if she’s dead...

ugh. BUT COULD YOU IMAGINE? if hermione died in the 5th book, harry might as well have just given up. like theres no point continuing without hermione

- ok we found the rest of the gang but ron is high as fuq and ginny broke her ankle... SO WE WERE KIND OF BETTER OFF WITHOUT THEM TBH

“Harry, we saw Uranus up close!” said Ron, still giggling feebly. “Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus - ha ha ha -”

NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES RONALD

“RON, NO!” Harry did not know what would happen if Ron touched the tentacles of thought now flying behind the brain, but he was sure it would not be anything good. He darted forward but Ron had already caught the brain in his outstretched hands. The moment they made contact with his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around Ron’s arms like ropes. “Harry, look what’s happen - no - no, I don’t like it - no, stop - stop -”

MY BABY!!!! jfc this is such a shit show I FORGOT

“You see, there are ten of us and only one of you...or hasn’t Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?” “He’s dot alone!” shouted a voice from above them. “He’s still god be!” Harry’s heart sank. Neville was scrambling down the stone benches toward them, Hermione’s wand held fast in his trembling hand.

the truest gryffindor ive ever seen. 

“It’s Longbottom, isn’t it?” sneered Lucius Malfoy. “Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause... Your death will not come as a great shock...” “Longbottom?” repeated Bellatrix, and a truly evil smile lit her gaunt face. “Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents boy...”

OK TOO FUCKING FAR. IM OUT OF HERE.  ok im not but STILL that like, reeeeeally hurt.

- they are now crucio-ing neville. its seriously getting hard to read.

Then, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley.

on one hand im like ‘YES our saviors are here!!!!!!’ but on the other hand its like sirius im begging you. GO BACK HOME

- neville cant talk bc of his bloody nose and mouth so he just STABS A DEATH EATER IN THE EYE WITH HIS WAND. amazing.

Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body - they were saved.

dont mind me, just silently weeping.

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.  Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing - Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second... But Sirius did not reappear.

.

But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. “There’s nothing you can do, Harry -” “Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” “It’s too late, Harry -” “We can still reach him -” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go... “There’s nothing you can do, Harry...nothing...He’s gone.”

this part has always hit me hard because as much as this hurts harry, think about REMUS. his best friend, who he already lost once and only recently got to have him back in his life. like imagine having to be strong for this young boy while you’re silently dying inside. 

basically fuck this shit.

WELP if you liked this, follow me for more chapters!

there are mostly civilians in the camp people and kids that wouldnt be able to defend themselves well so V gets put there with a handful people to keep an eye out for them and

the camp gets in trouble with some other grp that take their supplies away before they can pick them up

so these people seem to have their base close to that camp and V being V wants to investigate and see if these guys are just talking big or if they really can take the camp out like they say if the camp doesnt pay to get THEIR OWN STUFF back sneaking her way to those people its not only clear that these guys are full of shit- but they also have beef with each other in their own little gangster grp

she witnesses how they basically ruin themselves drinking, fighting and taking their compadres out so problem solved itself u may think as V suprise hits the last guy standing who is just happy he has a lot of shit to live off of

so while she checks how much of the supplies these greasy guys had their hands on already she gets surprised by a RANDOM LOL patrol of aliens (what kawa u drunk go home)

seems those guys had their stuff a little too close to a checkpoint and the noise they made when they killed each other resulted in alien troops coming to check what the shit is going on

So far, V’s day is a rollercoaster of ups and downs she gets wounded on her leg but manages to take out 2 out of 3 aliens

hunter shows up and oh boi does she like him but also she does not trust him bc the last time he just dissappeared after she helped him and he helped her and now she thinks that he might just go ahead and kill her rollercoaster down so to speak he shoots the last alien saying something along the lines of ‘this one I am taking care of myself~’ meaning her, obv and she thinks its her last seconds lol so while she scrambles backwards and he casually walks towards her ANOTHER PERSON SHOWS UP

so in case u cant already tell from my rambling: ASSASSIN shows up- turns out hunter has ignored the elders call and she came to check up on her annoying brother lol he reacts quickly, making sure she doesnt notice V V IS HELLA CONFUSED BUT WHY NOT while they 'talk things out’ (rather get onto each others throat pretty much immediately) she takes her leave slowly and bleeding bc of that darn wound on her leg she tries to stop the bleeding and cover her tracks

not trusting her own ability and fearing that she might get followed anyways once her absence at the scene is noticed she avoids going straight to the camp doing all the indiana jones things she even wades thru a friggin river ….that rollercoaster keeps spiraling down eh?

tired, scared, bleeding and now also soaking wet and without her jacket bc thats what she used to get rid of the blood that might drip from her leg, pants,shoes whatevs and the supplies still are theoretically lost meh so she ends up exhausted somewhere in the woods like at this point V doesnt even care? she’s gonna do something …right after she rested her eyes for a minute mind u u.u bad idea

no amount of wading thru water and trying not to bleed everywhere helped and who shows up with the most satisfied shit eating grin under the sun? aye u might have guessed it hunter wastes no time telling her all the things she did wrong while funnily enough he also without explanation or anything he just inspects her wound and does some funny psi stuff this rollercoaster is confusing V is angry, she is pissed at herself and him of course- scolding her and gloating abt how she messed up but she is also confused af werent they done with helping? shoudltn he be just …skinning her alive or some shit since thats what they say he did to some people or maybe roast her

on a kebab stick but there he is

numbing the pain in her leg somehow and deciding that she needs to get somewhere else if she had more energy she might have tried to resist

but as things are nothing stops him when he picks her up (not elegantly in the least i might mention) and starts off to who knows where

so however much time passes V has no idea but it feels like not more than 5 minutes have gone by….then again…who knows…she might have fallen unconscious somewhere along the way

she gets plopped down and its soft wherever this is it looks better than anything she knows

she is so dumbfounded by her surroundings she doesnt even talk back at first when he tells her to get out of the wet clothes

she’s in the middle of stripping down all the while still oggling the room with the sleek surfaces and the outrageously comfy looking bed…how dare they…whoever owns this place should get beaten with a stick

so before her undies fall she snaps out of her thoughts and wants to yell at him Buuuut he is nowhere to be sen seen* ok so off with the undies

V wraps herself in a blanket and (WHY IS IT SO SOFT HOW DARE THEY)

V is still taking in the room wrapped in that blanket, her clothes sprawled over a now-not-pristine-white-anymore chair this room looks pretty but empty like someone had planned to live here

its pretty and empty and although the matress she sits on is insultingly cozy and the blanket a dream come true….its still cold and V has to make a concious effort to stop her teeth from chattering where the fuck did 'he’ go tho for a moment V imagines complete strangers entering the room to see a freezing V sitting on their bed and wrapped in their blanket

thats funny almost the whole situation is ridiculous

V is ready to walk back to that chair and wring herself into those wet clothes again

leaving this place and probably dying of hypothermia outside sounds just as bad as sitting here and waiting for kingdom come this is way too similar to the last time she was stranded with this guy speaking of which maybe he already left

with her bare feet she slowly tip taps thru the room, checking windows and closets and making her way to the only door in sight the second her fingers make contact with the handle the door opens

'gotcha. nessing with the doors again.’ messing* (lol jk) no lights for now he says but the place will warm up eventually theres electricity

he somewhat inores her °_° face and walks past her and she cringes when she realizes he goes straight to her stuff V almost trips over herself to make sure he cant get a hold of anything what are you doing making sure these will dry- or would you rather have them stay wet I dont mind you like this [insert rude smile here] so the clothes get taken care of

its still cold V is still confused by his charitable behaviour wtf is he thinking wtf is SHE thinking she completely forgot abt the whole 'he is gonna kill me’ story so, with newly found waryness she starts asking questions why help me why follow me why not kill me

whose place is this we gotta remember last time they met was when she helped him and he taunted her

and she bluntly spat out that she doesnt know why she does it but whats so wrong with that- maybe she just cant help it- maybe its not her fault she likes this guy so he pulls up a chair in front of her, sits down on it, his arms on the back of it whats so wrong with that i cant help it- its your fault

nothing else he grins he is fucking crazy and V isnt so sure but it almost felt like he could have said he liked her she huffs

i could have killed you countless times you snuck right thru those wannabes today like it was nothing but you wouldnt do that to me (ah so he had watched her? hello stalker how are u today) just like u cant hide your tracks or take care of yourself

her motions at her- probably talking abt her leg which is not helaed just not hurting bad very bad in fact bed and blanket have a nice new decal in rusty red by now (I SHOULD GET BETTER AT SHIT LLIKE THIS BUT WHATEVS)

'so you dont kill me you rather lecture me abt how unable i am to stay alive by myself?’ V is showing her best side today but oh well

maybe its the rollercoaster maybe its the whole situation

so V is ready to argue but hunter isnt in the mood lol he rather laughs at how its so easy to get her riled up

and he gets over to her mentioning something about her big ego in such a tiny body no wonder she got in trouble before he gets uncomfortably close but only to take care of her leg AGAIN

this time she struggles because 1 she is shamefully aware of her nudity under that blanket 2 he has zero problems pushing her from left to right as if she was a doll not funny so he manages to take care of the wound (i will just claim that he can do it with psi so ….pls dont slaughter me) and it only leaves a thick line of fresh pink skin on her leg- no wound but that pink skin is not nearly as pink as her face would be…if it wasnt so cold

seems the warmth he spoke abt earlier is still not coming around?

he had helped her with warmth before so why not do it again only this time she has no clothes and if he hasnt seen her blue lips from the cold he has definitely felt how icy her leg still was so off goes the armor

after the armor drops his hood drops he even takes off that sleeveless shirt

okay now Vs face definitely gets SOME shades pinker and not bc she is suddenly feeling less cold 'what the hell are u doing she scoots as far back on the bed as possible but OH MAN DOES SHE STARE

this guy is toned no weird alien anatomy apart from a slight difference in proportions but man lean and toned no wonder he picked her up like an acorn or a feather or whatever else V can come up with as a comparison 'so shy all of a sudden’ its true

V is staring with big eyes but not a single word comes out of her mouth as he comes closer he is not completely unclothed and its not like she hasnt seen men before but its different when u have to admit that u wanted to see something…and then like it too much when u do although u really neither shouldnt want to see it nor like it should/shouldnt whatever V knows this is wrong on more than one level

last time he’d had the blanket and she had bedgrudgingly come to him this time she has the blanket

and she wishes she could hide in it

she tenses up as his chest touches her cheek and his arms pull her close. he says something about deja vu and her being like a stray kitten but V doesnt listen last time his clothes had been like a shield between them this time her cheek presses against his skin

so they are, once again, in this position

V finds herself relax after a while bc feeling him like this and having the scent of his skin in her nose is getting her drowsy her head is filled with clouds and there is this incredibly need to nuzzle into him how to resist this is the most cruel seven minutes in heaven she has ever taken part in normally this would feel like the moment to do all the things and her heartbeat is saying just that nuzzle deeper breathe in this scent some more feel his skin

put your arms around this man instead she sits there like a marble statue but if she brushes her cheek against his skin just a little bit he wont notice right? he wont notice if she inhales a tiny bit longer than neccessary right?

would he notice if she moved a little, not much, just to feel his warmth some more and to lean into this not-really-embrace some more? shifting carefully and only a little was the plan

but when she feels his hands on her back move as well —her body moves as if on its own and she stretches and shifts enough to bury her face in the nape of his neck. …good job V. Very subtle she can barely hold back from sighing

it doesnt matter tho bc as if some silent agreement between them took place right as her fingertip gingerly move across his collarbone and to his jawilne one of his hands finds the back of her neck and guides her u.u and it happens no taunting no arguing no words at all

just warmth and silence and locked lips in a kiss

one kiss becomes two kisses three four each one greedier than the one before

bodys pressing against each other as if trying to melt into each other, hands roaming and breathless sighs gasping for air

V’s arms are wrapped around his neck, the blanket she was holding onto forgotten, her mind a mess, filled with the haze of want and a deep longing for his touch skin aginast skin

he is either gifted with natural talent or simply knows how to kiss and touch his hands are big and warm and they hold her tightly one more kiss they pause theres maybe 5milimeters between them none of them willing to let go

catching their breath

V feels a simmering ache between her thighs…and his arousal…well its obvious this is wrong no more she thinks but hesitantly places yet another kiss on his lips to betray her own thoughts there is not a hint of his usual smug smile on his lips the playful shimmer in his eyes she has seen so often is nowhere to be found

he is thinking

he bites back words as she kisses him again a chaste kiss on the lips and his fingertips gently caress the back of her head as he kisses back

with her hand against his chest she can feel that his heart is hammering just as fast as hers

He leans forward pushing V onto her back and into the heap of pillows behind her

with the blanket barely covering her nether regions she lies there, cheeks flushed and her hands timidly pulling back to cover herself. He is towering over her. V had almost forgotten how tall he is while kissing him- every touch had felt so natural so right. This view is a little intimidating to her….and exciting as well. The look on her face brings the smile back on his lips

he sits up, now kneeling between her legs. 'Now you’ve done it…’ he trails his hand over her healed thigh, his fingertips lightly brushing over the soft patch of pink. ’…your fault if you regret this..’ swift movements of his free hand undo his pants while the other hand disappears underneath the blanket covering V.

There was no denying it. V’s was dripping wet from the kisses and body contact alone…she’d felt the growing bulge in his pants. She couldn’t even think straight seeing it now although it was still hidden underneath the thick layer of fabric. Her eyes were transfixed on his hand on the pants hemline above it. V wanted him. Possible regrets or not.

She only realized where his other hand was wandering to when he slipped a finger between her wet folds. HE dragged his finger along the narrow path from her entrance to her clit and back, then teased her entrance, drawing circles around the overflowing heat- dipping into her from time to time ever so slightly but always leaving her wanting for more. He had her mewling and writhing in no time. Everytime she bucked her hips to meet his fingers he pulled back to deny her the pleasure she was seeking so depserately. Deeper. She wanted to feel it deeper inside. Sweet torture…. ’….please….’ It was a whimper so small and shy it was almost inaudible. The heat inside of her was unbearable. The small plea that had escaped her lips giving away how helplessly needy he had made her for him. With a low chuckle and a satisfied hiss he removed his hand from her fully. V bit her lip. She WAS like a stray kitten. Needy and outright begging. And now she had given herself away like an idiot as well. Yes, she wanted him. Maybe had wanted him from the start. Now he knew. And he would reject her. She closed her eyes, ready to hear the taunting and teasing. Oh silly human….why would he want you…. She waited for the words but they didnt come. Instead, the matress shifted. Movement. (would he leave her here like this??) V peeked through her lashes . He looked godly. Broad shoulders, sleek collarbones, smooth skin, defined abs. The lower her eyes wandered the more she asked herself what was not perfect abt him…he had strong hip bones as well…and even lower… The Hunter was moving slowly, he could tell she’d have her eyes on him. Some freedom from the tight pants was much needed and he smirked at her small gasp when his already leaking erection was revealed. He removed the last bits of clothing before he returned his attention to her…and his needs. His fingers were still wet from touching V when he wrapped them around his shaft. He was painfully hard and throbbing with arousal. There was nothing else he wanted more in this moment than burying himself deep inside of her.

Thoughts from the sky 12/18/17

There are two people sitting behind me and I’m really glad that they’re getting along so well but they’ve been talking nonstop since the beginning of this flight and honestly, it sucks! I also don’t know how I actually fell asleep earlier with them talking? The guy isn’t too bad but the lady directly behind me has no gauge for how loud she actually is and it’s crazy.

Anyway, I haven’t actually written in a while. I got really busy and I just didn’t bother ever getting back into it. But I do want to recommit to this. Honestly, I’m really nervous about coming back home. I love my family and I love Jeanne, Lauren, Jude, Cat, Keylee, and Edgar and I’m really excited to see them again. They’ve been there for me through thick and thin and they means the world to me. But Jeanne and Lauren aren’t very involved at Sa-Rang. And I don’t know where God is rn in my UBMS crew’s lives. It’s just hard. Because even though I love them so much, it isn’t enough. They can’t always be there for me and I don’t want to force them into that either.

For Sa-Rang, I tend to hangout with the same people. I probably the closest to Judy and Jennifer of those who are actually involved. But they’ve got their own peeps too and I don’t want to burden them. We don’t actually talk that often throughout the year. Grace An, too. In fact, Grace An actually does care about me. I feel like Jen and Judy are just pitying me. And whether or not that’s true, it’s how I feel and it sucks.

——

I’m supposed to land in LA around 8:44pm PST. It’s currently 7:53pm CST. I wish I had less than an hour left but it’s more like 2.5 hours left. I gotta find some more ways to kill time. The people behind me stopped talking but a baby in front of me started crying. WE’LL SEE

———

I really crave affection and acceptance from others and I don’t think that’s weird. I think I love Lauren and Jeanne so much bc they’re actually so invested in my life and care about what I’m going through and that’s so hard to find other times. I try to talk to Andrew but sometimes it just feels like he’s trying to get rid of me instead of actually listening to me. I tried to vent the other day but he just kept saying, “You’re too hard on yourself,” and leaving it at that. Okay, well, what does that mean???

It’s really nice going through my old things. I just looked at some old yearbook spreads that I forgot I saved and some good memories came back to me. Prior to this, I was feeling discouraged by my transcripts. It’s definitely something that I feel a lot of shame for. And it’s a part that I want to stay buried in the past. I wasn’t a very good student in high school and I failed at least one or two classes a year and I never felt good enough for my family and it sucked. But looking at my old spreads, it reminded me of the good times I had in yearbook too. I remembered some particular moments when I saw the “Camp Sophs’mores” spread. I remembered how Andrew was in charge of the doing the title and tried to put my face in the “O” and how I felt so embarrassed and insisted that he change it! I remember how relieved I felt when he actually spelled the title wrong and had to change everything. I remember how I recently cut my hair at the time and how short it was. I remembered how Anthony tricked me into getting into the photo bar. I remembered how that photo of me was the bane of my existence. I remember how overdramatic I acted but how much fun it was to just be with everyone. I miss that time a lot. I remember how I confided in Anthony that I loved yearbook so much because I felt like I could just feel free to be my weird self and it didn’t matter because everyone else was just as weird or weirder than me. And I remember how he laughed and said that Tim was just the same. I remember how afraid I became of Tim. I remember how deathly afraid I became of him because he came to symbolize yearbook for me. And all the bad parts about it. He became the face of yearbook in my mind. And whenever I saw him, I remembered how desperate I felt, how shitty I felt all the time, how I never felt good enough, how I felt the need to self harm myself, how I felt trapped and depressed and suicidal. How suicide doesn’t mean pulling the trigger on a gun. It means not getting out of the way when there was a chance of your life ending. It meant hoping that something bad would happen to you. It meant, for me, that I was so tired of living and just wanted to die. I wanted to just stop existing because it was too tiring and too hard to continue living. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to get back in control and for me, that was dying and giving up. It was ending it all and escaping the pain of it all.

Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time with church. Because it was a place where I felt like I had to put on a pretty face and pretend that everything was okay when it wasn’t. I could always say that I could’ve tried harder than I did. But the bottom line is I didn’t. I didn’t trust them. And it wasn’t just because it was them. It was because I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone. I felt so alone. When people meet me, I always wonder what they think of me. Especially recently, I bet they thought I grew up in a super supportive community with loving parents and a place to just grow and thrive. And I really wish that I did. I wish I had that picture perfect family growing up. But I didn’t. And if only they knew… man. If only I could show them how miserable I felt. Every. Single. Day. How much I wanted to die and just escape it all. How much I felt like screaming but no sound would come out of my throat. How much I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but knew that I couldn’t. How much I wanted to go to therapy and seek help but couldn’t because I was afraid of how my family would judge me. I was so ruled by my fear and felt trapped and like I couldn’t escape my situation. And that’s when I started self harming. Because I felt so out of options. And I needed to feel like I was still alive. Like I was still human. So I started cutting into my skin. Deeper. And Deeper. And deeper still. And it was all because I just felt so desperate and out of options.

It’s easy to put down things and people that you don’t understand. And I don’t know if anyone else was depressed but I think I was the most evidently so. I felt like I was carrying the world’s weight on my back, constantly. And maybe everyone else grew up in a good community with loving friends and parents that stood by their side through thick and thin. And I didn’t have that. I had people that was constantly judging me. I had people that didn’t understand my depression. That stabbed me in the back. That used me to get ahead and left me behind once they were done with me. And it hurt. And it sucked. But I got up. Each time, I got up. And I tried again. And I tried even harder. And I kept going. And now I’m here.

I think Jason really does care about me. And it does make me feel kind of bad thinking about him. I want the best for him and I don’t want him ever feel depressed or bad about himself. I think I’m just constantly reminded of when we were up in Evanston and I literally could have died. But I didn’t. Because he grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. He totally could’ve just let me go but he didn’t. He saw a car coming when I didn’t. And made the executive decision to go after me. He pulled me back and prevented me from dying. And proceeded to scold me a lot after that, haha. He told me to be more careful and I tried to just shrug it off but honestly, I didn’t really feel like I was in my own skin that day. And maybe a part of me did want to die. Maybe a part of me did want to get hit and just be done with it all and no longer uncomfortable. But the worry and concern in his voice and eyes made all the difference. I was in a state of shock. But it made me feel like I mattered. And just thinking about how he would react if he found out that I had been self harming again…it makes me feel really good about myself. Like my life is worth saving. He would actually be worried about me and my life. He would actually take the time to stop what he was doing and see if I was okay. I was really upset at the start of this week for a lot of different reasons. And even though he couldn’t tell that I was trying to push him away, he still just wanted to let me know that he was here for me and that I wasn’t alone. He could see me. And I wanted to be defensive and say that I wasn’t depressed but really? Am I really not depressed in the least? Really??? Anyway, I decided to just accept it and move on. I neither confirmed nor denied my depression but I was also a little surprised by that conclusion.

I just read through some posts in the white elephant/potluck event and I am excited. I am. And I’m also over James. I think it was something that I struggled with for a long time but I really forgot about him this year. I barely ever brought him up in conversation and when I did, it felt awkward. So goodbye, James. You caused me a lot of pain but I’m over it now. I’m over it.

I’m over it.

I’m supposed to meet with P. Josh when I come back to Chicago and I’m actually pretty nervous about it? I think I’m afraid that I’ll get triggered by a memory from high school and start spontaneously crying and I really don’t want to. I want him to trust him and see me for me as I am now. I remember sometimes from high school when I was just suddenly start crying for what seemed like no reason at all. I would literally just have overactive tear glands and I would have a stream of water come down my face. And I would try and reassure my current company that it was fine and that I was fine and honestly wasn’t sure why I was crying so much. And I’m afraid that that’s going to happen when I talk to Josh. We’ll be in mid conversation and I’ll just suddenly start crying. And he’ll ask if I’m okay and I’ll try and reassure him that I’m fine when I’m not and just keep lying to myself that everything is okay when it isn’t and I don’t want to present that image to him. I want him to believe that I’m okay and that there’s nothing wrong with me. But there will be. Man. I think I need to pray about serving again. Because I have gotten a lot better at being open about my faith in public. I’ve worn my church gear out in public whether I was going on errands or just going to class. I’ve been a lot more comfortable with just discussing the topic of religion in a much more comfortable way in public and in fact, I felt empowered by it. So I’ve been doing a lot better recently but I know that I still feel so much fear in my heart sometimes and it’s scary and it sucks sometimes. And I don’t want to drag people down with me. I want to lead people and show them to rightfully rely on God during times of trouble and hardship instead of themselves. And rn, I tend to try and bear the burden of the world on my own shoulders to avoid the guilt of relying too much on others and being too dependent on them. And I do think that I’m really afraid that that will happen again. That I’ll be too dependent on others instead of trying to figure things out for myself. And no one deserves to feel trapped in that situation. I think that’s the position I’m in with my sister right now. But yeah, I want people to know that they can rely on God in all situations and places and even though I can’t emotionally always be there for everyone right now, I want to get to that place and just really compassionately love upon my fellow brothers and sisters. Freshmen and upperclassmen alike. But I’m not there yet and I want to get there. But first, I think I need to come to terms with my own issues and accept that I need to learn to rely on God more because I’m not there yet. I need to accept this for myself before I can start preaching to the choir.