#ii. ( verse ) — all that comes after | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skteezcursed · 10 days

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❝MANWICH❞ — k.ys & c.jh

part i || part ii || part iii.

PAIRING. kang yeosang x reader x bf! choi jongho.

GENDER AND WARNINGS. smut. idol verse. dom jongho. switch yeosang. sub reader. masturbation (both recieving). oral (both recieving). handjob. fingering. mxm action (only one part, so you can jump that if you are uncomfortable). cum eating. double penetration. p in v. overstimulation. lmk if i forget anything (i probably did).

SYNOPSIS. in which jongho choses to make one of your dreams come true with the helping hand of yeosang.

WORD COUNT. 7,7k.

NOTES. english is not my first language. this is a collab with @songmingisthighs & @bro-atz, this is the third and final part, also apparently i'm the only one who remembers how tihs crazy collab came to be, but yeah, i gave my best on this, i hope is up to everyone standards and lets be honest, the standards are high after those two amazing parts help. i also didn't think it would turn out like this, but anyways, hope you enjoy it, bye ♡.

IMPORTANT. this is a work of fiction, it has zero intent on portraing how any of the people quoted here are in real life.

CREDS. dividers by cafekitsune ♡

There were many things Yeosang was proud of, there were many things he could endure. He was a person with a strong conviction, he wasn’t a person to fold easily, or to beg, or to show his soft side. At least not until you came into the picture, at least not until he managed to have you around his arms, to have you wrapped around him in more ways than one. If he was to say the truth, those two weeks he had with you, every single night having you squeeze him in between your legs, hearing you whimper and screaming his name were like a dream.

A fever dream he was now, trying to recover from.

Unfortunately, just like Jongho had been stuck in the studio, was now his turn, and for the last month, not only he had to barely see you because Hongjoong would lock him in the studio or Yunho and Wooyoung would lock him in the dance practice room, he also had to come home late at night and hear you and Jongho every damn fucking night.

He knew it was wrong to crave you the way he did. The offer Jongho had proposed all those weeks ago still felt like a trick. Did Jongho really allow Yeosang to have you in every way?, to satisfy your needs in every way? Yes, yes he did. In all honesty, that day really wasn’t on Yeosang’s mind, at least not until the day you and Jongho returned from that trip he said he’d take you.

That was when he started to question everything, if it had even been real. The two weeks he had your legs squeezing his face as he ate you out, the two weeks he was buried inside you whispering sweet nothings as he watched your face contort with pleasure, pleasure he was giving you.

Everynight he returned home, everytime you and Jongho kept him awake as Yeosang could hear all the moaning and beg that you did for Jongho, just like you had done with him all those weeks prior, his name never leaving your lips, the sweet delicious lips that he often on imagined wrapping around his cock as he could hear the two of you through the walls. Fuck he was a pervert, no, he was a simp. A perverted simp, if that was even a thing.

As if his situation wasn’t bad already, as his mind kept wandering back to those weeks he had you, it also returned on how you ended up on his dick. By a motherfucking proxy kiss. If that wasn’t horrible, he now not only imagined – vividly – you around his cock, but the way he could hear Jongho command you and toying with you, was also starting to rail him up, the damn kiss playing over and over in his head when all he could hear was Jongho, probably because he was muffing your sounds and, in all honesty, the way Jongho spoke during sex should not have such an effect on him.

When the two of you were being vocal, Yeosang couldn’t help but curse and imagine him with the two of you, on how you would whimper in between them, or how Jongho could easily manhandle the both of you, as he had done several times to both in different scenarios. He should not be thinking of you like that, he should not be thinking about his friend and member like that, yet, it was all he could think for the past week as he would use his fist, imagining it was you, as his mind would wander around imagining Jongho commanding you and Yeosang around.

“Good God, fuck-”

That was his mistake, making him bite his lip with his other hand against his mouth containing the moans that wanted to leave him as the warm white stripes of cum would go all over his abdomen, it was only then he noticed how quiet the whole house was, a moment of panic flowing through him.

“Fu-fuuuuuck!”

When he heard your crying moan and Jongho’s little laugh, he could finally breathe peacefully. Hopefully neither of you would’ve heard him, hopefully he was still in the clear, being able to fuck himself at the thought of the two of you. Fuck, he was completely doomed at that point. Yeosang bit his lips as the sound of your wet pussy echoing through the dorm, along with your little moans and pleading pointless words sank through his body, making his cock getting hard again.

Giving him no other choice but to fist his leaking cock one more, using the cum on his body to help him find his release once again, your loud moans being the only focus of his, as he shut his eyes, his fist moving firmly against his length, completely unaware of how a certain figure passed through the room, a small smirk on his lips as he kept his walk towards the kitchen in search of getting you some more water.

Today was the first day in a while he had a break from everything, so he ran home just so he could relax. He knew you and Jongho wouldn’t be home, so he would also be able to relax and not have the imagine of any of you making him hard. No, that moment was for him to purely relax at the cozyness of their home. So, Yeosang took a long warm shower, made something for him to eat, making sure to leave some for you and Jongho to share as he knew you’d whine if you noticed he made food and left nothing for you.

Once he was finally done, he sat down on the couch, his head resting peacefully on the back of the couch, eyes shutting down and sleep finally catching up to him. If he could just sleep it would be incredible, but the world had a different plan, or rather, Jongho, had a different plan.

Although Yeosang sighed loudly at the pop-up text, he just locked his phone once more, only to be followed by three more notifications in a row. With a low curse spoken, he lit up the phone, the last notification being a simple, ‘open the damn text’ from Jongho, which he quickly did, regretting the same second his eyes were found with your smile, your cute little laugh filling out the dorm and Yeosang caught himself smiling at the screen.

You two were out together at a park, your shorts leaving your legs bare for his eyes to linger as Jongho made sure to focus a lot on you from afar, and Yeosang couldn’t stop his mind from wandering towards the memories of your smooth skin against his, your legs wrapped around him, legs squishing his face while he ate you out. Then the laugh filled the space, the laugh you would leave whenever he kissed your neck after sex, or when his fingers lightly caressed your heated skin, or when he dropped an unfunny joke, but you laughed as if he had said the most hilarious thing ever.

Fuck, he missed you.

The memories of all those weeks flew back into his mind as his fist worked around his length, teasing himself at the thought of you, you with him, you with Jongho, you. He was down bad and that was bound to become a real issue, but as of now all he wanted was to think of you, on how pretty you sounded when you moaned his name, how your nails dig into his flesh and scalp whenever he was eating you out or burying himself in you. At last, his thoughts went to the first time he had you, on that very same couch weeks ago, on how your pleas were music to his ears, on how perfectly your cunt hugged his cock, how pretty you looked above him impaled on his dick.

His train of thoughts was cut short as he heard the lock on the door, how long has he been edging himself? In a quick movement, he picked one of the cushions, placing it on his lap as he took his phone swiping randomly at the screen, his cock aching under the cushion as the pressure made him hold a whimper as he heard you and Jongho entering. Both eyes quickly found Yeosang as he forced a smile trying to sound natural, but he noticed Jongho’s stare, most specifically on the cushion Yeosang held firmly against his lap.

“My raccoon! You are finally home!” The fact that you didn’t notice how uneasy he was, made him give you a genuine smile, but still moved a little away from you, a small wrinkle on his nose as he did so, feeling the fabric of the cushion cause friction against his cock. “Sangie, you okay?”

“M-me? Ye-yeah, I’m fine, totally fine!”

He knew by the confusion in your face that you didn’t fall for that, walking closer to him, making him try to stay put, although his cock ached at every step you took closer.

“You sure? Your face is red, maybe you have a fever or -”

“Sweetheart he says he’s fine,” Jongho’s voice made you both turn to face him, but you still turned to Yeosang, your hand finding his forehead and neck, before he flinches away from you, not noticing your hurt face at that. “Why don’t you go take a shower, hm? Maybe do what we talked about?”

“Okay teddy bear,” your voice was weak and Yeosang almost let out a whimper at how obedient you were being, “take care of Sangie, I don’t think he is fine.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, just do as I say, yes?” As they both watch you walk away, Jongho’s eyes find Yeosang once again, but his eyes are closed. “C’mon,” his voice was stern as the older one eyed him confused. “Hyung, don’t question, just come, let’s go to your room.”

As soon as Jongho’s back faced Yeosang, he put his cock back into his trousers, cushion forgotten back on the couch as he tried his best to keep his hard on hidden. Jongho is on the desk as he points to the chair beside him.

“Jjong, look -”

“Sit.”

It was all it took for Yeosang to know it was time for the dreadful talk.

The talk in which Jongho would lash out on him for telling you he liked you, for fucking you every night for two weeks straight, for fucking you in Jongho’s fucking bed, for -. “Take it out.”

“What?”

“Take it out.”

Jongho said it again, right hand on the desk as his left was inside his front pocket. His eyes and jaw sharp, not leaving Yeosang’s face even for a second, making the older one feel considerably small beside him.

“Take what out?”

“I know you are hard as fuck right now hyung,” Yeosang’s eyes shot up and he felt his cock twitches inside his trousers as Jongho lowered himself just a little, “now take it out and start stroking.”

He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was.

He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was by thinking about you, his friend’s girlfriend.

He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was for how Jongho was talking to him.

“J-Jongho, ple-please I-”

“Take it out now, hyung.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched as he looked down at the tent and wet patch on his trousers. Thank fuck you were in the shower, or would you like to see him like this? At yours and Jongho’s mercy? Something deep inside of him told him you would like that. He whined a little at the friction of his sweats against his red angry sensitive leaking cock, moaning as it was finally free, twitching slightly as Yeosang’s eyes found Jongho’s attentive ones already on the red tip, but he was still dead serious, and that was a little unsettling to say the least.

Jongho leans over, face mere centimeters away from Yeosang who was already panting. A small shock went over Yeosang’s face as Jongho’s hand went to his lips, his tongue wetting the palm before his fingers met with the red tip, smearing the pre cum all over the head before going up and down Yeosang’s length.

He had to admit, Yeosang had a pretty cock and having him do Jongho’s every bit made the younger one wanna play with the older one a little bit. The image of you and Yeosang coming back to his head, the moan he heard from both your lips that night he found the two of you in his bed coming back to him, on how turned on he was despite being slightly angry at the situation, or was it jealous? He didn’t know anymore, all he knew was that he wanted you both to squirm under him, fuck he wanted to see you both fucking again, but this time, he’d be present to guide you both through it, to see both of your fucked out faces as he buries his cock into both of you.

Seeing Yeosang whimpering and squirming all thanks to his hands was a sight he never knew he wanted or needed. Whenever he started to shiver, Jongho would slow down the movements of his hands and fingers and watch Yeosang break little by little at that. On the other hand, Yeosang couldn’t do anything but to curse as he felt Jongho’s hand work on his cock, how good he was, how much at his misery the oldest one was, and how much he liked it.

“Look at me hyung,” he couldn’t, he couldn’t open his eyes, all he wanted was to cum, “I said, look at me,” a harsh squeeze made Yeosang jolt and open his eyes in shock, finding a small smirk on Jongho’s lips although his eyes were dead serious. He gulped knowing that was the moment Jongho would tell him that it was over, that he would never have you, that he -. “You wanna fuck my girlfriend, don’t you?”

As Yeosang remained silent, Jongho’s hand squeezed his cock once again, the wet sounds already even more present whenever his fingers went up the tip, spreading more of the precum, making Yeosang whimper and bite his lip.

“Th-that’s not -”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his voice died on his throat at Jongho’s words and torturous movements. “I know you want to, so I’ll let you fuck her again.”

“Huh? Jjong what are you argh fu-”

Fuck, why was Jongho so fucking good with his hands?!

Yeosang’s thighs start to shake as his chest starts to go up and down, as his abdomen contracts even more, Jongho knows he’s at his limit, he’s gonna cum at any second and Jongho can’t help but smile as he sees Yeosang's spent expression. His smile only grows wider as he notices the shower noise being cut out, you were done and now the fun would happen.

“Sweetheart, are you done?”

“Yes, teddy bear, where are you?”

The panic on Yeosang’s features made Jongho move his hands a little faster, but just enough to contain whatever thing the older one was planning on doing. “Come to Yeosang’s room.”

Although you were confused as to why Jongho would be in Yeosang’s room, you didn’t question as you tiptoed your way there, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. Yeosang fucked out face, cock out, red, angry and wet, being held by your boyfriend’s hand as he eyed you with a smirk, letting go of Yeosang turning towards you, eyes drinking every single part of your body regardless of the barrier of the towel.

“Jjong, what -”

“Perfect,” he says as his wet fingers call you towards where he and Yeosang were. You do as you are told, trying to ignore how wet you already feel yourself becoming, pushing your thighs together at each step which doesn’t go unnoticed by Jongho, whose smirk grows wider. “Lose the towel and get on the bed.”

Your eyes avert to Yeosang once more, meeting it again before your eyes go to his rock-hard cock, wetting your lips ignoring how mouthwatering it was, how bad you wanted it in your mouth. As you lowered your head watching the towel fall to the ground, you also noticed the tent in Jongho’s pants, your eyes meeting him once more, the smirk present as his hands both went to his pockets, and you knew his hard on was getting uncomfortable. You took slow steps towards the bed, hyper aware of both their eyes on your naked glory as you crawled towards the bed.

The whimper that left Yeosang and the groan that left Jongho, made you smile at yourself before turning back to them, knees shut together as you sat on your heels, hands crossed in front of your body, waiting for more orders. Jongho’s eyes turn to Yeosang, a simple ‘strip’ is said and the oldest looks between the two of you before finding Jongho nodding and you smiling, not taking long before he gets up the chair, striping down from every piece of fabric against his skin.

Your breath is caught on your throat at the sight of him, but it doesn’t last long as Jongho also starts to strip, causing you and Yeosang to slightly panic, even if for different reasons. In all truth, you had led on the idea of having a threesome with the two of them, but never to open about it, yet you tried to make the idea blossom in Jongho’s mind. When he told you to get all clean up, you knew it meant that tonight you’d be fucked good, you just didn’t expect for Yeosang to be participating in it, but you weren’t complaining.

On the other hand, Yeosang felt a pit in his stomach as he watched Jongho strip, his eyes averting for every single part of the youngest body, on how the wet stains would stick the clothes, the wetness being the mix of saliva and precum from how well Jongho had worked him up, his cock twitching again at the memory begging to cum at once, begin to be buried in your cunt or to be around Jongho’s fingers once more. Fuck, he was doomed.

“Hyung, all fours on the bed,” the voice that came out of Jongho was dark, full of lust and Yeosang knew what awaited him, he just didn’t expected to be so eager for that to happen to make him question if it was a dream, one of the fucked up dreams he’s been having since hearing you and Jongho fuck every day and night since you two got back from your trip. “Hyung?”

“Jjong, maybe he’s not okay with -”

“If you are gonna fuck my girlfriend, I’m gonna be present, are you okay with that, hyung?”

The subtlety that Jongho said that he will be present however he sees fit, made Yeosang gulp, looking at you once more, all pretty in the bed waiting for both of them to ruin you. The thought of both their cocks buried in you made Yeosang close his eyes and let out a breath before heading for the nightstand, opening the drawer and handing the lube to Jongho, who smirked at the oldest one who heads your way, standing right in front of you. Your pretty breasts insight for him, making his hands twitch to grab them, to pinch the perked-up nipples, to hear you moan to -

“(y/n) spread your legs so we can see you properly, will you, sweetheart?” You do as Jongho says, your hands going to the mattress as you lift your hips moving your legs around until they are wide open on the bed, the sight of your wet folds making both boys in front of you smile. “Now, hyung, all fours, I want you to look at that pretty cunt while I take care of you for a while, yes?”

Both noticed how you clenched at those words, biting your lip as you saw how lenient Yeosang was towards Jongho’s schemes, you threatened to close your legs, but Yeosang’s strong hands held them open making you whimper at the smirk he gave your way. The lube quickly being opened as Jongho took a good amount spreading on his fingers and on Yeosang’s ass, which you saw him closing his eyes. Fuck, this is gonna be one hell of a night.

Your eyes met Jongho’s as he lowered his lubed fingers towards Yeosang’s cheeks, his right hand pushing one cheek to the side before playing with the hole as you saw the man in front of you whine and bite his lips, your hand cupping his face, making him look at you. Once he lifted his face, you could see the wet patch on the duvet from Yeosang’s leaking cock.

One last look at Jongho, a small question there, the only answer you got was a small air kiss, so you pushed your body forward. The same time your lips met Yeosang’s, Jongho’s fingers entered his asshole, a loud moan left Yeosang’s lips but that didn’t stop either of you to kiss. How much you missed his lips, how much you missed his body, his reactions, him.

Yeosang had been good to you, both you and Jongho knew, he also wasn’t stupid, your boyfriend knew how you two looked at each other, but he also knew you would never leave him or do something without his permission. He also knew Yeosang would never try to steal you from him, so what was the bad thing about sharing once in a while? If everyone was okay with the arrangements?

Once you noticed how Yeosang would only moan stead of kissing you, your lips started to move around his face, kissing the corner of his mouth and his sharp jaw, as your fingers would tangle in his hair, scratching his scalp as you feel yourself getting wetter at the sign of him like that. Moving yourself closer to him, your legs still spread open, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Jongho, who worked his fingers up Yeosang stretching him open a few more times, feeling his own cock starting to hurt.

“Hyung, eat her out.”

Yeosang doesn’t take a second to waste as he lowers his head finding your wet cunt, feeling Jongho’s hand grip his waist holding it up as he put more lube putting on both Yeosang’s ass and his cock, pumping a few times watching as your face contorted in pleasure at how Yeosang’s tongue was playing around your clit and folds, your hand going straight to his hair as your other sustained your body, making your back arch, giving Jongho clear sight of your perked up breasts before he pushed his tip on Yeosang’s asshole, making him moan against your pussy.

“Fuck, this is…”

Your words died down at your lips as Yeosang lips closed around your clit, moaning as he felt Jongho stretch him out from behind, the tip of his cock touching the duvet just enough so he knew he wouldn’t last, but Jongho picks up on that, pulling his hips towards his cock, making his dick dangle loosely, receiving a whine from Yeosang.

“Once she comes, you can cum.”

“GOD FUCK!”

It was like a fucking prayer to listen to you scream like that, to see the pleasure building up in you, to see how your eyes rolled back, to see your legs tremble, to see you biting your lip trying to contain the moans that were to leave you. Those things only turned Jongho more as he held Yeosang’s hips tighter, ramming against him, hearing your moans and his, completing each other in front of Jongho.

As the youngest took a pace behind Yeosang, he became an incoherent mess of moans, which make him eye you with hooded eyes before using one of his hands to hold you in place as his dominant hand played with your folds, all while he left a chaste kiss on your clit making you arch your back before gasping as he pushed two fingers inside of you, curling them as his thumb pressed circular motions on your bundle of nerve along with random kitty licks when he felt himself capable of using his mouth for anything other than moaning at how good it felt Jongho’s cock on his ass. All Yeosang wanted was to make you cum, not only because he loved to see your fucked out face, or how much of a mess you could make, but also because once you did, he was also allowed to cum after all the edging it has been happening.

“C’mon princess, cum on my fingers, make a fucking mess like we all know you love to make.”

That was your breaking point, Yeosang’s deep voice as Jongho fucked him from behind, his fingers curling inside of you so well that you couldn’t do anything but clench around them, your eyes went to Yeosang’s first before meeting with Jongho’s who had a smirk at your direction, mouth slightly ajar as he kept thrusting into Yeosang. And just like that, your whole body started to tremble, your legs shaking, caging Yeosang’s face against your core as his fingers wouldn’t stop pumping and curling inside of you, his nose bumping against your clit at every thrust Jongho made.

“That’s it sweetheart, make a sweet mess on hyung’s face.”

The scream that left your body came along with the pull you had on Yeosang’s hair as his tongue kept taking all of your juice, only meeting you once he was sure none of it would go to waste before crashing both your lips, and you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue, but the connection was lost as Jongho pulled Yeosang towards him, holding him by the neck, giving you open view of Yeosang hard leaking cock.

“Baby bear, can I?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I think hyung has been good for us, so put that mouth to use, will you?”

So you laid flat on your stomach, kissing the tip of Yeosang’s cock, hearing one of the most pleasant moans leave his lips as you take your tongue out, kitty licks all over the head before licking your dominant hand to hold the base of his cock, only enough to hold him in place, but light enough that Jongho’s thrusts would pump the base ‘till the middle of his cock, as your mouth engulfed the other half and tip, the taste of the precum finding your taste buds making you roll your eyes back, finding Yeosang’s already down on you, and you realized he himself, was also moving his hips trying to get more of himself in your mouth.

Panting heavily, both men were starting to get sloppier with their thrusts, as you took Yeosang’s cock with a better grip, moving your head trying to get more of him every time, hollowing your cheeks feeling him closer and closer, by the noises you could hear from Jongho you knew he was also close, so you moved your hand under both of them grabbing hold of Jongho’s balls, hearing him groan loudly. Your cunt already wet just by seeing and hearing those two men.

As Yeosang’s left hand found your hair, you knew he was gone, he wouldn’t last long. Your hand squeezed the base of his cock as your hand started to move along with your head. It's been a while since you had Yeosang crumbling in front of you and that was making a new round of arousal to find your core.

Once his left hand forced your head to a stop, the warm cum went down your throat not long after, but once you patted his thigh he let go of your head as you promptly tried to get every drop of his cum in your mouth. Ah small weak, ‘fuck, princess’ was heard, making you eye up fiding a fucked out Yeosang looking down at you sucking him dry.

“Such a pretty little thing, ain’t she.” Jongho’s voice came from a little behind and you noticed he too had cum as he took a clean towel around his cock, that was getting hard by the second, although you still had Yeosang’s cock in your mouth. Your boyfriend’s hand patted your head before the tips went all the way to your back. “Did you swallow everything like a good little slut, sweetheart?”

“Yes, teddy bear,” you said, opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, letting go of Yeosang’s now soft hardened cock as Jongho’s fingers took your jaw, pulling you in. “What do you want me to do now?”

“Well, you thought of me while fucking hyung, and thought of him while fucking me, so I guess nothing better than having both of us fucking you, no sweetheart?” You gulp trying to close your legs, but Yeosang’s hand were faster cupping your wet core, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly on your swollen clit. “Now, be a good slut and let us take good care of you, yes?”

Before you could answer your boyfriend’s lips were on yours, his hand firmly on the nape of your neck as you felt Yeosang’s hands leave your pussy, but the movement under you made you break the kiss only to find the eldest head in between your thighs once again, eyes filled with lust. You moan loudly as his tongue takes a long stripe from bottom up, but you are silenced by Jongho’s lips again on you.

It didn’t matter that you were whimpering against his lips, it didn’t matter your whole body was shaking on top of Yeosang almost making it impossible for him to breathe – not that he cared at least. As your body started to fail you, Jongho’s arms wrapped around your waist holding you steady as Yeosang ravishes on your pussy, finger, tongue, and mouth taking their time as your mouth was way too preoccupied with Jongho’s own mouth.

You could feel the buildup on your lower stomach, your legs already unable to hold you away from Yeosang, barely able to keep kissing Jongho, which he quickly noticed, giving you a smirk before calling the oldest one in between your legs, who quickly left from underneath you, his face glistering with your juice as he stood behind you, his hard cock pressing against your ass as Jongho kept his gaze fixed on you, analyzing how much you still could take.

“How do you feel about marking hyung?”

“I think the skin is rather blank, Jjong, should we really mark the little princess?”

You tried your best to hide how the praising was getting to you, how they are talking about you as if you weren’t there was affecting you, but you couldn’t, you had no more strength in you to fight the neediness that took hold of you.

“I think even sluts have owners, property should be marked so no one else touches.”

His hand on your neck pulled you in for another kiss as you felt Yeosang’s teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, his hands cupping your breasts playing with the hardened nipples, making you moan against the kiss with Jongho. As your legs failed again to keep you steady, you felt Jongho put his left leg under you, your soaking cunt against the skin of his thigh in a way to keep you elevated so both men could take their time with you, and God they were taking their sweet time with you.

As an instinct, your hips started moving on their own against Jongho’s thigh, making him chuckle against your lips before taking one side of your neck as Yeosang took the other, both sinking their teeth on the burning skin, leaving a mark each. Jongho’s hand never leaves your hips, helping you move against his thigh as Yeosang kept playing with your breasts, cupping, pinching, squeezing it. You were seeing stars and they had barely started to properly touch you, yet you were long gone under their lustful gazes and touches.

Again, as you start to feel the buildup, the warmth spreading from your core, the trembling of your limbs, but they both stop, making you cry out loud already sensing a bit of the tears forming.

“Please teddy, let me cum, I’ve been good, please.”

Jongho only coos at your words, fingers gently brushing the skin of your face, in contrast to the hands around your marked neck, you could also feel Yeosang still kissing every part of your back, hands playing tortuously with your breasts as you feel him dry humping your ass, low grunts being heard from time to time.

You were nothing but their fucktoy at that point and you couldn’t even complain.

“You will sweetheart, I promise you that, but first I wanna make your filthiest dream come true and to have both of us, with you being at our mercy.”

Instantly your hips started to move faster against your boyfriend's thigh, getting a chuckle from both of them, but you didn’t mind, you were desperate.

“Seems like someone is eager,” Yeosang baritone voice made you shiver and throw your head back, only to find his lips brushing closely to yours. A painful pinch on your nipple made you gasp before he silenced you with his lips. “You should start behaving if you want to cum, princess.”

“That includes, stop moving your hips, sweetheart,” at that, Jongho’s fingers held your hips in place, digging into your skin, making you whimper as you could feel the crescent moons forming on your flesh. “That’s it, such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes I am,” you whispered, barely capable of forming a coherent phrase as they sandwiched you, pressing their bodies against yours, taking everything you could give them and more. “I’m your good girl.”

You heard both of them groan at your words before Yeosang’s body takes a distance from yours, but before you could say anything, Jongho took your waist pulling you close as his back fell on the mattress, before his hand pulled your leg up so you could straddle him properly, his hard cock in between your bodies. With a small exchange of looks, you swiftly took his cock and put it at your entrance, but didn’t sink down to it, you knew better than to do that.

“Oh sweetheart, you think you are ready for what’s to come?” Jongho coos as his fingers draw small random circles on your skin, your legs barely capable of keeping you up from all the things both of them have done to you. “You think you are ready to take both of us?”

“Yes, yes please,” you cry out a plea, noticing Yeosang missing for your view before feeling hands cup one of your breasts as another takes your throat making you look at Yeosang behind you, a small smirk before he pinches your nipple and slap your tit making you hiss, before feeling his cock against your back. “Please Sangie, I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve been good, right. my little raccoon?”

Your doe eyes almost made him pull you in for a kiss, but that wasn’t the moment for that, he also didn’t even think Jongho would be okay with that happening, not when you were mere seconds of being impaled by the younger’s cock.

“You’ve been good, princess, but do you think you can take us both?”

His hand left your breast finding its way between your ass, pulling the cheeks to play with your asshole, making you jolt as he pressed one finger in.

“Have you done what I told you to do, sweetheart?”

Jongho’s upper body quickly met yours, his hands firm on your shaking thigh, he was testing how much you could endure until sinking into his cock, just so he could punish you for doing something without his permission.

“Yes, yes I have, I cleaned up real nice for you teddy bear.”

“Oh sweetheart, that wasn’t for me,” you felt his left hand leave your thigh already anticipating what was gonna happen, “Yeosangie hyung is the one taking your ass, because just like I said prior, your cunt was made for me.”

A harsh slap met your right ass cheek, and you whined in pain and pleasure, closing your eyes as Yeosang pulled your face higher, kissing your cheekbone before pushing another finger into your asshole, making you jolt before sinking in a little, feeling the tip of Jongho’s cock entering you in the slightest as another harsh slap was felt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Jjong, but my legs, please, I can’t, I-”

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can sit down, we’ll take care of you, won’t we hyung?”

“Always the best for the princess.”

Although you wanted to give in completely, you knew Jongho wouldn’t like that, he has been taking his time with you, if you sink in completely on his cock, he’ll be upset, and yet, the stinging on your right ass cheek made you consider how much were you willing to not take the punishment.

At least, Jongho’s hands were holding your legs, helping you to keep spreading them a little at a time, clenching every once in a while, mostly because on how Yeosang’s fingers were going in and out of your asshole, making you only imagine how it would feel once his dick was inside. As you sank down on Jongho’s length, both boys were saying the filthiest praises you could hear.

Fuck, princess, can’t even take my two fingers is this pretty little ass?

Sweetheart, my cock isn’t too big for you, is it? Your cunt was made for it after all.

You are so pretty like that, all fucked out, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

You are gonna take the both of us so well, aren’t you sweetheart, such a good girl.

Our good girl.

They were driving you insane and they were barely fucking you properly.

“That’s it sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

“Full,” you moan as one of Jongho’s thumb found your clit, making you gasp and arch your back. “So big Jjong, oh my -”

“Ready to take hyung’s cock, sweetheart?”

Without expecting a word, you heard the lube being opened again before feeling the tip pressing against your other hole as Jongho’s hands spread your ass cheeks, Yeosang’s were firmly on your waist, making you whine and moan at every centimeter he entered you. If you felt full before, now you were on a break point of losing your fucking mind.

Nails digging into Jongho’s shoulder making him groan against your ear before slapping your already red ass cheek, making you clench around both of them, making Jongho repeat the act as Yeosang pulls your hair, fingertips going all the way down your spine until it reaches the point where his cock is buried in your ass.

“Princess, we need words.”

“I need you to move, please.”

“Now, that’s not how I taught you, sweetheart.”

“Green, my color is green.”

“That’s more like it,” Jongho kisses your temple before holding your thighs while Yeosang pulls you slightly up by the hair, leaving a bit of space between you and them. “Tell me if you ever feel empty, sweetheart, okay?”

“Y-yes, teddy bear.”

In a swift motion, both start to move in different rhythms but in such sync that you never felt fully empty nor fully full. As Jongho would be coming out, Yeosang was coming in and you thanked your boyfriend for having the idea of asking Yeosang all those weeks ago to fulfill your every need or else you wouldn’t be here in this fucking manwich of heavens.

In all honesty, you were nothing more than an incoherent moaning mess. Your mouth open, screaming moans and curses leaving it every so often, your nails digging into Jongho’s flesh as you tried your best from time to time to escape the overstimulation they were creating within your body, they were fucking reorganizing your organs at this point.

Whenever your body would start shaking, both would slow down their rhythm, whisper sweet nothing in your ear, Jongho would kiss your lips as Yeosang would leave open mouth kisses to your neck and back. You bit your lip trying to muffle your moans, but Yeosang took your neck as Jongho pushed his fingers to spread your lips open.

“Don’t you fucking dare hold back your moans, do you hear me?”

“Ye-yes, te-teddy be-bear,” you cried as both of their rhythms came back full force, your cervix was nonexistent at this point, you were numb, your legs and arms shaking like crazy, you clenched around them more than you relaxed. “Oh God, fu-”

“Tell us how it feels, princess.”

“Tell us how it feels to have both our cocks.”

“So fucking good, Jjongie,” you cried another moan just as Yeosang yanks you back, making both hit you on a different spot, feeling the common build up in your lower stomach, “fuck, yes, don’t stop, please please please let me cum, please!”

You screamed as both of them, once again slowed down their movements, you just wanted to cry at this point, so you did something you knew you would be punished for, but it didn’t matter, you need to cum, you need to-.

“What the fuck you think you are doing?” Jongho’s hands pulled your wrist away from your clit, making you look at him with pleading needy eyes. Fuck, you couldn’t take it any longer. “Hyung, hold her hands back,” the grip on your hands were firm, making you whine and move a little, the friction of your clit against Jongho making you moan. “If you wanna cum so badly, we’ll make you cum.”

“Thank you.”

The chuckle that left Jongho’s mouth was enough for you to know you were fucked.

It didn’t take half a second and they both started rammering their cocks in and out of you, while Yeosang held both your arms and hair – making you back arch, leaving your breasts and clit exposed for Jongho’s pleasure –, you boyfriend took his time, slapping your breasts, pinching your nipples, playing with your clit, it was all too much, too fucking much and you were loving every second.

“Cum sweetheart, cum for us, cum all over my cock.”

Automatically your body responded to Jongho’s words, clenching one last time before you convulse in between them, crying and cursing out loud as they used you, kept fucking you through your high, which wasn’t even done yet and another one was building up. Yeosang let go of your hair, hands wrapping around your throat pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, as Jongho’s thrusts became more feral.

“One more time princess, cum for us once more, please.”

At Yeosang’s words against your ear, you came once again, this time, feeling the older one’s thrusts become erratic before he fill your ass with his seeds, before pulling out, letting your body fall against Jongho, who quickly enveloped you around his arms, fucking you even harder before his hips suddenly stop and you feel his seed inside of you.

“How are you sweetheart?”

A small kiss is felt on your temple as you feel Jongho lift you up, putting you on the mattress, the feeling of emptiness and numbness fill you up after what just happened. Your eyes scan the room, finding Yeosang returning from the bathroom with a towel, ready to clean you up, while Jongho takes his already used one to clean himself before joining your other side as Yeosang takes his time cleaning your legs and taking particular care with your sensitive areas.

“I feel amazing Jjong, thank you,” you pull your boyfriend in for a kiss before looking at Yeosang who is taking extra attention to the task at hand, even though you know he already cleaned all he could out of you. “Sangie?” His eyes pick up as you call his name. “C’mere, please?”

You try not to roll your eyes as you saw Yeosang direct his attention to Jongho, who chuckles nodding as his fingers trace random patterns on your heated skin. In a swift move, Yeosang is now on your other side, pulling the loose hairs away from your face, making you giggle before taking his hand in yours.

“Hope we weren’t too harsh with you, princess.”

“Never,” you say genuinely, although your body would certainly complain a little more once it starts to cool down, but you didn’t care. “I know you two could never really hurt me, thank you for everything, my boys.”

You kiss each of them on the lips one last time before looking at the bathroom door of Yeosang’s room, making both boys chuckle.

“I’ll get the bath ready; you make sure she doesn’t sleep before that bath or we will never hear the end of it!”

Jongho got out of the bed shaking his head as Yeosang pulled you close to a hug, your leg quickly flying over his, tangling with each other, hand intertwined on top of his chest.

“And to think this all started because of a fucking proxy kiss Jjong gave you,” both laughed at the memory, as you turned to face him, making him curious. “I don’t regret it Sangie, and I talked to Jjong, he knows you like me,” he closed his eyes cursing at himself, “he also knows I like you,” his eyes shot up at your response, a small smile appearing in your lips. “I like you Sangie, but I also love Jongho, and he loves me, this needs to be clear.”

“I’d never ask for you to choose between us, if that’s what you are going for.”

Your laugh made a smile form on his lips, before you pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

“I was actually thinking of proposing something, like, maybe sharing?”

“Enough talk, you need to shower, we talk about that tomorrow,” Jongho quickly entered the room, taking your arms around his neck as he took your legs on his arm before turning to Yeosang, both of you eyeing the oldest. “I believe she said enough for you to think it through, hyung, we’ll talk tomorrow after a good night of sleep.”

general masterlist here ♡

here's the link for the permanent taglist ♡ !

network: @cultofdionysusnet ♡ @atzhouse ♡

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

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xxcallmemaryxx · 3 months

Text

Vessel x GN reader

Vessel loves you, but he refuses to tell you. So instead, he writes songs about you... you'd never figure out who the songs are really about right? ...Right?

(A fully fleshed out fic of this.)

It's an odd little arrangement the four of you have made. You met the boys after you were hired to help keep things in check for them during tours, kind of like an assistant. The four of them living together on the same bus for weeks? Yeah, they learned pretty quickly things were going to fall apart if they didn't get some extra help real quick. From then you formed a friendship, which has grown into a connection the four of you share that you seriously couldn't picture yourself living without. To say that the four of you are close is a major understatement.

Vessel though… Vessel found himself thinking about you more than what he felt a normal friend should be thinking about another friend. He found himself smiling for ages after every time you two conversed. He found himself trying to quell his trembling hands every time you stood or sat real close to him. He found his heart racing every time you entered the room he was in, and don't even get him started on how long and… weird… his days felt when he knew he wasn't going to see you. He knew damn well what it meant. Of course he knew. So he swore to himself never to tell you. He had well and truly fallen for you, but Vessel knows he is a hard lover. The horrid little voice of anxiety in his head convinced him that it would scare you off. That he would be too much and you wouldn't be able to handle it… that you'd leave. You'd leave him, you'd leave all of them and he would be entirely to blame for it. So he decided he would keep it to himself… as best as he could anyways.

II, III and IV watch the two of you. They sit back and watch him long for you. Long to touch you and hold you and to just whisk you away to love you and keep you all to himself. And they watch as you continue on without a clue in the world. You don't ever catch on to it. Too busy working and keeping the four of them in check, which to be fair… they are beyond grateful for… but they are astonished at how obvious Vessel is being and you just… don't notice.

It gets to a point where Vessel needs an outlet. Something to get the things he is dying to say to you… to do with you… to do to you… out of his head. He fears if he doesn't then he'll break. He will snap and it will all come flying out of his mouth and into the air before he can stop himself. The fear that fills him at the thought of that reality is unreal. So he starts writing it all down.

Once he started he could not stop. Writing songs about you he knew the world would never see. How could he ever let them? How could he ever let the world see you the way he sees you? It's selfish, he knows. But he's almost possessive over these lyrics. They are you. They are you when you're glowing. They are you when you're half asleep on an early morning. They are you when you're absolutely exhausted after a long day. They are you when you're just not doing too well. And Vessel just can't share that with anyone. He can't do it. He wants you to himself bad enough as it is, so the only way he can have that is through the words he writes. Why would he give that away too?

His mind works against him though, trying to see how far he can push this. He doesn't know why he did it… but he'd written something a little less obvious, a verse he’d come up with, something about your voice. How it makes him feel, how he'd never get bored of it. Really, the piece was well written, he knew enough about writing music to know what worked and what didn't, and again, Vessel really doesn't know why he did it… but he found himself standing in front of you with the damned piece of paper in his stretched out hand. Willing you to read it. He watches you take the sheet, eyes flicking over the few lines once, twice… three, four, five times. Taking them in, letting the words process. The way your eyes lit up, and the smile that he watched grow on your lips was all the feedback he needed. Your reaction was so pure, praising him for his talent and gushing about how beautiful the lyrics were. His heart raced as he walked away with an even bigger smile on his face. He can't help but think about how right you are… the words were beautiful because they were you. Vessel stayed awake that whole night. His mind overflowing with thoughts of you, he swears his hand could not keep up with the words he needed to say. His pen scribbling so fast over the papers he had spread around him, he almost tore a hole in them.

This became a dangerous little game he played with himself. The lesser obvious of the lyrics he'd write about you would end up in your hand at some point or another. And he would eagerly stand back and watch you soak the words in, watch as you admire them and in return, admire him. The praise you would reward him with would play over and over and over again in his head. You honestly turned into a drug for him, he had become addicted to how much you loved reading the small things he'd written, yet being so unaware of what the lyrics meant or where they came from. He just wanted you. So bad. So he pushed it a little further…

You're standing at the small kitchenette inside the tour bus the boys share, making yourself a coffee. Vessel's form fills the hallway as he glides through it, his eyes locked on you and a piece of paper clutched in his hand. A smile grows on your face the moment you see him, and then it grows again when your eyes fall to the paper. Your hand reaching out for it before he's even made it to you.

Now, Vessel really should have thought this through… or at the very least taken a few more minutes to triple check the lyrics he'd written about you this time. Because he watches your face fall as you stare at the words. He watches your eyes flick over them two, three, four times before you look up at him in confusion. Vessel hasn't felt fear like this in ages. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels like he can't breathe, you don't like it. It's the only thing he can think of… you don't like this one and he's gone too far and now you're put off by it and you'll never want to read them again…

His thoughts get cut short at the sound of you speaking…

“Vessel… where did… where did these lyrics come from…?”

It's a simple enough question. He knows that. But it's one he can't answer. And it's that very moment he realises why you are confused… you've figured it out.

His throat closes and any plans he had of trying to explain his way out of this one fly out the window. He stares at you, completely speechless. He doesn't know what to do, he's frozen in place and he can't breathe and he can't think and he's regretting everything he has ever done that has led him up to this point. He feels ridiculous… the only thing he can will his brain to force out of his mouth is an..

“Uhh”

He snatches the paper from your hands, crumpling it and tearing it to shreds with furiously trembling hands. His face is a dark red. He can feel it. His whole body is overheated with shame and embarrassment, he finally forces his feet to move, turn away from you and back down the hall of the bus. He doesn't know why he went this way, he could have left the bus, but it seems he is making really silly decisions today. He listens to your feet hit the floor as you run up behind him following him through the bus.

‘Wait… wait… Vessel just wait I wanna know…I wanna know who the lyrics are about…”

Tears well in his eyes as he continues to walk away from you, beelining to the small room in the back of the bus. Where he knows he can hide there. He can lock the door and stay there wallowing in his shame. He knows you're going to leave now. He knows you know damn well who the lyrics are about… you now know who all the things he's written recently have been about. Why must you make him admit it? Why must you make him watch the disgust on your face as he does so. Why must you make him watch as he loses you forever. How is he going to tell the band? How on earth is he supposed to tell them what happened and why they've all lost you too? The tears fall. They barrel down his heated cheeks as the reality of what he's done sets in. He can't believe he let this happen… It's entirely his fault.

He does indeed make it to the room in time… what he doesn't succeed in is locking you out of it. You weasel your way into the room and force him to look at you.

“Vessel… tell me…”

He can't say it at first. He just spends a few moments taking you in for the last time, admiring everything about you. He's sad he never got to love you properly, but he's grateful he got to experience you at all in the first place.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…. I wasn't going to do anything with them I swear, i am so sorry”

He starts rambling through his tears, the torn up mess of paper twists in his hands. More tears fall and he just can't stop telling you how sorry he is. He needs you to know he is sorry. He is so sorry. He can't even see you anymore. His eyes are so full of tears that everything has turned into a blur. He turns his face away from you in an attempt to hide them, he doesn't want you to see him cry. He doesn't want you to see him at all right now but he knows you're persistent. Should he walk away, you will follow. You put yourself in his line of sight again, and he watches you reach for him, for his hands… with the paper still grasped tightly in them.

He moves his hands away.

“Please don't…”

He's embarrassed by the sound of his own voice, broken and scared. You look up at him, a look he can't read written on your face. His stomach hurts, his chest hurts, his head hurts. Vessel swears he would do anything just to go back to 5 minutes ago, 5 minutes ago when you hadn’t read these lyrics. These damned lyrics. Maybe then you never would have figured it out, and maybe then he would still be able to keep you… even if it meant he stayed longing for you for the rest of his life he doesn't care. So long as you were still there for him to long for.

You realise he's not giving up the destroyed sheet of paper he's holding. So you reach for his arm instead. Gently, you wrap your fingers around his forearm. You don't quite know the words to say to him just yet, because honestly… you can read him well enough to know he is embarrassed… but the reason behind his tears is still unknown to you. You want to reassure him, you're dying to settle him down and tell him what he needs to hear… but you just don't know what it is he needs right now. With his arm in your hands, you lead him over to the small couch pushed into the far corner of the room. He lets you lead him, which is relieving. A big part of you expected him to refuse you all together.

The tension is high, you sit next to him and before you can even stop yourself the question flies out of your mouth.

“Were they about me?”

You mentally kick yourself. You could have waited one more damn minute to let him breathe before asking. And the guilt slams into you as you watch another few tears fall down his cheeks.

“How’d you… how’d you figure it out…?”

He isn't sure if he even wants to know… but he knows that if he doesn't ask, the ‘what-ifs’ will eat him alive. His heart is racing in his chest and he swears he is on the cusp of throwing up. He feels awful. Vessel hasn't felt this horrid in a long time… you being the sole reason for his bright moods.

“Well… you mentioned a setting sun in Hamburg… and uh… well you and I watched the sun set in Hamburg Ves… after the show there? It's one of my favourite memories… so I just, I mean well… I just assumed. I don't know…”

The memory of that night with you floods Vessel's mind. Well after he’d realised he had feelings for you, he couldn't believe he'd been gifted that time alone with you. He spent hours and hours thanking Sleep for it. A memory he will never forget, and like you… it's one of his favourites too. So much so he couldn't not write about it… well, look where that's got him.

“Please believe me when I say I am sorry. I should have asked you… I- I should have asked you if it was okay to write about you like that I am so sorry… I won't blame you at all for leaving I really wont. I just need you to know I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry I…”

He is rambling now. The truth is out and the only thing that matters to him now is you know he didn't mean anything bad by doing this. And although you understand he is sorry… which you don't even know why because this hasn't upset you at all… the only thing that registered was the fact he thinks you're leaving.

“Wait. Wait what? Leaving? Why am I leaving…?”

His eyes finally meet yours. For the first time since he ripped the paper from your hands… and they're so full of emotion it breaks your heart just looking at them.

“Because you're uncomfortable around me now. It's obvious isn't it… I'm in love with you and you don't feel the same and now you can't be around me and now you can't work with me around all the time so you're leaving. You're leaving us… you're leaving me and how could I ever hold that against you? How could I ever force you to stay somewhere you can't bear to be anymore? I don't want you to hate me too…”

He loves you.

He is in love with you.

You.

For a moment you think you go blind. You can't see him. You can't see anything. You can't hear anything. Those five words slam into you harder than anything you've ever felt in your life. You don't even register the rest of his rambling because he loves you. Vessel loves you back.

“Please say something…”

His broken plea snaps you out of it. You didn't even realise he'd stopped rambling. His terrified eyes watch you so intently. They're so guarded. He's prepared himself for your rejection. Your heart is shattering just looking at him in this state.

“I love you.”

The world honestly stops around you. Vessel stops breathing. He is frozen in place. A valid reaction in all honesty. You let him process for a minute, you have a lot you need to say to him. You have a lot you want to explain. Fuck… you just wanna keep saying it. You love him. You love him and he loves you. You love each other. And you know you'll get there. Give him a few and you'll be able to say it all. But the poor guy was a sobbing mess just a minute ago and now he's looking at you like you've grown a second head.

It hits you finally… the reason behind his tears, you couldn't figure it out before but now you piece it together and your own throat constricts. He thought you were leaving. He loves you and he was willing to watch you leave him. He loves you and he was going to let you go because he thought that's what you wanted. He fucking loves you and he thought he'd ruined everything.

“Vessel…?”

“Say it again.”

He utters it out with what sounds like his last breath. And you know just by the sound of his voice it's taking everything in him not to lose his mind. You still don't know if he's even taken one breath since you said it the first time.

“I love you too Vessel.”

Sometimes you think Vessel forgets just how tall he is. There's been a few times when you've witnessed his affections towards II or IV and he literally knocks them off their feet. They love it, of course, and there was always a small part of you that longed to be on the receiving end of Vessel's affectionate moods… yet now… with you both on the couch, you don't quite have enough time to process how you ended up on your back with a fully grown Vessel throwing himself on top of you. He knocks the breath out of your lungs. His arms are wrapped around your back and you're lifted into his embrace quicker than you can think. He's up off the couch, you're still in his arms. Your feet dangling just above the floor as he holds you. He's breathing now. Really erratically. It's like he can't get enough air into his lungs. He squeezes you tighter against him and his face is buried in your neck. And you realise he's crying again. Holding you against him like you're his lifeline, crying because the person he loves… loves him back. You're not leaving. You love him too. You're not leaving. You love him too. You're not leaving. You love him too.

“Ves…?”

He doesn't reply. He can't. He can't even get words out because you love him too. He's hiccupping and sobbing into the crook of your neck, all while his hands grasp you desperately and hold you so close. You're so close. He is holding you. And you're holding him. And it's okay because you love each other. And this isn't a dream. He's not making it up this time. This is real. You love each other. His knees are going to give out. He falls back into the small couch the two of you occupied just before, except now you're seated comfortably on his lap, his arms keeping you locked tightly against him and you love each other. He pulls back. His face is puffy and red, his eyes are bloodshot and still full of tears but god… he's wearing the prettiest smile you've ever seen. Vessel is just beautiful, you've always thought it. But now, with you holding each other and openly loving each other… Vessel is so full of life again and it makes your own tears spring to your eyes.

“You wrote all of those about me…?”

You ask him quietly, you can't quite believe it now. That all those lyrics, lyrics that were written so incredibly and so passionately were all about you. Your own tears fall when he just nods at you. And there the two of you sit. Wrapped up in each other, crying together, and finally letting it sink in that you love each other. You've loved him for so long. So many nights you've spent lying awake thinking about him, weeks and weeks of admiring him from a distance and keeping your feelings to yourself. You swore to never tell him, or anyone for that matter. Your love for him and for the rest of the band outweighed your want to be selfish with him. You’d accepted the fact that if he didn't know, he couldn't reject you, therefore being able to keep your job and your beautiful friendships with them all. In your head, you'd rather love him from a distance and keep his friendship than risk losing him and the boys all together.

It doesn't have to be like that anymore. It's not like that anymore.

“Please… let me kiss you please…”

Vessel almost begs you, through his tears. Your eyes lock, and right there on that couch… in the little room in the back of the tour bus you press your lips to his. It's everything you'd ever wanted it to be and more. It's so overwhelming in the very best ways possible. It causes you both to shed a few more tears. To anyone else it may seem like you're saying a heartbreaking goodbye to each other, but really this is hello.

This is the beginning of waking up next to each other every morning. Going to bed next to each other every night. Random kisses every single day. Cuddles on the couch. Cuddles in bed. Hand holding. I love yous. No more shying away. No more pretending. Finally.

Because you love each other.

#my first full sleep token fic hello #sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep token vessel #vessel #vessel x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #vessel sleep token #marys musings

298 notes · View notes

pshcomforts · 3 months

Text

➳ lily of the valley | psh.

idol!sunghoon x fem!reader

“i’ll give you something, unforgettable”

synopsis: after practice, sunghoon comes home to you and requests a dance to your associated song.

warnings/content: tooth rotting fluff and comfort :(. written in third pov. cursing (i think). that’s it because it’s cute. nickname used (gorgeous). this is my apology after my angst — ₊˚ෆ

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 801

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: lily of the valley by daniel

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:25 ──────|───────────── -3:31

[ 2:16 am ] — the clock read. y/n tirelessly waited for her boyfriend to arrive into her apartment that he basically lived in. eyes were drooping low as she felt her body starting to slowly give out.

a subtle hint of music played in the background, being kept at a certain volume to not wake any neighbors.

she yawned continuously as she confided into the calm playlist almost putting her to immediate sleep. her eyes fluttered, automatically dropping low as she fought the urge to shut them completely.

soon enough, the door rattled to the sound of sunghoon entering the apartment in the same tired state. her eyes shot open while taking the time to sit up to meet her boyfriend’s gaze on her.

“hey hoon,” she said with a light grin.

his eyes softened with the warmth of her. “hey gorgeous,” he greeted back.

right away, y/n felt her heart flutter with butterflies as her body remained exhausted.

“how was today?” she softly asked with blushing cheeks.

her eyes were rubbed awake after taking in how he didn’t respond back. “hoon?” she called out, a little more aware now.

it stayed quiet for a moment, no one said anything as a song had played out — ‘lily of the valley’ by daniel.

as y/n remained determined to get his attention again, her mouth opened to speak but was cut off by him. “remember this song?” he asked with a cracking smile.

they locked eyes again after his question. “this song? of course i do, it was played in the adorable restaurant where we had our first date.” her reply was filled with a radiating comfort that had him feeling soft.

hoon’s eyes creased into half moon shapes with a smile forming on his face. his hands reached out towards hers after entering into the kitchen, where she had followed behind.

“dance?” he suggested, music still in the beginning seconds of its song.

“dance?” y/n snorted. “hoon, aren’t you tired from all the dance practice you did today?”

his heart melted at the sudden affection in his tired state, but he only shook his head. “come on, i want to dance with you.” she paused for a second before complying and taking hold of his hands.

sunghoon felt the grasp, pulling her into his embrace as his hands slipped to her waist and her arms clung around his neck. he let out a deep sigh, reeling in the tender warmth that was filling the room.

his body towered over hers as his tall height easily overpowered. “missed you so much today.” his little murmur made her smile.

the song was halfway through its verse as she replied, “i missed you too, hoon.”

“i’m gonna spin you.”

he pulled away, hands still gripped on hers. immediately, she did a quick spin with his hand ghosting on top of her head. she let out light giggles that had the smitten boy chuckling as well.

their laughs mixed together with the music playing in the background, echoing throughout the apartment like a movie scene.

he was in an immediate daze of how much she was enjoying such a simple thing. his heart melted like it always did, ice thawing from the so-called ice prince as he admired her laughs that lingered to stay in his ear.

after the soft spin, he pulled her in closer once more. y/n buried her head deeper into the crook of his neck, face planting directly onto his chest.

“i love this,” she uttered in with a laugh.

he let out a laugh as well. his hold on her became tighter as he simply savored this very moment of being intimate in another way.

cherishing it like it’d be his last, he didn’t say anything as all he could do was feel comforted in his girlfriend’s embrace. they both didn’t say anything, in fact.

the two remained quiet on their sides, no words even needing to be said as they could feel the soft satisfaction of being in each others arms.

not too long after, the song ended but hoon and his girl continued to stay the same. arms still tightly clinging onto one another while a second calm song played out — ‘forever young’ by got7; and then another — ‘try again’ by jaehyun, and another — ‘star blossom’ by doyoung and kim sejeong.

the two kept their eyes closed as they slowly rocked back and forth. this adorable night event was something much needed for them, both simply grasping onto all of the times where they’d just spontaneously do couple things like this.

sunghoon let his hand play with a few of her hair strands, stroking it with love before finally pulling away with a soft mumble — “let’s go to sleep, gorgeous.”

[ 2:39 am ]

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

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thesirencult · 6 months

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PAC READING: YOUR DIVINE FEMININE'S AURA

Discussing your feminine's general aura and characteristics. Friendly for both men and girls/theys who like girls. You can also pick it to see how your aura is as a feminine ❤️

Book your reading by sending me a private message xoxo S.

Pile 1

7 of pentacles, 8 of pentacles, 10 of swords

Your DF has the aura of a sweet herbal witch. She lives in her little cabin in the woods and like a fairy she works on perfecting her craft. Greens and purples look great on her.

This is a slow and steady energy. This is someone who loves taking their time. She loves learning and implementing her skills. Making coffee becomes a daily ritual and same goes as washing the dishes.

Her attention to detail is immaculate and that can drive you crazy sometimes but you know that with all that good comes some bad. Very well presented, you can take her anywhere and all eyes will be on her. Very earthy, stable and focused on building a foundation for all things practical before she jumps onto commitment.

Her steady "working on myself" attitude stems from getting backstabbed one too many times. She knows that she has to build herself up and after that all her dreams will manifest. She is into self development and may love going through that tag on Tumblr. She may even be a blogger herself.

She is investing in herself and doesn't shy away from learning about accounting or law. Nothing will stand on her way to that cute fairy cottage *aggressive cute walk* ��.

Pile 2

9 of pentacles, queen of swords, the magician

Whoever has this DF as a counterpart or has that aura, WOW. Miss Independent. A handful. We love seeing that *sprinkle, sprinkle* here. CEO. That's C-Suite energy!

This woman is someone powerful and dominant. Like a race horse you will always bet on because you KNOW, it will always come first 😉 (pun intended). She works very very hard for what she wants and similar to pile 1 she can be in accounting, finance and law. Good with numbers and her hands. I bet she has a dirty sense of humour.

From the first moment you see her you will know she is the real deal. Others blend in the background while she power walks in the room. Penetrating stare and red bottom high heels, her allure is different. She doesn't have to show dominance, others feel that she is the boss. Mami energy. Ferocious when someone comes for her loved ones. She could even be in law enforcement.

Red and brown. Symbolising high energy that's still grounded and serious. Do not cross her.

Pile 3

King Of Swords, Knight Of Wands, Ace Of Swords

Now, this one? A handful ! Try to tie her down. You just can't. A brat.

This person is very fluid. They don't care about terms and conditions. They are highly intelligent and her mind walks a thin line between spirituality and logic. The most unconventional, they will find a solution no one sees yet it's right in front of them. Highly intellectual and well versed in philosophy and math.

This reminds of a movie with James Franco where he played a start up founder who was into spirituality. A crazy genius. A party is a party and they will be there.

Partying in Ibiza? They've done that. Phuket for a Muay Thai Camp? That did that last year! Eiffel tower to try a croissant with pistachio filling? They just got back yesterday and guess what? They hate pistachios.

This person is the type to run a start up company focused on clean energy and when shit hits the fun they will call an astrologer and ask for recommendations. They respect everyone. They will listen to your mom and dad when they talk about their days and take mental notes of great ideas. They know great ideas come from the most unconventional places and fields.

Pile 4

Page Of Cups, Page Of Swords, The Fool (5 Of Swords + 8 Of Swords + 5 Of Pentacles flew out)

This can be my age difference pile. They will run you to the ground lol.

This is someone with lots of mental capacity. You ask them about World War II and they will tell you how Nazis and Churchill used astrology and why the war happened and after 5 hours you will be listening to them about Ancient Mesopotamia. "How did we get here?" You will think.

Well, it doesn't matter cause you love listening to their voice and their warm heartfelt laugh. They look innocent and pure and even if they try to intimidate you you will let them think they can but in reality they look like a cinnamon roll and they are a cinnamon roll. Their life was not the best and they have lots of trust issues. They may look innocent but their eyes hide a painful past. Like a kitten thrown out and left out in the cold they feel lost and unappreciated.

You listening to them means the world and you will be shocked at how appreciative they are and how loving with you. They are very romantic and they may have great expectations and daydreams about their love life.

I get that you might start off as friends and meet in a very random way on a daily run or while getting groceries or a tire changed. You will immediately fall in love with them and they will seem like they don't suspect a thing. Let me tell you, they know, they are just too scared to show their feelings and until you grab them and kiss em you won't know how much passion is brewing underneath this innocent and clever facade. They might turn into pile number 2 in a few years lol.

Ready for everything, you will always be a warm embrace and their home when they come back from exploration. You will love how they yawn while reading a book and how they stretch when they wake up showing revealing their tummy. They are cute to you, even if everyone else sees them differently, that's how you view them. They might be a black mysterious cat but you think of them as a tired little kitten waiting for a safe home that will accept them as they are.

#astrology #tarot reading #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate #future spouse

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heartsofminds · 2 years

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Blooming (III)

“Scoot over then.”

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?”

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?” or Rooster gets caught up from a hospital bracelet and she finally gets that kiss she wanted.

Warning: Contains curse words and mentions of an age gap.

A/N: Welcome back to part three of the Blooming series! I’m so incredibly excited to share this with you all. Thank you much for your continued support and patience. Stay tuned for more of the Blooming-verse as part four will be out soon! But for now, enjoy 10.8k words about the story of Rooster Bradshaw facing his relationship fears.

Blooming, Blooming II

(Y/N) considers herself to be a private person.

She’s an extremely private person, actually. But that’s only until someone wants to get information out of her and gives her that look. You know, the pointed one with the raised eyebrows and the slight smirk, the corners of their mouths serving as picks to the lock of all her inner thoughts.

She swore she could give Ella Enchanted a run for her money by how quickly she would fess up if simply asked for the truth.

(Y/N) partly blames herself but mostly blames her parents. Growing up in a military household with a greatly admired and high-ranked father meant that honesty and excellence were never not expected from her. And after the dissolution of her parents’ marriage, growing up with her helicopter mother who didn’t believe in keeping secrets put a nail in the coffin for her sub rosa thoughts and actions.

Her high school friends joked around with her saying that they could never sneak out or drink or do anything outside of the agenda she had told her mother before leaving the house because the minute that someone with authority asked her for the truth, (Y/N)’s mouth was running a mile a minute with the hurried apologies following suit after. She simply couldn’t help it, and her upbringing paired with her innate desire to always do good and always do what was expected of her cemented her truth telling tendencies even farther.

And so when she comes home in a stormy mood after being out past three AM and slams Penny’s guest bedroom door shut (waking Amelia up in the process who had school in the morning), her god sister knew something was up and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Amelia is mischievous and so fucking precocious. She had been raised around adults all her life so how could she not be?

She didn’t know what the kids table at Thanksgiving looked like or what watching cartoons on a Saturday morning felt like. Hell, (Y/N) doesn’t think Amelia has ever played with a goddamn Barbie doll ever in her life, let alone relished in the thrill of going to a Build-a-Bear Workshop.

She, much like her twenty-one year old god sister, liked the more “classic” things in life. They liked Raisin Bran and sudoku puzzles. They liked older 80s movies in comparison to their more modern remakes. They liked playing Scrabble and checkers.

And while (Y/N)’s “refined” taste (which, the more she thought about it, really happened to emulate all that of an eighty year old man who resided in a nursing home) came from her own father and didn’t make an evident appearance until she was an older teenager, Amelia had always been this way.

Because of that, Amelia was a bit of an odd ball to her peers but (Y/N) loved it. Her parents had split when she was eight and because of her father’s age and her mother’s anxiety towards parenting, they never dared having another kid after (Y/N). So when her Aunt Penny announced that she was having a baby,(Y/N) was more than ecstatic.

She still remembers damn near exploding from joy when she found out Amelia was going to be a girl.

Amelia was the closest thing (Y/N) has to a sibling and despite the seven year age gap, they’re so extremely close. It’s unusual; to have someone so much younger than you somehow be on the same page all the time but with (Y/N) and Amelia, there are no questions or genuine thinking required to read each other’s minds.

They just knew how to.

And despite how much (Y/N) adores Amelia or how much Amelia looks up to (Y/N), they irritate each other like no other. Getting under each other’s skin is each of their favorite pastimes and in true sister fashion, they go from ruthless screaming matches to braiding each other’s hair while sharing funny stories about their day.

When the fighting gets really bad, (Y/N) usually drives to the closest Dunkin Donuts and buys Amelia her usual; wordlessly leaving it outside of her bedroom door. Amelia usually slips a note under (Y/N)’s door with a “One free ‘Yell at me’ coupon,” which makes (Y/N) laugh and embrace her in a huge hug stating, “I only yell with love,” which makes both of them bust out laughing at how ridiculous they both are.

Even though Amelia is rather mature for a fourteen year old and her and (Y/N) basically share the same brain cells (even though they both joke about letting the other have ownership over them the day of a huge exam), she’s still a kid. And boy, does Amelia do all the shit that kid sisters tend to do.

She doesn’t mean to be, but Amelia is fucking nosy. She’s always hated being out of the loop. In her humble opinion (which, okay she does admit that she’s only fourteen and that her credentials in the age category aren’t looking too hot), being the last to know is the deadliest punch in the gut. Being blindsided is the absolute worst, and if she can do anything to prevent it, she will.

So as she lies in bed at three fifteen in the morning because (Y/N) came home pissed and slammed her door shut, Amelia knew something was up. (Y/N) had big emotions, but not big actions. Someone or something must have had to really piss her off for her to act that way and because she’s so goddamn private, Amelia knows that she won’t spill unless she absolutely has to and she won’t unless she’s made to sweat.

And that’s what Amelia plans to do.

The younger girl is spitting her toothpaste in the sink of the bathroom that stands between her bedroom and the guest bedroom when she notices that (Y/N)’s sour mood carries over to that morning.

The door is closed and there’s no sign of life other than the faint sound of ocean waves in the background that (Y/N) has to put on in order to calm her mind to be able to sleep. It’s a quarter till eight, and (Y/N) being in bed still is extremely odd.

Amelia knows that (Y/N) is usually up and awake by now; having done her morning run or sunrise yoga or whatever the hell she usually does before Amelia gets ready to leave for school. She’s usually sitting on the porch with her mom by now, those ceramic mugs that have some cringey ass quip printed on them and sipping raspberry tea while they gab about life and college and boys.

But she isn’t, and Amelia almost convinces herself it’s a good idea to knock and see if her god sister is awake before she chickens out. Her thoughts are interrupted by (Y/N) swinging the door open harshly.

Her hair is thrown up messily and the dark circles under her eyes say that the ocean wave white noise she had on did little to assist her into slumber. The collar of the gray USD Law sweatshirt she has on sat crooked on her shoulder and her sleeping shorts are twisted. Another noticeable sign that it was a more than rough night is shown through the one sock on (Y/N)’s foot and the other being bare.

She rubs at her face with her sweatshirt sleeve and shoots daggers at Amelia with her eyes; as if she was saying “I dare you to fucking speak to me right now” to her god sister. (Y/N) brushes by without as much of a wave or a “Good morning.”

So yeah, she’s fucking pissed and cranky.

And Amelia is clever but sometimes her curiosity goes against her own best interest. Was it smart to follow (Y/N) to the kitchen when she had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Absolutely not, but Amelia always claimed that smart was something that she is occasionally, and not something that she is all the time.

Also, she just had to get to the bottom of this.

The honey-blonde teenager holds her breath as she waltzes into the kitchen, finding (Y/N) aggressively shaking the bag of Special K cereal into a ceramic bowl. Amelia goes to the fridge and gets out the almond milk. She shakes it and puts it next to (Y/N) who mumbles out a weak, “Thanks.” before filling her bowl and stabbing at her cereal with her spoon.

Amelia leans on the counter, eyes lasered in on the back of the older girl’s head. She was gonna get her to talk and the only way to do so is to corner her. But right now her god sister’s rage emulates that of a rabid raccoon and she’s animal control with no equipment.

She knows she’ll get her head bit off, but the void she has in her life that’s absent of her own drama desperately needs to be filled and she’ll be damned before she’s left out of anything going on with the people living in her own house.

“Are you gonna fucking speak, Meals? Or are you just gonna stare laser beams in the back of my fucking skull like a dumbass?” (Y/N) grumbles and she knows that what she said is mean and uncalled for, but she’s just really not in the mood for her kid sister’s shenanigans today.

Bradley Bradshaw really pissed her off last night and the feelings she feels are burning her up from the inside out. (Y/N)’s hurt, embarrassed, even because who the fuck does that? Who flirts and flirts and flirts and then unloads all their childhood stories before almost kissing her goodnight and then dipping out because she’s “too young”?

“Too young” her ass. She’s a woman, for Christ’s sake. A smart, likable, kind (okay, well maybe not right now with how she just answered Amelia, but usually she is) young woman who is going to law school and is a college graduate.

She’s not too young. Amelia is too young; especially to be butting her nose into (Y/N)’s business the way she is.

(Y/N) knows that Amelia is just dying to ask her what’s wrong; hopeful to get a taste of whatever drama is brewing in the older girl’s life. She can see it now - the slightly upturned eyebrows and the small open mouthed gasp that Amelia does when she’e intently listening. She also folds her hands together in front of her and hangs on to every word that’s being said because Amelia ponders long and hard over what she hears and psychoanalyzes everything about it.

(Y/N) would say that she hates that about Amelia but can never find herself to because she knows that she’s the same exact way. Her god sister’s nosy tendencies are simply learned behavior.

So as she stabs at her cereal and almost grinds her teeth as she chews because of how angry she is, she tries to find it within herself to withhold taking out her anger on Amelia. She almost throws her a bone and lets her in on what had happened, but realized that she’d have to omit so many details that Amelia would never be satisfied and would keep picking and picking and picking until she finally broke and (Y/N)’s just not ready for that. She’s not letting her fourteen year old god sister know how embarrassed she is. She’s not letting her know how little sleep she got over the entire situation or how irritated and disrespected she feels.

“Wow. Aren’t you a goddamn ray of sunshine this morning,” Amelia snarls back, already having enough of (Y/N)’s piss poor attitude. (Y/N) may be pissed, but she’s not the one who got woken up at three in the morning because of some hissy fitted rage party. .

(Y/N) drops the cereal off of her spoon back into the abyss of milk. She sets her utensil down before turning her head to the side, adjusting her vision so she can see Amelia a little bit better.

“Language. You know how your mom and I feel about you cussing,” is all she can manage to say and seriously, when did Amelia get so sassy?

Amelia rolls her eyes. She may be younger than (Y/N), but she’s certainly not a child. She’s always been told she’s mature for her age, so why is her god sister acting like the seven year age gap is a big deal now? And besides, she already has a mom and a dad.

She doesn’t need (Y/N) trying to fill in for what’s missing.

“So it’s okay for you to say an entire dictionary of cuss words but the second I say some “is it or not” cuss word you’re lecturing me?”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes. She’s totally, absolutely, positively not in the mood today. “If you’re trying to be nosy and play Nancy Drew or whatever you’re doing, please don’t try it,” she snaps, “M’not putting up with your bullshit today, Meals. Go find something else to do.”

Amelia raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?” she quips, “You wanna be like that with me when I’m not the one who pissed you off?”

(Y/N) groans because great; not only is she pissed, but now her appetite is ruined. “You’re pissing me off right now because you won’t butt out. Leave me the fuck alone.” She slides the stool away from the bar top counter and puts her bowl in the sink.

She’ll just come back and clean it later. She just seriously needs to get away from Amelia right now because she’ll explode if she’s around her pestering god sister for any longer.

“And you’re pissing me off because someone obviously peed in your Cheerios and you’re making it everyone else’s problem.”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes again and starts to stalk back up the stairs. She knows that she’s being childish and she can’t believe that she’s about to argue with a fucking middle schooler, but she’s standing her ground. The last thing she needs is Amelia teasing her relentlessly about Bradley Bradshaw and how he basically curved the fuck out of her the night prior.

Amelia follows her. (Y/N)’s not getting away from her without any answers just yet; especially taking into account that she really just wants to know what’s wrong with (Y/N) and how she can help. She may be nosy, but she also has a conscience.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” (Y/N) damn near growls. God, why did Amelia have to be so damn stubborn? “I’m obviously mad and you’re not making my day any better!”

“Can’t you just not get all pissy and aggravated and slam doors at fucking-” (Y/N) shoots her a death glare before Amelia corrects herself.

The cussing, right.

“Freaking. I meant freaking. You can’t just be all mad and slam doors at freaking three AM when I have school and you know I was asleep,” Amelia continues, “That’s just crappy, (Y/N), and I would never do that to you.”

(Y/N) stands at the top of the stairs and angrily huffs. Amelia has a point and a pretty fair one at that but she’d rather die than back down now. That’s (Y/N)’s problem in a nutshell; she’s too goddamn hardheaded but also strives on being a people pleaser and if you asked her (or anyone on the street, really) that would be considered a combination for disaster.

“And I would never put my nose in business that’s clearly yours. Fuck off, Meals.”

(Y/N) stomps back to her bedroom and slams the door even harder than she had the night previously. She’s so enraged and she feels so stupid. She’s never been this embarrassed over a boy since she was a freshman in high school and she knows she’s being childish and she knows that what she said to Amelia isn’t fair or kind in the slightest, but she can’t help but fall back into that “being mad at the world” teenage narrative she had thought she left behind.

Hell, she’s only not been a teenager for two years but the amount of growth that she’s done since then has just drastically taken a decline. She feels like she’s sixteen again and fighting with her mother about a stupid boy who convinced her to sneak out or break her curfew or lie about where she was going or whatever melodramatic teenage drama bullshit that seems like a big deal at the time but ceases to pose a real threat the minute you move out of your parents’ home.

Amelia groans in frustration before turning on her heel. She’s not sure if her irritation is because of her lack of sleep or because (Y/N) is being, for lack of better term, a total bitch right now. The teenager slings her backpack over her shoulder, and stomps obnoxiously to her front door.

(Y/N) lays on her stomach and puts back on the ocean wave sounds she had turned on late last night and her stomach drops when she realizes that that was the background noise to the memory that had Bradley Bradshaw cupping her face and telling her that she’s too young.

ii.

Jake Seresin had really done it this time.

It wasn’t a secret that him and Bradley weren’t the greatest of friends.

Well, actually, scratch that.

Rooster and Hangman weren’t friends at all and that fact was made so obviously apparent to anyone who found themselves in the same room with the two pilots for longer than fifteen seconds.

The constant banter and low blows, the “joking” that wasn’t really a joke, the more than aggressively sarcastic handshakes and back pats; it was a limbo contest of who could go the lowest without one of them jumping up and trying to beat the brakes off the other.

It’s stupid, they know, but what else is expected when you’ve been told you were great all your life? Competition obviously rises and “survival of the fittest” starts to kick in and the sooner you can push someone out, the sooner you can be pushed into the vacancy that person had left.

Jake is charismatic and can get anyone to do his bidding if he so much as put his hand on their shoulder and stared deep into their eyes. He has a talent for getting anyone to follow him, but he’s selfish and extremely reckless. Jumping off the bridge is certainly his idea until his loyal followers do so, and then he bails after realizing how stupid the idea was in the first place. He’s a leader who never asks for a crowd, and that’s evident once he leaves them hanging.

Hence, the call sign, Hangman, but that doesn’t take a genius to decipher.

And call Bradley old school but that’s definitely not how military men should be and it drives him absolutely insane.

Bradley is more calm and is the literal epitome of a dad, but a good one. He listens intently and gives everyone his full attention. He’s stubborn but adaptable. He takes his time and plays it safe always, even when he knows that he should take a risk every now and then. He’s always looking out for other people and is constantly sacrificing his happiness and successes for the well-being of others.

Bradley is a skilled pilot; the patience and meticulous practice made him so whereas Jake was good because he was a natural (by some freakish fluke of nature). The difference between the two is their confidence and Bradley can’t wrap his head around how Jake gets a thrill from putting himself and his team in constant danger, and Jake can’t understand why Bradley acts as if he’ll spontaneously combust every time his F-18 goes up in the air.

Bradley has a tendency to parent everyone else and he never means to, and it always just sort of happens, but being told what to do (which makes joining the Navy an odd career path for him) is one of Jake’s biggest pet peeves. It’s just annoying, Hangman thinks, how Rooster corrals everyone and is constantly playing dad.

Jake already has a father; he doesn’t need a guy who’s only four years older than him trying to parent him.

Their rivalry started as just friction. They have vastly different personalities and it’s not like any of that isn’t okay. It wasn’t like either of them had to be best friends after graduation. But then Jake realized that “Holy fuck,” Rooster was good and then Rooster realized that “Holy shit,” Jake was good.

And the innate, primal need to succeed, to prove who was better and who would come out on top, just started one day and it never stopped. It was a conscious effort at first, but then it spiraled into a muscle memory-like performance.

They competed over everything. They competed over who could get their flight gear on the fastest. They competed on who could lift heavier and for longer durations of time. They even fucking competed to see who could complete a crossword puzzle fastest.

Jake and Bradley know that they’re ridiculous and that the dick measuring contests that they always seemed to be having were quite childish for grown men. They shouldn’t be fighting like rowdy first graders at recess after eating a lunch packed full of sugar, but they can’t help it and they would rather die than lose and let the other having bragging rights.

But then somewhere along the road the competition changed into an uncontrollable beast; a means to be watching each other constantly to see what could make the other tick and thus a new game was created: Who could make who lose their composure first?

To be totally fair, Bradley started the war by moving Jake’s things one day after a training session. He hadn’t meant to move the items in a way that would’ve set the pilot off, but he did and then Jake came barreling in and freaking the fuck out because his water bottle and shirt were placed in a different stall than he had originally put them. The thought to fess up and apologize definitely crossed Bradley’s mind, but he withheld.

He liked seeing Jake frantic and upset. He liked knowing that he could toy with him and that he could make the blond sweat if he truly wanted. Bradley was raised better than that, he had known, and he’s sure his mother and father were looking down on him with some disappointment about being so mean, but fuck it.

Jake Seresin was like a canker sore when you’re eating salt and vinegar chips; annoying and downright painful to be around.

Over the years and time spent freakishly observing each other, they had learned quite a bit. Bradley hated the sound of teeth scraping against utensils and Jake made sure to find a seat near Bradley but never next to him, and would bite the hell out of his fork whenever he ate his dinner. Jake loathed the sound of styrofoam rubbing together, so whenever Bradley would get handed a styrofoam to go box, he always made sure to be around Jake before opening and closing the box repeatedly. Jake knew he was doing it on purpose but couldn’t help but wonder how the hell someone could find the willpower to open and shut a fucking takeaway box over and over and over again.

And yes it was annoying and yes it garnered many eye rolls from their friends, but it was entertaining and always kept the pair busy. If anything, it was like a big brother, little brother relationship; irritating the hell out of each other but never going too far.

Except this wasn’t a big brother, little brother relationship and that they were both, in fact, fighting to be the big brother because big brothers always have more respect.

And they usually never went too far until one day, Jake just did.

He was raised by a more than conservative Baptist pastor in Texas, and Jake knew that his parents would have a cow if they ever pieced together that he was having premarital sex; let alone, premarital sex that was with someone else’s girlfriend. He was raised better and he knew it, but he was also raised in a family full of sisters and if there’s one thing he learned from having five older ones, everything was an eye-for-an-eye.

So when Bradley off-handedly joked about fucking Jake’s ex-girlfriend one day, he couldn’t help but let the comment grind his gears until his gears started turning on the perfect way to get back at the brunette pilot.

While what Bradley said was a joke and was exactly just that, Jake was plotting, and he wasn’t joking in the slightest. So the true hatred and resentment started when a leggy red-head (That amazed Jake with how flexible she was because goddamn, girls can bend like that?) was scratching at his back and calling him “daddy” in a supply closet, and he can truly say that that exact moment was when he knew that there were no limits to the competition he and Bradley Bradshaw had.

“An eye for an eye” it was, and “an eye for an eye” it would always be.

So when he notices the tension between Captain Mitchell and Rooster, Hangman can’t help but find him studying the two. He notices the golfball like bulge that emerges from Rooster’s jaw whenever he has to speak to Maverick. He notices how Maverick’s eyes nervously dart across Rooster’s face; as if he’s searching for answers in the younger man’s features without having to ask him questions.

Jake is always looking and always scheming; even going as far to ask Phoenix if she thinks Bradley is acting weird to which she rolls her eyes and says, “If this is you trying to get under his skin, please leave me out of it. Had enough of you two dumbasses in flight school. I don’t need this shit now.” And then she slammed her locker shut before slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder and leaving the base for the day.

But little to her knowledge did she know that her answer gave Jake all the information he needed. Phoenix had a protective streak to her, but she never stuck up for someone unless she felt they couldn’t do it themselves. So with the aggravated body language coming from Rooster and Maverick’s interactions in the past two days they had been training and Natasha’s head biting whenever he asked her a simple question, Jake Seresin had an sparkle in his eye and his smirk saying that he was up to no good.

He snoops around the headquarters for more evidence to further solidify his suspicion and what he finds truly falls upon him like a lucky accident.

It manifests itself as a labeled picture on the wall with Maverick Mitchell and Goose Bradshaw, arms slung across the back of each other’s necks along with Admiral Kazansky and various other pilots whom he’d encountered from his time floating from base to base; the Top Gun class of 1986.

And holy fucking shit, did Seresin have some ammunition for Bradshaw.

He likes to play dumb; like all he happens to be is a pretty face with a hot body but no one is that dense to not give Hangman credit for being intelligent. So he waits to unleash his findings until he knows Rooster is at one of his most vulnerable moments.

He waits and waits and waits and then he strikes, which sends the entire fleet of pilots into a fit of gasps and has Bradley beet red and ready to wring his neck.

Jake Seresin wasn’t afraid of many things, but the absolute anger and rage encapsulated in Bradley Bradshaw’s face was a look he had never seen before; even when he had been caught fucking that red head all those moons ago. This was different and he swears Bradley’s eyes are completely black with fury and his body emitting so much heat that Jake feels like he’s on fire himself the minute the other pilot has him by his collar.

The knife was already plunged and it was too late to back out now; no matter how truly terrified he was of Bradley in that moment. He knows he should quit, but a job half done isn’t a job well done.

And in true asshole-ish Hangman fashion, he has to be calm and collected and to twist the knife even more he adds a, “You know he’s not cut out for this mission,” which makes Bradley completely seethe and molt into one with his anger.

Jake softly grins to himself as soon as the altercation is broken up and Maverick announces that they’re done for the day. He knows that he won and Bradley lost.

Bradley can feel it too and he’s so inexplicably pissed, but nothing makes him feel more angered than the deceased father he never had the pleasure of getting to know and the stand-in, who let him down and let an entire fifteen years pass with Bradley thinking he didn’t believe in him.

iii.

(Y/N) likes to tell herself that she doesn’t hold grudges; that she’s understanding and empathetic and “noble.”

Her entire life was wrapped up in achieving the nirvana of selflessness and she doesn’t know if it’s because she was raised by such charitable and giving people or if she was born with some freakish gene that always made herself put her well-being last no matter what.

She was the kindergartener who would cry in solidarity whenever a kid scraped their knee on the playground. She was the third-grader who donated all her birthday presents to kids whose families were in need. She was the middle schooler who still invited everyone in the class to her birthday parties (even if they were weird or cruel or just downright annoying, but she could never find herself rejecting anyone). She was the high schooler who offered everyone rides home after soccer practice despite her mother yelling at her for “wasting” her gas.

She was the girl who was always said to be kind and helpful with a sweet heart and bright eyes.

But here she is on a Tuesday night at 11 PM about to crush a shot glass in her bare hand because of some stupid comment some pilot said about her age. If she could punch Bradley Bradshaw square in the face and break his stupid aviator sunglasses (and maybe his nose too, but then she figures that that’s too much harm to wish on someone), she would with no hesitation.

The main problem she’s finding with directing her anger is that Bradley wasn’t rude about it. What he said about her being too young wasn’t some idiotic flirtatious remark that came off creepy. It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t even a true comment, and from the way he said it, it almost seemed like it was a thought he had had that was never supposed to grace her ears; as if he was thinking hard and his thoughts were too loud for his liking.

There are better things to be upset about and she knows this, but she still can’t help but feel the hot anger in her chest. It’s the same kind of anger that flourishes when you’re just on the cusp of getting what you want and it’s pulled away from you; taunting you as the picture of it grows blurrier and blurrier and you’re left screaming because you’re so damn frustrated; because you were so fucking close.

And yeah, (Y/N) does admit she’s being dramatic, but she can’t remember ever wanting someone’s attention so badly before. The last boy who she found enticing cheated on her after two and a half years together, and that was during the summer of her Junior year of college. Nevertheless, the disrespect still hurts her feelings if she thinks about it too hard and the lack of sex she’s had since then was almost insulting.

So sue her if she was hoping Bradley could provide her with a few orgasms and some cuddles. He also wasn’t a bad storyteller and despite her anger, she wasn’t blind. He was hot as hell, too.

But she just can’t get over the way he held her cheek that night. The way that his hazel eyes found her’s; searching for a reason to say what he said. She can still feel the gentle squeeze of his palm on her face. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to make that their “thing” when they had first started dating and it always made her uncomfortable.

He was too rough, too unthoughtful, and ultimately too unfaithful. She thinks her feeling borderline disgusted by her ex cupping her cheek was a foreshadowing of him cheating on her. It was ironic how he was holding her face with that same hand and then smushing the face of another girl into a pillow soon after.

But Bradley was different.

His actions were slow and thoughtful. He was gentle, almost like a child holding his mother’s good China and not wanting to drop it. Bradley was cautious and sweet and that was something that (Y/N) had never truly experienced with a man; no matter how interested or in love with her she thought he was.

She was dying for him to kiss her and dead she is because he didn’t.

“You’re too young.”

It echoes in her head and she finds her face growing hotter and her knuckles getting more white the harder she squeezed the shot glass she had in her hand. Her age and Bradley’s disdain for it rings in her ears as if it's a fact and it is one, which is the shittiest part about it all.

“You’re too young,” patronizes her mind as if she wasn’t successful and brilliant and mature.

“You’re too young,” taunts her and embarrasses her, as if she’s ten years old again and being banished to the kids’ table at Thanksgiving.

“You’re too young,” screams at her as if her lack of experience and lack of opening herself up to the world is the reasoning behind why things never seemed to ever work out for her.

And the pressure of the thoughts her mind is bogging her brain down with starts to shut off her oxygen. She can’t see the empty bar. She can’t feel the shot glass in her hand. She can’t even feel her heart beating.

Her knuckles are white from trying to hold on for some explanation, some reason, why she can’t seem to shake this statement and there’s no other thoughts floating around in her brain that allow her to dislodge it.

“Fuck you, Bradley Bradshaw,” she thinks.

And she squeezes her hands together so tight that she’s snapped out of her hateful thoughts when she feels a shooting pain in her left hand and oh fuck.

The scarlet flowing from her palm sends her into a panic and her face turns white.

Holy shit, there’s no way this is happening.

There’s no way this is happening at 11:15 PM on a Tuesday night while she’s closing at the Hard Deck with no one else around.

“Penny is gonna fucking skin me alive,” she thinks, the blood dripping down her baby blue tube top-covered torso the closer she pushes her wound to her chest. The fabric is stained purple from how quickly her blood is absorbing into it.

Napkins, she needs napkins.

And she frantically scans the bar for a table that has a dispenser on it, knowing that Penny doesn’t keep any at the bar top. Her eyes look around almost comically before landing on the man of the goddamn hour: Bradley fuckface Bradshaw who has his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open.

“Holy shit! What did you do?”

iv.

Bradley knows he should stop coming to the Hard Deck when they close, but he needs to see Penny.

He figures showing up unannounced at her house isn’t the best way to go; especially considering he hadn’t been there in close to fifteen years. It doesn’t matter if he sends her a Mother’s Day card each year or knows that she would never turn him away. Something about it doesn’t sit right with his soul.

He tends to not do a lot of things if it doesn’t settle right in his stomach.

He’s usually calm. He’s usually collected. He usually has it all together but ever since he received orders to come back to Miramar, he’s been losing it. The bags underneath his eyes are prominent and he’s been averaging a total of four hours and twenty-two minutes of sleep each night (per the Sleep Cycle app on his phone which he knows isn’t very accurate but he can certainly feel the exhaustion so he’ll let it slide).

Bradley was really set off today with Jake and Maverick and the lack of sleep he’s been experiencing. He needed guidance. Truthfully, he needed his mother and he would have rather died than admit that when she was still alive and he was a prideful eighteen-year-old, but here he is now at thirty-five with an ache in his chest and a hole he’s not quite figured out how to fill.

Penny Benjamin, his old babysitter, is the closest thing he had to a mother now and he just has to find her.

So Bradley barrels into the Hard Deck and slams the door open on his quest to find Penny and figure out why the fuck he’s feeling this way.

The jukebox has been turned off and all the stools are stacked on the tables. The Hard Deck is a sorry excuse for a hangout spot at this hour and the smell of draft beer and scotch that usually soaked the atmosphere was gone; dried up like water spilled on the sidewalk on a hot day.

Bradley wrinkles his nose, using his curved pointer finger to roughly rub the end of it; a nervous tick he developed when he was a kid.

He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous to see Penny. She was comforting and sweet; the best kind of woman and someone who Bradley could say he trusted with his entire life. He used to say the same about his Uncle Maverick, but like they say, things change.

And things change indeed when he bursts through the doors and sees Penny nowhere in sight.

Well, fuck. (Y/N) is Penny’s replacement, he guesses.

The avalanche of actions tumbles down on him the minute he sees her; baby blue tube top sitting perfectly pretty on her body and her shoulders slightly shiny from either sweat or leftover tanning oil she may have put on earlier in the day. The sight makes Bradley’s mouth water with want and dry with embarrassment, simultaneously. His eyes drink in the sight of her face and his palms can feel the ghost of her cheek he held the night before.

(Y/N) has a frown on her face and is dissociating. The shot glass in her hand and the purple rag she has in the other serve as simple distractions for her hands. Bradley takes in how she doesn’t look up at him and how white her knuckles are - almost like she’s holding onto dear life to keep her from spazzing out.

And then it clicks that she’s probably angry with him and Bradley, despite his better judgment, decides that he needs to do some damage control.

He’s such a fuck up, he thinks, and he can’t afford to fuck someone else up in the process too.

“(Y/N)?” he asks softly, cautiously approaching the bar top; eyes swimming in her appearance to see if she was okay.

She doesn’t meet his gaze. She just stares ahead, her fingers gripping the glass in her hand so hard that her arms are shaking.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Bradley asks again, footsteps approaching her cautiously.

A small pop, a sound that could be made by someone stepping on some small fragments of glass with their boots on, can be heard and Bradley is just astonished. The crimson falling from her hand gives proof of what she had just done; her eyes widening comically and her face looking solemn like a child who had just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

Her face is drained of color and Bradley figures it still hasn’t clicked that he’s in front of her. She clutches her hand to her chest and the fabric of her shirt is covered in blood. Bradley’s never done well with blood and other things like that; almost threw up all over himself whenever he would skin his knees when he was little.

But his instincts kick in and he lives up to his call sign: Rooster. He’s about to corral her and protect her the best he can. He has to.

“Holy shit! What did you do?” he yells, rushing towards her.

She looks at him wide-eyed and no words can rush out of her gaping mouth. She looks fearful and shocked. While he suspects her injury isn’t extremely drastic (okay well getting a shot glass crushed in your hand has to hurt like a bitch, he admits), she’s bleeding a lot and she’ll definitely need stitches.

“I-I don’t know. Fuck, my hand,” she pauses before turning to him again, “Fuck! Penny’s gonna kill me! I got blood all over the bar. Oh my God, she’s gonna skin me!”

Rooster shrugs off his Hawaiian shirt and pulls the white tank top underneath off by its straps. He needed to get her something to help her apply pressure and absorb the blood. He knows that the thin, poor excuses for napkins Penny has at the bar won’t do much to help, and asking her to take her tube top off to wrap around her hand would be a little too much.

She definitely can’t have on a bra with that top. He had been around enough girls in his life to know that for a fact and besides, it wasn’t like he was here to make her uncomfortable purposely.

“No she won’t,” he comforts. He has his shirt in one hand and folds it vertically to maximize the surface area.

“Here,” he directs, taking her arm gently and inspecting her wound, and God, did that glass cut fucking deep.

Two deep cuts carved their way into her left hand and the pools of crimson flowing from them tell Bradley all that he needs to know.

She indefinitely needs stitches.

Bradley wraps the tank top around her palm and instructs her to hold it tight. She presses her lips in a faint line and tries to calm herself.

One deep breath in, one deep breath out. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, the-

“Where’s your purse? I’m taking you to the ER.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Now he wants to play hero, she thinks. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

“I can drive myself,” she snaps.

He chuckles and shakes his head and she instantly feels patronized. It was the kind of laugh her babysitters used to do whenever she asked if ten was a grown-up age. Newsflash, it wasn’t and she came to know that pretty quickly, but not before she felt the fury and embarrassment of being chortled at; especially when she had done nothing amusing.

“Really? You want blood all over your car? And what’re you gonna do about using your turn signals,” he tries to reason, “You don’t have the fingers to do that, chick.”

And God, does she want to punch him in his stupid, handsome face.

“Fuck you,” she mumbles underneath her breath. No matter how upset she was, she couldn’t not agree that he had some valid points. Being a bitch got Amelia pissed at her earlier. The last thing she needs is to be left hanging with glass in her hand with no ride home because of her own childish emotions.

Thank God he didn’t hear her.

“Where’s your purse? I’m locking up and taking you to the hospital.” She opens her mouth to argue with him again, to insist that she can call an Uber or Penny, but Bradley shuts her down.

“Non-negotiable.”

She puts her head down like a scolded puppy and points to the back by the kitchen with her uninjured hand.

Rooster offers her a warm smile. “Good girl,” he says, patting her shoulder as he walks past her to grab the bag from the back.

He tosses the keys to his Bronco on the bar top. “If you want, you can start the car. Just promise not to drive off with it?” He offers her a weak smile.

(Y/N) puffs and exhales her annoyance. “Can’t promise I’ll be there still once you lock up.”

Bradley knows that she won’t take off. She can be snippy and has proven it to him time and time again with her quick remarks and her attitude toward him right now, but to her core, she’s a good person. She would never intentionally do something like that to anyone; no matter how pissed off they had made her.

As he hears the front door to the Hard Deck open and close with (Y/N)’s exit, he looks up at the clock. It reads 11:30 PM and fuck, waking up tomorrow is gonna be a pain in the ass, he knows. But he would rather have a late night with her than his own thoughts.

And yeah, Bradley Bradshaw thinks he can start to get used to the smart ass girl sitting in the passenger seat of his car right now.

“Are you planning on buttoning up your shirt anytime soon? I’m sick of the nurses coming by and gawking at you,” (Y/N) gripes, “Giving you all the attention when I’m the one with my hand damn near hanging off.”

Bradley scoffs. “You’re being dramatic. And besides, this is kind of your own fault. No one told you to turn into the Incredible Hulk and crush a shot glass with your bare hand.”

The emergency room is bustling with people; moms in labor, car accidents left and right, and people coming in screaming in pain. There’s no way her low “high” maintenance stitches would be taken care of any sooner than later. That was predetermined the minute they decided to drive instead of calling an ambulance.

It’s nearing 2 AM and (Y/N) is still clutching Rooster’s white (well, dark red now) tank top in her left hand and with a sulky frown on her face. Her ass hurts from the vinyl plastic that serves as an awful mattress that makes up an ER bed. She knows that Bradley is more than uncomfortable from the way he shifts constantly in the mossy blue chair next to her bedside.

She ignores his statement. What she had done was rather childish and she can’t come to grips with it herself, so what does she look like telling the person who caused her rage-induced tantrum?

“You’re sunburnt,” she states. That’ll have to do for now. Bradley already knows a lot about her. He doesn’t need to know everything.

“In a sexy Baywatch kinda way?” he jokingly asks and (Y/N) gives him a soft laugh.

“No. Your chest is pink,” she continues, “More of a Patrick Star kind of way.”

“You like it though.”

“We’re here to fix my hand. Not your self-confidence.”

Bradley laughs before starting to button his shirt up. “You’re a hoot, chick.”

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows. In the past two and some hours she’s spent with Bradley Bradshaw (and the various other times she’s been with him, but she’s not sure that those can actually count for something) she’s learned a lot about his mannerisms.

He’s always tapping his foot or rubbing his hands up and down his thighs when he’s sitting down. He uses old people's jargon. He leans on his right arm more than his left and he’s always checking his watch. When he gets tired he mumbles and then swipes his hand over his face before sitting up straighter.

A big yawn comes from his pink lips and (Y/N) knows that she should speak up. He has to be up at five AM tomorrow morning for training at six. He should at least be able to go home and get some sleep.

“Bradley?” she softly asks.

“Hmm?” he answers, slouching down in his seat a little bit more but instantly shooting up to sit straight.

(Y/N) chuckles softly and Bradley can’t deny that the sound makes his heart melt the smallest bit.

“You can go home if you need to. I’ll get stitched up and figure out a ride.”

Rooster sits up straighter; confusion plaguing his features. “Why would I leave you here?”

Her eyes widen. Holy shit, he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“You have to be up early tomorrow. Just go home. I’m a big girl,” she flexes the small and albeit mushy muscles of her right arm, “I can handle it.”

“Are you kidding? A shot glass took you out. No way I’m leaving you at the hospital by yourself.”

And like how it was at the Hard Deck, the look he shoots her tells her that what he said is “non-negotiable.” He was staying, driving her home, and that was final.

“You need sleep, Bradley. You can’t just pull an all-nighter and then go and operate a plane. That’s just dangerous,” she lectures and Bradley lets out a yawn during her sentence.

She almost says some snide remark about him being rude and how she’s not that boring but Bradley beats her to fill the silence with his voice.

“Scoot over then.”

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?”

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?”

She’s at a loss for words but he can’t have the final say. No one else could ever have the final say with her.

“Be my guest,” she says as she scoots over on the ER cot and makes enough space for him to lay down.

Rooster smirks to himself. He didn’t think that would work, let alone work on her. She doesn’t know it and he sure as hell will never tell her, but his heart was racing during that entire interaction. The rejection would have been rather embarrassing; especially considering they didn’t know how soon she could get stitched up and that he promised to drop her off at home.

He slides onto the bed next to her but he’s too broad. His shoulder is nudging her off the bed and he knows that she’s uncomfortable but is such a giver that she won’t say so and would let him fall asleep like that if he really wanted to.

But Bradley’s not an asshole (at least he isn’t one consciously) so he speaks up after he clears his throat.

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. Not at all,” he says and turns his head to the side to look at her. Her eyes tell him that “Well no dip, shit.” but he knows that she wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Not right now when she feels indebted to him for driving her to the hospital and staying with her while she waits.

He nudges her shoulder before sliding back out of the bed. Bradley reaches for her right hand. “Here, budge up.”

He pulls her up as if she weighs nothing and she stands in awe as he lays down first on the bed but spreads his legs. And oh, now she knows what he’s doing.

“Come lay down with me. You deserve to sleep some, too,” he says and she cautiously meanders her way to lay between his legs; her back pressed to his chest and her head falling into the crevice between his neck and shoulder.

“Won’t your arm fall asleep or something? I just don’t wanna be a bother.”

Bradley lets out a puff of air before wrapping both his arms around her front. His hands are joined together beneath her sternum.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and go to bed.”

She rolls her eyes but she can’t fight him on it. And as they lay there she can hear the soft snores of the older man laying behind her and allows herself to drift off to a comatose state as well.

vi.

The doctor comes in about an hour after they doze off.

She’s a short woman with dark hair and tan skin; some crow's feet by her eyes and the skin on her hands slightly thinned. She looked kind and motherly and as she pulls the curtain back softly, she finds the two dead to the world in their slumber.

Doctor Tharp has to stop herself from audibly cooing.

The position (Y/N) and Bradley are in makes her think of her and her husband years ago. Lovebirds, she thinks, and while she would rather sit there and stare at them in awe, she knows that she has to get this poor girl stitched up and sent on her way home as soon as she can.

She nearly had a cow when she had heard that they had been waiting to see a doctor for stitches since 11:30 the night before. How the hell they had slipped through the cracks? She doesn’t know, but she makes a mental note to be extra kind to them while she performs her services.

Doctor Tharp gently shakes (Y/N) awake; the younger girl stirring with a gasp and some anxiousness before a hand is placed on her shoulder.

“Good morning, (Y/N). Have a good rest?” the doctor asks and (Y/N) hopes that this is who is going to stitch her up and send her on her merry way.

“It was okay. Would’ve been better if bozo here wasn’t snoring in my ear the entire time,” she answers and that makes Doctor Tharp laugh softly.

“Let’s get you stitched up,” she says, and (Y/N) unwraps Bradley’s arms from around her midsection and scoots closer down the bed to be near the tray that holds the instruments needed for her stitches.

Doctor Tharp numbs the area with lidocaine and asks her to move her fingers and her thumb on her left hand and as she starts suturing the wound and picking out the shards of glass left in her skin, she finds things to talk about with the younger girl.

(Y/N) tells her the basics that she’s seemed to be telling everyone older than the age of twenty-one these days; that she just graduated from undergrad and that she was going to law school in the fall, that she’s not from here and visiting her godmother, that she loves California and doesn’t know why she left it.

And Doctor Tharp knows she shouldn’t and it goes against her own beliefs but she just has to know who the young man sitting behind (Y/N) is and wants to comment on how sweetly he was holding her just a few moments prior.

“You and that boy are such a sweet couple,” she says and (Y/N)’s eyes bulge out of her skull.

“Oh me and Bradley? No. No, no,” she starts and she knows that she’s rambling. She does it quite a bit when she gets nervous and doesn’t know what to say.

Her damn Ella Enchanted gene is kicking in.

“We’re just friends. Sorta just met a week and some change ago,” she answers and while what she said wasn’t a lie in the slightest (they were friends and they did just meet not that long ago) she can’t help but feel the ache in her heart that adds that she wants more than a friendship from him.

But she can’t risk sounding ridiculous or getting ahead of herself before the race even starts, so she leaves her statement at that; just a statement and not a wish.

“Well, you’re quite cute friends, then.” Doctor Tharp says. She can tell that what she had said had made (Y/N) uncomfortable.

Too far.

It takes (Y/N) all of ten minutes to get stitched up before Doctor Tharp pats her arm with a smile and tells her that she’ll have the papers for proper care at the front desk.

“You take care. Of yourself and your heart,” the older woman says and (Y/N) knows that she should find some wisdom in her words, but they almost sound like a sort of doomed prophecy.

Whatever, she thinks. She’s just excited to get home and to sleep in the comfort of her own bed.

“Bradley,” (Y/N) whispers, shaking his bicep to get him to stir. He’s like a lump on a log, soft snores coming from his mouth and his head thrown back. His arms have crossed themselves over each other and made a home on his chest to replace the space (Y/N) had taken up before she moved.

“Bradley!” (Y/N) shakes him again.

He still sits asleep; completely dead to the world.

(Y/N) twists his nipple through his shirt and bingo. He wakes up with a scream and shoots daggers at her with his glassy eyes.

“M’all stitched up. We can go now,” she says and they exit the stall and make their way to the front desk where the charge nurse goes over how to properly clean her stitches and that she’d need to be back at the hospital in a week to get them removed.

She gives the charge nurse a weak smile and her and Bradley walk back outside to his parked Bronco; the ocean breeze making the night sky chilly and (Y/N) shivers. He notices as he opens the passenger door to let her in.

He rounds his way to the front and locks the doors before sliding into his seat.

“Cold?” he questions and she gives him a slight nod.

He purses his lips before turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. His hand instantly finds the heat dial and turns it up and they pull out of the parking lot.

“Penny’s house. Right?” he breaks the silence again and (Y/N) nods, leaning her head on his window.

The fifteen-minute ride from the hospital to Penny’s driveway is quick; the stillness of the night comfortable and washing them in warmth.

His Bronco is parked in the driveway before (Y/N) turns to him again.

“Before I go, I have to ask one more favor,” she says and Bradley raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“Not gonna ask me to donate a kidney to you or something like that. Right?” he jokes and she playfully rolls her eyes at him.

“No, you dinky dink. I just need you to rip my hospital bracelet off. They put it on my right hand and I can’t use my left to cut it off.”

Bradley reaches over and takes her hand without hesitation and pulls at the plastic band wrapped around her wrist.

“Thank you,” she sheepishly praises, “Thank you for everything. I could never owe you enough.”

Rooster grins, all the anguish of the day forgotten with the dopey-eyed grin he gives her.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds her palm in his hand; the action muscle memory and leans forward; their forehead resting against each others.

Her breath hitches in her throat because she swears to God if he doesn’t kiss her tonight she might rip out her stitches with her teeth and jump off of Penny’s goddamn roof.

“Please,” (Y/N) whimpers and she didn’t mean for her request to be said out loud.

Thankfully, Bradley ignores her words. She doesn’t know how she would live down the embarrassment of that one if he did manage to bring it up just then.

He presses their lips together. His lips are plush and soft; the right amount of dry and moist. They move in sync with hers, molding together like the perfect puzzle. His kiss is deep but gentle, all-consuming but allowing her space if she wanted it. He kisses her once. Twice. Three times. And then he pulls away, his hand still on her cheek as he licks his slips subtly.

She’s certain Bradley Bradshaw needs to add “perfect kisser” to his resume if he hasn’t already.

“Didn’t take you as a beggar, chick,” he says, and fuck, there it is. That smart alecky remark she was waiting for.

“If that’s the case, I’ll go inside and not give you my number,” she teases and Bradley feigns a gasp.

“You wouldn’t. Don’t leave me out to dry now. Your blood was all over my shirt at some point. Too late to turn back now.”

She gives him a toothy smile; one that’s reserved for her happiest and flirtiest moments.

(Y/N)’s grabbing a napkin from the middle counsel of his car and a pen from his cupholder. She scribbles her phone number down on the napkin with a cute, “Text me! :)” written after it.

She gets out of the Bronco and shuts the door, damn near running inside and waving at Bradley through the window of the living room where she can see his car in view.

Bradley just shakes his head and smiles with glee.

vii.

One thing Natasha Trace was proud of was how well she could read people.

Any boyfriends her sisters ever brought home didn’t have to get the stamp of approval from her father. Oh no, they had to get the stamp of approval from her.

And she had always been right. She knew the ones who lied about their jobs or the ones who were chronic cheaters (because they had done it so much they were pros at hiding it, just not from Natasha) or the ones who were just downright fucking nuts.

So if she can read people she had barely spent ten minutes with and could draw up a pretty good judgment of character, she knew that her analysis of people she knew well was never wrong.

When Bradley Bradshaw, her right-hand man and one of her best friends, pulls up to her government-supplied housing in his Bronco at 5:25 the morning after his huge blowup at Hangman, she knew something was off.

He didn’t have that shitty cassette mixed tape playing like he usually does and he’s basically inhaling a peach-flavored Red Bull. The thing about Bradley and energy drinks was that Bradley never drank them unless he was about dead from exhaustion.

And from their text exchange last night, he was home at 8 PM and had all the intentions of going to bed soon.

And well shit, that was apparent to be a lie.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Rooster wasn’t a morning person but once he was awake, he was awake and was always ready to chat which drove Phoenix absolutely crazy, but the silence they’re sitting in on their way to base is deafening. She knows something is up, yet she can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Good sleep?” she asks, testing the waters to see if Bradley would lie to her.

He curves his pointer finger and rubs it against the tip of his nose. This bastard was about to lie to her.

She can feel it.

“Great, actually,” he says with no delay so she knows that he’s not telling the truth.

Phoenix knows that Rooster doesn’t do well with confrontation. He’s a born people-pleaser and anything that wasn’t able to be handled maturely made him want to get up and flee. She’d save calling him out for later.

Besides, they had bigger shit to worry about for the time being; one of those being the fact that they’re being sent on a suicide mission in three weeks.

Natasha turns her body to the side of the car and looks out the window until something catches her eye. She turns to look at Bradley and sees that his eyes are cemented on the road. She bends down to pick it up swiftly; her movements so fast and contained that from Bradley’s peripheral vision, it just looked like she moved a little bit to get comfortable.

It’s a fucking hospital bracelet and as she turns it around to read what’s on it, she sees a name she doesn’t recognize and her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull when she sees the birth year.

The year starts with a 20 and she feels sick to her stomach.

There’s no way Rooster had a little girl in here. There’s no way that that’s the reason he’s acting so weird. There can’t be.

And then she starts counting the current year from the year on the bracelet, and then it clicks that, “Oh shit, this chick isn’t underaged.”

She’s just young, and math has never been Natasha’s strong suit.

She audibly exhales which makes Bradley turn his head to look at her and she stuffs the bracelet underneath her thigh before snaking it down to her pocket.

“You okay?” he asks and Natasha eagerly nods.

“Yeah, just a little jittery,” she answers and Bradley nods in agreeance.

He brings his Red Bull back up to his lips before taking a swig and placing it back down in the cup holder.

“Me too.”

#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #top gun #top gun maverick #miles teller #mt #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw fic #writes #rooster

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devilmen-collector · 2 months

Text

Solomon/MC - the Pope of Hell

C/W: religious theme, spoilers of the main story up to chapter 5 of the main story.

Note: calling Solomon "Pope of Hell" doesn't mean his dynamic and relationship with the devils are exactly the same with the relationship between the Pope and other Catholics. The same applies in the case of MC, who is Solomon's successor.

To begin, after reading the main story, I started to notice some interesting similarities between the Pope and Solomon, enough to make me write this post from the sentiment of my religious heart.

I. The Keys

Christ Giving the Keys to Saint Peter, fresco, Pietro Perugino, 1481-82.

Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven. Matthew 16:18-19 DRB

So we have Christ giving Peter the keys to the kingdom of Heaven. From this very Scripture verses comes the well-known symbol of the Papacy, two crossed keys, one gold and another silver, under the triple tiara. The silver key symbolizes the power "to bind and loose" on earth, while the golden key symbolizes the power "to bind and loose" on Heaven.

Now returning to the lore we are given in the game. It's mentioned that Solomon had 2 "Keys". One Lesser Key he left in Hell, and one Greater Key crafted by God.

Chapter 4, Stage 29 - the Holy Grail of God that Betrayed God

So I began to make a connection between the two images. The Lesser Key with St. Peter's silver key, which symbolizes papal power and authority on earth, which is lesser than Heaven; and the Greater Key with the golden key, which symbolizes papal power and authority on Heaven, which is the greater of the two.

Yes, the devils did mention a "third Key". However, they were only making a hypothesis on Solomon's disappearance. And given the likely reality that Solomon is physical deceased after his disappearance, the third Key probably doesn't exist and there are only two Keys. The fact that there are two key currencies in-game solidifies this theory, at least for now.

Story 4-29

II. The Power to Crown the Emperor

In the game, we know that at the end, MC has to choose one devil among the Seven Deadly Sins and 72 nobles and makes him the "Emperor of Hell", "the king of kings", "the Final Temptation" who will rule all of Hell.

"With your own hands" make me thing MC has to literally put a crown on the head of the devil whom they chose. But that's just my personal theory.

Chapter 1, Story 45 - the Contract is Broken

Now return to history, in the Medieval Age, kings were crowned by a bishop/archbishop of a prominent see in his country on their Coronation Day. However, there's one monarch who has to be crowned by the Pope. That's the Holy Roman Emperor.

Before being crowned by the Pope, the Emperor could not style himself as "Emperor", but only a "king", the exact title being "King of the Romans". Only after the Pope put the imperial crown on their head did the Emperor call himself "Holy Roman Emperor". This remained the case until 1508 when Pope Julius II permitted Maximilian I to use the title "Emperor Elect" with coronation by the hands of the Pope. Before that, like his predecessors before coronation, Maximilian I was only styled "King of the Romans". Even Napoleon knew that and had to get the Pope to officiate his coronation as the Emperor of the French, even though he raised the crown on his head himself.

The difference lies in the fact that unlike the Emperor of Hell, who will rule all the 7 nations of Hell, the Holy Roman Emperor in real life didn't have the power to rule other independent kingdoms in Europe, like France or England. However, being the Emperor, he was the most prominent Catholic monarch across Europe. Still, I believe I have proved the similarity here: Pope crowned an Emperor, MC will also crown one.

III. Tongue

The third similarity I see lies in the traditional way of how Catholics received Holy Communion (or the Eucharist), which is receiving on the tongue. And to do that in a correct way, Catholics need to kneel down and stick the tongue out a little bit.

Maybe it's just me but when I saw the CGs where MC break the contracts with the devils. I immediately thought of this image because I saw some similarities.

To have their contracts broken, the devils also kneel down and stick their tongues out. And if they stick their tongues out to break the contracts, could it be possible that when they first made contracts with Solomon, they also knelt down and stuck their tongues out to receive the pattern, just similar to how Catholics receive the Eucharist in the traditional way?

IV. Relationships with two powerful sides

In the fourth century, the Roman Empire converted to Christianity and gradually abandoning paganism. The Byzantine Empire was the successor of this great empire. The Byzantine Empire was Christian throughout its history. However, on more than one occasions, this empire showed disrespect and even violence to the Pope, the Head of the Christian Church, whom they were supposed to protect and honor. One Pope, St. Silverius was even murdered by the Byzantine conspiracy. Slowly, the Pope knew he couldn't trust or rely on the Byzantine anymore, so he sought help from the Frankish, whose king was Charlemagne, and Charlemagne's successor was the Holy Roman Emperor.

In a similar way, we have the powerful angels hating Solomon for gaining God's favor. They even tried to kill all of his descendants, including MC. As God's messengers and servants, they should have been the ones to protect Solomon and his descendants, but they did the contrary. Now to survive, MC has to rely on the other powerful faction, the devils.

So,

Solomon and MC mirror St. Peter/the Pope/Papacy

Angels mirrors the unfaithful Byzantine Empire

Devils mirror the Frankish/Holy Roman Empire and other Western European kingdoms, by allusion

Another point is that just like the historical relationship between the Pope with the Holy Roman Empire and other Western kingdoms, the relationship between MC and the devils is not always smooth and well. Mammon once thought he was MC's owner at first, just like how kings and Emperors of the West thought they could keep the Papacy under their control, or Leviathan and his Hades nobles kidnapping and trying to kill MC, just like how the Pope was a prisoner and had his life endangered by a particular Western kingdom for a long time and on more than one occasions.

Well, that's all to my ramble (possibly being delulu like Sitri) but thank you for reading it all to the end :3

#what in “hell” is bad?#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #whb #whb solomon #whb theory #whb mc

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yearning-for-autumn · 2 months

Text

Trauma-Verse -- Part II

Cassian

A/N - I really hurt my own feelings with this one. Cassian is so precious to me. If you have ever struggled with an eating disorder, especially bullemia or are sensitive to that sort of thing I would give this one a miss.

---

Summary - A young teenage Cassian struggles with eating after years of malnourishment. Az catches him in a vulnerable moment.

Warnings - Eating Disorders, Vomiting, Childhood trauma, angst.

Pairings - None

Word Count - 600

These days, Cassian had enough food to last him weeks. These days, Cassian could eat whatever he wanted from the pantry, and he knew it would be replaced the next day. These days, he was safe.

So why was it so hard for him to believe it?

There were rice cakes and crackers and hunks of bread in his wardrobe, just in case. He had pilfered sweets from Rhys’ room and hid them in his night stand drawer. All around his room, little hiding places for food were carefully kept secret. It was his food. No one else’s. If they couldn’t see it. They couldn’t take it.

For a growing boy, Cassian ate surprisingly little at dinner times. Rhys’ mother was as patient as ever. It’s not like he was the only one who struggled to sit at the High Lords table. He was a bastard born Illyrian. He could never belong there anyway. He picked at his food, pushing it around his plate with his fork, held awkwardly in his hands, more like a weapon than a delicate piece of silverware. He hated eating off of it. He hated eating in front of everyone, especially Rhys who ate off of his fork with all the poise of the Prince he was.

Later that night he would sneak down to the kitchen, where the leftovers were waiting in the fridge. Too much for one person, but he would eat it all. He would use his hands, much more fitting for someone like him.

The sheer amount of food was overwhelming, his stomach churned and rolled, but he kept eating, as if at any moment it would be snatched from his hands. It hurt. He felt light-headed, and dizzy, and only had a few seconds to make it to the sink before he threw it up.

“Cassian, what the fuck are you doing?” That was Azriel’s voice behind him. He was never asleep early. Cassian should have waited longer.

“I got hungry.” He said, as if the number of empty bowls on the kitchen counter didn’t give him away. Azriel sighed.

Newly un-bandaged hands came up to rub Cassian’s scalp. Cassian remembered when he had finally taken them off. How he and Rhys had gone pale at the sight of them. But they were Azriel’s hands. His brothers hands. They could never hurt him.

“Cassian, that was all the food for tomorrow.” He said, peering into the bowls, pushing the plates back from the edge. Azriel rarely showed how much he cared, but Cassian knew he did. When he heaved into the sink again, Azriel was by his side in an instant, rubbing just between his wings. Cassian couldn’t help the tears that fell, nor the embarrassing whimper he made when Azriel gathered him in his arms.

Azriel gave a withering sigh, but let Cassian sob onto his pyjama shirt anyway. He kept one hand on his back, the other reached over to turn the sink on, washing away the evidence of Cassian’s late night binge.

“You want to show me where you’ve hidden the rest?” Az asked. Cassian shook his head. By now the crackers and bread would be stale. But he needed them there. Just in case.

Just in case.

“Come sleep in my room, Cass.” Azriel said, already leading him up the stairs, one hand on his shoulder. Cassian brushed his teeth. Then got into Azriel’s bed, like they had done a hundred times before.

He didn’t worry about whether Az might have a nightmare. Whether he might wake up with the burning need to finish off the food downstairs. Because Azriel’s soft breathing was against his forehead, his scarred hands were gently rubbing his back. He was warm. He was comfortable.

He was safe.

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da-awesom-one · 4 months

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At All Costs (Snowflake Version) - Chris Pine & Idina Menzel

Art I commissioned from Frost_Art on Instagram.

*DISCLAIMER: These lyrics are fan-made lyrics of a song created and owned by Disney for characters that are owned by both Disney and Dreamworks respectively . No money is being made off of this. This was solely written for recreational purposes.*

Context: This is set during Frozen II, in the middle of the Dark Sea scene. They’ve barely survived the Nokk, and Jack is the most upset he’s ever been. Elsa left him behind not once, but twice. The first when they left Kristoff and Sven behind, and the second when she sent Olaf and Anna away. Not only that, she recklessly runs into the Dark Sea, and that’s not mentioning his fear of water. Coupled with the fear of being sent away, and not feeling like he has a place in Arendelle, he’s really struggling to prove his worth without being selfish.

Love is selflessness, and he has taken that to heart since the events of Frozen 1, where he abandoned Elsa before her parents died, and he did everything in his power to make up for it when she finally sees him again. However, it doesn't always work in the right way. So he’s desperately trying to not be what he perceives to be selfish, for being selfish is what almost lost him his best friend in the first place, and he is deeply afraid of losing his new family. Of losing Elsa.

But somewhere along the way, whether he understands or want to admit it or not, things changed. Jack sees Elsa differently, just as she started to in her late teens, but kept quiet due to what happened and out of respect to her friend, also because she's not sure she understands it either.

They argue in the Dark Sea, telling her he doesn't want to lose her, but right as Jack’s about to say what he actually wants, he relents, saying what he wants doesn’t matter. Elsa doesn’t accept that. Once they get to safety, she tells him what he wants matters to HER.

And he tells her he wants to stay with her forever. That he sees her the way Kristoff does to Anna. But time, fate, what have you, makes it seem like no matter what he does, he can’t. But still, he wants to be with her regardless. Because she is his destiny. And being with her makes him feel better, and whole.

So then he starts singing. And so does she. And for the first time since entering the Enchanted Forest, they're on the same page. Better now than ever before.

Sing = Siiing

(VERSE 1)

J: If destiny is a set-in-stone thing,

Mine would be you.

If you'd have told me the feelings you'd bring,

I'd think them untrue.

Yet I never thought I’d meet someone like you.

Not in this life.

You still amaze me after all this time.

(PRE-CHORUS)

You pull me in like some kind of wind.

Clearing up all the doubts within.

Making me wanna tell ya...

…That I…

(CHORUS)

Love you as one does.

I, I would protect you

At all costs.

Take you here into my arms.

I, I would protect you

At all costs.

(VERSE 2)

E: How to say… the words that I wish to convey?

That I want you, too. Even if I tried to,

I can’t go back to life before you.

If someone tried to stop this, I don't

See how that could happen.

I'd fight for us in ways you can't imagine.

I’ve felt this once before, so I hope

It would be alright to stand right here and tell you…

(CHORUS)

B: I love you as one does.

I, I will protect you

At all costs.

Hold you right here in my arms.

I, I will protect you

At all costs!

(BRIDGE)

If you're ever feeling like you're lost,

I’ll come find you!

Man all fronts! There's no ocean I won't swim across

To be right by you!

And not just once. Here and now, I swear on my response,

I'll remind you…

(FINAL CHORUS)

I love you as one does.

I, I will protect you

At all costs!

Keep you safe here in my arms!

I, I will protect you

At all costs!

At all costs.

(END)

Debated whether or not to do this after posting the Jack Frost This Is The Thanks I Get?!, and finally hearing this for the first time. I got giddy, as this is definitely one of the top songs from the Wish soundtrack, and it struck me as odd that the villain, who in the movie was married, and the protagonist would sing something that sounded... well, romantic.

After seeing Wish for the context of it, and later discovering the Demo Version, learning that it WAS originally written as a love song, well... I had to go back and tweak my original draft.

@doodlemel's Animatic of them singing this song definitely didn't help, either. XD

I had to tweak bits that weren't making sense for Jack to say, especially parts that Magnifico said in the movie that kinda hinted to his more sinister persona. Because Jack is a good guy, but also someone who has never experienced these kinda feelings before, as well as also dealing with a lot of mistakes and trauma that influence his perception of whether or not his feelings are genuine, and whether he has a right to feel these feelings.

Elsa, for her part. is more straightforward, remarkably. Because I headcanon that she fell in love first, but Jack was being Shonen Protagonist oblivious to it. And by the time he started feeling a spark of something similar, stuff had already happened between them that they needed to clear up. But her feelings for him never really went away, even if she got better at hiding them. So when she hears him FINALLY admit that he feels the same way, she doesn't have to hide anymore. She lets him say his piece, and responds in kind.

Ultimately, I didn't really change much but the first parts where they sing, and parts of the choruses. Especially the “love” parts, as I just HAD to incorporate the original Demo Version into it. It's telling a sort of story. Of them slowly synchronizing once more, and finally ending with them being of one mind and heart.

For to love on a spectrum that has both beings as one, in my opinion, is truly a beautiful thing.

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emeritus-fuckers · 3 months

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Hi i was wondering if you could do headcannons for the Papas with a reader that uses a mobility aid

If you're not comfortable with that it's completely fine

As someone who probably needs a mobility aid, yuh. - Zenith/Jasper

Papas with s/o with mobility aid

Primo

Well, he's not the most mobile, either. He started using a cane a few weeks after his retirement. Doesn't use it all the time, but it's a necessity on bad days. So he understands.

He gets his ghouls to arrange his office and quarters to be as accessible to you as possible.

Goes on walks with you on good days. Makes you nice, fresh tea and rests with you on bad days.

He has a few potted plants in his room just for you so you can feel like you're helping out with the garden.

Secondo

Secondo understands. Do you see that staff he has?

It is a bonking stick, but doubles as a cane, for days where his hips just.. don't agree.

Makes sure that you have the best aid's that you can get. Making sure that you get all the things that you need and the best pain meds that you can get, if needed.

On good days, he walks with you, pacing with you, hand tightly wrapped around his staff. The other watching you just in case you need to sit down.

On bad days? Do not expect to leave the bed until you could run a marathon. If you need to go somewhere? He can go. He can carry you. No working for you.

Terzo

They are well versed in mobility aids. Zephyr has multiple they use, so Terzo is completely used to them.

He’ll sit you down and ask questions on what kinds you use, if you’re comfortable with them helping, if there’s anything else he needs to know in order to best help you out.

If you work in his office; you’ll find it completely rearranged to make it more accessible for you.

Copia

If you use a wheelchair, he drives alongside you on his tricycle, trying to make it fun for you.

Offers to push you around if your arms get tired.

Races you. Drives into a wall. Gets forehead kisses because he hurt himself. Profit.

When it comes to crutches or canes, he doesn't really do much, just tries to make sure you

Most of your dates include just chilling together so you don't have to strain yourself.

Old Nihil

It's a miracle he doesn't need one at his age, honestly...

But somehow, this bastard walks just fine, maybe a bit slower, but does make him a perfect companion for walks, since he naturally matches a slower pace you might have to take when using a cane or crutches.

Might get the twins to push you if your arms get tired while using a wheelchair, with one of the twins pushing your chair and the other dragging around his oxygen tank.

He's very happy to just sit and rest with you whenever needed.

Young Nihil

With his history, it's a miracle this dumbass isn't in a wheelchair, honestly. He just keeps getting into trouble and tripping over nothing.

He jokes about it, saying that once he needs a wheelchair, you two should totally race.

Offers you a piggy back ride to the nearest seat if you get tired and then you two just chill there.

Cuddles and kisses after a hard day!!

Papas I, IV and Papa Nihil written by Nosferatu.

Papa II written by Zenith/Jasper.

Papa III written by Death.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @thecuriouss @nuntia @dio-niisio @mamacarlyle @firefirevampire @mybotanicaldemise @emo-mess @natoncesaid @sirlsplayland @thatoddboy @ouijaboardemo @lightbluuestars @strawberriiblossoms @z-xmyers @igodownjustlikeholymary @dark-angel-is-back @choco-meow69

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sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Lastochka - Little Swallow

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Nikolai taking interest in a little swallow in Taskforce 141. to the dismay of Daddy Price and all her adoptive and real brothers.

Semi Crackish. Just for fun :)

Part I , Part II, Interlude,Part III,Part IV,Part V,Epilogue, Night, Epilogue II, Espionage

A/N: Ok take two!! For @homicidal-slvt, this time it is really Nikolai reader fic LOL.

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“Oh hello! Who have we got here?” Flashing a big smile as he pushes his sunglasses up to have a good look at you. You immediately shrink yourself and hide behind Gaz. Underneath the swagger and flirtatious attitude, you can feel he is judging you, sussing you out.

“Nik. Stop gawking at our medic.” Gaz warned. “Otherwise you will have to deal with her overprotective brothers and dad.”

“ Ah Come on, I am sure our little ласточка wouldn’t mind. ”

“ Las..last.. ??”

“Lastochka, Little swallow.” He corrected your pronunciation. You tilted your head in confusion. “That’s right, because I am going to take you up high in the sky, for a good ride.” You are not missing the innuendo behind his words there. You grabbed onto Gaz’s vest tighter.

“Nikolai.” Price growled as he came up towards the three of you.

“Oh. Here comes the dad.” Smirking, Gaz was ready to see the drama unfold.

“I didn’t know you had a kid this old Price.”

“She’s not my kid.”

“She might as well be the way you treat us all.” Gaz mumbled.

“Ah, so you are her brother then.”

“Well, I am not the brother you should be worried about, her real brother will be hunting you down like a mad dog, then we will have a real problem at hand.”

Price sighed. “Come on. We have an important mission here. Buckle up.”

You have to admit Nikolai is one damn good pilot. All the impressive mid air manoeuvres, the near misses, had your heart jumping out from your throat.

“Gaz, remind me why I am here!!”

“.. I seriously don’t know. There’s no way out now!” Gaz shouted over the noise.

“ Incoming!! Hold on tight!!”

The helicopter shook on impact of the launcher hitting the landing gear, narrowly missing the body.

You let out a scream when you realise you were tumbling sideways, towards the door, on your way out into the bright blue sky.

Quick thinking and reflex from both Price and Gaz , they manage to pull you back just in time as they grab onto your safety cord.

“You alright Mini.”

Not trusting your voice to talk, you nodded your head furiously, after Price gave you a once over to check you are alright, he pushed you gently towards the cockpit area. “Go, stay there, be a lot safer.”

You scramble towards the front, grabbing onto the back of the pilot seat for your dear life.

“Sorry about that Lastochka, otherwise all of us would have been blown to pieces!” he laughed. “I promise you I will get you to your destination safely.” He reached over and patted your hand.

You stayed there for the rest of the flight, with Nikolai’s occasional reassurances to try to calm you down.

“Well, next time when I take you flying, Lastochka, It will be in a more pleasant circumstances.” He held onto your hand, which is still shaking visibly from the adrenaline rush. You blushed with embarrassment, There is no next time, you thought. At least not in a helicopter.

Quietly thanking him after letting out a shaky breath, standing up and picking up your gears after Price and Gaz shouted to you to urge you to move on.

Reaching down to your pocket to put on your sunglasses before stepping out, you couldn’t find it in your usual pocket. Patting around checking everywhere, you must have lost it when you were rolling out.

“Missing something?”

“ … Lost my sunglasses.”

Take his sunglasses off, and put it on top of your head, “ Here, have mine.”

“But.. “

“I got plenty of spares. Plus.” flashing you a big smile again, “you can return it to me if you decide to take up my offer of leisure flight next time. I will also throw in a good old Russian hospitality and drink in there if you are up for it.”

Oh this man is definitely a big flirt, and he isn’t giving up.

“Mini, where did you get those sunglasses from?”

“That looks awfully like Nikolai’s..”

Nikolai could feel four pairs of eyes staring at him like hounds going after their prey after he got out of the helicopter.

Things get even more chaotic when Nikolai shows up at the end of the mission, offering you, and only you, a ride back to the base.

Laswell had to come to your rescue and growl at all the boys, including Price for making a scene.

And you know it’s going to be a bumpy ride in the future when Nikolai sneakily slides his phone number into your hand before being pushed away by a very angry Soap and Ghost.

#call of duty #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai cod x reader #nikolai cod x f!reader #taskforce 141 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price

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thesiltverses · 8 months

Note

Hello! Just wanted to say, and hopefully this isn't an odd compliment to receive, how much I adore the episode titles of the silt verses. One of my favorite things to do after I get someone to listen to tsv is point out that the episode titles make a poem when you read them back to back. It always tends to blow their minds and I get great satisfaction from seeing their reactions. What I especially love about them is how they can stand on their own and reflect events of the episodes while still connect with one another to make a bigger picture so to speak. (For example, how Faulkner and Carpenter's reunion episode in s2 is titled "But We'll Never Be Rid of Each Other" to reflect their relationship as two people that can't seem to untangle themselves from each other, for better or for worse ((and how this title hangs over the episode ominously when contrasted with how happy their reunion makes listeners, as if just waiting for events to come)), but then connect it to the next title "My Song, My Sorrow and I" and it slightly changes the context where it feels more like it examines the characters' various complicated relationships with their gods)

(Though, on a tangent, speaking of episode titles and how they match each episode, I think constantly about "One Final Fall From Grace" with Faulkner and how it's the episode where he loses all but one of his acolytes, idk there's something about it that gets me so bad/pos)

I was wondering how you go about deciding on episode titles? Has the poem already been written out since the very beginning of the show? Is episode order dictated and determined by said finished poem? Or am I overthinking how each line fits each episode? What made you decide on this format compared to I am in Eskew's episode naming convention? Sorry for such a long winded question! I just cannot overstate how much I adore the episode titles, sometimes I'll go back and read everything all over just to hear the words.

Thank you very much!

So the plan was always roughly along the lines of:

Season 1 titles begin by trying to outline a kind of epic poem, then get distracted by describing its hold over the poet

Season 2 titles are about the poet's yearning to be free from the poem, but ultimate acceptance that their fates are entwined

Season 3 is about the realisation that the poem will outlive the poet.

Beyond that, there's generally plenty of flex and it remains a semi-spontaneous act of play - like you say, I might think I have something in mind and then realise at the last minute that another line works better for the themes of the ep (and sometimes there's no thematic relevance at all and it's just filling in a necessary rhyme to keep the whole thing going).

This leads to imperfections and a bit of a shaggy-dog story feel - if I could go back without confusing everyone, I'd correct the very first ep title to 'First I'll Sing Of Revelations' so the terminology is consistent - but I like imperfections, and I like shaggy dogs.

As to why? It just felt like a different way of being playful; the Eskew titles were fun for me because of their simplicity (I have vivid memories as a very young kid, not being old enough to be allowed to watch the video-tapes of Blackadder II, all of which had really evocative, teasing single-word episode titles - 'Head', 'Money', 'Potato'. So I'd just sit back on the floor and imagine what those meant.)

But for TSV, it felt appropriate and fun to begin with these trappings of epic storytelling and religious verse in the episode titles, and then gradually pan outwards to show that it's more of a story about being entrapped by stories and the impossibility of escape.

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

Text

a lesson on style - vi . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner.

alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 8.1k

author’s note: this was actually supposed to go on for a lot longer but... it might've reached a solid 13-15k and i just thought it would be better to split it into half-ish, so nothing major happens, although i definitely enjoyed yet another mc/jaemin real talk session that i also hope you enjoy! :^)

tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics (no longer available, please give me your new url if you're still interested!)

You think now is as good a time as any for you to say something that’ll easily impact the trajectory of your life forever; after all, Jeno’s essentially given you the floor after such a strange and honestly shocking turn of events. You’re aware of the fact that his thumb is still traveling across your cheek, more idle as an action than anything else, but you seem to be experiencing the feeling as something closer to an out-of-body experience than an actual first-hand one; the tingles they send to your heart are weird and blurry, like your body can’t process his touch well enough to understand it fully. You suppose it’s because of your confusion at what he’s saying, which leads to your second option: asking him what he means.

There’s little to interpret at face value, but what his words do is essentially unlock a torrent of other weird questions in your head. For instance: how long had he known that you liked him? Had he known this entire time? Did something you did make it painfully obvious? If he wants you to like him — and, as he says, only him — does that mean he’s essentially accepting your feelings? Does this mean… he likes you back?

You assume this is one of those moments where, because your mind is going a million miles a minute, a lot of time feels like it’s passed even though it’s just been a small handful of seconds. This assumption is quickly broken by Jeno’s expression of concern.

“_______________? Say… something.”

“Um,” you start before you can even figure out what you want to say. The easiest answer comes to mind: It’s always only been you. But that’s weird, and this isn’t a 90’s Western movie, and if it were, you certainly wouldn’t be the eloquent main romance interest, even if Jeno’s gaze could easily fool you into thinking that. You think about making a joke, but you’re befuddled and also fresh from tears that — if Jeno’s abrupt story is actually true — were totally useless and unfounded in nature.

Also, you’re really not that funny to begin with.

“I just…” you try again, and his eyebrows raise slightly in anticipation for your next words. Nothing else comes out after a few seconds, though, and he realizes this is just another false start, his hand falling onto your shoulder (maybe he’s tired of trying to coax it out of you with the thumb-on-cheek method, which admittedly had you clamping up more than anything else).

“You can just tell me how you really f—”

“I think I have to go.”

No. No. Why would you say that? The surprise on his face quickly morphs into something that looks almost crestfallen, an expression you’d never imagine seeing on bright, confident Lee Jeno, let alone ever be the cause of. His hand slips from your shoulder quickly, like he’s now worried touching you will electrocute him.

“Oh. I’m sorry — I didn’t… mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m… I’m not.” You’re not, are you? “Maybe a little, but it isn’t really you —”

“Something I said, then—?”

“No, I…” Your fingernail digs into the pad of your thumb, with you trying to use the sting of the pain to jolt you out of this nervous, inarticulate state. “I just don’t think… I have anything of value to say right now.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because…” Grappling for words is like trying to break through the surface of water; you’re almost there, but somehow you’re still floundering, and that only seems to be making it much worse. “Because I never really thought about what I’d do… if you really found out I liked you.”

When you say it, it suddenly makes sense. For some reason, you’d always lived your life shuttling between point A (liking Jeno quietly in the comfort of your own mind palace) and point Z (fantasizing about your life with him where you live in a quaint townhouse with a cute mailbox and three kids), but you’d never really given much thought to all the points in between, especially not one that contains a scenario in which he’d find out and seemingly be okay with it, which, based on the current conversation, somehow seems like a reasonable thing to assume about him.

You’ve always wanted it — him knowing, him accepting it, maybe even him liking you back — but it kind of felt like, deep down, you hadn’t really believed it would ever happen.

And you were kind of content with that, because you wouldn’t ever really have to deal with the complications of it. Right now, you’re feeling unprepared and a little exposed, weirdly vulnerable to his gaze. It once again, for the hundredth time tonight, it seems, triggers some kind of flight instinct in you that has you looking anywhere but at him all of a sudden.

“You can think about it… now,” he suggests carefully. Being put on the spot doesn’t really ever bring out the best in you — a fact that might be known to people who were actually paying attention to your failed impromptu speech about whale hunting in your sixth grade English class — so you just pretend that the silhouette of Jaemin’s front yard tree is supremely interesting to you all of a sudden, never mind the fact that it’s about a few inches from Jeno’s ear from your vantage point. You don’t really want to see his expression right now, especially if that means it’ll only fluster you back into speechlessness.

“I don’t really know if I can,” you admit. From your peripheral vision, you see what seems like a flash of discomfort pass across Jeno’s face; you’re sure you just imagined it, considering you’ve never imagined cool, aloof, king of your heart Lee Jeno as exuding anything other than utmost confidence. Still, his next words do make you question that notion twice over.

“Did I… misunderstand something? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me?”

“No, I… you know. I… yeah, I do, but I just —”

“You’re seeing someone else?”

“No,” you say more fiercely, and for a brief moment, you’re so appalled at the thought that your eyes flicker to his, which ends up being a terrible mistake because the confusion in his gaze is so profound that the guilt in you swells tenfold.

“Because I thought… maybe the reason Renjun and you —”

“He’s — honest to God — he’s just my friend.”

“And Jaemin is…?”

“My… next door neighbor?” You blink rapidly at the lights still coming from his house, wondering now what Jaemin has to do with all of this in the first place. For someone who seems like he would be extremely uninvolved in this general progress of events, he seems to crop up time and again, weirdly always around when you need someone. Maybe it’s a neighbor thing, or maybe he’s a little nosier than you thought. But thinking about another element in this situation is starting to give you a headache, and you’re way past the time you’re usually already in bed avoiding homework and watching shitty dating reality shows instead. “I don’t really understand what he has to do with this either. I just don’t think I’m prepared to have this conversation at all.”

“But you like me, don’t you?”

It’s weird, actually, now that you think about it — why does he have to confirm the fact time and time again? It’s almost like he’s worried, although you can’t imagine why he would be. More than anything, you’d kind of assumed that he would find that information pretty repellent, but with the way he’s asking in earnest, it almost seems like he wants to keep the knowledge of that like a talisman.

“I do,” you admit, mostly because it’s out in the open, but also partially because you’ve made the mistake of looking at him again, and you start wondering how he could even wonder when everyone seems to like him (you, perhaps, to a somewhat unhealthy degree).

“More than them?”

“I—” Your brow furrows, another wave of confusion washing over you. But his eyes are much too honest in their questioning, and you speak before anything else can come to mind. “More than anyone, Jeno.”

What looks oddly like relief settles on his face, and you notice only then that his shoulders have been tensed up because he seems to relax them all of a sudden. “Oh. Good. Great. So listen, now that we’re on the same page, I—”

Jeno’s interrupted by one of the guys in a university sweater calling out to him from across the two lawns, voice booming to a degree that sets off a few annoyed dogs in your area. Jeno raises a hand to signal him to wait, his mouth still open on whatever words he wanted to complete his sentence with, but the sounds he was trying to make quickly die into silence anyway, drowned out by a huge crash inside Jaemin’s house.

You’re not entirely certain of what he wants to say — on the bright side, he could have been ramping up to a point that could easily make all your dreams from middle school to now a perfect reality, but he also could have been setting you up for some kind of grand, embarrassing failure — not by his design or by malice but just by the pointing out of the fact that you two lead different lives and things would likely never work out, anyway, but it’d be cool that you liked him in your own time, and he’d allow it as long as you didn’t get drool all over his notebook in class.

Either way, you don’t think now, with a bunch of inebriated college people shouting profanities on Jaemin’s lawn and a gaggle of high school kids panicking about what sounds to be a broken table and a whole bunch of pizza on the floor, is the best time to be processing those things.

“I actually,” Jeno turns his gaze to you again, strangely alert, like you’d just whistled for a dog’s attention. You’ve never seen him like this, and it’s weird to think that, at this awkward moment, you can still find him painfully endearing. You have to shake yourself out of the grip of the already beckoning force that tells you to sigh dreamily about how adorable he is. “Think I should really be heading inside. Looks like they also need you for some kind of damage control, anyway.”

The same college kid calls for Jeno again, dragging out the vowels of his name kind of annoyingly. Jeno sighs, nodding slowly enough for you to know he’s caught on — this probably isn’t the right time to have such a weirdly heavy conversation.

“Yeah. I probably need to help clean up, anyway. No one’s going to want to do it, and Jaemin’s already chewed me out for bailing on mop duty a few times.”

“Why’d you bail?”

“Just… got busy, personally.” He looks sheepish, and it doesn’t take a bunch of lightbulbs going off for you to cotton on as well. Now, you’re just wishing you hadn’t asked, so you didn’t ever have to imagine it. Still, what’s done is done. You have to focus on keeping the discomfort out of your face this time. “Um… that’s not important, though. Anyway —I’ll talk to you soon, okay, ________________? Like… maybe we can catch up at school? You know, talk about our thing — the project, I mean — and like… et cetera?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Your smile’s weak, and so is your joke, but you should at least try to hold up casual pretenses as much as he does, even though he’s obviously much better at it. “I’ll tell on you to Hwang if you don’t, you know.”

His laugh is soft, but it at least sounds genuine; his smile still reaches his eyes, which already makes your heart feel a little lighter. But instead of trekking off immediately, he lingers, strangely, until his grin winnows down into just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even weirder are his hands, slightly outstretched towards your waist, like he’s trying to cross the gap between you (even if it’s admittedly very minimal) but suddenly decides not to. The result is him looking strangely stiff and uncharacteristically hesitant, but you chalk it up to him simply not knowing how to end such a weirdly situated conversation. You know you’d have an even worse time doing it if it were up to you, so you can’t really blame him.

In the end, he closes the dialogue with ‘see you around, ________________,’ and a quick pat on the shoulder, which, if you think about it, seems a little disappointingly different from when he’d had his hand against your cheek a few minutes ago. Then again, you’re not sure you could handle something like that again, anyway.

You watch him walk off back towards Jaemin’s house, and some pitiful, pathetic part of you is expecting him to look back, say one last goodbye to you, or something, but the university guy that had belted his name out so vigilantly just swings an arm around Jeno’s neck and drags him to a corner where a bunch of other similarly dressed people, to whom Jeno starts talking to almost immediately.

Cutting this conversation short was probably for the best, anyway; you have no idea what he would have said, but you’re very sure you wouldn’t have been prepared for it either way. You trudge into your house and up into your room, already mentally prepared to spend the rest of the night obsessively mulling over what it all meant and what he had really been planning to say at the end. The process starts some time in the shower, while you’re shampooing your hair and you embarrassingly remember the feeling of Jeno’s hand tangled in it. The moony expression that the thought of it leaves on your face is present up until you see how stupid it looks in the fogged up bathroom mirror.

Renjun still hasn’t texted you, which is honestly starting to be a source of mild anxiety because you can’t be sure if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere or just ignoring you for some unknown reason. Whatever it is, you leave like three messages wondering where he’s at and asking him to call you. You’re on your fourth message, which is asking to confirm about tomorrow’s movie (something you’d almost forgotten about save for the fact that you’d remembered this would be a point of argument for you both once again if you spaced on it) when a notification pops up that once again gives you a heart attack.

Lee Jeno: u looked pretty tonight, btw :)

You: oh!! thank you…!

You: you looked great tonight too…! :)

Lee Jeno: haha… cute :)

Lee Jeno: goodnight, ____________ :)

This is the most emojis you’ve ever seen used in a single brief conversation, and you can’t help but feel like it might be a little juvenile, but it doesn’t even matter because Lee freaking Jeno called you pretty and cute in the span of five minutes. Your thumbs are shaking as you type back a typo-laden goodnight that takes you a full other minute just to edit before waiting a little more, but nothing else comes. Maybe he’s driving home, or something. You toss your phone onto your bed, away from easy reach, before you can start overthinking what this silence means again.

Your reflection in your window mirrors the same scene you’d encountered in the bathroom: you, hair bundled up in a wet towel, bare-faced with a stupid grin across it. You’re so caught up in the act of reeling from Jeno’s three texts that you belatedly notice a square of light beyond your bedroom window. You almost duck out of sight when you see a shadow there, thinking about crying bloody murder, until you realize it’s Jaemin, who’s watching the ridiculous expression on your face with a curious gaze from a distance. He’s still in the same clothes he’d worn to the party, but you can see, even from this far away, that there’s this dark patch on it that looks suspiciously close to the way your shirt had on the day his coke had emptied itself out on your back. That must’ve been from the crash earlier, you deduce.

You think he’s just zoning out facing in your direction, and you find there’s no need to meet his gaze, but there’s still something a little unsettling about having someone spacing out in your general direction, so you reach up to pull your blinds down. Your hand almost reaches the string, but Jaemin’s hand suddenly starts going up too, like it’s trying to follow you, and you freeze in your movements. His keeps going, though, up until it’s close to his face, and suddenly, he’s moving it side to side, in some weird regular pattern.

He’s waving, your tired, overworked brain tells you belatedly. The string of your blinds tickles the tip of your fingers.

Unsure and a little self-conscious, you wave back, hoping he doesn’t notice that you were about two strong pulls away from drawing yourself out of sight. This is clearly the right response, because even from this distance, you can see the brilliant white of his teeth as he smiles, fully and unabashedly, at you.

The first thing you do when you wake up the following morning is check your phone. You’re not even really sure what you’re looking for — maybe a text from Jeno, who, if you think about it now, probably has nothing to say in response to your boring ‘goodnight’ anyway (but you can still dream), or maybe a missed call or two from Renjun, who should at least be offering you some explanation as to why he was completely out of sight after parting ways with you and Mark Lee last night.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing on your screen, apart from the stupid 번장 notification that tells you the pocket punch board you’ve been wanting for no good reason has been discounted by the seller to a price you still can’t reasonably afford anyway.

You certainly can’t do anything about Jeno’s lack of contact, and to be completely honest with yourself, you’re not even really that sure if you want to. Something about yesterday’s conversation, while not exactly a train wreck, makes you very nervous to have a full conversation with him, and you’d much rather it stick to very basic, kindergarten-level things, like ‘you look cute’ and ‘haha’ and ‘:)’, but since that isn’t completely in your control, you decide you simply don’t want to do anything about it.

Renjun, however, is a completely different matter. You don’t understand why he’s ignoring you if he is, considering you had spent the better part of the night (at least, the parts during which you weren’t crying on your lawn) looking for him, so this silence, if deliberate, doesn’t seem fair or even reasonable. You decide that it’s much too early to be getting an earful from you in the end, so you just send a very emphatic ‘WRU?????????????????’ through both text message, KakaoTalk, and Facebook Messenger to him, hoping the repetition of both sentiment and punctuation mark through multiple platforms is enough to faux-yell to him what you’d otherwise be real-yelling to him over the line. You can’t tell if it gives you any sense of comfort to see he hasn’t been online and active for the last 15 hours.

All the tossing and turning of last night, courtesy of the endless loop replay of “I want you to like me — just me” Lee Jeno edition, had consequently left you worse for wear; you’d gotten up at the rising of the sun (something you’d sworn never to do during the weekend) and had opted to just stay in bed for another hour, trying so hard to get over the feeling of his fingers against your skin that you end up committing it to long-term memory. The sunlight peeking through your blinds is what gets you to throw off your covers and admit defeat to the fact that sleep would never come back at this rate, and you decide to just head down, rubbing the lethargy out of your eyes before you make a poor man’s breakfast. You’re halfway through the jelly slice of your sandwich when your sister comes through the doorway, yawning loud to announce her presence.

“G’morning, bedhead baby,” she greets, and you use the non-knife-holding hand you have free to rake through your hair. “Big rager last night, huh?”

“Yeah — wait, how’d you know?”

“We live a door down from Jaemin oppa’s house? Na Jaemin? Our next door neighbor and his whole family? We can see out the window into his lawn? Sometimes we get our sidewalk trash cans mixed up with theirs? Hello?” Sooyeon smirks, albeit a little sluggishly, as you wave her grating words away. “I saw you out there with him, you know.”

“With who? Where? Who?” You demand, your jelly-laden knife freezing in mid-air, the grape blobs slipping dangerously off the edge onto the middle of your bread.

“You. And Jaemin oppa,” she says each syllable slowly. “In front of our house.”

“Oh.”

“So usually how these conversations go is: I bring up a juicy piece of information pertaining to you, and because you experienced it first hand, you have to then expound on the piece of information, thereby making it juicier. ‘Oh’ doesn’t cut it. Not by a long shot.”

“There’s not much to tell.” You wonder, briefly, if you’re now obligated to bring up the Jeno aspect of the night — which, for all intents and purposes, honestly felt like more of a big deal than anything else — but you quickly decide against it, chickening out when she approaches you at the counter and starts unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar. That might be giving too much away, considering she didn’t even seem to notice that you’d been bawling when you’d crossed the property line. “He just walked me back here.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s what people who live next to each other in a not-so-close-knit community do: walk each other two steps home, to keep the baddies away.”

“He’s just a naturally nice person, I think. Most people are, aren’t they?”

“I thought you guys were close. Didn’t he give you his varsity jacket? That sounds like a closeness thing.” She knots her index and middle finger together, and you slap it away.

“We’re close only in the same way as you are.” When she gives you a quizzical look, you sigh. “Proximity-wise.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he was out there, caressing your hair lovingly.”

You freeze, as opposed to Sooyeon’s comically relaxed posture as she scrapes the peanut butter across your other slice of bread. “He… was not. Caressing me. My hair. Lovingly.”

“I have eyes for the sake of seeing.”

“There was just something in it. In my hair. A leaf.”

You’re not sure why you lie; the largest part of the reason is that you don’t want to have to go into the horrifyingly awkward details of your emotional state last night, but there’s something oddly nagging at you that you can’t quite place. It takes a minute of staring at your sister spreading the peanut butter evenly across the bread and humming to herself while closing the sandwich up that you realize that you don’t want her getting the wrong impression about anything.

Which is weird, because there’s nothing to misunderstand.

Jaemin, albeit the fact that he’s been chattier to you as of late, more so than any other time in your life, is still just your neighbor. Maybe he’s graduated from being your sort-of acquaintance to something that vaguely resembles an arm-distance-ish friend, but the notion that you’re anything closer than that makes you feel a bit strange — almost like it… scares you, which is extra weird to think about, because there’s actually nothing inherently harmful about being casual buddies with some guy who lives close enough to wave at you from his window.

Maybe it’s because it’s Jaemin, and that’s what might be tripping you up the most. He’s not just Jeno’s friend; he’s practically some kind of counterpart to him, and it feels weirdly like a line you can’t cross. Or maybe it’s because… Jeno had asked you about him last night, which had made you feel even stranger. Like he’d been worried about something — like Jaemin was a no-go zone for him, specifically.

As you dully watch your sister take a bite off of your breakfast, it dawns on you: maybe you just don’t want people to think you like anyone other than Jeno.

“Okay, well, you know better than I do,” she singsongs in a tone that tells you that you actually don’t. Sooyeon doesn’t press, but she also doesn’t make you feel like the conversation is over — even if she trills I’m going back up; thanks for the sandwich in that same voice before leaving you alone in the kitchen with half of it on the plate.

Because the truth is that you don’t really know; you don’t know what’s so unsettling about being associated with Jaemin. Your sister’s not aware of the intricate ins and outs of your (delusional) relationship with Jeno, apart from your (apparently evident to everyone) crush on him, but you also know she’s not really deeply invested in where your heart lies; all she does is make conversation, as is her personality, as a form of bonding you’ve never really quite been able to navigate well.

You just don’t get why the mention of Jaemin, now, makes you feel… something. What that is, you’d rather not dwell on. So you just won’t.

You’re walking out of the kitchen, cheeks filled with peanut butter and jelly, when you see block letters on cloth, spelling out a familiar last name: Na.

You still haven’t given back Jaemin’s stupid jacket.

Today is the day, you decide. This seems to have started the whole conversation to begin with: the jacket that somehow brought Jaemin two steps closer into your life, the article of clothing that had opened the door to what shouldn’t even be a talking point between you and anyone else.

This should be the proverbial swan song for this whole topic; you snatch up his jacket (and immediately regret doing so in such a brutish manner, noticing you’ve got a few specks of breadcrumbs on the lettering) and head out of your house, your bedroom slippers absorbing morning dew as you march yourself over to your neighbor’s. You should’ve done this earlier, really; there was no reason for you to hold on to it.

Honestly, you’d just forgotten, given that you were more preoccupied with things that started with L and ended with ee Jeno, but you’d rather not extend any more misunderstandings.

And even if Jeno isn’t here to see this grand closing gesture, maybe, just maybe, this will help you stop feeling so cagey about everything he’d asked last night.

I want you to like me — just me.

Because why would he even think you liked Jaemin at all? Or make it sound like he thought you did? Ridiculous. Unfounded. Kind of alarming.

There’s noise in the air the closer you get to the Na household porch; it sounds a bit muffled, like it’s fighting the breeze, but you realize thereafter that it’s music coming from a tiny speaker sitting on the hand railing. It’s playing Dongbangshinki’s Here I Am, and something about that song stirs your stomach into swooping ten miles down as you approach.

Your initial plan was to ring the doorbell and pray that Jaemin was still knocked out cold on a Saturday morning so you could pass the jacket off to one of his parents and be done with it, but you’ve no such luck; it seems like he’s an early riser, considering how he’s seated right there, on a wicker chair by his door, hunched over a half-played chess board. There’s no one across him to block his view of you coming up the steps, and he looks up the moment he hears the creaks of the wood under your feet.

“Hey, ______________,” he doesn’t look surprised; in fact, he looks a bit relieved, for some inexplicable reason. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“Could say the same for you.” You have no idea what causes heat to flush across your cheeks; has Na Jaemin’s gaze always been this intense? “Um. Good morning?”

“Morning.” His laugh is an easy one; it always has been, and it kind of suits him, you note, before you realize how weird it is to think that. “What’ve you got there? Gift for me?”

“Wha — oh, yeah, I mean — no, but it is for you.” You hold up his jacket, hooked on your forefinger, to reveal it to him. “Sorry it took so long to give it back.”

This time, he actually looks a bit taken aback. “Did you stop needing it?”

“Um… I haven’t really used it, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh. Well, there wasn’t any rush. You could’ve kept it for as long as you needed. No pressure, or anything. I’ve got others.”

“You don’t need it at practice, or anything like that?”

“No; most guys don’t even keep theirs. They give them away, for… you know. So it’s no big deal.”

You fall silent; for some reason, his tone makes it seem like he wants you to keep it, which is just preposterous. You instead hang the jacket onto the back of the wicker chair opposite him and step back, like you’ve just set up a land mine you’re afraid of detonating.

“Well, thank you all the same. I really… appreciate your help. That day. You know.” You’re not sure why you can’t form any sentences long enough to signify you do actually belong in the same year level as him, but he at least doesn’t comment on your ineloquence.

Instead, he just stares for a bit, at the jacket and your retreating hand, before piping up over his music.

“You wanna play a round?”

“What? Oh, I’m…” You wave your hands aimlessly. “I’m not good at chess. Actually, I barely know the rules. Plus, you seem kind of busy playing against… your imaginary friend?”

He chuckles again. “Just playing myself.”

“Trying to outfox the old fox?”

“Sometimes it helps to know how you’d get out of a sticky situation you made by your own doing. Helps you see what your opponent sees when it all boils down to it.” He gestures again at the chair across him. “Humor me a little. It’s not as fun just talking to yourself.”

You hesitate for a second; you came here to return the jacket, and that much was done easily, albeit a little more awkwardly than you ever wanted to. Jaemin’s aura is laid back and friendly, but you’re not sure why you’re teetering on the edge of panic again. Jeno’s words seem to be echoing in your head.

And Jaemin is…?

Jaemin is your next-door neighbor, it’s true, but you can’t say that’s really your only point of connection; if it were, he wouldn’t be expectantly waiting for you to take the seat across from him. And when you look at his hand now, idle against the chessboard, you can’t say you aren’t thinking of the way it patted your hair soothingly the night before. All that does is make you wonder the exact same thing Jeno asked you.

What is Jaemin to you? A friend, perhaps, and definitely a nice person — nice enough to help you out, keep you company during a few low points. He’s a person willing to listen to you, funny enough to lift your spirits, and genial enough to not break your fingers for returning his things way too late (a low bar, but a good one nonetheless). Na Jaemin is a good individual, with pretty good music taste (based on the fact that his playlist, trudging on next to him, is now playing H.O.T.’s Happiness), and a good disposition about him that seems to make no small amount of people gravitate towards him.

But you don’t really want to dwell on what Jaemin is to you; more than that, you can only really be reminded of what he isn’t.

He isn’t Jeno.

And Jeno knows you like him; he’s not only noticed it but confirmed it multiple times in a single conversation. Surely, then, nothing else should matter to him — or, for that matter, to you.

You swallow down the refusal and nod, trying not to read into the fact that Jaemin’s face lights up when you pull the chair back and settle down on it.

“So let me get this straight; you don’t know how to play chess?”

“I know a couple of pieces go in weird directions,” you admit. “That’s about it.”

“Perfect.” His long fingers drum against the wood of the table. “I’m going to whip you into competitive chess-playing shape, my young pupil.”

What starts off as a casual, humor-filled lesson on the roles of each chess piece suddenly becomes an actual lecture; you’re not sure if Jaemin is getting a kick out of instructing a rookie like you on the different plays — which are infinite, a fact he’s drilled into you several times — or if he’s really just enthusiastic about the game (no, sorry, sport, since he’s chastised you about three times on this terminology already), but whatever the reason is, you have chess pounded into your brain for the better part of an hour. By the time he asks you to actually start playing against him, the sun’s fully up in the air and you’ve had to tie your hair up to keep it from sticking to your neck.

“I’m glad you got home safe last night,” he hums, pushing his black pawn to meet yours in the middle of the board. The Italian Game, he called it — not to be confused with serenading someone over pasta, a different kind of Italian game. That had gotten a long laugh out of you. Your hands flit over the white pieces, unsure of your memory. You only respond when you’ve moved your bishop to the same row.

“Well, it was a very long and tumultuous journey, but I managed, with some help.”

His knight comes out next, smoothly and quickly; you pause, rubbing the back of your neck. Surely, there was something else he’d taught you?

“What a chivalrous, ah, knight, that person must’ve been.” He raps a knuckle onto the table, starting you out of the act of racking your brain. “Perfect joke. Well-timed. Excellent chess pun. I think I deserve an award.”

“Does whooping my ass two moves into the game count as a prize?”

“I don’t want to rob you of the feeling of hope this early in the match. Take your time,” he chuckles, leaning back against the throw cushion behind him. He fiddles with the speaker, and the songs skip one by one, until he lands on a song you don’t know — some Japanese track that sounds suspiciously like an animation opening. It’s lively and admittedly a bit loud, and Jaemin hums to the guitar riffs with surprising accuracy. “Anything interesting happen when I left?”

You freeze for a moment, your fingers still hovering over your own knight in hesitation. You know what he’s asking, and for some reason, you’re tempted to tell him — then you remember that it actually isn’t really his business, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

��Not really.” You feign casual disinterest as you move your knight above your pawn line; from here on out, you have no clue what to do. Jaemin, on the other hand, is so sure-footed about his own skills (which are infinitely more advanced than yours) that he doesn’t even take his eyes off you to look at the board as he moves his next piece. You’re stuck thinking about what to do again — in the game, that is. Not about his gaze, which you try to avoid. “Just, you know. Talked with Jeno for a bit. Nothing major.”

Nothing major to him, you remind yourself. To you, your entire world had just been flipped over onto its belly.

Jaemin hums again, this time in understanding, but you notice (from your very surreptitious glances of him) that this time, it seems like he’s choosing what to do. You think it’s for the game, but when he counteracts your own (poorly planned) move with a swift response from his own pieces, you get the odd feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully.

“Was it a conversation where you all got along?”

You hadn’t argued, but you’d never really thought about the whole stint long enough to classify it as good or bad. You supposed it wasn’t anything horrible in the end, although the fact that it had robbed you of precious hours of sleep wasn’t exactly the best outcome. But Jaemin’s not watching your expression now; he’s intently looking at the board, even if he’s not the one about to make the next move.

You get the feeling he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact too, which is weird, because he’s never been one to shy away from looking you straight in the eye. For some reason, that makes you feel like he doesn’t want to hear an answer.

“It was fine. Nothing… bad happened.” You know that’s true, but somehow you feel like it’s still not truth. “He explained… stuff. Who she was. Why it happened. Totally understandable stuff, I think.”

You choose not to mention anything apart from that — that he’d asked you to like him, nor that he’d asked you about your relationship with Jaemin. More than deciding it wasn’t going to be anything contributive to the conversation at hand, you also just didn’t want to.

Jaemin stays silent for a while; he moves his piece, then taps his queen — for some reason, he’s letting you know something about his next move. What it is, you haven’t puzzled out; it’s not like you know which direction he’d be taking, and even if you did, you’d surely not know how to respond to it, anyway. You guess he’s just throwing you a bone, but why he would, you also just don’t see the reason for.

You’re pushing your pawn hesitantly diagonal to capture one of his when he speaks up again.

“Did he tell you how it ended? With the two of them, I mean.”

He says it so calmly, capturing your bishop with his queen in the process, that you feel like you’re just talking about the weather and who won yesterday’s league basketball match. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat, but you only actually manage to shake your head.

“She cheated on him. Some college guy that she met during her orientation; you know she’s older than him, right? He’s never dated seriously since then. I think he was really hung up on her for a while — until recently, that is. I think. He hasn’t been that close to many girls.”

“That’s… that’s awful.” You’re not sure why Jaemin’s telling you this; it honestly feels illegal to know. “I didn’t think… anyone would. Cheat on him, I mean.”

“Even good-looking bastards like him can have rotten luck.” Jaemin’s smile borders on wry. “I don’t know why she showed up, honestly. Word probably got around… but she probably just wanted to know what would happen if she stirred something up with him one last time. He likely didn’t see it coming.”

You stare at the board, unsure of what to say. It makes sense, but something doesn’t really sit right with you either — why Jeno would let her come close to him at all, let alone allow her to completely eliminate the distance between his mouth and hers for longer than a second. Even thinking about it makes you want to throw up all over again.

“But deep down, I don’t know if Jeno completely got over her.” Jaemin continues, snapping you out of your short trance. “For a while after, they kept in touch. I think they even tried to work it out, but… obviously, it wasn’t easy. Until now… I’m not really sure.”

“Why,” you swallow hard. “Why… are you… why should I…”

“It’s not easy to be a player when you don’t know much about the game, is it?” He’s still staring at the board, but you get the sense that he isn’t just talking about chess. “Like I said, Jeno’s a pretty complicated guy. It’s not really my place to say anything, but…” Jaemin’s eyes flit upward for a second, and he offers you a small, almost pitying smile. “I think you need to know anyway.”

“But it has nothing to do with me. His life… I mean, his ex, and stuff.”

“I’m not too sure about that. If you like him that much… doesn’t that just mean you want to be part of his life?” He topples a pawn of yours, but you barely register the clattering noise or the fact that he drags it unceremoniously off the board. “I think you should at least know what you’re getting into. Jeno hasn’t liked someone seriously for a while, but you seem… to be the opposite. How much do you actually know about what he’s like?”

You don’t know why that kind of hurts your feelings; maybe it’s just because you have to face some kind of truth about how you don’t know much about Jeno’s private life, as badly as you want to. You even have to hear about it from someone else — someone easily kicking your ass in a dumb chess match.

“I think everyone has baggage,” you say slowly, pushing your rook forward. You realize it’s trapped behind two different pawns, so you’ve essentially backed the piece into its own corner. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care; he’s too busy executing what clearly is a ten-stage strategic win on the other side of the board. You don’t really care.

“That’s true,” he concedes, toppling your knight. “But some more than others, I think.”

“If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? Yesterday, I mean.”

“That’s may also be true, although I can’t say that with absolute certainty.” He looks thoughtful, and the pause gives you a bit of reprieve — enough to make a bad move that you instantly regret the moment you put your one remaining bishop on a square. Something like amusement flickers across Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t make a move immediately. “Do you know what makes chess such a great game? In my opinion, anyway.”

“No?” The uncertainty in your voice is from a lack of understanding at the sudden shift in topic.

“Whenever you play someone, you get to see what they’re like — what their priorities are, you know?” His finger lands on a rook, inching it back and forth with idle intent. “You see how their mind works, what they’re like when they’re winning or losing, and what they think of you. Check, by the way.”

You’re silent as his rook captures your bishop, and he picks your fallen piece up and sets it aside with his growing pile of white.

“I’ve actually asked Jeno to play with me a few times, just for the fun of it. Sore loser,” he laughs lightly, one hand reaching out to lower the volume of his music. You notice the opening bars of Winner’s Really Really come through moments before it’s toned down. “Doesn’t really know or care about the rules, but he really likes to win. That’s kind of what makes him the star player on the team, actually. He really hates being backed into a corner, but all that focus on winning kind of tunnels his vision sometimes. Leaves him open to some attacks from another angle. He really hates that — which is probably why we barely play chess together in the first place. Apart from the fact that he thinks it’s boring.”

You’re staring at your pieces, now very pitifully winnowed down in number, and you feel stuck. You’re not sure what to do, but you’re pretty sure any move is going to make you look dumb in front of Jaemin, who’s clearly a pro — so much so that he seems to know what you’re going to do before you even decide yourself.

“You know what I like about your playing style, though?” He interrupts your train of thought again. You look up from the board, bemused; you’ve just been struggling to humor him since your first move, and it obviously isn’t working, since he seems more invested in the conversation than in the game. “You’re just trying your best, even if you’re new at this — even if you think you’re going to lose.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten everything you just said,” you respond, smiling weakly.

“You can’t always predict what’s going to happen in a game, even if you know the pattern anyway. Isn’t that just natural about anything in life?”

“You seem to know, though,” you grumble, tugging on your ponytail. You throw in the only option you have left: pushing your queen in front of your king as a last line of defense. “You’re barely paying attention to the board.”

“It’s just constant practice — a lot of hard work on my part. I don’t mind the grind of it, if it gets me somewhere good in the end.”

“So is that the kind of player you are? Just… a hard worker?”

“Maybe. I like to look at things from every possible angle. I guess that’s why I like chess when most people find it a headache.” He picks up his queen, rolling it in his palm. “Although, I guess Jeno and I have one thing in common — as players, that is.”

“What’s that?”

“I also really hate to lose.”

His queen knocks over your own with a pitiful clatter, taking its place on the board. When he picks up your piece, instead of adding it to his knockout count, he offers it to you. You take it gingerly, opting to focus more on it than on the soft smile that’s now playing on Jaemin’s lips.

“Checkmate,” he announces lightly. “Good game, _____________. You’ve got the makings of a star player.”

“You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?” You sigh as the two of you start resetting the board; you have to watch Jaemin’s pieces get rearranged to position your own.

“Only a little bit. I see a lot of quiet drive in you.”

You place the last of your pawns in a neat row; the board looks like it hadn’t even been touched. “Jaemin, how did you and Jeno become this close? You seem… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, we’ve definitely got our unique quirks,” he chuckles softly. “But Jeno and I… we just go way back, I think. When you’re friends with someone from a young age, you tend to grow with them. He’s a good dude, really, even if our personalities are different, and it’s always a fun event so long as he’s around. Well — mostly. I’d say a good ninety-nine percent of the time.”

You pointedly ignore the sheepish smile he throws your way.

“You said before that you’re not the type to… you know, share your feelings, and all that. Then how do you… like what do you guys even talk about?”

“What do you and Renjun usually talk about?” Jaemin grins. “Anything and everything, really. Movies, games, why the jerk from Yongsan International gets on our nerves when he chews his gum. We just… have a tendency to be interested in the same things, no matter if our perspectives are different.”

While talking to Jaemin is fun, you can’t help but feel like he has a tendency to speak in riddles. You still don’t really see any strong similarities in their approaches to their interests, similar as they may be, but what do you know, anyway? It isn’t like you and Renjun are exactly peas in a pod on paper.

His eyes lose focus for a second, hitting somewhere behind your ear before they quickly turn back to you. You have no idea why this makes you feel a little put on the spot.

“Hey, you want to have brunch here? My mom makes a mean soybean paste stew.”

“Oh,” you press your hand against your stomach, wondering if the swooping feeling in it is from hunger or something unrelated. “No, I actually just ha—”

“_____________?”

You swivel around in the chair, and your heart stops; you're not the least bit prepared to see Lee Jeno standing at the foot of Jaemin’s porch steps, a quizzical look very clearly etched on his sharp features.

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