#tree didn’t stand a chance

[anxeious]

the entire concept of woodpeckers is so funny to me.,, like damn she rly just repeatedly bashing her head against that tree . good for her

[poisonofthepaint]

lucky you

jack calls you in on your day off, which leads to hooking up in the on-call room, which leads to him finding your tattoo.

wc: 2.5k

cw: MDNI, semi-public sex, f!reader, age gap, pinv, oral, lmk if i'm missing anything!

The date you were heading toward was less than exciting. You knew you needed a life outside of the hospital, Dana had given you a wake up call last week. You had been working doubles like it was nothing, but this was your first day off in a while, so you figured you’d download a dating app, get a free dinner on a Friday night. Not that you couldn’t afford dinner, this was more like dinner and a show. Max was a kind guy, but you could tell he didn’t take you seriously— that he underestimated you. So this was your chance to show up a man, and have him pay for your dinner. Win win.

Then, your phone rings. The ringtone that you have set for hospital staff interrupts your music and blares through the speakers. You groan, checking to see who it was. You were surprised to see that it was Jack, you figured since he was agreeing so hard with Dana last week that he would be the last person calling you.

“It’s my day off,” you answer

“I need you here.” Jack sounds out of breath. 

“Are you kidding?”

“You know I’m not. Ellis is sick, I thought we could manage but we cannot. I need you here.”

“You’re buying me dinner.” you say, exasperated.

“Gladly,” Jack ends the call. 

You know he wouldn’t call you unless it was actually an emergency, Jack wasn’t like that. He wanted to be able to manage. He wanted to be able to handle it by himself. So when he calls you, it’s important. You take off the blue dress you had on, switching it out for a plain white t-shirt before throwing your scrubs on top. You grab the bookbag full of your supplies for shifts and head out of your apartment.

The hospital is only a few blocks from your apartment, so you walk. It’s a bit chilly out; the springtime air blowing through the trees. It looks like it’s gonna storm, and you get to the hospital right before it starts, ducking your head as you walk into the entrance. 

The patients are grouchy in the waiting room, all groaning and yelling. The seats must’ve been taken up hours ago, there’s more people standing than sitting. You push your way through the front door.

“Good, you’re here.” Abbot was waiting at the doors like he had timed you. “You’re not supposed to wear perfume here.” he chastises.

“Had already sprayed it when you called me, figured I didn’t have time to shower.” 

“Right,” his eyes catch yours and he refuses to look away. “We have a lot of injuries from a car crash. A bunch of guys were speeding on the highway and about six of them were sitting in the open truck bed. A semi driver didn’t see them swerving around and knocked them off the road.”

Jack finally breaks eye contact and walks away, you follow him back into Trauma 1. There’s a young guy, probably around twenty-three, screaming in pain. His hand is holding on by a string, like, literally. It’s barely connected. 

“Noah, this is my best resident, she’s gonna take a look at you.” Jack tells him, yelling over the boy’s own screeching.

“I don’t care who she is, fix my fucking hand! I’m on a baseball scholarship!”

“I’m really glad I cancelled my date to be here.” you say, examining his arm.

“You were going on a date?” he says, you think you hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, but you brush it off.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to go have fun?” Jack doesn’t answer, just goes back to the patient, and you do too.

There are a lot of injuries, some superficial, some very serious. Noah will lose his hand, because he was stupid. You learn that he was the driver of the truck, and that he was drinking. You try to have empathy for all of your patients, but it’s hard when they’re being willingly stupid, and killing their friends. Noah heads up into surgery, and everything is rather stable now. The ED returns to its normal business, waiting for beds upstairs, triaging emergencies from the ambulances. 

You sit at your station and chart your patients, trying to remember all that happened in the whirlwind of your arrival. Jack stands right in front of you, charting as well. He looks back once, twice.

“You need something?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“Nah, just making sure you’re good.”

“I am just peachy, although I could use some dinner.” you smile up at him brightly.

He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, “Guess I did promise.”

Jack pulls out his phone, opening DoorDash before handing it over to you. You swipe through the restaurants before you find some Chinese place that catches your eye. You put what you want in the cart before handing his phone back to him.

  “Thank you, Dr. Abbot!” you get up from your seat and go to do a round of checkups.

You briefly see him shake his head as he looks down at his phone. 

It’s  a while before the food gets there, and even longer for the driver to argue with the nurse at triage. Jack finally sees the commotion and goes out and grabs it, apologizing to the nurse.

He calls you over and you grab the food, heading into the breakroom. You sit down and open up the paper brown bag. You think about how your night worked out, you got free dinner and a show anyway. And this was actually a show you quite enjoyed. You did love your job, maybe an unhealthy amount. But you had worked so hard to get here, and you were good at it. You were Abbot’s best resident. You were fast at assessing and scoping out which treatment would be best. You flew around the ED like it was nothing to you. 

After a few minutes of eating alone, Jack came to join you, taking what he ordered out of the bag.

“So, what’s wrong with Ellis?” you pry.

“She thinks she has the flu, super high fever and throwing up.”

“Got it, just wanted to make sure this wasn’t all a ploy to get me here on my day off.”

“And if it was?” Jack asks. 

You’re stunned for a second before you regain yourself, “Then I would say you’re very unprofessional, and that you’re interfering with my personal life.”

He shrugs– smirks, “You don’t want a healthy work life balance. Plus, we have fun together, don’t we?”

You try not to think about how he can read you; how he’s got you memorized like you’re the back of his hand. “We do.”

You finish your food and throw the empty container in the trash, excusing yourself. You swoop into the on-call room, trying to calm yourself. You rest your back against the door and swipe a hand down your face. 

The truth is, you’ve had a crush on Jack since your first day at The Pitt. it was a schoolgirl one at first, you thought he was cute. It was fun to be attracted to your boss; to have a little work crush that you could be excited about. But then, it started getting deeper, Jack paid extra attention to you, he could tell that you actually enjoyed the ED. You were always with him on cases, he picked you for his ‘team’ during busy mass casualties. He got to know you, you got to know him. He was no longer a mysterious crush who you just thought was cute. You liked him, in a way you didn’t want to. It was distracting some days. It was even more distracting when you had a feeling you weren’t being delusional. When you wondered why he called you, a second year resident, instead of one of the seniors, or another attending. 

There’s a knock at the door, and you open it, shocked to see Jack standing outside. He walks in and you allow him, moving out of the way so he can lock the door behind him. You can feel your heart in your throat. You sit down on the bed, hoping it’ll stabilize you. 

There’s silence; tension you could cut with a knife. He stands with his hands resting on a countertop. The storm rages outside the window, a big crack of thunder rings throughout the room. Jack is just looking, trying to scope you out. He pushes off and approaches you. You swallow, and look down at your feet, trying to avoid eye contact, but Jack isn’t having any of it. He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. He leans down, presses his forehead against yours. He lets his lips ghost yours— just barely.

“Tell me to stop.” he begs, out of breath, just like when he called you.

You place a hand on his neck, fingers threading lightly through the hair at the bottom, “What if I don’t want you to?” He groans, burrows his head into your neck. “I want it, Jack, of course I want it.” 

That’s all it takes. His lips are on yours without another beat. The kiss is rough— needy. Your teeth clash against each other, and his tongue explores your mouth. He lays you back onto the bed and your legs open, making room for him. He settles himself and gets to work on your neck, his hand slowly slides up your shirt, resting on your stomach.

He’s still being cautious, you think. You push his hand up and he cups your breast. He makes a strained noise when he feels the lace on your bra.

“You were gonna wear that for him?” Jack asks, right into your ear.

“No, I was wearing it for myself.” an honest answer. 

Jack rips your pants off and sees, what he assumes, is the matching thong. The underwear shifts down a bit, and you think Jack is gonna pass out.

Your small tattoo, a mistake from undergrad. A scripture on your hip that reads, ‘lucky you.’

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, kid.” he brushes his thumb over the words. Thinks about them. Doesn’t move for a minute. 

“Good thing we’re in an emergency department.” 

The nickname sends a wave of arousal through you, just like it always does. It’s how he usually referred to you during emergencies, when you’d catch something that no one else saw. It was how he praised you. You never imagined you’d hear it in this context.

Jack stands up and you whine. He quickly strips off his clothes and is back on you in a second. He rests on his stomach and kisses your tattoo sloppily.

He rips off your underwear with ferocity. You’d be smart to feel a tinge of embarrassment. He is your boss. But you don’t. This feels right, this feels good. He swipes a finger through your folds and you keen. 

“So wet for me.” he mumbles.

Jack wastes no more time. His tongue makes quick work on your clit. He moves like he knows you. Like he’s done this a million times, like there’s no room for error. And there isn’t. You both knew this needed to be quick. There were patients outside of the door, and the nurses and other doctors will be wondering where you two went. He works at your clit and you try your hardest to not make any noise. He looks up at you while his tongue is buried in you, and you let out a cry. He reaches a free hand up and covers your mouth. You bite down on it and let your head fall back on the lumpy pillow.

Then, Jack pulls away. “The fuck?” you say it into his hand, so it’s a bit muffled.

“We’ve only got time for one thing. You’re gonna come when I do. Just had to get you ready.” He says.

You want to salute. You want to scream. You don’t really know how this is happening. 

Jack pulls off his boxers and you gulp. You see why he needed to get you ready. The length alone was bigger than anything you’ve taken, but he was girthy too. 

He pulls a condom out of a drawer in the room. “Did you stash that in here?” you laugh.

“No, they keep them in here. I always wondered why, but now I see.”

He rolls it on quickly and comes back to the bed. He rests on his heels, taking you in. “Are you sure?” Jack asks again.

“I’m positive. I’ve wanted this since I met you.”

He nods slowly, small smile coming to his lips. He moves so his hands are right next to your head. Jack lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in deep. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “So fucking tight.”

“You feel so good,” you cry.

“Yeah? This good for you?” He sets a brutalizing pace, hips never faltering. His head falls into your neck again. “Your perfume is driving me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Could smell you whipping around this hospital. Every time you passed me, I thought I was going to have to take you right there.”

He’s rambling now, you realize. Pussydrunk from how you feel. 

“Maybe I’ll have to wear it more, break the rules a bit, if it leads to this.” you say, resisting the urge to moan in the middle of your sentences.

He pants, stifles his own noises. “You’re close,” you say.

“It’s been a while, every time I went on a date, I would just think of you.” 

“Is that true?”

“I’m already in your pants, no reason to lie.” his hips start to stutter. “Y’gonna come with me?”

You scope out the feeling in your stomach and focus in on it, Jack brings a hand down between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit. “Fuck, God, yes. Yes, I am.”

The room is filled with heavy breaths, the air has gone thick. You spot a bolt of lightning run through the sky and grab Jack’s head, bringing his ear down to your mouth. “Now,” you whisper.

The thunder hits right as you both finish. It’s loud enough to mask the noises neither of you could hold back. He continues the pace until you come down. You both gasp into each other. Jack slowly pulls out, taking the condom over to the trash can and burying it under some paper towels. 

He comes back to the bed and sits on the edge, massaging your shin. “I’m gonna make an assumption and say that was the best sex of your life,” you scoff, but don’t deny it. “But, we have to get back.”

“I know,” you say, wishing you could stay in this room forever. “God, this is really gonna fuck with my work life balance.”

Jack laughs and stands up, placing a kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, lucky girl. We’ll figure it out.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Reader falling obsessively in love with kny men after getting poisoned

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader; Giyu x fem!reader; bonus Genya x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: There's no smut going on but it's definitely a close call lol, I just thought this concept is funny so the fics itself and the whole scenarios aren't 100% serious it's getting absolutely heated in every single one though hehe, Not proofread bc I literally finished this last minute before my flight lol, I'm currently in Greece when this gets published so surprise ya girl with your support until she's back 🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“And you’re sure this is safe?”, you question while looking up at Shinobu with frightful eyes.

It should be fine. After all, Shinobu is the one who invented a medicine that is supposed to finally force your headache away. She’s a professional, so well-educated that even Kagaya-sama’s very own children get treated by her.

Even though she didn’t have the chance to test this medicine, you should be fine.

Right?

“As you know, I’ll never promise something I can’t keep, (y/n). But you’re here with me and if something goes wrong, I will find a way”, she tries to reassure you, only to spike your panic up even higher.

“Listen Shinobu, maybe I’ll try something e-“

Before you’re able to finish your sentence and stop her, you feel a needle poking through your arm oh so gently.

For a moment, you simply sit there and blink in confusion. Huh, not as bad as you thought. It really seems like your headache slowly but surely starts fainting away while the medicine burns every so slightly through your veins.

Not bad at all.

Until your heartbeat picks up so suddenly that your eyes dart wide open. Like in trance, you yank out of the chair you were sitting in, orbs darting around without a real aim while frantically searching for something.

Or rather someone.

What a quiet and peaceful day it is to roam around the beautiful butterfly estate. Rengoku actually didn’t even plan to come here. After all, he isn’t injured nor does he need something from Shinobu-san. To be honest, he’s only here because of you.

You told him yesterday that you’ll see Shinobu today in order to test medicine that is supposed to end your ongoing headaches. You were a little frightened when you thought about getting an injection, so it was never a question for Rengoku to be there for you. Hopefully, he made it on time.

“Kyojuro.”

He furrows his eyebrows and turns towards that unusual seductive voice.

When your eyes meet his, he forgets how to breathe. There you stand, your kimono opened just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your chest like never before. But what simply sweeps him off his feet are your eyes. As gorgeous and captivating as ever, but this time igniting an so unknown spark, inviting him to a silent dance.

“(y/n), are you feeling alright?”

Your hips swing from side to side as you draw closer to him and place your hand straight over his beating heart.

“I’m feeling better than ever before, Kyojuro.”

Kyojuro can’t help but blush deeply, eyes widening in surprise. A nervous smile plays on his lips while he stammers slightly, unable to hide his flustered state. Is this really you, the secret love of his life, discovering his body with your bare hands? The second your flat palms start wandering over his back, his hands start to fidget. Out of instinct, he avoids eye contact, his very own hands now keeping you in place.

“W-What’s going on. (y/n)?”, he stammers like he never did before.

“Take me, Kyojuro.”

His eyes grow even wider, usual confidence momentarily faltering like a house of cards.

“I-I…um, what?”

With a force he didn’t even know you have, you shove him against a nearby tree, your knee gliding between his legs.

“I want you since the first time I saw you. I won’t wait for another opportunity when you’re right here.”

“(y/n)…D-did you already meet Shinobu-san?”

Are you sick or injured? A quick scan of your body reveals nothing that could indicate a serious wound. No, to be precise, you reveal nothing but your soft curves, your gorgeous frame he has never seen like this before. With your kimono slightly opened and the cleavage that peaks at him oh so invitingly…He never felt your hands pressed against his chest like that before, never got a taste of how well you fit inside of his arms.

No. He shakes his head ever so slightly, forces his own mind back to reality. This isn’t the (y/n) he knows. You’d never sneak up on him like this, even if the words you just spoke are true.

Oh, please let them be true.

“All I care about is you”, you purr, face now only inches away from his.

If his back wasn’t pressed against a tree already, Kyojuro would lose his balance for sure. He was always captivated by that gorgeous colour your eyes have, never able to look away. But now, with that dark gleam inside of them, your hands wrapped around his neck. A little innocent kiss, a dream that comes true right here and now-

“(y/n), come back right now!”, a voice cries behind him so suddenly that he jumps up inside the cage of your comforting arms.

“We are here, Shinobu-san!”, he replies automatically.

Only to regret his words instantly. Just one second more and his lips would have touched yours, only a few moments more in your embrace before it all ends again. It takes him all his strength to let go of you when Shinobu arrives with an injection ready in her hand.

“I’m beyond sorry, Rengoku-san! (y/n)’s strange behaviour is all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in just a moment.”

Faster than he’s even able to comprehend the insect pillar’s words, she sticks a needle into your arm and releases the injection.

You blink a few times, head spinning uncontrollably as you stumble backwards. Where are you? What happened? Your head pounds so roughly against your skull that you feel like puking any given minute.

“How are you feeling, (y/n)?”, Shinobu’s comforting voice rings in your ears.

Slowly but surely, your foggy vision starts to get clear again.

“Since when are you so tall, Shinobu?”, you mumble absently.

“It’s me, (y/n). Kyojuro.”

Oh.

“Kyojuro!”, you mumble in utter surprise.

“But…what are you doing here?”

“Let’s not talk about it. I-I…I need to go now”, the flame hashira announces before turning on his heels and walking away.

You stare at his back in nothing but confusion. What is wrong with him? Is he not feeling well, maybe?

“Is it just me or does Kyojuro walk very strange today?”, you question, earning endless giggles from Shinobu next to you.

“He does indeed.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“Watch out idiot, you’re gonna get hit!”, the white-haired man barks harshly at you before dashing towards again.

It happened faster than you were ready to react. A little troll through the woods at night, a deep conversation with the wind hashira. And just a few seconds later, an upper-ranked demon appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t let it hit you, (y/n)!”

“I’m not stupid, dumbass!”, you bite back while dodging another hit with a tendril.

What a strange-looking demon that woman is. With countless pink tendrils that act as her hair and her long tongue, she really looks different from every demon you’ve seen before.

“Still fighting for your love, you fool?”, she jeers at Sanemi before trying to hit him once again.

"I will show you what love really is! It's a consuming fire that burns away your sense of self, leaving you hollow and desperate. It's an obsession that blinds you to reality, making every thought, every breath, every heartbeat revolve around the one person who becomes your entire world. In this love, you lose your freedom, your identity, and your sanity, as you sacrifice everything to feed the insatiable hunger that never goes away-“

“Can you just stop talking shit, ugly bitch? I just wanna go home”, Sanemi interrupts her dryly

You chuckle to yourself. As if a demon would know anything about love. Their only purpose on this earth is to kill innocent humans for the fun of it.

“What the hell do you know about love, huh? All you do is destroying it”, you blurt out.

Just a moment of sloppiness, a second of turning your back to the tendrils that surround you like a prison. The second you feel it, it’s already too late.

“(y/n)!”, Sanemi cries out, feet rapidly carrying him to your side in order to slice through that fucking piece of tendril that pierced itself through your leg.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, saves you from clashing onto the ground. But the second you open your eyes again, they don’t look like they did before. No, you look obsessed.

“Hey, look at me (y/n). Come back to me”, he insists, a slight tone of panic now taking over his usual so harsh voice.

What if that bitch poisoned you? Shinobu is miles away, there’s no way in hell he’d make it on time. And even now, tendrils continue to circle both of you, waiting for an opportunity to hurt him as well.

“Just see what love does to you! You’ll have to kill her!”

“What the fuck are you talking about”, he hisses under his breath.

“(y/n)?”

“Sanemi.”

Your voice sounds dark, unpromising, coated in something he’s never heard before.

“Hey, are ya alright?”

You’re moving too fast for him to react. In the split of a second, you sit on top of him, your hands holding his in place while your lips start tracing up and down his neck.

For a moment, Sanemi forgets how to exist.

You’re sitting on top of him.

With your lips pressed against his neck.

Almost instantly, blood shoots up his face and straight into his private parts, eyes widen in…horror?

No, not because of you, not because he doesn’t enjoy to finally feel you this close. But this isn’t you. This is the poison of that fucking demon.

Just before he gets hit as well, he slices through another tendril that was ready to attack both of you.

“You can’t save her and yourself!”, the demon shouts at him in sheer amusement.

“Your love will get you killed!”

“(y/n).”

His voice is as tender as never before, hands now grabbing your arms oh so gently.

“You need to come back to me, okay? This isn’t you, this isn’t…how you feel for me.”

He hates the way his heart starts aching as soon as those words leave his mouth. There’s no way in hell someone like you would ever fall for someone like him if it wasn’t for that demon. Not when you’re so gorgeous, so breathtakingly beautiful, so smart-

“But I love you, Sanemi! And I need you!”, you cry out, lips now only inches away from meeting yours.

“You don’t love me, (y/n). How could you ever love me?”

“Let me show you.”

Just before your hand gets the chance to grab his pants, he swings you around in order to lay on top of you – completely out of breath and flustered like never before.

“You need to focus. We need to kill that bitch”, he tries to remind you while dodging another wave of attacks with his free hand.

“You’ll need to kill her!”

“Shut up!”, he barks at the demon behind him.

But that thing’s right. With you writhing like a snake underneath him and those countless merciless attacks, he can concentrate on neither.

“I’m the only one who’s able to save her-“

“I said shut up!”

“(y/n), please get yourself together”, he breathes out.

God, why do you have to look so damn tempting with your legs wrapped around his waist and eyes as flustered as he’s never seen before? Countless lonely nights, he imagined what you might look like, feel like, sound like.

But this isn’t real. That sudden outburst of love isn’t real.

“Looks like you’re busy, Shinazugawa. Maybe you should do things like that somewhere other than on the battlefield”, a painfully known voice comments behind him dryly.

“Shut up at take care of that bitch. I need to look after (y/n)”, he instructs the serpent hashira sharply before picking you up and sprinting into the woods.

“I need you. Please”, you beg between his arms, the way your hands roam around his chest simply driving him insane.

“You can’t help her!”, a faint female voice cries behind both of you.

Screw that fucking demon. He needs to get the real you back, needs to finally confess his damned feelings. Even if all of this is nothing but poison, he simply can’t live like this anymore. Not when you’re so close to him every day, not when he secretly can’t get enough of that sight in front of him right now.

“Come back to me, (y/n)”, he almost begs while letting you down.

Fuck, what is he supposed to do? What if he’s not able to help you? Even if he sends after Shinobu, you might go insane until she arrives. And what if you do something stupid, what if he isn’t able to protect you? And what if this isn’t the only thing that cursed poison does?

“Don’t you love me? I thought you like me back, I thought we have a future together, I…I can’t do this without you!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs while bursting out in tears.

“What? I never said that-“

“I don’t wanna live without you. I…I’ll end this!”

It happens almost too fast for him to react. In the matter of milliseconds, you grab your sword and direct it towards your throat, ready to slice it open with full-force.

“You little idiot”, he hisses through gritted teeth while forcing your blade away.

“I love you so fucking much that it hurts, you’re the only thing I’m thinking about constantly! Can’t you see that you’re driving me crazy since joining the corps!? I love you, (y/n)! I always did and I definitely always will! You’ve got me trapped, goddamn!”

And then he presses his lips against yours. Longingly, passionately, as if you’re air and he cannot breathe. Never in his life, Sanemi longed for something so small yet so big. Each and every night, his mind wandered to your lips, your laugh, just you and your fucking perfect self. He can’t stand the thought of you talking about yourself so badly. Him not loving you? Are you fucking insane?

“Sanemi.”

You breathe his name against his lips oh so sweetly.

Sweetly, with that cheeky undertone he knows so well.

“Is that you, (y/n)?”

When he opens his eyes again, he gets greeted by the gleaming kindness that radiates from your orbs just inches away from his.

“I’m sorry for…throwing myself at you like that…”, you mutter with reddened cheeks.

How embarrassing. You can’t believe you were about to touch his groin without permission. Even if you were poisoned, what the hell has gotten into you? And why do you have to remember all the things you’ve said and done? That would have been the least that cursed poison could have done…

“Don’t be, it’s fine”, Sanemi replies equally awkward.

“But…are you actually into me?”, you mumble followed by a swift gaze.

“I…I mean…-“

“He totally is”, Obanai barges into the conversation from behind.

Giyu Tomioka

“Didn’t you say that-ah! This was supposed to be easy?”, you press out while fighting a bunch of demons.

You really have no idea how you ended up here. Just a few seconds ago, you were having the best sleep of the week when your crow interrupted your slumber as rude as ever and literally dragged you onto the battlefield straight on his side.

His side. Giyu Tomioka, to be exact. The mysterious yet captivating water hashira you are eyeing since the first day of joining the chosen circle of pillars. What is it that ties you onto him like a chain, that forces your mind to wander towards him each and every day without any break?

“I will take care of the right side. Stay focused”, he instructs you as absent as ever, not even sending you a single look while your heart is all over the place.

It’s ridiculous and you know it all too well. A man like Giyu would never fall for someone as clumsy and unsettled at you. He will never look at you the way you look at him, not even daring to send you a single smile. Because you’re nothing but comrades, distant known. If it wasn’t for your responsibilities as pillar, he would have never even talked to you.

And you absolutely hate the way this stinging fact bugs you every single day of your life.

“You’re not focused enough, stupid girl”, a voice way too close suddenly purrs inside your ear.

There’s no time left to react. Not even Giyu Tomioka is able to reach you in time when the demon scratches your neck oh so slightly.

Only enough to spill your blood.

Only enough to make you go absolutely insane.

Your mind gets flooded by a wave of emotions, memories, thoughts. All at once. So rapidly that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing hurts more but the truth. Did you ever wonder about what she might feel for you, even love, maybe? I will reveal her darkest secrets, her thoughts that were never said out loud. And when she finally loses her mind completely, I will force her to kill you and afterwards herself!”

Giyu’s eyes widen at those words. You, loving him? He never even dared to think about something like this, not when you are admired by everyone around you. Why would you fall for someone as quiet and boring as him?

He swallows hard. But knowing that deep inside him is definitely different from hearing those words coming out of your mouth.

“Giyu.”

Your voice sounds cold and distant, eyes completely blank.

“(y/n), I will get you out of here, I’m sure Shinobu is able to-“

“I love you.”

You hate him.

No.

You love him?

“And I’ve loved you for so long that I lost count a long time ago. I love the way you walk, the way you inspect the world around you so carefully. I love how tender you are when it comes to children. I love your kindness, your calm voice-“

“Wait, this wasn’t supposed to go like this!”, the demon cries out.

“I love the feeling of your eyes set on me even though I know I’d never stand a chance. You are so much more than a friend to me, so precious that it hurts. And I can’t help but imagine myself lying inside your arms every night. I can’t help but stare at you whenever I catch you training. I can’t stop those butterflies from invading my stomach every time you’re around. I love you with all my heart even though I know you’d never love me back.”

HIs mind goes blank, ocean blue eyes staring at you in sheer disbelief. Suddenly everything else around you goes silent. The demon, the screams from afar. All he’s able to see is you with those tears glistening in your orbs.

Giyu’s heart skips a beat when he begins to realize.

You really mean it. Every word you just said is true.

“But I do feel the same way about you”, he finally replies while cupping your hands with his.

“I just never thought someone like you would fall for someone like me.”

“I would always choose you”, you clarify in an instant.

And then your eyes roll back into your skull, your lifeless body threatens to hit the cold ground.

-later-

“Giyu? Where’s Giyu?”, you croak out before you even open your eyes, your heart hurting so bad that you feel like puking.

What happened? All you’re able to remember is Giyu’s hands intertwined with yours before everything turned black. Or was it just a dream?

“Finally, I was so worried about you, (y/n).”

But no. At this very moment, he still holds onto your hand tightly while looking down at you with his brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned by a demon and lost consciousness. I carried you to the butterfly estate”, he explains as briefly as ever.

“You…carried me?”

“Of course I did. You were unconscious, like I said.”

“Did we hold hands?”, you blurt out so suddenly that you even scare yourself.

You can feel Giyu sliding back and forth on his chair, eyes avoiding yours at any cost. Oh no, did you make him feel uncomfortable? What if he’s annoyed because of your foolish mistake? You should have never asked him-

“(y/n), do you remember the conversation we’ve had on the battlefield?”, he questions with unspoken hope glimmering inside his orbs.

“I…I don’t remember anything…”, you finally admit.

What did you talk about? Did you insult him? And what about that demon? That thing definitely wasn’t a lower ranked demon.

“You told me you love me.”

Your heart leaves your body and soul behind, glossy eyes staring at him in sheer disbelief. Fuck, did you hear that correctly? You told him you love him?

“I…I said that?”, you stutter.

“I mean…M-maybe I h-hit my head a l-little too h-“

“And I love you too.”

Oh.

This is even more ridiculous.

“You love me?”, you shriek in reply.

“I never thought about the possibility that you might actually like me back. But when that demon poisoned you, when you told me that you love me…I can’t keep this lie up any longer. I love you, (y/n).”

Gently, he wraps his comforting arms around your aching body, allows you to take in his calming scent.

“It embarrasses me that it took a demon to finally say this out loud.”

“But…would you mind telling me what I said?”, you mumble against his neck.

He lifts up your head enough for you to catch a glimpse of his breath-taking smile.

“I’d rather keep these words for myself.

Bonus: Genya Shinazugawa

“Where’s (y/n)!?”, Mitsuri cries out in sheer panic while darting around the estate in a haste.

“(y/n)? I’ve seen her on her way to the hot springs just a few moments ago”, Tanjiro replies in utter confusion.

“Is there somebody else, Tanjiro-kun?”, Mitsuri continues while grabbing Tanjiro’s shoulders roughly.

“Hello, Genya”, you purr.

“(y-y/n)!? What the hell are you doing here, I’m taking a bath!”, Genya cries out with his cheeks already bright red.

But instead of getting lost like he told you to, you let your towel fall to the floor.

And stand in front of him.

Completely naked.

“What are you doing!?”, he shrieks.

In the matter of seconds, he turns himself away from you, his face burning like a thousand fires. Fuck, he’s already flustered when you’re around him in your uniform. But you, butt-naked, in the same hot spring? He’ll definitely die here.

“I needed to see you. There’s actually something I wanted to tell you in a long time, Genya.”

When the water around him starts to move due to you entering the hot spring, he feels like dying out of excitement and fright. You shouldn’t be here together, not when you’re completely naked, not alone. He never prepared himself for something like this to happen, didn’t even allow his mind to wander such places. Fuck, what is he supposed to do?

Suddenly, he finds himself whirled around in your arms, your chest pressed against his.

Your very naked chest.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“What are you doing!?”

“Come on, I saw the looks you were giving me when you thought I wasn’t watching”, you purr while drawing small circles onto his chest.

“I…no…I didn’t mean it…that way…I just think that…that you are awesome. And cute…”, Genya mumbles.

“(Y/N)!”

Another splash, another butt-naked woman that now grabs your shoulders and pulls you out of the water with impressive strength.

“I’m so sorry, Genya! I fear (y/n) mistook the love portion I made for juice!”, Mitsuri bubbles while trying to tame you down.

“CAN THE TWO OF YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE NOW!?”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker

[mytherapyisreading14]

Profiling the Obvious

Summary: Kevin’s unexpected “man-to-man” talk with Rossi sets off more than just gossip — it gives the team exactly what they need to start teasing you and Spencer. A quiet moment turns into something more, and in a bullpen full of profilers, keeping feelings a secret? Not a chance.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None, this is just pure Fluff!! <3

Word Count: 3,8k

Author‘s Note: I got the idea when I rewatched S3 E14 (the whole Rossi caught Kevin and Penelope drama when he wanted more information about that one case that happened 20 years ago). I hope y‘all like it!! :)

“Pretty Boy, how was Connecticut?” Morgan asks as he drops his go bag on the floor. “Ultimately uneventful,” Spencer says before he turns around to Rossi. “Sir, there’s somebody waiting to speak to you in your office,” he continues and points to Rossis office. Kevin is there, sitting on a chair, standing up when he sees that the team finally arrived.

You turn around to JJ, both of you grinning. Penelope told you earlier that day what happened between her and Kevin - and that Rossi made an unexpected visit at her apartment when they were in the shower together. He wanted to get more information about the crime that haunted him for more than 20 years and it couldn’t wait anymore.

You all watch the situation unfold. “Agent Rossi, we need to talk. About Penelope. Man to man,” Kevin says nervously. Emily and Morgan exchange a confused look, they have no idea what’s going yet. “Man to man,” Rossi says with a smile before he goes up to talk to Kevin.

“What about Penelope?” Morgan asks curious. “I don’t know,” Spencer says, just as confused as Morgan. You and JJ exchange a look before both of you start to sing “Garcia and Kevin, sitting in a tree…” you laugh when you see their shocked expressions. “Get out of here, you’re serious?” Morgan asks.

“Just when I thought nothing scandalous was ever going to happen around here,” Emily says with a excited grin on her face. Spencer still looks confused, he seems to miss something here. “What? What does that mean?” he asks. “Didn’t you hear them sing?” Emily asks in disbelief. “The song meant something? No, no I missed it,” he says.

You can see that he’s trying really hard to figure out what exactly he’s missing here. “Yeah it…” Emily starts but then she hesitates and stops. “You know what, never mind,” she says and starts to pack up her things. Morgan playfully hits Spencer’s head. “Come on boy, you’re a genius. That’s easy to figure out,” he says and grabs his bag, getting ready to leave too.

Meanwhile you, JJ and Emily can’t stop laughing when you see how confused Spencer is, still trying to understand what’s going on. “We’re leaving now, see y’all tomorrow,” you say and wave them goodbye.

-

The sun has long dipped below the horizon when you, JJ, and Emily step out of the building. The air is comfortably cool, the kind that makes the end of a workday feel almost peaceful. For once, the world feels still. You are happy that you solved the old case today, especially because you know how much it means to Rossi.

“I mean, I love Spencer,” JJ interrupts your thoughts. She zips up her jacket, “but how can someone be that smart and still completely miss the most obvious social cues?” Emily laughs, rolling her eyes. “Seriously. The guy can solve complex ciphers in his sleep but can’t figure out a basic playground rhyme?” You laugh with them, trying to keep your grin in check - unsuccessfully, of course.

“Maybe he was distracted,” you say, trying to sound casual. JJ gives you a knowing look. “Distracted, huh? Would the distraction happen to have gorgeous hair and a laugh that makes him smile every single time?” she teases. “Ohhh, yes,” Emily chimes in. “The FBI should start offering classes: How To Talk To Your Crush When You're A Literal Genius But Still Adorably Clueless.”

You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to hide behind your coffee cup. “You two are ridiculous,” you murmur, your cheeks already red. JJ arches an eyebrow. “You are so in love with him,“ she says and grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,“ you say, but you know she’s right.

“Please,” she scoffs. “You know all his favorite authors. You binged Doctor Who last week and complained the entire time - but you still watched it. And when he walks into a room, you look like someone’s playing a secret love song in your head.” You open your mouth to argue, but stop. You know they’re not wrong.

Emily smiles, softer this time. “It’s cute. Honestly? I think he needs someone exactly like you.” You’re about to answer - maybe even admit it, just a little - when you suddenly freeze. “Crap. My keys,” you groan, patting your coat pockets. “I left them on my desk.” JJ smirks. “Sure. Is that all you left in there?” You shoot her a look and start heading back inside while Emily cackles behind you.

-

Most of the lights are off. The usual buzz of agents is gone, replaced by silence and the low hum of the lamps. That’s when you see him. Spencer sits alone, hunched slightly over his desk. One hand rests against his cheek, the other writes something down in the corner of his notebook. He’s completely lost in his own world.

He notices you when you get closer. “Oh, I thought you left,“ he says surprised. “I did, but I forgot my keys,“ you say and smile. “Ah,” he says, returning the smile - soft and shy - it makes your stomach flip and your heart beat faster. “I’m also still... trying to figure out that song,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “The ‘sitting in a tree’ thing.”

You sit lightly on the edge of your desk, playing with the keys in your hand. “You mean the one we sang about Garcia and Kevin?” He nods. “I know it’s a rhyme, but I don’t really get why you’d sing that when two people...” he starts “...have a thing?” you finish for him, grinning. His ears turn a little pink. “Yeah. That.”

You lean in just a bit, voice soft. “It’s kind of a playground way of saying two people are into each other. Like... they like each other. Even kissing.” He processes that for a beat, his eyes thoughtful behind his lashes. “So the song was a sign that Garcia and Kevin... are now together?” he asks. “Mmhmm,” you hum. “It’s a silly song. But also kind of cute.”

He nods again, more slowly this time. “I never learned how to... recognize that stuff.” There’s something so honest in the way he says it. Vulnerable, like a door he rarely opens is cracked just enough for you to peek inside. You smile gently. “You recognize a hundred patterns a day that no one else does. Maybe it’s just... a different kind of pattern.”

He looks up to you. His gaze lingers longer than usual. “Do you think...” he starts, then hesitates for a second. “Do you think I’d be able to recognize it if... if it involved me?” Your breath catches for a second. You want to say a thousand things. You want to tell him he already does. That he’s halfway there. That it’s been there, growing quietly between you both for months.

“I think if it involved you... I’d probably have to be the one to sing the song,“ you say boldly. His eyes widen just slightly, and then his smile returns. “Would you?” he asks, barely above a whisper. You nod and grin. “I might even start now. Spencer and I sitting in a tree…” He chuckles and for a second you both just sit there - quiet, smiling, the air between you softer than ever.

Then, without thinking too much, he shifts a little closer. “You know... I’ve never really done this. The flirting thing. Or the... song-worthy kind of thing.” You tilt your head, heart thudding just slightly louder. “Then maybe this is the part where we figure it out together.” His hand brushes lightly against yours on the desk. Not an accident. And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Spencer’s hand lingers against yours, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. It’s tentative, like he’s still not sure if this is real - if he’s allowed to feel what he’s feeling. But then, slowly, he intertwines his fingers with yours. You look down for half a second, a soft smile forming before your eyes find his again. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s waiting for any sign to tell him he’s not making a mistake.

You give the smallest nod, barely noticeable, but enough. And then - he leans in. It’s slow, almost hesitant. Like he’s giving you time to change your mind. Your heart races, the space between you shrinking. You tilt your head just slightly, your lips parting as the moment settles in but right before your lips touch -

The office door swings open. You both snap apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Rossi and Kevin step out, mid-conversation, but they stop when they see you. You’re still sitting on the edge of your desk. Spencer’s still leaning forward, clearly way too close for a casual chat. There’s a beat of silence. Then Rossi looks at Kevin. Kevin looks at Rossi. And they both grin.

Your face goes hot in an instant. You jump to your feet and grab your keys off the desk. “Right, um, that’s what I came for. My keys. I got them. So... I’m going now.” Spencer, very clearly blushing, fumbles to close his notebook and shove it into his bag. “Y-yeah, me too. I should, uh... I should probably—go.” Kevin tries to hide his smirk, not very successfully.

Rossi just raises an eyebrow at you both, his voice casual but far too amused. “Long day, huh?” he asks. “Yup!” you squeak, already halfway to the hallway. “Very long. Okay. Goodnight!” You hear Spencer mumble something that vaguely resembles goodnight as he rushes to catch up. Behind you, as the elevator doors close, you swear you hear Rossi chuckle.

-

The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as Penelope strolls into the break room, her signature bright and colourful outfit standing out against the muted tones of FBI suits. She’s carrying a huge mug and grinning like she knows something no one else does - which, of course, she does.

JJ is already sitting at the table with Emily, sipping her coffee. You’re at the counter, adding a splash of cream to yours, when Penelope speaks. “Ladies,” she says, in a tone far too mischievous for 8 a.m. “You will not believe what Kevin told me last night.” Emily perks up instantly. “If it’s drama, please continue.” JJ leans forward. “Oh no. Is this about the Penelope-Kevin-Rossi surprise saga?”

Penelope waves a hand. “No, no - that’s old news. This is better. Apparently... when Kevin and Rossi walked out of his office last night -” she pauses for dramatic effect, “- they saw a certain someone and a certain Dr. Reid looking very, very cozy at her desk.” Your hand freezes mid-pour. JJ whips her head toward you. “You were still there?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Told you, I forgot my keys.” Emily raises a brow. “And somehow that led to almost kissing Spencer in the bullpen?” Penelope gasps, delighted. “Almost?! Oh, honey, he was definitely leaning in,“ she says. JJ’s mouth drops open in delighted shock. “So wait... you two were just - what? Holding hands and gazing longingly into each other’s eyes in the dark like it’s some kind of FBI rom-com?”

You open your mouth, close it again, then groan and hide your face behind your coffee cup. “It wasn’t like that.” Emily chuckles. “It bet it was exactly like that. Penelope grins. “Rossi and Kevin were smiling the entire time Kevin told me. Kevin literally said, ‘They jumped apart like teenagers getting caught on a porch swing.’”JJ bursts into laughter. “Oh my god.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, cheeks burning. “Can we not make this a thing please?” you ask. “Too late,” Emily says, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “I give it a week before the BAU has a new couple,“ she says. “I give it three days,” Penelope counters. JJ nods. “I give it until lunch.” You groan again but can’t help laughing. There’s genuine excitement behind their teasing. And despite the embarrassment, something in your chest flutters at the thought.

-

The rest of the morning you try to act like everything is normal. Like nothing happened last night. Like your entire team isn’t betting on your love life. Spencer is already at his desk. He looks up the moment you walk in. You expect awkwardness - nervous glances, maybe a quick hello and then heads buried in paperwork. But instead, he smiles.

You return it before you can stop yourself. You walk past his desk on the way to yours, and for a moment you both hesitate, hovering near each other like there’s something unsaid still hanging in the air. “Hey,” he says, standing up slightly. “Hi,” you reply. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake. There’s a pause. You both glance around.

The bullpen is unusually quiet. No JJ, no Emily, no Penelope hovering. It’s just the two of you. Again. “I, um...” Spencer rubs the back of his neck. “About last night. I didn’t mean to - make things weird.” You smile softly. “You didn’t. I mean... you kind of did. But in a nice way.” He lets out a small breath - half a laugh, half relief. “That’s... good. Because I keep thinking about it.” You blink. “Yeah?” He nods. “Yeah. I didn’t get to finish what I was about to do.” Your heart skips a beat.

“Maybe we just ran out of time,” you say quietly. He takes a small step forward, close enough now that his voice drops to just above a whisper. “Maybe we could try again. Sometime.” You smile, soft and full of something that’s been waiting a long time to be said. “I’d like that.” You’re both standing there, suspended in a moment that could easily tip into something more when - of course -

“Hey, loverbirds!” Penelope’s voice rings out from across the room. You jump slightly. Spencer flinches. Penelope waves from the stairs, JJ and Emily right behind her, absolutely smirking. You and Spencer look at each other, cheeks equally red. “Maybe not right now,” he mumbles, quickly sitting back down. You laugh and head to your desk, still smiling.

-

The morning is exhausting and not because of paperwork or a new case. It’s the teasing. Endless teasing. From the moment you walked in, it felt like there’s a spotlight following you and Spencer around the office. Every look is noticed. Every word is overanalyzed. Every accidental eye contact turns into a team-wide event.

JJ, Morgan, Emily, Penelope… even Rossi is in on it. And Spencer? He’s barely holding it together. You can practically see the internal panic whenever someone mentions “last night” or “bullpen romance” or, worse, your name followed by his in the same sentence. And yet, no one lets up.

It starts again, of course, with Morgan. “You sure you’re hydrated, Pretty Boy?” he calls out across the room. “You look a little flushed this morning.” Spencer doesn’t even respond this time. He just groans and ducks his head, pretending to read something extremely fascinating in a case report.

You glare at Morgan over your coffee cup. “You’re relentless,“ you tell him. “Can’t help it,” he says with a grin. “You two are my new favorite soap opera.” JJ strolls past your desk with a smirk. “Do you want me to start bringing popcorn? Because I will.” You shake your head, already trying to retreat into your work, but Penelope appears beside you like she’s been summoned.

“Can we just skip to the part where one of you makes a move before the tension physically breaks my screen?” Across the room, Spencer lifts his head to give you a helpless glance. Emily eyes him thoughtfully. “You know what’s funny?” she says. “Kevin said - and I quote - ‘There was something kind of unwritten about the way they looked at each other.’ Like a moment out of a movie where the soundtrack kicks in.” Spencer closes his eyes. “Oh my god.”

You sink in your chair. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.” Rossi walks by at that exact moment and offers, far too casually, “Should we clear the conference room for your inevitable confession scene?” You and Spencer both say no at the same time. The team bursts out laughing. You know it‘s going to be a long, chaotic, ridiculous morning. But maybe... exciting, too.

-

It’s early afternoon when you finally get a second to breathe. You step out into the hallway, heading toward the evidence room to drop off a few files, and find Spencer already there, leaning against the wall, looking like he’s doing the exact same thing - escaping.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps, and for the first time all day, he smiles without hesitation. “Hi,” he says again. “Hey,” you reply, stopping beside him. “You hiding too?” He nods. “JJ tried to slide a Hershey’s Kiss onto my desk and whispered, ‘Symbolism.’”

You laugh quietly. “Penelope asked me if I wanted her to make a love playlist for us.” Spencer shifts, a little nervous. “So… we’re not imagining it, then. Everyone really does know what almost happened.” You exhale a breath. “Yeah. They really know.” A beat passes. Then you both laugh.

It breaks the tension but there’s still something lingering between you, something that’s been quietly building for months and only just began to surface last night. Spencer’s voice softens. “I meant what I said earlier. About wanting to try again.” You look up at him, heart skipping. “I remember.”

There’s a long pause. He looks at you like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s choosing this moment, finally. “I don’t want to keep almost kissing you in the bullpen,” he says quietly. “I want to actually kiss you. Not because the team’s making jokes or because it’s expected. Just... because I want to.” You step a little closer. “Then do it.”

His eyes flicker to your lips for the briefest second and then you’re leaning in, and he’s meeting you halfway, and everything slows down. It’s not rushed. Not dramatic. It’s soft. Careful. Exactly the way Spencer always is - with his thoughts, with his hands, with you.

And when it happens, it feels like something clicks into place. Like this was always supposed to happen. You pull back slightly, eyes still closed, a small smile tugging at your lips. He’s smiling too. “So... was that our first official something?” You nod. “Yep. And you survived it.”

He laughs, brushing his fingers against yours. “Barely.” From down the hallway, the faint sound of Penelope’s voice echoes: “I knew it!” You groan. Spencer sighs. But neither of you moves away.

-

You and Spencer return to the bullpen pretending - trying - to act normal. It doesn't work. Not because you’re doing anything obvious. You’re both quiet. Focused. Professional, even. But apparently, your faces tell a different story.

You barely sit down at your desk before Penelope appears, narrowing her eyes like she’s analyzing security footage. She tilts her head slowly, eyes flicking between you and Spencer like she’s putting together the final pieces of a puzzle. JJ walks in behind her and freezes mid-step.

Emily follows and immediately raises an eyebrow. “Okay. What happened?” You look up. “What?” Spencer doesn’t even lift his head. “Nothing happened.” JJ folds her arms, smirking. “You’re blushing,“ she says. “I’m not,” you lie. “Yes, you are,” Penelope singsongs. “And so is he.” Morgan, now very interested, leans over from his desk. “Did you guys...?” He stops. Eyes widen. “Oh my god, you did.”

Emily drops into a chair dramatically. “It happened! Didn’t I say Friday? I was so close!” JJ points at her. “Nope. I said lunch. It is literally 1:03.” Rossi enters just in time to see Morgan fist-pump in victory and Penelope doing some sort of quiet celebration dance in the background. “What did I miss?” he asks.

“They finally kissed,” Morgan says proudly. You groan and drop your head to your desk. Spencer looks like he wants to evaporate into the floor. “We didn’t tell them,” Spencer mumbles. “How did they even -” Penelope raises a finger like she’s giving a TED Talk. “Sweetie, you came back in here looking like a man who had just been kissed into another dimension. It’s not rocket science.”

Rossi chuckles and heads toward his office. “About time,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Emily smirks. “So... when’s the next kiss? Or are we waiting for the sequel?” You sit up finally, cheeks still warm. “You are all insane.” JJ winks. “And so proud of you.” Morgan points at Spencer. “You too, man. Took you long enough.” Spencer just gives a small, shy smile. And even though he’s clearly embarrassed, he doesn’t deny anything this time.

He glances at you across the bullpen, a question in his eyes. You smile back. No words needed. Penelope glances at Rossi’s office and then back at Spencer. “Oh, and by the way, you do still owe Rossi that ‘man-to-man’ talk. Just saying.” Morgan grins. “Yeah, don’t keep him waiting, Pretty Boy. Kevin's story’s still floating around.”

Spencer groans quietly. “Great. Just what I needed.” The team laughs, clearly delighted to have both gossip and an excuse to tease him some more.

-

From this moment on, it’s like the whole team is on a mission: Get You and Spencer Alone. JJ nudges you both together whenever possible. “Hey, you two, why don’t you double-check those files in the conference room? Privacy guaranteed.”

Penelope suddenly ‘needs help’ carrying a stack of papers - right past where you and Spencer are standing. “Oops, so clumsy! Could you two hold these for me? Thanks!” Morgan “forgets” his phone in your shared workspace and asks Spencer to grab it for him, then lingers nearby “by accident.”

Emily even volunteers to send you on a ‘quick errand’ to the evidence room... but conveniently ‘forgets’ to mention Spencer is already there. Every time you and Spencer find yourselves alone - even for just a few minutes - there’s this quiet, electric energy that fills the space.

And every time the moment almost blooms into something more, someone - usually Penelope or Morgan - interrupts with a perfectly timed comment or a sudden loud laugh. At one point, Spencer leans over and whispers, “They’re relentless.” You grin. “At least they want us to be happy.”

Spencer’s eyes soften. “Yeah. Feels like we’re... part of the family now.” You squeeze his hand gently, just for a second. “Definitely.” And somewhere in the bullpen, Penelope mutters, “Operation success is imminent.”

[faestunna]

WHAT IF…Remmick listened to you sing?

PAIRING: remmick x singer!reader

WC: 619

WARNINGS: fluff if you squint, mentions of death, sexual insinuation/language, fantasizing

A/N: this is the gif i was hunting for, this little smile has me WEAK. ty to my wifey @eternalstrigoii for hyping me up on this 🫶🏻 this would def be a one shot if i wasn’t on vacation so enjoy this tiny blurb!

masterlist

Despite his hunt for the power to see his ancestors, Remmick truly loves music. He loves to hear it live, through the radio, or on a record. And don’t ask him which kind he prefers. He’ll always have a soft spot for the jigs and sean-nós of his home, but he admires almost any genre.

He’s strolling the woods at night when he hears a gentle tune playing in the wind. But it’s different from the song of a filidh.

He finds that it doesn’t leave him with a greed for more—just a simple curiosity as to who could possibly be singing so beautifully. He approaches the iron-fence of a cemetery, and the sound grows stronger. He can’t even control his own footsteps as he enters.

The whispery fog swallows him whole as he follows the sound. It isn’t long before he can slowly make out the words and the gentle strum of a guitar.

Lay me down ’neath the willow tree,

Where the wind don’t cry and the crows don’t see

Your voice brushes past the tombstones like a breeze. Then, he spots the source of the song. You, in a long white nightgown looking nearly like a ghost, sit by the edge of an old stone fountain. You don’t notice Remmick as he watches from afar while you continue your ballad.

They buried your name in the dirt and stone,

But I know your hands, I knew your bones.

Sleep don’t come when the heart still aches—

So I sing to hush what the silence takes.

He wonders who you’re singing about. A lover? A sibling? Grief runs deep within the sound of your voice; Remmick knows that feeling well. But you don’t appear to be sad.

His feet begin to carry him away from behind a gravestone, slowly approaching where you sang. You notice a figure in the corner of your eye, but you didn’t glance or gasp. As if you were used to the creatures that haunted the night.

Come ‘round, love, if you still roam—

The gate swings wide and the night’s your home.

Don’t need a light if you hear my song…

Follow it low, you’ve been gone too long.

Once you finish, your fingers settling on the side of the guitar, you take a deep breath to begin again. He stands a few feet away from you now, and your eyes finally meet his.

“Evenin’, Miss.” Remmick nods, stopping in his tracks once he’s across from you. “That’s a lovely voice you’ve got.”

You smile gratefully, but there’s a hint of sorrow in your eyes. “Thank you, sir.” You look down at the guitar in your arms, and Remmick’s takes the chance to notice how your nightgown draped over your chest so perfectly.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s seen a ghost. “That your song?”

“Wrote it myself,” you hum.

“Pretty voice like that,” Remmick stepped a little closer, his hands casually in his pockets. “Shouldn’t be hidden.”

When your eyes flutter up to him, he swoons, far too weak in the knees than any girl had ever made him before. He lets his mind wander then…

How wide your eyes would go from just his lips over your cunt. How your mouth would drop open once he licked, or how your hands would pull his hair if he devoured you. Remmick imagined the sweet sound you’d make, maybe even a few tears would slip down your cheek from the stretch of his cock inside you.

There’s a hint of hesitance in your eyes. Fair enough. It was smart for a girl as beautiful as you to be cautious at a stranger in the dark….though Remmick didn’t plan on being a stranger for very long.

“I don’t often sing for a crowd,” you say slowly.

“Just the ghosts?” He teases, and he doesn’t expect you to answer. “Why don’t you sing for me?”

How delicious your pleasure would taste around him, how softly your tongue would lap it up. How you’d shake as he dragged the blades of his teeth across your neck. He doesn’t even want your blood to satiate his hunger.

He just wants to be inside you as much as possible.

Make music with me, sweet lamb. He thinks as you adjust the guitar in your arms, taking a deep breath. His lips curve ever so softly as he tilts his head. His mouth is partially open in awe. I wanna hear you sing.

© faestunna 2025.

[robbysreaders]

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader warnings: not beta read, barely proof read oops word count: 3k idk what happened i started with the bar scene and then felt like it needed some lead up and here we are notes: be kind to me, i am not a writer but these doctors have awoken a monster in me.

Robby got roped into a frontline workers’ talk at a local elementary school.

Shen’s mom’s friend is the principal if some public school and somehow that’s how Robby ends up walking into a fluorescent-lit elementary school foyer the same morning Shen’s leaving for his bachelor party weekend.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” he texts Shen.

“We’re naming our firstborn Robby,” Shen fires back.

“You know I’ll hold you to that,” he replys

He walks in with AirPods in, sunglasses still on, looking a bit lost. You glance up from your clipboard and do a double take.

He pops one AirPod out just as you mutter, “Oh… you’re not Dr. John Shen.”

“Nope, I’m not. He’s on a boat somewhere. Bahamas, I think. You’ve got me instead. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Older. Not as good-looking.” taking his sunglasses off.

“I never said that,” you say, blush creeping up your neck. “I think he must’ve told our principal and it didn’t get passed along. No worries—I’ll just update my intro slide.”

“Sorry for the switch-up,” he says, finally meeting your eyes properly, and holding the look a moment too long.

“Really, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you to the gym. Kids will be filing in soon. Just a quick overview of what you do, your schooling, then a few questions. You’ve got backup—a fire chief, a nurse, an EMT. You’re not on the hook for the whole thing.”

As you walk, he points to a motivational poster taped to the wall: a kitten dangling from a tree branch.

“‘Hang in there.’ Very ER-core.”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s more for the teachers than the students.”

He chuckles.

He introduces himself to a room of squirming third to fifth graders with “So I work in a place where people try to die and I spend most of my time convincing them not to. It’s great.”

They’re hooked.

He talks about trauma bays, night shifts, a time he held someone’s heart in his hands. The kids go wild.

One kid asks if he’s famous.

Another asks if he’s seen poop.

A third says: “You look like Iron Man.”

Robby: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

After the assembly wraps up, your work bestie sidles up to you.

“So we’re just gonna ignore that Dr. McHottie was eye fucking you the whole time?”

You don’t look up from the stack of worksheets you’re grading. “Literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head. “You should’ve gotten his number. Or I should have. What do you think they’d say if we just called the hospital?”

“I think it violates HIPAA.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think that you know what HIPAA is.”

You roll your eyes.

But the universe isn’t done.

Later, still riding the post-event adrenaline, you stop at the grocery store on your route home. This day earned you cake and a bottle of wine. You’re crouched down in the wine aisle, scanning for the cheapest red on the shelf, when someone clears their throat behind you.

“I think you’re better off with a white. With, uh, berry chantilly cake,” he says, peeking into your basket.

You look up. It’s him.

“An ER doctor and a sommelier? A modern renaissance man.”

“SAT words. The future’s in good hands,” he teases.

“So what’s your wine recommendation then?” you say standing up.

“Oh, I don’t know shit about wine.”

You laugh, and the silence lingers a beat too long.

“I—” “Not—” You speak at the same time.

“Ladies first,” he smiles.

“I was just going to thank you again for coming this morning. Not to show bias, but you were definitely the kids’ favorite.”

“Yeah, the heart story always kills. No pun intended.”

“Well, they had plenty of questions after you left. I told them they missed their chance.”

“I could give you my number. Y’know, in case more vital questions pop up. Or… you could use it to talk to me. Maybe even plan a time for me to take you out?”

You chuckle. “That line work on every elementary school teacher you try to pick up?”

“So far I’m one for one.”

“Not sure that’s statistically significant,” you reply, handing him your phone.

You text him your name—just your name and a smiley.

His phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then winces.

“I’m so sorry—I have to take this. Yeah… I’m just around the block. Okay. Be there in seven.” He turns to you, regret softening his expression. “Really sorry. I’ll text you later?”

“Of course, Dr. Robinavitch. Go save lives.”

”Everyone calls me Robby, or you can call me Michael” he says heading out. Just before the door closes, he glances back once more.

Later, you’re finally home. Glass of red in hand, cozy on the couch. You scroll, half-buzzed from the wine and the day, when a new text pops up:

Michael: My research says champagne’s actually the move next time—for the cake, I mean.

You grin.

You: Not a ton of room in the budget for a Thursday night champagne toast on a public school salary. Think I’ll stick to my $9 red.

You snap a selfie: you, the wine, a smirk.

Michael: Could be my treat? Next Thursday?

Followed by a link to a cozy bar you’ve been wanting to try.

Your fingers hover for only a second before typing:

You: It’s a date ❤️

You get there first.

The bar is small, dim, and full of mismatched chairs and candlelight. The kind of place where couples whisper over charcuterie. You’re nursing a glass of something bubbly, trying to look casual and not like you checked your makeup in your phone camera twelve times already.

Then the door creaks open, and there he is.

Button-down rolled at the sleeves, hair mussed just enough to look effortless—though he’d never admit it took longer than it should’ve. He spots you instantly and smiles like he doesn’t do that often. Like it caught him off guard too.

“You clean up nice,” you say as he slides into the chair across from you.

“You clean up… irresponsibly good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and making you laugh.

You clink glasses and dive straight into easy conversation. It flows, faster than either of you expected. He tells you about the time a raccoon got into the ambulance bay. You tell him about a class trip gone wrong and how a goat chased the entire third grade around a petting zoo.

There’s food—fancy grilled cheese, olives, tiny things with aioli—and more wine. You talk about work, but not too much. You learn he’s been at The Pitt longer than he planned. That he’s not from Pittsburgh, but ended up staying because… well, because.

You don’t push.

He watches you talk with his chin resting on one hand, doing that thing again—looking at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t mind not solving.

Midway through dessert, a berry cream tarte— the closest thing they had to the cake you bonded over a week ago— he leans in a little.

“Be honest,” he says. “What’d you actually think when I walked into the school?”

You smirk. “I thought you were a dad who got lost on his way to drop off a forgotten lunchbox.”

Robby laughs. “Brutal.”

“Okay, and also… I thought, oh no, he’s hot.”

He raises his glass. “That’s better.”

He offers you a hand to help you out of the booth and follows beside you, hand barely there at your lower back.

You’re standing outside, the city quiet in that just-past-bedtime way. There’s a light breeze and the smell of something warm from a nearby bakery.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Me too,” he replies. “Thanks for not fleeing halfway through.”

“Thanks for not turning out to be a wine snob.”

“I told you, I know nothing about wine. I was just trying to impress you. I was frantically Googling wine recommendations so i could have a reason to chat with you.”

You both laugh, and then there's a pause. A beat of quiet.

He tilts his head. “So, uh… what’s the move here?”

You step forward. “Well, you did save a lot of lives this week.”

“And you wrangled children into making a thank-you card with the word ‘trauma’ spelled wrong.”

“Tramua is the French spelling,” you deadpan.

That makes him laugh again—but softer this time.

Then he kisses you. Slow and warm, like he’s been thinking about it since the grocery store.

When you pull back, he looks at you like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.

Instead, he laces his fingers with yours.

“Did you park around here?”

“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Can I walk you home? Make sure you get there safely.”

You smile. “Of course. It’s that way,” you say, pointing left.

He releases your hand just long enough to move to the curb side, then grabs it again without a word.

You walk in comfortable silence. That kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your stoop. “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but… it is a school night.”

Robby chuckles. “Can I kiss you again?”

You don’t answer—you just lean in. And suddenly you’re a teenager again, making out on your front porch under a flickering streetlamp.

This time, he’s the one to pull back first, forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Guess I have to be the responsible one.”

You steal a few more kisses anyway, laughing softly, before finally saying goodnight and slipping inside.

You’re curled up in bed, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes, red pen in hand, when your phone buzzes:

Michael: Made it home. Thanks for a great night.

You: I had an amazing time. Up until I got home and got a paper cut on a stack of quizzes I need to finish before tomorrow.

Michael: Sounds serious. I can’t diagnose over text. Could I see it in person? Maybe Saturday?

You: I’d love that, but I won’t be in town—I can’t believe this didn’t come up. I leave tomorrow for an elementary STEM conference. Riveting, I know. I’ll be back Wednesday.

Michael: My schedule’s rough next week. Could you do Friday?

You: One date in and we’re already juggling calendars. I think that’s a good omen 😊

But yes—I’ll pencil you in for Friday.

Michael: Pencil? Ouch. That kind of hurts.

You: Okay, okay. Permanent marker. Color coded. Red for Robby.

Michael: That’s more like it ;)

The days go fast—seminars, lectures, hands-on demos. You barely stop moving.

But every spare second you get, you’re texting him.

Sometimes flirty. Sometimes funny. Sometimes just: Here’s what I’m eating. What about you?

It’s been a while since you’ve been in something like this. But it’s never felt this easy. And you’re really hoping he feels the same way.

Little do you know.

It’s almost time for handoff , and shockingly the ER is in a lull which gives the team time to strike an inquisition on Robby. Dana kicks it off, perched on a nurses station desk.

“Alright Robinovitch, spill”

He looks at her over his glasses, “I just finished handing off to Shen, theres nothing else to spill.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” he says with a frown.

“All week your face is trying so hard not to smile, it’s giving your wrinkles wrinkles.”

Shen turns from the drawer hes been rummaging in for snacks. “Wait, are we talking about how Robby’s been… weirdly chill?”

“I’m not chill.”

“You told a med student that it was alright, we all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was there,” Dana grins. “Who are you?”

Robby leans back in his hair, sips his coffee. “Maybe I’m growing. Emotionally.”

Dana gasps. “Oh my God. He’s in love.”

Robby chokes slightly on his drink. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had your nose in your phone every free moment you’ve had.” Dana adds. “You’ve taken real breaks where you go talk on the phone in the ambulance bay.”

Robby sets his cup down, but he’s not denying it. Just smirking like someone caught red-handed.

“Alright who’s the lucky lady?”

“You don’t know her and you’ll never know her.”

Shen looks like he’s doing calculus in his head and leans in. “Wait this started when I was on my trip, oh my god, did you meet a hot mom at the elementary school?”

Robby pauses. Just long enough.

“Holy shit, I don’t owe you any more – you got your repayment a hot MILF.”

“Oh my God,” Dana says.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not a mom, she’s a teacher”.

There’s a beat of silence before Dana grins. “You know what? I love this for you.”

Robby rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“Wait,” Shen says. “Does she know you’re, like, emotionally stunted?”

“She’s a 3rd grade teacher. I think she’s prepared.”

Dana hops down. “I’m gonna need details.”

“You’re not getting details.”

Friday rolls around and you’re more excited than you’ve ever been for a second date. It’s cozy and dimly lit—more plants than light fixtures, menus scribbled on chalkboards, and the faint buzz of a bar that feels like a well-kept secret.

You spot him at the bar, already seated towards the back. He’s dressed down again, but there’s something intentional about it—like someone who spent an extra minute wondering what shirt to wear.

He catches your eyes and smiles like he forgot how to do that for a while until recently.

“You’re punctual,” he says, clearly pleased.

“You’re early,” you reply, shrugging off your coat. “I was promised a perpetually late, cynical doctor.”

“Tragic. He’s been replaced by a man who googled ‘cozy date spots that don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.’”

You laugh. “And did it recommend this place?”

“Nope. Shen’s girlfriend did. Which I now realize makes this deeply traceable.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—do they know?”

Robby sighs. “Dana cornered me in central. I didn’t confirm or deny. Shen said I was glowing. It was… a dark time.”

You smirk.

The food is good—small plates, easy to share. The conversation is even better.

He opens up, just a little—enough to mention the long hours, how emergency medicine pulls you in like a rip current, how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he’s really good at.

You tell him about your student who tried to fake a cough for three weeks to get out of a math test, and the tiny triumphs that feel like wins no one else sees.

He watches you talk, head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy smile. His fingers rest near yours on the table. Not touching. Not quite.

Finally, he says, “I’ve gotta be honest—I haven’t really… done this in a while.”

“Tapas?”

He chuckles. “No, like—dating. Letting someone in. It’s easier to stay busy. Stay… guarded, I guess.”

You nod. “Well, I haven’t really dated someone who sees more blood before lunch than most people do in a year, so.”

“So we’re both out of practice.”

“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deliberate. This one without surprise. This one because he wanted to all night.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable cadence. You see him a few times a week, more often than you thought you would, but you don't complain. You love his company.

Your schedules do still clash at times.

You planned to go home after parent-teacher conferences. Michael had already mentioned he had plans—finally joining his coworkers for a long-overdue drink after weeks of skipping out.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to meet your own colleagues for a post-conference drink. It’s been a day, and you deserve it.

But as you walk into the bar, you spot a familiar profile near the corner.

You don’t even hesitate. With a little liquid courage in hand, you stroll over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“So… they really just let anyone in here nowadays?”

Michael turns, eyes lighting up in that way that makes your stomach dip. “How’d you find me?”

“Coincidence. We needed to lick our wounds after the parent-teacher conference firing squad.”

One of the guys at the table leans toward the person next to him. “Ahhh. This is the teacher.”

Michael grins and slides his arm around your waist, his hand resting easily at your hip. “Right, where are my manners?” he says introducing you to the team.

You smile, trying not to let the arm-around-your-waist thing short-circuit your brain. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’ll get back to my workplace complain-fest and let you return to yours.”

You squeeze his shoulder lightly, but before you step away, his hand shifts on your waist, catching your attention. He leans in and lowers his voice just for you.

“If you head out before we do… come say bye?”

You meet his eyes and nod. “Of course.”

The moment you slide into your seat, your coworkers pounce.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t have friends outside of school.”

“Thanks for introducing us to your hot doctor friends???”

“Wait—HOLY SHIT, was that Dr. McHottie with his arm around your waist? Did I miss a chapter?!”

You laugh and give them the short version. You field a rapid-fire round of teasing, eye-rolls, and maybe a few not-so-subtle attempts to angle to get set up with his coworkers, but eventually the conversation drifts to who cried in the hallway today, who mispronounced “photosynthesis,” and whose turn it is to deal with the PTA bake sale disaster.

Your group starts calling it a night. Long day, longer week. You say your goodbyes and make your way back toward Michael’s table, which has thinned out significantly as well.

He stands when he sees you. “My friends couldn’t hang. I’m calling it a night too—just wanted to say bye.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you want another drink, honey,” Dana offers, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You could never,” Michael says, standing and lightly touching your elbow. “What are you drinking?”

You smile. “Whatever you’re having.”

You settle in at the table. The conversation is easy, flowing from hospital horror stories to favorite dive bars to why Dana is banned from karaoke at two different establishments.

Michael returns with drinks, sliding yours to you and casually resting his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles that make it a little hard to concentrate on anything Dana is saying.

You laugh, you listen, you really like his friends.

The convos come to a close and you all start heading out. You shrug on your coat, and Michael helps, fingers brushing lightly down your arm.

“Want to walk me home?”

He smile. “I’d love that.”

The conversation is light—teasing, wandering, nothing too deep. You talk about favorite childhood snacks and your worst Halloween costumes. He tells you how Jack once sliced his palm on a pineapple slicer and tried to pretend it wasn’t bleeding.

As you reach your apartment steps, you stop and turn to him.

“That was really fun,” you say, quietly. “I like your friends. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “They loved you.”

“Good. Glad I passed the first big test.”

He chuckles. “Teachers and their testing.”

There’s a pause. Then: “So… want to come up?” you ask, voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, not pulling away. “I’d really like to. But I just came off a twelve-hour shift, and I’ve probably had two more drinks than I should’ve. If I sit down, I’m going to be half-asleep in seconds.”

You take his hand and start walking him toward your door.

“Then that’s settled,” you say. “Can’t have you falling asleep in the Uber.”

You open the door, letting the warm light spill into the hallway, and look back at him with a little smile.

He follows you in without another word.

You flick on the light and immediately cringe.

“Wow. Sorry. My place looks like my classroom exploded in here.”

Michael steps in behind you, taking in the scattered worksheets, the pile of books on your couch, and the half-folded laundry draped over a chair.

“You should see the trauma bay on a Tuesday,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of a stool. “This is a spa by comparison.”

You kick aside a rogue glue stick. “I did mean to clean today, but then 30 small humans and their guardians demanded to know if their kid is ‘thriving academically’ while also asking what ‘phonics’ actually is.”

He snorts.

You pad to the kitchen and grab two glasses of water, handing one to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

He grins. “Responsible and charming.”

You sit on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. He follows, moving slowly—like someone who’s used to being on his feet for twelve hours and finally has permission to stop.

He slouches into the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the backrest. He takes a sip of water and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Go for it. My couch has a strict no-judgment zone.”

There’s a long, easy silence after that. Not awkward—just soft.

Eventually, you get up and offer him a hand “you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on”

He reaches for your hand —warm fingers curling around yours for just a second longer than necessary.

He follows you to your room, hands still intertwined. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time you’ve shared one without hooking up before. It all feels very intimate.

There’s a surgical precision to how he fits into your evening routine that leaves you a little breathless as you settle into bed.

“Night,” he murmurs wrapping an arm around you and nuzzling in.

You squeeze his hand once, gently. “Goodnight, Michael.”

[writeriguess]

Do you do fantasy!Katsuki ?

Basically he meets Reader in a forest while she’s gathering herbs on his territory and seeing how she’s tired and hungry he takes her to his dragon village

There she quickly bonds with his dragons, not being scared of them, but fascinated by them and Katsuki is being more and more fascinated by her

So in the evening she reveals to him that she was alone in the forest because she ran away from a forced marriage and he goes all angry and posessive and is like “You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine” and they do the dirty

Thank you 💙💙💙

Dragon’s Claim

The forest was dense, the towering trees stretching high above you, their thick canopy filtering the golden light of the setting sun. You had been walking for hours, your basket nearly full of the herbs you had been searching for, but your body was exhausted, legs aching from the uneven terrain.

You had no choice but to keep going.

Running away from a forced marriage meant that rest wasn’t a luxury you could afford. You had slipped past the guards of your father’s estate two nights ago, moving as fast as your feet could carry you, deeper into lands that most would never dare enter.

The Dragon Wastes.

No kingdom claimed this land—it belonged to them. To the warriors who rode beasts of fire and storm, the ones spoken of in hushed whispers. Monsters, people said. Killers. But you’d take your chances with dragons over a lifetime chained to a man you didn’t love.

And then you felt it.

A shift in the air. A presence.

You turned just in time to see him emerge from the trees—a towering figure draped in black and red, golden eyes burning as they locked onto you. His tunic was fitted to his broad chest, dark leather strapped across his arms, and a massive sword hung at his waist. His wings—scaled and powerful—twitched slightly, flexing as he took a step forward.

A dragon warrior.

Your breath caught in your throat, hands tightening around your basket.

He stared at you like you were a trespasser in his domain.

“Who the fuck are you?” His voice was low, rough—almost a growl.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stand tall. “I’m just gathering herbs. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

His lips curled into something that was not a smile. “You’re in my territory, little girl.” He tilted his head, gaze dragging over you, taking in the torn edges of your dress, the dirt smudged on your skin. “You look like shit.”

You bristled. “I’ve been traveling.”

“Tch.” His eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. “Alone?”

You didn’t answer.

He took another step closer, wings rustling behind him. “You’re hungry.”

Your stomach betrayed you with a low growl.

His expression didn’t soften, but something flickered in his gaze. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then jerked his chin. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said come with me.” His wings flared slightly, his posture impatient. “You’ll die out here on your own, idiot.”

Something told you that refusing wasn’t an option.

So you followed.

You had never seen anything like it.

Nestled deep within the mountains, the village pulsed with life—warriors sharpening weapons, tending to dragons that lounged on the cliffsides, their massive bodies coiled in the sun. The creatures were majestic, their scales gleaming like gemstones, eyes glowing with untamed fire.

You should have been terrified.

But instead, you were in awe.

When a particularly large dragon stretched its neck toward you, its breath warm against your skin, you reached out without hesitation, running your fingers along its snout. The beast let out a low rumble, leaning into your touch.

A sharp scoff came from behind you.

“You’re not afraid?” Katsuki—he had gruffly given you his name earlier—stood with his arms crossed, watching you like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

You smiled faintly, still stroking the dragon’s scales. “They’re beautiful.”

He made a low sound in his throat. “Hmph.”

From that moment on, his dragons adored you.

And so did he.

He didn’t say it. Would never say it. But he lingered.

He watched as you laughed, watched as his beasts nudged at you like playful hatchlings, watched as you sat by the fire at night, your eyes soft in the firelight.

And every day, his hunger for you grew.

***

The village was quieter at night. The dragons, once soaring through the sky, now rested in their nests, their deep, rumbling breaths blending with the crackling of distant fires. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and leather, a warmth that settled over the stone houses like a protective cloak.

You sat by the open window of Katsuki’s home, fingers tracing the rim of a wooden cup, staring out at the flickering torches lining the village paths. Despite the exhaustion clinging to your bones, your mind refused to settle.

Behind you, Katsuki leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp red eyes fixed on you. He had barely left your side since bringing you here, always watching—always waiting.

“…Why the hell were you alone out there, anyway?” His voice was rough, gruff like he was forcing himself to ask.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the cup. “I ran away.”

Katsuki’s gaze sharpened.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse thudding against your ribs. “My village… they tried to force me into marriage. To a man I didn’t want. I had no choice but to leave.”

Silence.

Then—

CRACK.

You jumped as Katsuki’s palm slammed onto the table beside you, splintering the wood beneath his grip. His jaw clenched, muscles flexing under his tunic, eyes blazing as if he was barely holding something back.

“They tried to force you to be his?” His voice was rough, dark, nearly a growl. “Some fuckin’ weak bastard thought he could take what wasn’t his?”

Your pulse pounded, your body tightening under his intense gaze. His words sent a sinful heat curling low in your stomach, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

“I had no choice,” you whispered, voice barely steady.

His expression twisted into something dangerous, something starving.

“You got a choice now.” His grip on your jaw slid lower, fingers curling around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming. “And you ain’t leaving me.”

His lips crashed against yours, all heat and dominance, forcing your mouth open as his tongue shoved inside, tasting you, owning you. He kissed like he wanted to devour, like he needed you to understand exactly who you belonged to now.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, but it only made him groan, tilting your head back as he bit at your lips, then your jaw, then lower—his teeth scraping down your throat before he sucked hard at the skin, leaving a mark, a warning.

“You feel that?” He rolled his hips up into yours, the thick, hard heat of him pressing right where you needed it. Your breath hitched, a desperate sound leaving your lips as his fingers dug into your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“That’s what you do to me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You think I’d ever let some other bastard touch you? Look at you?” His hands slid up, rough and possessive, gripping your thighs and yanking them wider over his lap, forcing you to take more of him, making you feel just how badly he wanted you.

“Katsuki—”

He grinned against your skin, sharp and wicked. “Nah, princess. You’re not sayin’ anyone else’s name ever again.”

His lips dragged down your throat, over the collar of your tunic, before he ripped the fabric open, teeth scraping over your exposed skin.

A gasp tore from your lips. He chuckled darkly, hands running down your sides, gripping your hips hard.

“You’re mine now.” He ground himself against you, voice thick with promise. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you never forget it.”

His hands were everywhere—gripping, claiming, taking. Rough fingers dug into your thighs as he spread them wider over his lap, forcing you to feel every thick, rigid inch of him pressing against your core. The heat of him was unbearable, scorching through the thin barrier of fabric still separating you.

“You feel that, princess?” Katsuki rasped against your throat, his breath hot, possessive. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

You whimpered as he rolled his hips, grinding himself right where you needed him most, the pressure sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. His grip tightened on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—helpless, trembling, desperate.

His lips crashed back against yours, devouring you, tongue thrusting into your mouth in a filthy, claiming kiss. He didn’t kiss like a man—he kissed like a beast, all dominance and hunger, leaving no space for hesitation. His teeth scraped against your lower lip before he bit down, pulling a gasp from your throat.

“Fuckin’ mine,” he growled, voice thick with lust, as his hands tore at your tunic. The fabric gave way beneath his strength, slipping from your shoulders, baring your heated skin to the cool night air.

Katsuki’s gaze darkened as he took you in, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. “Shit,” he muttered, running a calloused hand down your stomach, his fingers brushing the waistband of your remaining clothing. “Look at you—fuckin’ perfect.”

A rough hand slid up your bare thigh, his fingers teasing along the inside, just shy of where you ached for him most. You squirmed, a needy whimper slipping past your lips.

He chuckled darkly. “That desperate already?” His fingers brushed higher, barely ghosting over your soaked core. “So fuckin’ wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your head tipped back with a gasp as he pressed two fingers against your clothed heat, rubbing slow, torturous circles. “Katsuki—”

“Nah.” His voice was rough as his free hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t get to beg yet.”

Then he was pushing you back onto the table, the wood cool against your overheated skin, his body caging you in. His mouth was everywhere—your throat, your collarbone, lower—his teeth scraping, his tongue soothing, his lips branding you with every touch.

He yanked down your last scrap of clothing, spreading you open before him. His gaze darkened, hunger flickering in his crimson eyes. “Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, dragging a thumb through your slick folds, watching as your body shuddered beneath him. “This all for me, princess?”

You could barely breathe, barely think. “Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking against his touch.

“That’s right.” He smirked, eyes gleaming as he sank to his knees. “Now, let me show you exactly what it means to belong to a dragon.”

Katsuki’s hands were firm as he gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he knelt between them. His crimson eyes were locked onto your slick, aching heat, his lips curling into a hungry, wolfish grin.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, voice thick with lust, before dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring every bit of you.

A ragged moan tore from your lips as he pressed deeper, his tongue flicking over your swollen clit before sucking it into his mouth, the pressure just enough to make your legs tremble.

You gasped, trying to close your thighs, but his hands held you open, fingers digging into your flesh. “Nah, princess,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration sending shocks through your core. “You wanted this. Now take it.”

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking, teasing and devouring. He fucked you with it, dipping deep before pulling back to flick his tongue over your clit again, his rough stubble scratching your sensitive skin. The contrast of pain and pleasure made your back arch, your fingers clawing at the wooden table beneath you.

Katsuki groaned as he ate you, like he was starved, like he couldn’t get enough. “Shit,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to spit on your already dripping cunt before diving back in, spreading the wetness with his tongue. “You taste so fuckin’ good.”

Your head fell back, a broken cry leaving your throat as his fingers joined in, two thick digits sinking inside you, stretching you open as he curled them just right, finding that spot that made you see stars.

“Katsuki—fuck—”

He grinned against you, pumping his fingers harder, faster, as his tongue kept circling your clit. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice like gravel. “Say my fuckin’ name when you come.”

You were so close, body tensed, teetering on the edge. His pace was merciless, fingers and tongue working together until pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

Then he did it—he sucked your clit into his mouth, hard, and growled.

Your vision went white as your orgasm crashed over you, your entire body shaking, legs clamping around his head as you came with a sharp, broken sob.

Katsuki groaned against you, not stopping, not even slowing, licking up every last drop as you twitched beneath him. Only when you whimpered, too sensitive to handle any more, did he finally pull back, his chin glistening with your slick.

“Good girl,” he rasped, standing up, towering over you with that wild, predatory gleam in his eyes. “But we’re not fuckin’ done.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants, dragging them down just enough to free his cock—and fuck.

Your breath caught at the sheer size of him, thick and heavy, the tip flushed and leaking. He stroked himself lazily, watching the way your gaze locked onto him, your legs still trembling from your orgasm.

“You ready for me, princess?” he murmured, dragging his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you, making you whimper.

You nodded, breathless, but he clicked his tongue. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I need you.”

Katsuki smirked, lining himself up before pressing the thick head inside, stretching you wide, making you feel every inch as he sank deeper, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt.

A broken moan ripped from your throat as he bottomed out, his cock filling you completely, pushing you to your limits. He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath heavy, shuddering.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Tight little pussy takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

He pulled back slowly, almost all the way, before slamming back in, making the table creak beneath you.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he started moving, deep, slow thrusts that had you clenching around him, pleasure building all over again.

Then his grip tightened, and he smirked down at you, wicked and hungry.

“Hope you’re ready, princess,” he growled. “’Cause I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

Katsuki’s pace started slow, but it didn��t stay that way for long.

His grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you against him, meeting every deep, punishing thrust with a force that had the table beneath you creaking, the rough wood scraping against the stone floor.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, eyes dark with hunger as he watched your body bounce with every brutal snap of his hips. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, princess.”

Your nails clawed at his back, your mind drowning in the heat of him, in the way his cock stretched you open, filled you to the point of delirium. Every thrust hit that spot, the one that had you seeing stars, had you crying out his name like a prayer.

Katsuki fucking loved it.

“That’s right,” he grunted, one hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, just holding, claiming. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the way it pounded, wild and desperate. “Say it again.”

“Katsuki,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

His smirk was sharp, filthy. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Then he really started moving.

He pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, hard enough to make your whole body jolt. “This—” he growled, punctuating each word with a deep thrust “—is what happens—when you run—into a dragon’s den—”

Your back arched as a scream tore from your throat, pleasure coiling, twisting, burning so hot it threatened to consume you.

Katsuki fucking felt it.

“Close already?” he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Shit—you’re clenchin’ around me so tight.” His grip on your hips was bruising, his thrusts growing rougher, sloppier. “You gonna come for me, princess? Gonna make a mess all over my cock?”

Your body betrayed you.

With one more deep, punishing thrust, your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and devastating. Your entire body tensed as pleasure crashed over you, your walls fluttering around him, squeezing him like a fucking vice.

Katsuki let out a wrecked groan, his pace stuttering as he felt you come undone around him.

“Fuck—fuck—”

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was flipping you over, pressing your chest against the rough wood, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock.

“Too fuckin’ good,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he bottomed out again, deeper this time, his pace unforgiving. “Not stoppin’ till you can’t even think about any other fuckin’ man—”

You whined, overstimulated, trembling, but Katsuki just grinned.

“Come on, princess,” he rasped, voice thick with dark amusement. “Be a good girl and give me another.”

And with the way he was fucking you?

You would.

Again.

And again.

Until all you could say—all you could fucking think about—was him.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Your dragon.

Your ruin.

Your everything.

[moondustbaby]

Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ (and a BJ)

bsf!Rafe x bsf!Reader

cw: smut, oral (m rec), bsf tomfoolery

mdni 18+

summary: Post-Bonnaroo boredom turns into something a lot filthier when you offer to suck off your best friend mid-drive and Rafe’s ability to focus behind the wheel doesn’t stand a chance.

⸻

The road hadn’t changed in over an hour.

Still the same cracked asphalt, the same trees, the same awful indie playlist Rafe had insisted on playing because “it fits the post-festival vibes.” I was slouched in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down my nose, hair in an absolute bird’s nest from four days of dirt, sweat, and overpriced beer.

“You good over there?” Rafe asked, glancing at me with that cocky grin that said he already knew I wasn’t.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m bored. And I smell like someone’s armpit.”

He laughed, that lazy, raspy one I secretly loved. “You look hot though.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe. Still true.”

I turned to face him fully, resting my chin on the back of the seat. His hand was on the wheel, veins flexing every time he shifted lanes. He was in a white tank top, tanned skin and road trip stubble, and I hated how good he looked for someone who hadn’t showered in three days.

I watched him for a moment.

Then I said it. Blunt. No filter. Just the usual chaos that lived between us.

“Wanna blow job?”

He blinked.

His head turned just enough to see if I was serious which only made me laugh. “What?” I said. “I’m bored. You’re hot. It’s like… mutually beneficial enrichment. Like zoo animals. Enrichment time.”

“You’re so fucked in the head.”

“And yet here you are. Getting road head.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

I grinned, already popping off my seatbelt. “You didn’t say no.”

He shook his head with a smile that was all teeth. “This is how we die.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“Tell my dad I died doing what I loved.”

“Getting sucked off by your best friend in a rental car?”

“Exactly.”

I leaned over the console, hand sliding into his lap, palming him over his shorts. “Fuck,” I whispered. “You’re already hard?”

He exhaled through his nose, one hand tightening on the wheel. “You offered to suck my dick outta nowhere, what did you expect?”

I grinned, teasing him through the fabric. “You drive. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered as I tugged his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

Thick. Already leaking. I wrapped my hand around him and gave one slow stroke, loving the way his jaw clenched immediately.

“You’re actually gonna do this,” he said, voice rough now. “Jesus Christ.”

“You want me to stop?” I teased, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

He groaned, almost swerved. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Eyes on the road, Cameron.”

His hand flailed to the volume dial, turning the music down to a murmur, like he needed silence to survive this. I laughed, then ducked my head, lips wrapping around him, slow and steady.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “That’s not fair. That’s not fuckin’ fair—”

I hollowed my cheeks, going deeper, letting spit drip down onto my fist where I stroked what I couldn’t fit.

He twitched in my mouth.

“Holy shit, baby—”

God, the baby. He only called me that when he was too gone to think straight. I moaned around him, dragging my tongue along a vein just to hear him curse again.

My hand slipped under his shirt, nails dragging across his abs, and he groaned like he was dying.

“Don’t make me pull over,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I will. I swear to God, I’ll fuck you on the hood.”

I pulled off just long enough to breathe, resting my cheek on his thigh. “You said we had to make it back by six.”

“Screw six.”

I laughed, pumping him slow. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m getting head from you for the first time while doing 75 on the freeway—this is cinematic, actually.”

I licked the tip, then took him back down, deeper this time, relaxing my throat and letting him hit the back before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck—you tryna kill me?”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “I do.”

He was gripping the wheel like it owed him money, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, making sure no one could see even though we were in the middle of nowhere.

I flattened my tongue against the underside and bobbed my head faster now, spit pooling in my mouth, his cock slick and heavy on my tongue. His hips bucked up and I held him down with one hand on his thigh, nails digging in.

“Shitshitshit, I’m close,” he warned.

But I didn’t stop. If anything, I went harder, jerking him in time with each swirl of my tongue. I moaned around him again — loud and deliberate — and he whimpered.

“Gonna come,” he gasped. “Gonna fucking come, baby—”

He did.

Hard.

With a strangled groan that sounded ripped from his chest, cock twitching as he spilled into my mouth. I swallowed, slow and messy, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before licking the rest off my fingers.

Rafe didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

Just kept driving, jaw slack, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Are you good?” I asked, smirking as I climbed back into my seat.

He shook his head like he was rebooting. “I blacked out for a second.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked over at me, that slow, stunned smile spreading across his face. “That was insane.”

“Better than the festival?”

“Better than any festival.”

I laughed, propping my feet back on the dash. “We should stop for food.”

“You just sucked my soul out through my dick and now you want Arby’s?”

I shrugged. “Road head works up an appetite.”

He stared at me for a beat, then reached over and took my hand.

“You know this changes shit, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Not going back after this.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

He kissed the back of my hand, still wrecked, still smiling.

Then he glanced back at the road and muttered, “You’re gonna suck me off every road trip now.”

I grinned. “Only if you stop playing this damn playlist.”

He groaned. “You liked Phoebe Bridgers!”

“You cried during ‘Motion Sickness.’”

“You gave me head to it.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: listen. i don’t know what demon possessed me to write a road head fic at 10am, but here we are. rafe’s hands are on the wheel but his soul has left the chat. this is what happens when you take two feral best friends, 17 hours of driving, and Phoebe Bridgers and trap them in a vehicle. thanks for riding along on this highway to horny hell. wear your seatbelt. tip your best friend. give him head. 🤩

♥️ lani

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216 @rafesbabygirlx

[spookysanta]

Puffball. (MBJ)

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: none

from the drafts

written out of my disdain for spring, and my love for corny nicknames.

Spring didn’t just arrive that year. It ambushed the world.

Bright skies broke open overnight, buzzing bees filled the air, and thin clouds of yellow pollen floated thick enough to shimmer in the morning light. Michael’s house sat right in the middle of it all, surrounded by towering old trees that seemed hellbent on waging war against anyone with a fragile immune system. Every gust of wind stirred up another invisible storm, leaving a fine dust clinging to the porch railings, the windows, the cars parked outside.

It was beautiful.

It was hell.

And she walked right into it.

Michael spotted her from the front window, hunched against the breeze, sneakers scuffing the gravel, tissues clutched in one hand like a white flag of surrender. She sneezed once — head snapping forward hard enough that her bag nearly slipped from her shoulder. Then again, louder, more desperate, forcing her to stop and swipe at her leaking eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

Michael barked a laugh, shaking his head as he swung the door open. The breeze carried another wave of pollen straight into the house.

“Baby girl,” he drawled, half-pitying, half-amused, “you didn’t even stand a chance out there, huh?”

She stumbled inside, blinking up at him through red-rimmed, glassy eyes, voice wrecked as she groaned, “I hate spring. I hate it.”

Michael grinned, catching her around the waist before she could crash face-first onto the couch.

“Nah, you love it,” he teased, hauling her close. “You just forgot your damn meds.”

“Hh’CHHH!” The sneeze ripped through her without warning, muffled into the chest of his hoodie.

Michael rocked back from the force of it, laughing harder, arms cinching tighter around her. He kissed the top of her messy hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Goddamn, bunny,” he said, smoothing a hand down her back, “you sound like you’re gonna blow yourself off your feet.”

She glared up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes streaming, nose twitching — and somehow looked even less threatening than usual. Michael laughed again, leaning in to kiss her forehead before she could argue.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped, sniffling miserably. “Bunny’s for when I look cute. I don’t look cute right now.”

Michael chuckled, dropping another kiss onto her hair without letting her go. “You’re always cute,” he murmured, pulling her in tighter like he didn’t even hear her protests.

She huffed a miserable little sound, trying to look indignant. Another sneeze barreled through her before she could even open her mouth.

“Hh’KTSHH!”

Michael caught it like it was nothing. Grinning, he grabbed the tissues from her limp hand and dabbed at her nose, quick and gentle, before sliding a hand up her damp cheek. “Shit,” he chuckled, “you’re my little Puffball now.”

She froze. Pulled back just far enough to stare at him, puffy-eyed and utterly betrayed. “Puffball?” she croaked, voice thick with congestion and outrage.

Michael smirked, thumb brushing slow across her cheekbone. “Yeah,” he said, tilting his head in mock thoughtfulness. “You’re all puffy and cute and miserable. Puffball fits.”

She groaned, dropping her forehead to his chest, muttering something that sounded like, “I hate you,” into the fabric. But she didn’t pull away. Not really.

Michael smiled against her hair, rocking her gently back and forth like a slow dance neither of them had agreed to.

He finally got her onto the couch, buried under a fortress of blankets. Tissues were stacked within reach, and he made sure she had a full glass of water before handing her two allergy pills. “Take ’em,” he ordered, crouching next to the couch until she swallowed them both down.

She did, pouting miserably. Michael tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, kissed her forehead, and murmured, “Good girl.”

Every time she sneezed — sharp, helpless, miserable — he was there. Pressing kisses to her temple. Whispering, “Bless you, Puffball,” soft and unrelenting.

Every time, she huffed and buried deeper into the blankets.

Every time, he smiled like he was the luckiest man alive.

Later, when the meds kicked in and she was feeling just a little bolder, she plotted her revenge.

She crept up behind him while he was flipping through channels on the TV, wide grin stretching across her face. Without warning, she leaned in and let out the loudest, most dramatic fake sneeze right against his neck.

“Hh’CHHH!!”

Michael flinched like he’d been shot, yelping in pure betrayal. “You little shit!” he roared, dropping the remote and lunging off the couch.

She shrieked, giggling hysterically as she darted down the hall, blanket trailing behind her like a cape. Michael caught her in two steps, scooping her clean off the ground and tackling her onto the bed in a pile of tangled limbs and laughter.

He pinned her wrists above her head, grinning down at her, chest heaving. “You think you’re funny, Puffball?”

She nodded furiously, breathless with laughter.

Michael leaned down, brushing his nose against her throat, then her jaw, then the flushed apple of her cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, peppering obnoxious, wet kisses all over her face as she squealed and squirmed under him. “You’re so goddamn lucky, baby girl.”

Eventually, they calmed.

Tangled in the blankets, her face pressed against his bare chest, the slow thud of his heart in her ear.

The room smelled like laundry detergent, fading traces of tissue dust, and Michael — warm, musky, grounding.

She sighed, small and content. “Is Puffball… the thing now?” she mumbled into his skin.

Michael laughed low, threading his fingers through her hair, thumb tracing the curve of her scalp. “Yeah, baby,” he said, voice softer than anything. “It’s the thing.”

She groaned, but she was smiling, cheeks hot, heart thudding helplessly against his ribs.

Michael just kissed the top of her head again, breathing her in.

It was the thing.

It was their thing.

Always would be.

—

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[moonstrider9904]

après la bataille

Steb x fem!Reader (Enforcer)

Summary: the battle for Piltover has past, and you help Steb find some much needed peace of mind.

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: Mature and SFW, (french) kissing and making out, brief implications of smut. Spoilers for the ending Arcane season 2. Enforcer!Reader, mentions of death and loss, hints of PTSD, processing difficult emotions, hurt/comfort, established relationship.

Prequel one-shot coming soon! | My Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warm lights gleamed in the distance, and if one didn’t pay much attention, you would almost swear nothing had happened in Piltover for days. In the peaceful, quiet night, while the City of Progress’ lights twinkled and contrasted with the night sky, it was easy to forget the smoke and the unnatural violence, the blood that had been spilled, the war that, in what had felt like a blink of an eye, shook Piltover and Zaun only to leave things unnervingly quiet—those who had been in the head of it had a hard time believing, at times, that things were truly at peace now.

Steb watched the city with a heavy heart. Though victory had reigned, and Piltover and Zaun weren’t at odds with each other or the Noxian empire, it was inevitable to ponder on the cost. He had witnessed it first hand, from the moments he fought for his survival to having faced his own death in less time it would take him to exhale, mercifully saved by former councilor Medarda; he’d seen the price of the chain of events Hextech had brought forth in the form of light escaping the eyes of each of his fallen comrades.

Some of them had been his friends.

It had happened fast. The partner with whom Steb had gone from rescuing a stranded cat atop a tall tree to dismantling Shimmer, had died before his eyes at the hands of her own bullet—and the magic of the same mage who saved his life. He’d barely had time to process her betrayal and to question how the hell he hadn’t seen it coming before Maddie lay lifeless on the ground where she’d stood, about to take another life. If Steb mourned, he’d be mourning a traitor, but if he didn’t mourn, he wouldn’t be mourning his friend. A part deep within him hated such a dichotomy.

And then there was Loris. Not many words had been shared between the two—there was never any need for them. But Steb vividly remembered the attack on the memorial as the first real battle he’d been in, and Loris was the reason he’d come out of it alive. The vagabond he’d found lying hungover and nearly unconscious on the Piltovan sidewalk had mustered superhuman strength to shield him from a fatal blow, and now, Steb would never have a chance to return the favor. Just as he and the other survivors were emerging after the battle, it was the pianist turned soldier who went up to him and delivered Loris’ badge, and Steb knew it could only mean one thing. The feeling of his heart plummeting within him would be one he’d remember all his life. The loss of Loris, of Maddie, of the Zaunites he’d met at the bridge willing to take a stand.

The only thing that could console him after that was knowing you’d made it out alright. If he had another regret, it would be not being with you every second of it, but it would comfort him forever to know you were safe with him and you’d done your part in returning Piltover and Zaun to peace.

And as if his thoughts had invoked you, he soon heard your steps approaching. He remained facing the city as you entered the balcony, but his ears twitched in the direction of your footsteps, and a hint of a smile formed when he felt your arms wrap around him from behind, and your cheek resting up against the side of his arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your sweet voice traveled to his ears and soothed every fiber within him. For once, Steb was able to relax, exhaling the tension from within his body, and his hand went to cover yours as it rested over his heart.

“They don’t matter,” he muttered.

You smiled softly, stifling a chuckle while you snuggled into his back before making your way towards his side, finally able to look up at him. “They do to me, love.”

Steb dismissed his laments and shifted to face you. He gazed down on you, thinking to himself how rare it had become to see you dressed in something other than your uniform, and for a moment he couldn’t fathom how beautiful you looked in your deep blue gown. It had discreet silver details and the right crop to compliment your silhouette in the best ways possible, and for a moment he was whole again, finding a brief respite from the memories that had tormented him those past few days.

“You look gorgeous,” Steb said softly with his deep, rich voice which you loved.

You smiled up at him, eyes sparkling, as you took his hands in yours. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.” Your eyes scanned the attire he was wearing—his suit resembled his uniform, but it was darker and far more elegant, and if you didn’t know better, you’d sooner mistake him for royalty than assume he was being promoted. You knew he was supposed to be wearing his black hat, but for the time being, he’d cast it aside, a fact you adored—you loved seeing as much of his features as you could, always finding it a whole new, beautiful experience to simply be able to look at Steb and gaze upon his every detail. You gave his hands a gentle squeeze and paced closer to him, taking one of your hands to rest on the crook of his neck and letting your thumb caress his skin gently.

“You’re going to make a fine commander,” you smiled gently at him.

Grateful as he was for your words, you noticed Steb carried the weight of the world in his eyes. He stifled a chuckle and, knowing he could be at ease with you, he briefly looked out at the peaceful Piltover, melancholy.

“Would it be too self-loathing to say I don’t think I deserve it?” He questioned.

“Yes,” you replied without a doubt. “It would also be a flat lie.”

Steb gave a quick exhale and some of the tension left his body, but the thoughts continued to weigh on him. “I could have done more.”

“You’ve done so much already,” you said gently, pausing as your gaze faltered before meeting his eyes again. “I know how you feel… I lost people too. And… not being with you during it was hell.”

“I know,” Steb said quietly.

You exhaled, and your voice fell to a whisper. “I really thought I was gonna lose you.”

He held the hand that rested on his neck and lifted it so that you could see him holding your hand from the corner of your eye.

“You couldn’t,” he said.

The dread left you entirely, and you managed to smile brightly at Steb, finding once again the will to achieve your sole objective of lifting his mood.

“And once you’re commander,” you continued, “you are not getting rid of me.”

Steb laughed smoothly. “Is that a promise?”

You nodded with a cheeky glint in your eye. “Darling, you can consider that a threat.”

His laughter came again, and you wrapped your arms around his upper back while he wrapped his around your waist. You stepped even closer to him, sealing the space between your bodies, and you were well aware of the way your chest pressed itself to his torso. Your eyes adopted an enticing gleam, and your lips curved into the smile Steb was never able to resist, and your voice was smooth when you talked to him, inviting him deeper into finding bliss with you.

“Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?” You asked him with a smirk.

You didn’t have to do more for Steb to understand, and he decided to play a little further with you.

“Hm,” he hummed. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?” You pressed yourself even more to him and perked up on your toes, letting your lips draw close up to his. “Nothing comes to mind? Not even, perhaps, something we could very easily do in the less than an hour we have before the ceremony? Gee, what ever could we do in that amount of time?”

Steb laughed fully and, with a firm grip, he picked you up and spun you around, now holding you as though he were to dance with you.

“You make it tempting,” Steb purred. “But I’d never dream of rushing things with you. Besides, I’m not going to risk ruining that pretty dress before the ceremony.”

“That,” you replied with a giggle, “was actually the correct answer.”

You both fell in silence, and you didn’t make an effort to fight the urge to brush your hand up to his cheek and let your thumb trace over the delicate frills around his eye. Steb leaned into the warmth of your palm—you knew he loved the tender contact of your skin on his frills—and without another moment’s hesitation, you took his lips in yours.

You could feel his body relax as his arms wrapped deeper around the curve of your back, as if he could pull you any closer, and though your eyes were closed as you kissed him, you knew by now his ears had slowly tilted downward and the frills around his eyes moved in slow, uniform waves, a testament to the peace and the joy brought upon him by your lips. The tenderness of the kiss gradually morphed into desire as you felt Steb pushing himself forward to you, adding strength to the movement of his lips and slowly slipping his tongue inside of you; the delicate friction of his tongue on yours filled your body with the sweetest sparks you’d ever be exposed you, and it prompted you to cling around his shoulders standing on your toes—a little more, and your feet would be off the ground.

You didn’t resist the urge to moan into his lips, and the airy quality of your voice made Steb smirk into the kiss. You wanted more of him, and just as you were cursing the fact that you both had to be at a ceremony in less than an hour, and that it would keep you from being entwined in bedsheets with him instead, you let your desires take over and you made your way kissing down Steb’s neck. You delighted in the moan that escaped him, delicious in his rich and deep voice, and as you kissed his neck, you let your lips linger in the same spot for just enough before moving to the next, crawling dangerously close to the collar of his shirt. You decided no harm would come in humoring your fantasies just one step further, and your fingers delicately undid that first button pushing the fabric to the sides, exposing but a fraction of his chest where your fingertips danced and caressed, hinting at the mischief and delicacy that could have been were it not for the honors he was about to receive.

“Darling…” Steb’s breath hitched and a smirk formed on his lips.

For a moment, he too wished you didn’t have other places to be, but if he had to settle for the moment, he’d make it worth it by grasping firmly at the backs of your thighs and lifting you up for you to wrap your legs around his waist as much as the skirt of your gown would allow. You gave a pleased giggle in response, now able to wrap your arms around him further, and you kissed his lips once more, brushing your tongue against his freely and with glee. One of your hands tugged softly at his hair, trying your best not to mess it up for him, and the other went to the back of his neck where your fingers rested on the crooks of the fins that went down his spine. You lost yourself in that kiss, hoping it would last forever, enjoying every second until Steb set you down on the ground again and sealed the moment with one last, tender kiss on your lips before rising up again.

You were dazed after such a session, and you were pleased to see that so was he. Steb grounded himself with a deep exhale, redoing the button of his shirt almost reluctantly, but you also noticed he had a little smile on his lips that hinted at satisfaction and even pride. You chuckled, glad that you could bring such emotions upon him. He then gazed at you, still smiling, and you grinned in anticipation of what the look on his face meant—he’d have his way with you after the ceremony.

But for the time being, you walked up to him one more time and hugged him gently, resting your head against his chest, able to hear the beating of his heart. You settled into the peace that came with the embrace, hoping dearly he felt better than before you’d arrived onto that balcony. You listened for any other sounds, but there was quiet all around you.

Yes, Piltover was at peace now, and when you felt Steb wrapping his arms around you once more, you knew things would be alright. Still in the embrace, you shifted to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest, able to gaze into his ocean eyes as he looked down at you. Tenderly, you smiled, and Steb smiled back as if he could read your thoughts, but he didn’t need to. The gleam in your eyes and softness of your smile told him everything, that you would stand with him through the honors he’d receive, and through everything else that followed.

Silently, you made that promise to him.

If you like this, please reblog too! Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @thegreatandlvable let me know if you want to be tagged in future Steb fics!

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 5 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: ooc Sukuna, use of y/n like twice, angst heh, Sukuna is lwk a simp…if there’s anything I missed do tell me!! Overthinking Sukuna and Reader, soft Sukuna

Wc: 1.9k

Sukuna had both hands on the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he passed the dense forest that lined both sides of the empty road, save for a few cars here and there. His expensive car stood out against the trucks that carried animal livestock and farm produce. The sun was setting, light rays passing between the tree branches causing patches of light to form on the road.

His mind was running a thousand questions per minute, was the kid his?- she had to be, her eyes, her hair- it was obvious to anyone who the father was. Why didn’t you tell him, Why did you leave him all those years ago and force him to go through so much shit alone- especially when he needed you the most then. Why did you never reach out- he wasn’t the worst boyfriend, he could’ve provided for everything you could have wanted- he would’ve given you the moon if you so much as looked at it in passing. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as his vision clouded with anger. 

You hid away from him for so long, you stole his heart and ran away with it, and now he has to find out you stole his chance at fatherhood away too? Just what grave sin did he commit to be punished like this from you of all people. How many nights had he spent just admiring you while you slept. Did you know how hard he worked to get everyone who didn’t approve of you off his board? Every senile old motherfucker that he asked Toji to take care of? And did you know of the gaping hole you left in his heart when he was so close to getting rid of them all and establishing himself and you just up and left?

The sun had fully set by the time he reached the bakery, parked a bit far away watching as passersby entered the shop. A rare smile found its way on his face- at the very least your shop was doing good- you were a damn good baker after all, he’d expect nothing but the best from you. 

Uraume had informed him that you would not be in for the day, so he sat in the car watching everyone who strolled by the shop with a sharp glare, squinting at Fumiko who came out with an apron and employee tag. He didn’t have to wait long- the drive to your bakery had taken him over two hours. He always knew you had a good head on your shoulders but to hide yourself smack in the middle of a countryside, he should’ve expected no better from you. 

Sukunas heart flipped when he saw you for the first time in years, Hana resting on your hip as you walked on the opposite side. You had aged gracefully, small wrinkles formed at the corners of your eyes when you smiled, a different glow on your face compared to the one he had first fallen in love with. Your shoulders seemed a bit more heavier and he wished to whisk away all your problems, take one of those late night drives where he drove a bit too fast and you clung onto him screaming. 

The CEO watched you enter the shop, Hana set down as you greeted Fumiko. He got out of the car, standing in front of it as you turned around to switch the signboard on the glass door and made eye contact with him. 

It felt like you were sixteen all over again and seeing him for the first time. You couldn't help but let your gaze travel over his body. Fuck, age had done nothing to make him any less attractive. Fumiko left the shop, staring at you for a second before you reassured her to be on her way. Hana was sitting on one of the tables, eating a donut with strawberry filling, getting powdered sugar all over her face. 

Sukuna entered the moment Fumiko left and you switched on the dimmer lights in the bakery, casting those shadows you liked on Sukunas face. You pulled out a chair at a table just a little bit far away from Hana, making sure you could see her

“Sukuna.”

You didn't trust your voice to come out steady, it wobbled at the edges, throat closing up against the name you hadn’t uttered for years. Sukuna pulled out a seat opposite to you, glaring at you, not once did he turn his attention to the shop- faltering once to look at Hana, 

“So this is where you were playing house huh?”

Fumiko had prepared tea, you had called her beforehand to inform that a guest would be coming and that you’d appreciate it if she could make two cups of chrysanthemum tea, Sukuna’s favorite. You poured it, setting it in front of Sukuna,

“If that's what you want to call it then sure,’

You stared down at your cup, mixing in two cubes of sugar as Sukuna seethed from where he sat

“What the fuck else am I supposed to call it then,

You winced at the tone of Sukuna’s voice, turning your head to look outside at the flickering lamplight,

“Don't curse in front of the kid Ryoumen.”

You felt like you were in a dream, this was way too surreal to feel true and every word came out of you like you practiced it in front of the mirror till they lost meaning, 

“How- Why the fuck- Look at me Y/n.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until your cheeks felt wet, and you used the back of your hand to wipe them away, turning your attention back to the father of your child. Sukuna had long stopped glaring at you, his featured twisting to resemble heartbreak and you felt your own heart break in your chest, 

“Ryo-” 

The minute he heard his name leave your mouth he was by your side, cupping the back of your head and kneeling by your chair as he brought your head to rest on his shoulder,

“I’m here- always have been pet,”

Your hands twisted into the fabric of his dress shirt, wetting his shoulder with salty tears that seeped through the cloth. Hana turned her head at the sound of your muffled sounds, jumping down from her chair and running over to hit Sukuna with tiny fists who scowled at her in response. The contrast of it all made you chuckle, pushing away from Sukuna’s chest and pulling Hana into your lap, wrapping your arms around her and calming her down.

“Ryo…I’m sorry- I can’t”

You shook your head, the words stuck in your throat as they came out wrong. Sukuna just shook his head pulling his chair closer to you, 

“Tell my why you left first,”

You looked up at Sukuna with red rimmed eyes, arms tightening around Hana who whined in retaliation, 

“I heard you that day.. On the phone with Toji- and then you left again and I just- I couldn't handle that anymore and I didn’t want Hana to go through that either,”

The father’s face twisted into a scowl, stopping you mid way through your rant.

“Doll- what call-what are you talking about,”

And so you began the recollection of the day that started a flurry of decisions that led you to where you are now, 

“With Y/n? No I dont want kids why the fuck are you even asking me that Toji?”

You stilled outside Sukuna’s office, positive pregnancy test in your hand. Your entire body trembled and the world whizzed around you, unconsciously removing your hand from the door as you stuffed the test into your purse walking back to the bedroom in a daze. You sat down and shut your eyes, taking short quick deep breaths as you calmed yourself down watching your hands stop shaking from fear. 

You had never discussed the possibility of kids with Sukuna, you started taking birth control after you moved into Sukuna’s high rise apartment and he got addicted to doing it raw. Sure it was a possibility you considered but it virtually never happened and you were sure you were not going to be the exception.

You could understand Sukuna not wanting kids, you don't think you would put any kid through what Sukuna had to go through to become the successor. Granted his twin brother, Jin did run away and marry another woman. But if your child was going to turn out anything like Sukuna then they would crave the power just as much as he did and you were not sure if you wanted them to go through all that. 

Sukuna and you had just graduated college too and his father was forcing him to work his way upwards, it's barely been a few months since you both became official. Sukuna wanted to make sure he got a job before tying you down with him, he knew how self-sacrificing you were. But, the relationship has been everything but steady since he started to focus more on the inheritance races. He would disappear for weeks on end without a trace or word, leaving Uraume with you and when he did finally come back he would just be a bit odd, like his scent had mixed with old blood and festered. 

He would avoid you for a few days before going back to being normal and sharing a bed with you. And you were not stupid, you knew Sukuna was establishing his position by using not-so-legal methods, you just kept your mouth shut. Sukuna wouldn’t hurt someone unless they were embezzling or doing something especially evil, you asked Uraume about it and they answered you honestly. 

But it was the mixture of the wrong events happening at the wrong time, on the morning after you found out that you were pregnant Sukuna was nowhere to be found and Uraume was present in his absence. You just felt more unstable then, the two month pregnancy hormones messing with your brain and causing you to start pulling away.

It was the longest time Sukuna had left, four weeks and not even a single word from him. Even Uraume had to leave without a word and the walls of the empty house felt like they were caving in on you, and paired with your morning sickness, truly you had never felt more low in your life.

And then you started thinking, would Sukuna ask you to get rid of the child growing in you, would he even love them, you knew he loved you but he never liked children. Did you want to bring your child into a world where their father left for weeks, leaving you with no answers. And what if Sukunas enemies decided that your child would be the one they enacted revenge on. Or what if the executives got Sukuna to marry someone else- they never really approved of you in the first place. 

The storm that raged in your mind led you to take the most life changing decision you had ever made. A few days after Uraume left and showed no signs of coming back you had started to pack a few things, dipping into your emergency funds that you saved up while working as an assistant baker in university. You left your phone and anything Sukuna could track you down with back at his apartment. Barely a bag was left when you finally finished packing up, already having booked a train to the middle of nowhere. You already called up the locals, informing them of your situation and buying a streetside shop beforehand. You left a week after Uraume did and never looked back.

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Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @nina-from-317

A/n: I don’t know how to feel about this tbh… ugdhdhhdudud I feel like I could’ve done it better but finally the confrontation chapter (or atleast half of it lol)!! This feels very uh not up to par hdjdkeksjdj

[luveline]

hii jade are u going to write something about hotchner!reader and spencer any soon?

—You panic when Spencer’s late for a date. He makes it up to you as best as he can. fem, 2.6k

cw implied past child abuse

You weren’t young when you were adopted, so you were instilled very quickly with the need to be grateful. How lucky you were to be given a second chance at a family. How you owed it to your new family to be the perfect daughter and sister to a father who didn’t like you and two brothers your senior. 

Family for you is complicated. It always has been. You didn’t get the unconditional love you’d hoped for in all of them, but you have one older brother who loves you as though you and him are two branches of the same tree, and maybe that’s enough for anyone. 

“Yes!” Aaron cheers, jumping up from the bench. 

You spin around with a grin that’s half shy, half ecstatic. “I did it!” 

Jack runs up to your legs. “You got a strike!” 

You pretend to give him a karate chop. “Boosh! Double strike.” You grin as Aaron sizes up the pins down the long ally. “Think your dad can get one before we run out of turns?” 

“No!” Jack laughs. 

You laugh at his easy answer. His father, determined now in the face of your disbelief, picks up a number twelve ball and stands at the arrows to take his last turn. You brace your hands on Jack’s shoulders and wait for the line to be put down again. 

You’re pretty sure he’s throwing his turns to let Jack win. You’d not done the same until you realised the yawning gap in the scores, and maybe you’d feel embarrassed for not noticing if Aaron ever made you feel bad for anything, but he doesn’t. 

Your phone rings as he pulls back his arm. You ignore it. “Good luck, dad!” Jack says under your hands. 

It’s that good luck that gives Aaron his strike. You cheer with Jack as the ball glides straight into the first pin and veers on a spin toward the third, creating a wave of noise and action as the pins go flying back toward the baseboard. 

Aaron turns around with a huge smile. “Jack!” 

“You did it!” Jack cheers back. “Not first, but you did!” 

You grab your phone from your pocket. “Couldn’t let me have it, could you?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron picks Jack up from the floor to hold against his chest, pointing at the screen with love. “Look at that, buddy, you won! Can you see that? You got the most points!” Aaron kisses his cheek, high on happiness. “Wow!” 

You have two missed calls from Spencer. To Aaron’s begrudgement, you and Spencer are actually going steady. The first attraction didn’t fizzle, the dates turned to dating turned to exclusivity; Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, and he’s supposed to be taking you out to dinner in ten minutes. 

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks, creeping closer to you, Jack still in his arms. 

“It’s fine, he’s just running late.” You notice his small frown. “His mom’s doctor wanted to talk to him, that’s all.” 

“How late is he thinking?” 

The plan was you’d go bowling with your family and then meet Spencer outside to eat at the Chinese restaurant just across the parking lot, but it’s not seeming so sure now. 

“He said half an hour. I’m pretty hungry,” you say, “he’s gotta speak to a psychiatrist about something. I can’t eat though, right? That’s rude.” 

“That’s not rude, honey. You can’t help being hungry as much as he can’t help being late.” As you’d noticed his, he notices your small frown. “You can’t go hungry,” he says with a shrug, “so you’re gonna have to come and eat something, but Spencer can join us when he’s done.” 

“Right, because you’ll love that.” 

“I’ve been on more dates with him than you have.” 

You take Jack as he opens his arms toward you. “I forget. I always think of you as his boss, and not his teammate.” 

Aaron grabs Jack’s backpack off of the bench, and your empty cups off of the table to throw away. “I am his boss. Okay, Jack, what do you want for dinner? What sounds good?” 

You, Aaron and Jack leave the bowling alley and end up in the Italian restaurant opposite of your originally proposed restaurant. You carry Jack on your hip and text Spencer with your open hand, content to let Aaron guide you through what little foot traffic there is to your table. Aaron sits on one side of the booth with Jack, and you slide into the other side. 

Spencer’s texts are getting more and more convoluted. He says he’s sorry, and then he says he has to call someone else, and then he needs to talk to his mom. You nibble your fingernail. 

“You okay?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah, uh… Yes, everything’s fine.” 

“Is Spencer okay?” 

“I think he might cancel.” 

Aaron flattens his menu. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I think his mom is having a bad day…” 

“What else are you worried about?” 

Jack saves you for a moment, “Dad, can I have juice?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll get you juice. Apple juice?” 

Jack presses his cheek to Aaron’s arm, earning himself a hug. 

“Are you tired?” Aaron whispers. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Hey, there’s a table over there with some colouring pages and crayons, do you see that? Do you want to do some colouring?” 

“Can I go get some?” Jack asks. 

“Yes. Don’t bump into anybody, okay?” 

The table isn’t far enough to worry, but Aaron splits his attention between Jack and you fairly evenly, just a tad more worry following his son. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Aaron asks. 

“You don’t think Spencer would lie, do you?” you ask. 

“Lie about his mother? I doubt it very much.” 

You trust Aaron, and you trust Spencer too, but Aaron has earned that trust over years and years where Spencer has been gifted it. He hasn’t done anything to break it, but he hasn’t proved he should have it yet either. And really, truly, it isn’t actually about what you believe of Spencer. 

You feel a bit nauseous, but your brother is the best person in the world, so you tell him why without preamble, “I’m worried that he’s going to get sick of me.” 

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asks. 

You scratch at the menu beneath your hand rather than meet his eyes. Because you’re awful. That’s what your father instilled in you, and it’s what you’ve come to learn. Eventually, the people who love you get tired of you. Everyone except Aaron, and isn't that proof of something? He’s the only man good enough to pretend you’re someone worth caring about. 

If he could hear your thoughts he’d probably cry. It’s why you’ve struggle to tell him. 

You rub your thumb into the side of your index finger, feeling the texture of your skin. “I think people just do.” 

Jack returns quickly, with paper and a huge fist full of crayons, though there are four colours altogether. “Well,” Aaron says, helping Jack back into his seat, crayons rolling released from a small fist every which way, “I don't. And Jack doesn’t, Haley doesn’t. I see no reason why Spencer would feel that way.” 

“What don’t I do?” Jack asks, frowning at his dad. 

“You don’t think Aunt Y/N’s bad at bowling, do you?” 

“You’re great at bowling!” Jack's eyes go wide. “I’m gonna make us a photo, to remember. We got strikes!” 

You let your face fall into your hand as Aaron strokes hair up the side of Jack’s head. It’s a soothing thing to see, you know the soft touch of his hand well, having been petted and patted through a hundred different bad moments. 

Spencer probably isn’t lying about why he’s late, but he could be. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“She’s very good at bowling,” Aaron says, hugging Jack to his side. “And so many other things, that’s why we love her. Should we make a list?” 

He used to love doing that, too. 

Your father wasn’t a nice or kind man. Aaron doesn’t know how it escalated, only knows what happened to him, and how he’d come to see you and you’d burst into tears the second he asked how you were. 

If Aaron knew how bad it was at the time he would’ve forced you to leave, but you never told the whole truth. He assumed it to be a mixture of everything —school was awful, dad was worse, and you were more isolated than most. 

Make me a list, he’d say. 

The first time you didn’t get it. You were a teenager sitting on his couch, his wife in the kitchen, a weight on your chest. What for? 

A list of the stuff that’s bothering you. 

Do you need a list? you’d asked. He had a knack for knowing more than you could say. 

I think we should make one. 

You realise now it was a strategy to calm you down. If you could quantify the things that were depressing you, you could begin to understand it, and hopefully dismantle some of the bigger problems. It didn’t always work, but it didn’t matter. It made you feel better just to have you and Aaron on the same couch with a notebook and a number two pencil. Don’t see my brother enough, he’d written with a sad face. 

Brother, you’d thought with a secret joy. He’s your brother. 

Jack and Aaron make a list they won’t show you. You order drinks and then dinner, waiting for a phone call or a text back you don’t receive. It’s disheartening, and when your pasta arrives, you can barely eat. 

“Honey,” Aaron says, “why don’t you go call him? You can see if he’s alright.” 

You poke at a shell with a tightly gripped fork. “What if he doesn’t want me to call him? It sounds serious.” 

“Maybe that’s why you should call him. I think he’d appreciate it.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, but ultimately, he doesn’t. “Take a minute for yourself, if nothing else. Everything’s okay, I promise.” 

“Sorry.” 

“For what?” Jack asks. 

You smile regretfully. “I’m just feeling confused today, babe. What about you? Are you confused about where your mouth is?” you tease lightly. 

Aaron gasps a laugh and reaches over to wipe Jack down with a napkin as you slip from the booth. You take your phone, worrying that Aaron’s eyes are on your back as you pass by the host booth and back out onto the street. The breeze kisses your clammy skin. 

Why do you assume that no one really likes you? It’s difficult to comprehend. Your thumb hovers over Spencer’s contact photo, debating, and debating. Should you call him? He might be preoccupied, upset even, and what if you make it worse? But if you don’t call him, you can’t reassure yourself that you’re not in trouble. 

He answers on the third trill. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hey!” There’s a sound like something heavy has been put down. “Hey, I’m so sorry!” 

“Don’t be sorry!” you say immediately. “It’s okay. Are you okay?” 

Spencer’s voice is a little high and fast, but beside that, he has a nice tenor. When he’s calm and feeling up to it, alone at night with nothing else to do, he’ll read to you from one of his infinite books, his syllables catching and tripping over air as you rub your nose into his arm. 

“I’m fine! There was a mixup with some medication at the sanitarium and they realised my mom’s dose of one of her antipsychotics has been charted higher than she was really taking, so she’s been having a hard time, it’s a total mess but I think we have it figured out now. How was bowling?” 

“Spencer, are you sure it’s okay?” 

“It’s fine.” He laughs softly, not a hint of condescension or derision for you, but an emotion you can’t name. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I mean, it’s fine if it’s not okay. I know you can’t help yourself sometimes, but you don’t have to tell me it’s fine if it’s not fine.” 

“Uh–” You cough around it. “No, it really is. You can’t help it. Family is important, right?” 

“It’s so important. Listen, where are you right now?” 

“I’m just standing outside of the Pasta Factory by the bowling alley. I tried to have dinner ‘cos I’m starving, but… I think I lost my appetite.” 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“I’m having one of those days, I guess?”

“What kind of day?” 

His voice is bouncing strangely, as though he’s talking near you. You pause, turning on your heel to look down the few stairs into the parking lot asphalt. 

Spencer’s walking up them, a bouquet of roses in his hands. 

“Hi,” you say, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

Spencer puts his away. “Hi. 

His hug is full, all-encompassing and warm as he wraps his arms around you, the bouquet a cacophony of crinkling against your shoulder. He smells like aftershave, his Tom Ford one with the woody tinge that has you pressing your nose into the top of his shoulder to just breathe. Your phone digs into his spine. He doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, giving you a similar swaying, back and forth. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had to call them, but it wasn’t fair on you.” 

“Spencer,” you say, holding him tightly. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

“Don’t sound so unsure.” 

“No, but. We can be flexible, right?” 

“Of course we can, but I’m still sorry.” He peels back to smile at you, his eyes gently squinted. “So what’s wrong? What’s making it one of those days?” 

You can’t explain it to him. He likely doesn’t need you to. 

You’re expecting him to pull away —you’re in a public place and affection isn’t his usual expertise— but he doubles down. New boyfriend or not, this hug feels like it’s from somebody who’s loved you for years and years. 

“What’s making it a bad day?” he asks quietly. 

“I don’t know…” You rub your nose self indulgently against his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you have no appetite? Maybe that’s what it is? Stuff tends to feel bigger or more upsetting when we’re hungry because low blood sugar prompts your body to release more hormones that affect your cortisol level, and cortisol plays a big part in how your mind interprets your emotions.” Spencer pulls away, his hand sliding up your shoulder to hold you in place. He grins. “So I think you should still let me take you to dinner. Especially if you didn’t eat much.” 

Why would Spencer lie to you? you think, relieved. He wouldn’t. And the idea that he’s going to get sick of you, that’s rooted in bad lessons from a poor situation. It’s not a reflection on you. 

“We will,” you decide, “I just have to get my stuff. I left my bag, and Jack’s writing me a list.” 

“What list?” 

“A list of stuff I’m good at.” 

He doesn’t waver. “Really? Can I add stuff too?” You turn your nose up in an unsubtle prompting, satisfied when Spencer gives you a quick, smiling kiss. “Sorry,” he says, though his apology is distracted by a fond undertone, “I missed you.” 

You receive a few more gentle kisses for all your worries, and you begin to feel better. Spencer presses the roses into your hand and encourages you into the restaurant with his hand spread behind your back. 

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Tortured Thoughts (Azriel X Reader)

Word Count: 3900

The reader and Azriel really don't like each other, so in a an effort to force them to get along, Rhys arranges a mission. But when the mission goes wrong and Ariel has to watch you get tortured, he realizes he would do anything to get you home.

“If anyone is going to save anyone, Azriel, it’s going to be me saving you.” You spit, fists up as you two circle each other on the small sparring pad. Both of your leathers were off, and you were drenched in sweat as the sun beat down. His eyes roll in a way you’re used to.

            You can sense the kick coming and block it easily. He’s now on the other side of the ring, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m sure you wish that was the case.” He replies, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

            You run at him, trying to jump onto his shoulders so you can wrap your legs around his neck. His arms catch you, and suddenly your slammed into the ground. The wind is knocked out of you and you scrunch your eyes closed, trying to breath through the discomfort.

            When you finally open your eyes, Azriel s large shadow is blocking the sun and he’s staring at you in concern. You take a breath and cough, sitting up to catch your breath. “Asshole.” You mutter.

            He reaches a hand out to help you up, but you slap it away, getting up on your own. He rolls his eyes, again, and stands up from his kneeling position, wiping his hands off on his pants “Are you done?” He asks warily.

            “No chance.” Your fists rise again, no trace of a smile on your face anymore. Azriel stares at you, a look on his face. He opens his mouth to speak before he is interrupted.

            “Although I’m sure you two would love to try to kill each other for another couple hours, I have some errands I need done.” Rhysands voice echoes, and you both turn to look at where the high lord has seemingly materialized.

            “What is it?” Azriel asks, you sigh, placing your hand on your hip.

            “I need to send a message to Eris.” Rhys muses, looking between you two, as if sensing the palpable tension in the air. “I would like you both to go, to cover each other’s back.”

            “Oh please.” You laugh, turning to Azriel. His facial expression doesn’t change from the solumn look on his face. “Azriel would feed me to Eris at the first opportunity, wouldn’t you shadow singer?”

            It’s now Rhys that rolls his eyes, and his gaze turns to Azriel, who looks between you two. “I’m not really…asking.” Rhys says, his voice growing sterner. “Cassian is busy, and I’m not letting Az handle this alone. You two need to learn to get along.”

            “Fine.” You mutter, turning around and collecting your fallen clothing from the ground. “I’ll be ready within the hour. Azriel, if you’re not ready, I’ll do it myself.”

            You storm off, slamming the door to the house behind you, leaving Rhysand and Azriel behind.

*

            The flight was long and uncomfortable. Due to your lack of wings, Azriel had to carry you bridal style, one strong hand wrapped around your upper body and the other holding up your knees. Despite your weight, he didn’t seem to struggle, his wings making strong and powerful thrusts through the air as you went.

            You can’t help but stare at them, you haven’t ever had a moment to appreciate their beauty because of who they are attached to. With the sun behind them, you could see the velvet texture, the strong muscle under them tensing and releasing with each beat.

            As your eyes wandered to the other wing, they lock on Azriel’s curious ones. Immediately, you can feel the blush coming to your face and you choose a spot at the ground to look at instead. Trees, ranging in shades of dark green to orange, you were nearly there.

            “What’s the plan?” You ask ,not turning your head towards him due to your proximity. “Are we just going to storm in there and demand to see him?”

            “We have a meeting place.” Azriel replies, his voice gruff and serious. “We need to be careful, although we may have this thing with Eris, Baron would not hesitate to take us out if he found out we were here.”

            “I’m not dumb.” You mutter, angrily looking at him. “I am careful, I haven’t died yet- have I?”

            “I don’t think your dumb.” Azriel insists, you could feel his fingers flexing around your torso.      “We’re about to land, hold on.”

            The descent is fast, but his landing is nearly flawless as he drops to the ground. You quickly jump out of his arms, trying to create some space between you two. You stared at the male, why did you hate Azriel so much? Was it just because he hated you first?

            “Lets get this over with.” You mutter, brushing off your sleeves and looking around you. You’re in a small circular clearing, trees on all sides in varying shades of red and orange. You look back at Azriel, and he is already walking the other direction.

            You jog to catch up with him, letting out an annoyed huff as you glare up at him. “What happened to stick together? Have each others backs?”

            Azriel smirked, turning his head down to look at you. “Not my fault you were going the wrong way.” He almost teases, you slap his arm.

            “I’ve never been here before, how am I supposed to know where I’m going?” You ask, and he shrugs.

            “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you knew it all already.” He teases again, and you almost smile at his tone.

            You two walk in silence, and you look at the trees around you. “it’s beautiful out here.” You whisper, looking up the sun through the swirls of orange and red leaves.

            “It is.” Azriel whispers, and you look at him, nearly stopping in your tracks as your eyes lock with his. In that moment, with the red hues of light shining on Azriel’s features and his blue eyes sparkling, you knew that Azriel was the most beautiful male that you would ever see.

            Suddenly, an arrow whizzes through the air, interrupting your moment. You turn, hands immediately grabbing the daggers strapped to your thighs. “Fuck.” Azriel mutters, and you can hear the tear as he pulls an arrow out of his wing. You look back at him in worry, and in that brief moment, you can hear the sound of an arrow being released, and feel the thud as that arrow lands in your thigh.

            Your daggers move before you can think, immediately impaling your attacker in the chest. Another arrow is released, and Azriel makes another grunt. You can feel the ground start to move under you, and you look to Azriel. “Run, Y/N.” Azriel grunts, falling to his knees as the poison works through his system. But it’s too late.

            The first thing you notice when you wake is the throbbing pain in your thigh, the second thing you notice is that when you go to reach your thigh, your arms are tied tightly down. You open your eyes, almost shutting them immediately due to the firelight.

            “Looks who’s awake.” A mans gruff voice muses, and you open your eyes again, letting them take a moment to focus on the male in front of you. You didn’t recognize him, but you knew he must be one of Berons.   

            You struggle against the bonds, shaking the chair in place but it doesn’t move. Panic starts to rise in your chest as your head whips around, looking for Azriel. You see him, and his eyes are already on yours. He shakes his head, in a silent plea to stay still.

            You still, looking back at the male. He walks towards you, knife in one hand, tapping it against his palm. “I know the shadow singer, but who are you?” He asks, and you shake your head.

            “I’m no one.” You whisper, trying to keep your voice small. Maybe if he thought you weren’t a threat, you would be able to escape this and call for Rhys. You knew that Az and Rhys had a connection, but it was probably too far.

            The knife found your cheek, and you could feel your body betray you as fear coursed through your system, your eyes closing in a wince. “Please, I’m no one. I swear, I was just..”

            “She was my guide.” Azriel says, and the knife leaves your cheek. The man walks over to him, and you can clearly see his restraints. While you have one rope around each wrist, he has chains wrapped around his, and not just one, but multiple.

            When you look closer, you can see blood trailing up his arms, almost as if he was struggling to get out- if Azriel couldn’t escape these bonds, how would you be able to? The male, his shining head reflecting the firelight, came up to Azriel. After a moment of silence, his fist flew through the air and connected with Azriel’s jaw.

            A scream left your lips as you tried as the chair shook as you tried to get out of it, but it was no use.          

            “Why are you here, Shadow Singer?” The man asks, his voice raspy and deep.

            “I was sent here by our healer.” Azriel explains, spitting blood on the ground. It leaves a slight red mark at the corner of his lip. “To pick up fireberries, they are very effective in treating fevers.”

            Another fist flies, and Azriel takes it. Tears well in your eyes as you stare at him, but he doesn’t look at you. The male pulls out another knife, “Maybe this will help you talk.” He muses, slamming it into Azriel’s thigh.

            You pull on the ropes again, seemingly more effected by the handle of the blade sticking out of Azriel’s leg than he is. The male pulls it out, becoming angrier at Azriel’s nonchalance.  Another fist is thrown at Azriel’s face, and another, and you hear the sobs escape your body as you watch him.

            “Stop!” You shout at the male. “You prick, he’s not lying.”

            Azriel’s eye peeks open, and the glare he gives you could kill. The male turns slowly, cocking his head at you. He pulls on Azriel’s shirt and wipes the blood off his knife. Instead of looking at the male, you stare at Azriel. His face is bloody, and his cheek and lip have busted open. Blood is openly pulling from his thigh, and even though this mans focus was on you, you were glad you didn’t have to watch Azriel get hurt anymore.

            “She doesn’t know anything.” Azriel states, spitting on the ground. “Hey asshole, I said she doesn’t know anything.”

            The male turns back to Azriel, and Azriel’s spits at him, and it lands right on his cheek. The male chuckles, using his hand to wipe the spit away. You all stare at it for a moment, before his fist rises up and connects with your temple.

            Your world is loud and cold for a fleeting moment as your head whips back, and then you feel the pain radiate to your eye as the moment ends. The male grabs you roughly by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Tears brim in your vision as you stare at him. “What do you know?” He asks, and you shake your head, not even able to open your mouth to speak.

            Another blow, even harder than the first one, causes your head to whip in the other direction. You hear Azriel’s shouts, but it’s almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Your head gets pulled back up to meet the eyes of the male. “Okay Shadow Singer, what are you two doing here?”

            “Don’t-“You try to speak, and then the knife has left his hands and is in your own thigh. You scream in surprise, looking down at the blade handle protruding from your leg. You look up at Azriel, and his face is filled with complete panic and horror. His arms are flexed as he tries to escape the chains holding him down. “I’m okay, Az. I got-“

            The knife is pulled out, and before you can shout in pain, it’s shoved into your other leg. A sob leaves your throat as you try to bend over, the blood from the first wound starting to trickle down the back of your leg.

            “I’ll tell you!” Azriel shouts, nearly frantic. You look up at him and his eyes are still on yours.

            You shake your head, but he keeps talking. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Azriel tries to get the males attention back on him. “I’m working for Lucien.”

            This phrase peaks the male’s interest, and he turns to look at back at Azriel. “How so?” The male asks, slowly stepping towards Azriel.

            “Azriel- don’t.” You shout weakly, and Azriel hesitates.

            “I need a map, I will tell you everything.” Azriel swears, and you hang your head in defeat. Your weakness, your inability to handle pain, was going to cost you everything- cost the night court everything.

            “Okay, I’ll be back.” The male states, looking between you and Azriel. He then opens a door, exiting to a hallway.

            After a few moments, another quiet sob escapes your lips as you stare at the dagger handle that’s jutting our of your thigh. “Hey, hey Y/n, look at me.” Azriel pleads, and your blood-soaked face looks up to meet his. “I will kill him.” Azriel promises, “but you need to do something for me.”

            You nod, “anything.” You whisper, and he nods. “I need you to get out of those ropes.”

            “I can’t.” You sob, pulling at them uselessly. He shakes his head.

            “Stop, stop, look at me, please.” He pleads again, and you look back into his eyes. “Y/N, fuck, I’m sorry for getting you into this.”

            “It’s not your fault.” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

            “I need you…I need you to try, please.” Azriel whispers, “for me. Just think about how much you hate me, and use that to get out.”

            “I don’t hate you.” You cry harder, sobs wracking your body.  

            “Please.” Azriel’s voice cracks, and he stares at you with a desperation you hadn’t seen on any male. “If you can get to that dagger, I promise- I will do whatever you want. I’ll stop fighting you, I’ll stop teasing you, I’ll stop egging you on, please Y/N, I will do anything- I just need to get you out of here.”

            Your arms strain as you try to pull yourself out from under the ropes, but they were too tight. The door opens and the male walks back in, a large map in his hands. He eyes you suspiciously, and you can’t help but sob again.

            “Damn.” The male mutters, clearing the table in the middle of the room and laying down the map. “You females and your emotions, you never know when to shut it.”

            You cry harder, your vision blurring as the man starts to ignore you and speak to Azriel. You pull on the ropes again with your other arm, feeling the rope give just by an inch. You grit your teeth, forcing your wrist to wriggle under the rope, nearly popping it out of it’s socket.

            The sound causes the male to turn, and before he can defend himself, the dagger is ripped out of your thigh and is flying through the air. He ducks out of the way, but the dagger lands right in the link of Azriel’s chains.

            The male backs up, his back bumping into the table as Azriel rips the chains off layer by layer. His hands flex, and the male has the decency to look absolutely terrified. You look down at your leg, at the blood oozing through your leathers. You don’t feel the urge to fight your way out anymore, you were only fighting for Azriel anyway, now he would be okay.

            Your head slumps forward and you close your eyes, feeling the tendrils of sleep find you. Suddenly a hand is gently slapping your cheek, and you feel irritation until your eyes meet Az’s. “Az.” You whisper, he’s quickly undoing your ropes that are around your torso and other arm. “You’re safe, you’re okay.”

            “I’m okay.” Azriel promises you, suddenly you’re being picked up into the air and you hear strong footsteps. “And you’re going to be okay too, I promise.”

            “I was right.” You whisper again, a small smile coming to your face. You open your eyes again, he’s looking forward and there is a hallway past you two. He must be running. “I saved you”

            “You’re always right.” Azriel pulls you closer to his chest, and suddenly you two are out in the night, and you breathe in a breath of fresh air. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Azriel warns, and you shake your head.

            “Az….”You open your eyes, and you realize, if you were to die anywhere, you would rather it be in his arms than anywhere else. You stared at him, even with his swollen eye and bloody lip, he still looked like the most beautiful male you had ever seen.” I’m sorry- for making you think I hated you.”

            “Apologize later.” Azriel retorts, and you shake your head. Suddenly, his arms are tightening around you and you’re in the air.        “You’re going to be fine, Y/N. I got you.”         

            You watch the sky behind Azriel seem to blur together, and his eyes finally lock on yours, his eyes the only thing in your focus. “Az…” You whisper. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “You were going to tell them about Lucian, about everything-“

            “Yes I was.” Azriel says, “You are the only thing that matters to me.”

            You could feel yourself become more tired, and your eyelids started to drop. “I’ve always loved you-“

*

            Days passed, and Azriel doesn’t leave your side, waiting for you to wake. Madja explained that it was the mixture of the poison from the arrows, blood loss and head force trauma that was causing you to take your time waking up.

            Cassian and Rhys had both offered to stay with you, even promising to come running as soon as you woke, but Azriel did not move. He sat at your bedside, unmoving, watching each exhale and waiting in agony as he waited for your next breath.

            “it’s not your fault, brother.” Rhys tries to comfort him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Azriel shrugs it off, his eyes never straying from your unconscious form.

            “It is my fault.” Azriel mutters, the guilt eating away at his gut. “I could have asked her out like a normal person, but instead, I arrange for us to go on this mission so we can spend time together and nearly get her killed.”

            “Nobody could know that would happen.” Rhys tries to soothe, and Azriel shakes his head. “Az-“

            “I don’t want to talk.” Azriel dismisses Rhysand, and Rhys sighs, taking a look around the room. He sees the fresh flowers on the night table, and pain-relieving potions, ready for you when you wake. He looks back to Azriel, seeing the bags under his eyes, but knowing there’s nothing that he could do. If that was Feyre in that bed, unconscious, he knew he wouldn’t be as reasonable as Az was being.

            He leaves the room, and Azriel stews in his thoughts, watching your chest rise and fall, your last words to him still ring in the air. “I’ve always loved you.” Cauldron, what was wrong with him? Why did he somehow hurt everything he loved?

            His eyes finally leave you, and his head falls into his hands, pulling his hair. He stays in this position, and against his will, falls into unconsciousness.

            *

            “Hey.” You whisper, poking at Azriel, who’s passed out in the most uncomfortable looking position you’ve ever seen. His wings are pressed to the wall, and he definitely does not fit in your small beside chair. “Az-“

            The speed at which his head moves almost scares you, causing you to clutch your chest. “Oh my- Azriel, are you okay?”   

            “How do you feel?” Azriel is immediately above you, holding your cheek and looking from one eye to the other. “Any pain, dizziness, are you sick to your stomac-“

            “Azriel, I’m fine.” You pull his hand away, keeping it in yours. You had a few moments to yourself while he slept to recounter the events that went down in the night court. You took a closer look at him, noticing the bags under his eyes and the specks across his face- was that dried blood?

            “Please tell me you’ve haven’t been sitting here since we got back.” You whispered, and he looks away. “Az, you look horrible.”

            “As long as your alive, I don’t care how I look.” Azriel’s voice is full of relief, and you slowly move your hand up to touch his cheek. Your fingers run across the ridges of his cheek bone, and then down his jaw.

            “You’re so annoying.” You mutter, and a frown crosses his lips. “No- I just mean that somehow you can get beat up and still look so good.”

            A small smile crosses his lips, but then it’s almost instantly gone. “Really, Az, I’m okay.” He takes a shaky breath, nodding his head. You pat the spot next to you, scooting over and wincing at the pain in your legs.

            He quickly hands you a vial, and you take it, recognizing it as one of Madjas mixtures. “Please, sit with me.” You insist, looking at him. “I..I just want to talk, please.”

            Azriel nods, taking the place next to you and leaning back on the headboard. You two sit in silence for a moment before you finally break it. You look at him, “I…did you mean what you said?”

            “Every word.” Az whispers, and you nod, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingers. He watches you, and you sigh.

            “I am so glad that you are okay.” Your eyes tear up, and you look at him. His brows furrow, and his hands grip yours tightly. “being there- seeing you tied up, it made me realize that although we fight, you are the only person I really care about. You’re the only person who..you’re the only one.” You can’t even make a comprehensive sentence.

            Azriel nods, giving your hand another squeeze. “Y/N, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it now, none of it matters without you.”

            You nod, wiping a stray tear from your eye as you smile weakly at him. “I will never let you get hurt again.” Azriel swears, and you nod. “I would go to the ends of the world to save you.”

            You squeeze his hand, and you both lay back on the headboard. A few, quiet moments later, he’s asleep. You look at the male, the male you love, and also lean back in contentment, closing your eyes and falling asleep right next to him.

[agnireed]

IN THE DARK

summary 🏹 you end up with daryl after the fall of the prison and the isolation starts making you see the older man differently

word count 🏹 6.7k

warnings 🏹 large age gap (reader is 21), daryl is very conflicted in his feelings, using sex to cope with grief, non descriptive smut, daryl doesnt talk much

the blazing campfire was doing very little to thaw the complete icy cold your heart was currently struggling with.

you’d never felt a loss as substantial as this, something so monumental that you couldn’t even process it’s reality. there was no chance you were going to be able to fathom the grief you were carrying now that the prison had fallen along with the majority of your group, now and possibly forever.

your only reminder of what you once had was currently sitting across from you, eyes pointed down at the dirt instead of the fire that was painting his tan skin a deep and earthy shade of orange.

daryl hadn’t spoken a word since you had ran from the prison together and you’d almost grown concerned about the state of your hearing until you finally settled down and focused in on the crackling of the flames and the chirping of the bugs around you.

you had nearly missed him in the initial chaos, running any direction your body carried you without rhyme or reason, simply attempting to flee from the sounds of gunfire and the building roar of walkers. you’d barely made it into the tree line outside the gates when you heard heavy footsteps behind you, spinning around with your knife up only to drop it completely when you saw his concerned face.

he had spared a pained look back at the burning prison before approaching you and wrapping a hand tightly around your wrist, giving you a grunt that let you know it was time to go.

that was the last noise you’d heard him make and the silence was starting to drive you crazy now.

you kept watching him with the same heavy gaze and you didn’t falter even when he was finally looking away from the floor and making eye contact with you. his body locked up even though he could already feel you watching him before he confirmed it and you cocked your head curiously.

daryl hadn’t been somebody you’d put much thought to until this exact moment where he was potentially the last person on earth.

he’d been in the group before you and he was there when rick found you, standing just a few paces behind him with his crossbow permanently drawn and aimed at you like you were a threat with your shaking knees and carved broomstick.

it had made slightly more sense when you were brought back to the small house they were temporarily shacked up in and greeted by the sight of a largely pregnant woman and a small child standing in the doorway.

you didn’t take his precaution personally and it wasn’t long before you were joining the group and finding the prison together, the trauma of clearing it and losing people in the process finishing off the bonding you all needed to be able to trust each other.

he was always somewhere off in the distance watching as people had hushed conversations or heavy glances passed through the hallways, eyes observing and seemingly waiting for something that you weren’t sure of. you’d heard from carol bits and pieces about his past and you quickly learned how skilled he was in numerous areas that you couldn’t begin to understand but your knowledge didn’t go far past that.

you imagined he felt similarly about you and you were more accurate than you even realized.

daryl was aware that you were quick on your feet and silent in a way that even he feared occasionally. sometimes you’d appear behind him or other members of the group and the sudden sound of your voice would almost make him jump.

you had the same youthfulness that beth and maggie carried but the similarities between you stopped there, something much heavier weighing down your shoulders than the sisters could relate to.

he was looking away from you again and you wondered if he was thinking about the same thing you were right now, pondering over how ridiculous it was that you two were paired up out of everybody inside those walls.

on one hand you were extremely grateful to be in the company of somebody that could undoubtedly handle himself but then there was the silence.

the silence was the exact thing that was driving you to stand up from the warmth of the fire and sigh softly before turning on your heels and venturing off into the darkness of the woods around you.

you knew it wasn’t the best idea to go wandering around in the dark so close to where the flames of the prison were still raging and drawing swarms of walkers but you could almost feel the grief taking over any sense and rational left inside you. you felt dead already and there was only a slight warmth going through your blood when you heard the sounds of daryl stomping out the fire behind you.

it was easier to hear him like this, back pressed against a tree as he tried his best to track you in the dark.

you could hear occasional twigs snapping under his heavy weight and ever so often your ears caught a frustrated grunt as he struggled to find you. the human sounds were almost addicting after the prolonged mute period he was presenting you and you held your breath when you heard him nearing you finally.

it must’ve been impossible by now to locate you but you figured somebody as experienced as daryl could atleast tell that you were still nearby, even if it was as simple as feeling your presence.

you’d managed to stay still long enough that your eyes adjusted to the dark just the right amount to be able to make out his frame passing you, shoulders wide and sturdy as he froze in place and looked around frantically again.

you could see the way his chest was rising and falling with trembling breaths, undoubtedly feeling some sort of fear from how shaky his inhale sounded. you knew he wasn’t fearful of his own fate and your head cocked at the idea he was potentially afraid to have lost you.

there was a slight lapse of judgement on your part as you took an instinctive step towards him and although your foot made no outward noise, his head snapped up and in your direction. you wondered if he could see you there now, pressed against the tree and starting to meet his heavy inhales.

neither of you spoke still but then he was turning around fully and walking towards you again, seconds from passing you once more before your hand was reaching out and wrapping around his elbow.

he flinched at the sudden contact but his body lost most of the tension when he realized the hand on his skin was warm and very much alive, understanding it was you before he could even see you.

he took a step sideways and now he was standing in front of you, chest still heaving but now you could tell it was from a much different emotion. he was furious with you for disappearing and yet he still hadn’t said a word, not even about the fact your hand was still touching his arm.

you could see his face clearly now and you were sure the same was true for him, gaze looking over the part in your lips as you took small breaths and the way your eyes seemed wider than normal as you stared up at him.

you’d never been this close to the older man before and you certainly hadn’t touched him outside of the occasionally helping hand up or light grip while riding on the back of his motorcycle. your hold on his arm had turned into your fingers slowly moving up and down in a soothing manner, head cocking again as you waited for him to pull away from you.

he didn’t but you could almost see the struggle in his eyes, locked onto yours almost unintentionally like he just couldn’t bring himself to look away.

your hand smoothed it’s way up his arm even further, taking a few seconds to squeeze and rub at the tensing muscles of his bicep. you were suddenly reminded of his strength, something that was easy enough to ignore when you were able to chalk it up to being a young girl with hormones that didn’t have a place to go.

it was simple enough to be entranced by the sight of him digging graves or working on his bike in those sleeveless shirts he was so fond of, an older man already gruff to the world long before it had fallen apart.

you were able to feel little guilt for staring longer than you probably should have, always fixing your gaze back to where it was supposed to be as you busied yourself with the task for the day or just quick enough to avoid getting caught watching him by somebody else.

it was strikingly obvious now that there was no more distractions and certainly nobody who would be able to judge you.

you could feel his eyes still on your face even though yours was locked on the sight of your hand wrapping around his arm, letting it remain there for a few seconds longer before you were moving it up to his hair. he finally released a sound at this and the low grunt that fell from his lips lit up a heat in you that felt almost dangerous.

every part of you was suddenly screaming that you needed to do whatever possible to keep that heat growing higher and higher, pushing it until it was hopefully reaching the painful ice that had completely taken over your heart.

he was tenser now but not enough that he could stop you from softly pulling his head down towards your shoulder, feeling his hair touch your skin at the same moment you were turning and whispering into his ear. the desperation caused you to speak despite the overwhelming risk that he would leave you there alone with the dying heat as soon as he remembered who he was in the dark with.

“you can touch me too” your voice was so quiet that you almost didnt hear it but you knew he had judging by the way his entire body locked up at the way you practically purred.

you let him lift his head just enough that he could look into your eyes again and you felt another surge of panic at the hesitation his face held, your free hand immediately landing on his chest and rubbing downwards on his stomach to try and distract him from the obvious issue with what you had just said.

another thing you had learned about daryl since meeting him was that he was a good man.

rude and abrasive were the easiest words to describe him but it was undeniable that he was one of the best hearts your group could offer. he was devoted and loyal and there was very little he wouldnt do for the people he cared about.

all this had been something you admired a few months ago but now you were overwhelmingly frustrated by just how good he was proving to be. you could think of many men that would kill to be in the postion he was in now, alone in the dark with a young girl who was clearly longing to feel just about anything.

it made your nose automatically scrunch up to imagine any of those men here with you now instead of him and he mustve misread your sudden expression because you could feel him going to pull away from you, a panicked breath leaving your lips as you tugged him back harder than you had meant to.

your back was hitting the tree harshly and you barely had time to wince at the bark cutting into your shirt before he was falling into you, clearly unintentional. he froze up again when he heard the gasp you let out at the feeling of his chest pressing against yours and your hand in his hair tightened automatically.

he surprised you by not pulling away or distancing himself and you met his gaze again, giving him an encouraging nod as you gently tugged at his arm in an attempt to pull it away from his side. he gave in to your small nudges but still didnt touch you like you were longing for, instead just watching you as you let out soft whines and tried to get his hand to rest against you in any way.

“please.” it was the softest plea you could muster and the sound went directly to his defense, crumbling it almost completly as your wide eyes started to tear up. he was completely baffled that you were being brought to tears from how needy you were, desperate to be touched by him to the point that you were nearly forcing it.

finally he was caving in just enough to attempt to calm you down and you let out a shaky breath when his hand was landing on your side, feeling the dip of your waist and averting his gaze from yours now that he was responding to your advances.

your mouth parted again when he was squeezing your side almost absentmindely, massaging the soft flesh and letting out a low noise from the back of his throat when you tugged him impossibly closer. he was tightly pressed into you now and you could feel his entire body encaging yours against the tree, legs shifting to allow him more access to slot himself between them.

your hand was nearing frantic as you gripped his wrist and forced him to touch you more, sliding it over your lower back and angling yourself until it was touching your ass. he tensed up again but the high pitched whine you let out was almost enough for him to forget the issue at hand, worsening when your head was landing on his shoulder and your hands were gripping his upper arms like you were losing your balance over a simple touch.

he couldnt help himself now, it was simple human curiosity that led him to squeeze your ass in his first direct move. the action pulled you against him even more and slightly lifted you off the ground from the accidental force of it, another grope instinctively following when he felt your heavy breath against his neck and the way you shivered.

your hips were moving in small waves now, one of your hands back in his hair so you could force his gaze to meet yours again.

he seemed so cold as he watched you and the lack of emotion on his face did nothing but light the fire in you even more as a new desire to make him feel good emerged, his hand still gripping your ass while the other settled smoothly on your waist.

your shirt had ridden up as it got stuck against the tree bark and you felt the rough skin of his thumb smooth over your bare side, a cry leaving you at the feeling. he automatically shushed you and it was the closest you’d came to hearing his low voice in days, eyes watering as you nodded obediently and bit your lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

he was fully groping you now and your hips were rocking against him at a pace that was stealing the breath from your lungs, even more so when you were lifting your leg and resting it against his waist easily.

his core was pressing against yours and even though he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t stopping you either. you were practically using him for your pleasure and the thought made you cry out again.

this time he didn’t have to shush you because you were using your grip in his hair to pull his mouth to yours, whining as soon as your lips connected. he tensed up but you almost sobbed at the idea of him not responding to your advances and thankfully he did.

his mouth moving against yours was more intense than anything else you’d done and now the whines were impossible to hold back, forgetting about the loss you were feeling or the fact you were completely exposed to the world around you.

any potential danger wasn’t on your mind anymore and all that mattered was that you weren’t alone and you were still alive, heat fully building now as you kissed daryl and relished the feeling of his hands on you.

then it was gone as quickly as it came and you felt yourself completely ice over when he was suddenly gone, head so dizzy you almost thought he just completely vanished before you realized he had just stumbled backwards into the dark in front of you.

you knew he hadn’t left you, both because he would never do something like that and also because you could hear his raspy breaths a few feet away.

there was no confusion flooding through you because you knew exactly why he had stopped kissing you, the same reason he was currently storming off back towards where your abandoned fire was still dying out.

you waited a few seconds before you followed him, just long enough that you could still hear his footsteps without risk of ending up anywhere near him.

you weren’t stupid and you understood the mistake you had just made, especially with somebody as testy as daryl. you’d seen the way he locked up whenever carol rested her hand on his shoulder and it was obvious that he considered everyone he met a threat until given valid reason not to.

and then there was the issue of him being a good man.

daryl may come from a bloodline of men who would have no issue pressing a girl over twice their age younger than them against a tree but he wasn’t proud of that gene pool and he wasn’t going to start joining them now.

you felt guilty as you watched him from the tree line, throwing the half burnt logs roughly back onto the ashes with his face turned up in frustration and possible disgust. you didn’t join him even when the flames were back and a cold shutter was running over you, staying there in the shadows and longing for another warmth.

——

any hope of daryl choosing to forget about what happened and act normal was quickly lost when he woke you up by tossing a few loose rocks in your direction.

you had jumped awake and frantically searched your surroundings for any threat, freezing when your eyes landed on him standing there and glaring at you. he had looked the exact same since the fall of the prison but his shoulders were rigid with something else now.

you weren’t at all shocked by the fact that he hadn’t left you there, still feeling assured in knowing he wouldn’t do that to you no matter how upset he was with you.

he stood there, frozen in place, as you quickly gathered your little belongings into the small backpack you’d managed to grab during the chaos. there was an air of impatience around him that you didn’t want to test so you went as fast as you could and looked at him expectantly when you finished.

there was no mention to where you were going and you didn’t bother asking any questions, following him back into the woods blindly.

daryl walked for hours with no rest and you used all of your willpower to avoid requesting a break, keeping your exhausted pants and breaths for air as quiet as you could. he never once glanced back to make sure you were keeping up and there was periods of time where you almost lost him due to the distance between you.

at first you thought you were somehow managing to catch up every time but you quickly realized that he was stopping to wait for you.

the guilt you had felt was subsiding now as you assumed he was punishing you. you glared daggers into his back and started to purposely take your time, dragging your feet over noisy piles of leaves and sending decayed logs sprawling across the forest floor.

it took him a few hours to start sending glares back in your direction once he pieced together that your clumsy actions were clearly intentional. you both were furious with the other without really knowing why and the heavy emotion partnered with exhaustion was getting to you quicker than you realized.

“damnit girl pick up your feet.” his voice ripping through the forest completely threw you off your pace and you genuinely nearly tripped over a loose branch. straightening up just in time to see his concerned expression snap back into a glare.

“maybe if we took a break i could.” you were quick to argue back like the fact this was your first conversation in days wasn’t clouding your mind and he scoffed at your excuse.

daryl knew you well enough to know you weren’t the type to be clumsy when you were tired and that the crease in your eyebrows wasn’t a common sight. he was finding it hard to think of a rebuttal that wouldn’t reveal that level of familiarity and he settled on a mean scoff.

“do you even know where we are going?” your hands were thrown out from your sides in frustration and he watched you as you let out a humorless laugh. “is this your entire plan? walk ourselves to death?”

the jabs may have been just your anger spewing out whatever you could think but it was hitting him somewhere he didn’t know you could access. it wasn’t lost on him that you were looking to him now the same way everyone looked towards rick, although one life was way less of a responsibility than what the sheriff had taken on.

although he was beginning to question if that was true.

his lack of answer seemed to annoy you further and you wish you could’ve stopped yourself from talking but the embarrassment from his rejection and overall exhaustion was clearly affecting your impulse control.

“if you’re going to bore me to death at least let me get a drink first.” your tone was so harsh that he almost didn’t recognize it and his lip turned up in a snarl.

“ain’t even old enough to drink.” he was mumbling and turning to continue his mindless walk into the trees but you were quick with your reply.

“you know damn well how old i am daryl.” your sentence was harmless enough but the way you said it made his skin crawl, heavy implication that he had put thought into your young age.

you were embarrassed as soon as you said it especially since as far as you were aware, it wasn’t true. you had no knowledge to the fact that daryl had spent countless nights thinking about your age and wondering if you thought about him that way too. he had caught you staring a few times and watched a little harder next time you were in the room, lingered a little longer to try and gauge your thoughts.

you were a completely mystery to him and now it felt like he was an open book to you.

did you really know how hard it was for him to be around somebody as tempting as you? was it that obvious that guilt was eating him alive for even considering a world where you’d want him as badly as he did you?

his body was frozen in place as your words hit him harshly and you were so focused on your own humiliation that you didn’t even consider his strange reaction.

“look can we just…” your voice was breaking and trailing off in a pathetic way that only furthered your embarrassment and you sighed. “can you look at me?”

at first you thought that he might ignore you all together, actually wondering if he’d just stand there like that until you gave up and wandered away to find your eventual death. you let out a breath of relief when he was turning halfway to glance at you and the conflicted look on his face was different than the anger you had expected.

“im sorry that i made you feel weird but you’re the only person i have left.” you were talking without thinking and it was the first time he heard you sound so unsure of yourself, shifting in place restlessly. “i really don’t want to fight with you.”

he didn’t say anything for a long time but the fact he hadn’t immediately gotten defensive was enough for you to feel a little relief and it was only furthered by the small head nod he gave you.

“better move. suns setting.”

——

you hadn’t noticed the sky turning into a pale orange when he had mentioned it but he was as accurate as always and in less than an hour there was a dark haze obscuring your vision again.

this time daryl was more proactive and it turns out he did actually have a plan and he wasn’t just walking in circles, leading you through the woods until you were reaching a small town that was more accurately just a few run down shops and a bar.

the place looked properly picked over but daryl wasn’t stopping and looking in any of the windows or broken down cars, clearly more focused on settling down for the night rather than finding stuff to take along with you.

you almost laughed when he was leading you towards the bar at the end of the street, almost forgetting what you had said about wanting a drink to cure your boredom.

you knew there wouldn’t be anything left over on the inside but the irony was still apparent as you climbed up onto a stool and tapped impatiently on the bar top. daryl was somewhere behind you, messing around with the door locks and pulling tables in front of it to block the entrance.

you looked over your shoulder to see him glancing at you, possibly half amused at the way you rolled your eyes and checked a non existent watch.

he surprised you by actually crossing the room and getting behind the bar, searching through the cabinets and drawers for actually helpful things but also coincidentally allowing you to continue having your fun.

“so… bartender.” your voice was higher than normal and you’d suddenly gained a much thicker southern accent than your usual light drawl. “im new to town. anything fun to do around here?”

he was finally turning to look at you and you watched him curiously as he tossed an abandoned washcloth over his shoulder like he’d been drying glasses, your gaze growing heavier when he put both of his hands flat on the side of the bar and leaned slightly forward.

“pretty dead this time of year.” his voice was low and his face was as emotionless as always but his joke surprised you into a loud and sudden burst of laughter, laying your head down flat on the wood for a few seconds.

you’d never necessarily considered daryl funny but the vibe had certainly shifted from your harsh argument earlier and you couldn’t help but smile at him when you finally picked your head back up, resting your chin on your palm.

he didn’t speak for a while but he didn’t seem like he was planning to shy away from your gaze. maybe daryl was more confident after the sun had set, the bar barely lit outside of a few oil lamps he had apparently flicked on while you were playing pretend.

“what if this was how we met?” you didn’t feel stupid as you spoke even though a few hours ago you would’ve willingly ran into a tree before asking something like that to him. he didn’t respond but you noticed his grip on the bar tightening until his knuckles were white. “would you be at a bar like this?”

at first he didn’t respond and once again you felt that fear creep up, the isolation of his silence lingering in the back of your mind. then he was chewing on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head.

“nah.” it was low and gruff but it was something, almost everything to you and you were leaning even further off your seat and into your palm. “ain’t paying for shitty beer.”

you nodded at his answer and it actually made a lot of sense to you that he was the type of guy who’d rather drink at home but you wanted to pout at the fact he wasn’t playing along with you and your overactive imagination. he could see the disappointment flickering across your face but your eyes were lighting up before he could try to fix it.

“but we are here right?” you start slowly like you’re trying to paint the same picture for him that you’re able to see, maybe with some music playing instead of the sounds of walker growls in the distance. he doesn’t say anything and you take his silence as permission. “and im sitting on this stool, babysitting some shitty beer.”

you slightly mocked his accent as you repeated his words back to him and he scoffed out a laugh at the sound of your thick and over exaggerated recreation of it.

your mouth turned up at the sound of him laughing but it quickly seized when you were sliding your jacket off your arms.

daryl knew what you were wearing underneath, he’d felt the warm skin you were showcasing last night around this time even and yet he still wasn’t prepared for the image of it. he’d seen you in less if he actually thought about it but the small tank top wasn’t necessarily the point rather than the picture you were successfully painting now.

he could actually imagine the two of you at the bar in some other world, you dressed in something that would keep his eyes on you while you pretended to like the drink some asshole had ordered for you.

it was easier to forget the fact you hadn’t been able to drink before the end of the world and this was probably your first time in an actual bar when you were looking at him like that.

he wondered briefly if you meant to be as intimidating as you were sometimes, especially now as you smoothly slid off the stool while keeping your eyes locked on his. you answered his silent question by stopping to flick off one of the oil lamps as you walked towards his side of the bar.

the process continued as you disappeared with the light just to come back again under the glow of the next lamp before once again darkening it

there was a sane part of him that was screaming about this not being the time or the place, reminding him how much was constantly at stake. this was dangerous, you were dangerous and in more ways than one.

especially now that all the lights were off and you were suddenly right in front of him again, not quite as dark or close as it had been yesterday but enough for him to understand that you were once again wanting something from him that he could not give.

your hands were back on him and smoothing over his chest and arms, a repeat of events but this time there was confidence in the way you were moving. you barely hesitated before tangling your hand in his hair and pulling him closer to your lips and he didn’t resist the movement, staring down at you with that same blank look on his face that drove you to insanity.

he flinched back as far as your hands would allow when you went to kiss him, rocking on your tiptoes for a second before landing flat on your feet and pouting.

“it’s only us left in the entire world.” your whispered statement was as much reality as it was an exaggeration but he understood the point you were making before you spelled it out. “nobody will ever know.”

it was ridiculous how much your demeanor shifted under the thinly veiled mask of darkness.

this time when you were making an attempt, he was allowing you to kiss him. the pace of it was feverish from the beginning and you felt slightly smug with some solid proof that he had been wanting this as much as you had, regardless if that had started last night or long beforehand.

he wasn’t needing a guiding hand to touch you anymore and you sighed into his mouth when his rough hands were on your lower back, pulling you into him harshly like he had momentarily forgotten his own strength.

that wasn’t something you were capable of and your entire body felt like it was on fire as you remembered the things he was capable of, the things you’d seen him do to protect the ones he cared about. it wasn’t lost on you that you were included in that and your mouth felt bruised and swollen when you momentarily stopped kissing him in favor of pressing your lips along his jaw.

“god you could hurt me.” your voice was a single breath and he was opening his eyes to look at you, making brief eye contact whenever you came up from his hot skin. his gaze was heavy and alarmingly emotional, almost like he was fearing what you would say for one reason or another. “but you won’t, such a good man.”

you could tell the praising words bugged him so you didn’t object when he was grunting and kissing you again, affectively shutting you up while sparking your interest in putting your tongue in his mouth.

he was painfully curious where you’d learned to kiss so dirty, the idea of you wasting it on some idiot highschool boy getting under his skin for some reason. you were simultaneously hoping you were doing everything right and pushing yourself backwards up onto the counter to try to seem more bold.

your hands were clawing at the wood to try to get a good grip and hoist yourself up but luckily he was paying attention, easily lifting you by your waist and placing you there like it was nothing.

daryl still couldn’t see you but now he could feel your legs wrapping themselves around his middle and pulling him forward until his core was pressed against yours, drinking in the sound of your whines when you realized the position you’d put yourself into.

now you could feel that he was turned on and the knowledge was dangerous to your growing ego, still longing to hear another sound from him or to get him to fully snap and take you like you wanted.

his silence remained steely and you figured he wasn’t going to dare speak and risk putting himself too presently in the situation, bad enough that he was kissing your lips and pressing you into the bar top like some horny teenager.

he knew he had a responsibility now and before the end of the world, a moral code that didn’t stop just because the laws did. he knew you were legally an adult and aged even more by the things you’d had to go through but it didn’t stop the fact that he was over twice your age and the only person you had left, something that was settling uncomfortably in his skin.

is that the reason you were doing this, slipping your hand down the front of his chest until you were tugging at the rough leather of his belt?

“stop thinking so much.” your voice was still as breathy as it was before but it sounded firmer now, wanting him to hear your words. he rested his forehead against yours as you undid his belt and the narrow glare of his gaze was making your head spin. “i want this, want you.”

daryl tried his best to heed your advice, listen to the pure lust dripping from your voice as you told him what any man would want to hear from something as beautiful as you. he ducked his head into your neck when you finished removing his belt and he tried not to be too hasty as he roughly pulled down your low rise jeans.

he weirdly hadn’t put much thought behind what you’d look like without clothes despite his concerning amount of time spent fantasizing about different scenarios.

maybe you’d find him stupid if you knew he more often pictured you sending a youthful smile his way or grasping onto his hand when you were scared rather than what it would be like to take you to bed (or the top of an old bar counter).

you’d most likely laugh in his face if you knew how badly he wanted to protect you, feeling a heavy darkness low in his gut at the thought of you in danger.

he was thinking this like your hand wasn’t back in his hair while you did your best to pull his jeans down with your heels, pulling him back into a kiss and trying to bring him back to the present moment. you were slightly pained at how much he was clearly overthinking but you were too far gone into your desire to let it stop you from having him.

it was easier for him to get out of his head when you were whining louder and louder as he entered you, tugging at his hair and clawing at his back to hear another pained grunt from him at the feeling of your nails on his skin.

there was a lack of words from both of you now even though you had plenty to say, longing to catch your breath long enough to tell him how good he felt. or rather ask him about what he was feeling, coerce him with your tightness so he was less likely to regret what you were doing.

you wanted to make sure he knew that you weren’t settling for your idea of the last man on earth, detail how much you liked the lowness of his weathered voice and how rough his hands felt as he fumbled to grab onto any bare skin of yours he could find.

there was no part of you that was ignoring the clumsy way he dragged you closer to the edge of the counter as you both started to reach your peak, desperation causing an obvious fever in him that was making him act more impulsively.

no regret surged through you as you finished around him, bringing him back into another bruising kiss with slower rocks of your hips to try to urge him to come undone too.

daryl was completely frozen after and you almost didn’t want to open your eyes to search the dark for the look on his face, preferring to stay in the hazy moment with him still inside of you and not yet closing back off at the realization of what you’d done, what he’d done to you.

his age was showing again in the way he was still careful with you afterwards despite his inner turmoil, pouring some of your last bits of water onto the cleanest rag he could find to help clean you up and even pulling you further off the counter so he could button your jeans for you.

it was almost romantic if it wasn’t for the hovering knowledge that what had happened was technically a mistake by all moral standards.

you’d instinctively reached for his hand as he cleared his throat awkwardly and went to back away from you, letting it linger between your two bodies as you slid off the bar and stood there in front of him.

the ashamed look on his face was expected but he was mildly surprised to see the wide eye stare you were sending back, peering up at him like he had hung the moon and the stars that were lighting your faces through the dusty windows.

you had plenty of time for him to shut you out and deal with the inward battle about the lines you’d crossed together but you weren’t going to give up that easily, squeezing his rough palm and following behind him like it was completely typical behavior for the two of you.

your heart was thawed out knowing he’d come around eventually, even if it was only in the late hours of the night where it was easiest to pretend you were the last people on earth.

[https-bakugo]

"Was I just the fucking NOTES guy to you??" Part Three / (k.bakugo x GN! Reader) (Written)

♡ cw / tw : no more angst.

Bakugo was a smart man.

He knew things that others didn't - and naturally, he caught onto things that others couldn't.

Bakugo was a man who used what he knew and substituted what he didn't. He was resourceful, which means he was useful and that meant he was needed.

He was intelligent, gifted and all the different kinds of things that made people jealous of his inevitable success.

He grew up with a quirk. A powerful quirk. He was told that from a young age, Katsuki Bakugo would grow up to be something incredible. To be one of the most influential heroes the world has ever seen.

-

Bakugo had everything he had ever wanted handed to him. Here he was, twenty five, and one of the greatest heroes Japan had ever seen.

And yet, despite holding the world in the palms of his hands. It wasn’t enough. He needed something more. 

You. 

His highschool love. The one thing that slipped through his fingers. It was nine years ago. 

Nine long, excruciating years.

Though he was too late. He figured out all your cute and cheesy hints, too late - made all the right plans, too late - reached for your longing hand, too late - ached for your touch - dreamt of your lips sliding against his own… simply too late.

He had tried to shoot his shot back then but he was much too late.

But it had been nine years.

Nine whole years since he saw you. And according to Deku, five years since the both of you had broken up.

Surely now, surely now he had his chance. His opening. It was obvious he was still pining for you. 

His heart was yours.

He knew that.

Kirishima knew that.

Deku knew that.

You, knew that.

You knew.

Which is how he ended up finding himself, his lips pressed against yours - just like how a younger Katsuki only dreamt of doing - as he pressed you up against his bedroom wall. 

How did he manage to get himself stuck in this situation? 

He didn't remember.

And he didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t care. It really didn't matter either.

His friends were throwing a party - that’s right. Something about celebrating his “heroic success” or whatever.

Something about inviting his old classmates.

Something about inviting you.

Something about seeing you again, standing there like you were the only person in the room.

It was like the rest of the world melted into nothing as Katsuki stared at you. He didn't realise how much more... how much more you were.

It wasn't more in a bad way.

Not at all.

More. You were just so much. More. He could barely think - let alone place his messed up, jumbled thoughts into coherent words. It was like just the mere glimpse of you had him going insane, a mess of flushed cheeks and racing hearts- and short breaths- and everything. He felt sick, like he was going to hurl all over the carpet but in a good way, y’know?

His palms were sweaty and Katsuki’s head spun. All the lights were too bright and the music was too much. His legs felt like jelly and… shit - were you looking at him? 

Looking right at him with those drowning eyes of yours? 

Smiling at him with that godforsaken smile of yours?

Taking his scarred and calloused palm against the soft skin of your own hand?

Katsuki could write a poem about your beauty - no, he could write a million. He could strip the trees of their skin and use the charcoal as a pencil and exhaust the earth’s crust of its natural life, and still - still he couldn’t capture you. 

Your raw essence.

Your brilliance.

The way you shine and shimmer.

The way your eyes crinkle- and your breath gets stuck in your throat. The pads of your fingertips and the softness of your collarbones, and the dip and curve of you back and- and- and- 

God, he was smitten.

And god.

Katsuki was going to die.

He was going to die again and it was all your fucking fault.

Fucking hell. It was always your fault. 

All of it. 

Everything was your fault.

He pushed himself harder, all because of those melodic words you used to sing to him. How you looked up to him when you were teenagers. 

He worked on himself because you had told him you liked seeing the parts of him that nobody else had.

"I want to see the parts of you that nobody else has."

There was no way in hell that sentence was platonic. God he was such a fucking idiot back then, it was so fucking obvious you liked him. So fucking obvious.

And he missed it.

Like the idiot he was back then.

But he wasn’t going to lose you once more. He would rather tear out his own spinal cord - tendons, ligaments, flesh and bloody bone - then let you slip in between his fingers again. 

-

Katsuki’s breath was hot against your lips, his skin was buzzing with life and his heart pounded in his ears. He felt like if he took a step back he was going to stumble and fall. You looked so… ethereal. In his arms with your lips swollen and your cheeks flushed.

Katsuki leaned down and brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, his gaze softened as a soft smile tugged at his cheeks. 

“I love you.” 

He whispered, voice small. 

“I always have.”

That sense of… being wanted for so long crushed you like a new fish being thrown into its new fish tank- but it was home. 

I’m home.

Here in Katsuki’s arms. The smell of caramel, the feeling of his pulse throbbing against your palm, his imperfect and scarred flesh-

“Perfect.” You whispered under your breath.

“You’re perfect Katsuki.” You mumbled, sliding your lips across his, nails digging into the back of his shirt as he slid a strong hand under your leg, pulling his lips away only to latch onto the soft curve of your neck.

“I love you.” He sighed.

“Never leave me. Never again.”

Part One / Part Two

Everyone thnak @somnbul for helping OH MY GOD TERES A MOZZIE ON MY ARM SCRAMAINFOANFAJSNFOWAUFA

Taglist: @luvseraphh - @tlissablr - @havemyheartt - @smelliottle - @sakurayashiro - @peachesvault

Additional Mutual Tags (I want to hurt you lawl): @rueclfer - @tokeposts

© HTTPS-BAKUGO. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

[humaling]

Hold Me steady.

pairing: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: how do you watch the person you love most break in front of you—knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it?

warnings: angst to fluff, a small kiss hehe

word count: 4.8k

not proofread!

The plan was simple: keep the girl from District 12 and her husband alive until Plutarch got you all out of the arena. Every move, every alliance, was carefully calculated to ensure survival.

But now, that plan was unraveling before your eyes.

Finnick had disappeared into the woods, chasing after Katniss the moment she took off. The jabberjays had started their cruel symphony, their shrieks laced with the voices of loved ones lost—or worse, suffering. You knew it wasn’t real. Finnick did, too. But that hadn’t stopped Katniss from running toward the sound of her sister’s cries, and it hadn’t stopped Finnick from chasing after her.

Now, standing alone by the water’s edge, you clenched your fists, your patience thinning with each passing second. The arena was a trap, every moment meant to break you, and you couldn’t afford these kinds of reckless outbursts. Cooperation was your only chance at getting out alive, and right now, it felt like emotions were pulling your group apart faster than the Gamemakers ever could.

The distant echoes of the jabberjays still rang through the trees, but what unsettled you more was the silence that followed. No Finnick. No Katniss.

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around your weapon.

You never signed up to be a babysitter when the Third Quarter Quell was announced. You hadn’t signed up to go back in, either. But when it came down to choosing a tribute from District 4, there was no real choice at all.

Mags was too old. She’s barely recovering from the stroke she had two summers ago, and if the Games didn’t kill her, the strain of simply being here would. Annie? She was fragile in a different way. She was a survivor, yes, but the arena had left her mind in pieces, and everyone in District 4 knew she wasn’t in the right headspace to survive it again. That left you. The only one strong enough, capable enough, sane enough to go through it all over again.

Finnick didn’t see it that way.

You felt his eyes on you the second you stepped forward, volunteering before Mags could. She had tried—of course she had—but you gently held her back, murmuring that it was all right, that she needed to stay and look after Annie. The poor girl was already breaking, barely able to breathe the second her name was called.

Finnick’s head snapped toward you so fast it nearly made you flinch. It was as if he thought his glare alone could undo what had just happened. But then they called his name, too. Whatever protest had been forming on his lips vanished. His expression didn’t waver, but you saw the shift—the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

He didn’t like this.

He made that clear from the moment you boarded the train, frustration rolling off him in waves. First, it was sharp words thrown like daggers over dinner—accusations, anger, his voice sharp enough to cut. Then, silence. The kind that settled thick in the air, heavy and suffocating. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. Not even after the parade when you returned to your apartment in the Tribute Center, the golden glow of the Capitol’s skyline mocking you through the window.

If Haymitch hadn’t come in and told you about the plan, you were convinced Finnick wouldn’t have spoken to you again until the arena.

You weren’t unfamiliar with that silence.

You had endured so much since you left that arena alive—forced to perform for the Capitol, to obey Snow’s orders. But it wasn’t enough for them. It never was. You had to sell your body, let them use you like you were nothing more than a toy, an object for their entertainment. It was disgusting, the way human beings were capable of treating others like that. You couldn’t understand it, couldn’t stomach it. It left you shaking, disoriented, closed-off to anyone who tried to help, to understand.

Finnick was relentless. No matter how much you pushed, no matter how cruel your words became, he refused to leave you alone. He lingered at your side like an anchor, steady and unrelenting. And when you shut yourself away from the world after your Victory Tour, he came up with his own solution—moving in with you, forcing his way into your life just so he could make sure you were still breathing.

You never really liked Finnick when you first met him—even started to hate him the second you stepped out of the arena. He never warned you about what happens when a person is pushed to the brink of death, never told you that survival meant throwing away every last piece of yourself. Every moral, every shred of dignity. You had to learn that the hard way.

And you hated him for it.

But hate had a way of twisting into something else. Something softer. Something more than like, a lot like love.

You knew where the line was drawn between you and your mentor. Finnick only had this attachment toward you because you were the first Victor he brought home. That was all. It had to be.

But it was hard—hard to ignore the weight of his presence, hard to pretend you didn’t care when you’d spent so many nights at his side, listening to his nightmares break him apart. Hard to forget the way he clung to you, desperate and exhausted, when the sobs wracked his body between shallow breaths.

A sigh slips past your lips as you tap your foot against the sand, frustration settling deep in your chest. Johanna should have been back by now. You don’t have time to sit around and wait, not when every second wasted could mean something going wrong. When a minute turns into five, you’ve had enough. Without another word, you step into the jungle, Peeta and Beetee following close behind.

The air is thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as you weave through the trees. You move quickly, your mind already cycling through worst-case scenarios, but when you finally spot Johanna standing in a clearing, you hesitate. She isn’t moving. Her posture is rigid, her brown hair damp and sticking to her forehead, but what makes your stomach twist is the way she stares ahead, eyes fixed on something unseen.

“Johanna?” You call her name, voice sharper than intended. “Where are they?”

She turns toward you, but the unease rolling off of her is immediate. She looks like she wants to say something but can’t. Seconds drag on in silence, and your patience starts to thin. Finnick and Katniss should be here. You can’t hear them, can’t see them. Something is wrong. You try to push past Johanna, but the moment you take a step forward, a sharp pain explodes across your forehead. It’s like slamming into a brick wall—except there’s nothing in front of you. The force knocks you back, sending you stumbling before you manage to catch yourself.

“They’re still in there,” Johanna says, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

Peeta steps in between the two of you, his frown deepening as he glances between you and the empty space ahead. You rub at your forehead, barely registering the ache as confusion clouds your thoughts. Peeta, still frowning, reaches forward, his fingers pressing against something unseen. His breath hitches as realization dawns on him.

“What’s with the wall?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you can respond, movement flickers through the dense jungle beyond the barrier—fast, desperate. Your heart lurches in your chest as you see them.

Finnick and Katniss. Still inside.

“Katniss!”

Peeta’s voice is desperate, thick with panic as he slams his hand against the invisible wall. His palm smacks against the unseen force again and again, his breathing uneven as he tries to get her attention. He keeps calling her name, his voice cracking as he pleads for her to hear him, but she doesn’t react the way she should. Her eyes dart wildly, but there’s no recognition. No relief. The realization settles like a stone in your gut.

“They can’t hear us.” The words barely leave your lips, the weight of them pressing down on your chest as you watch Katniss’s frantic gaze finally meet yours before moving to Peeta’s.

You see the way her eyes glossed, running forward to Peeta. She helplessly bangs against the wall, screaming something at Peeta who continues to give her assurance despite the fact she can’t hear him.

Tears streak down her face, her expression twisted in agony as she pounds helplessly against the barrier. Her mouth moves, screaming something you can’t hear, her hands pressing against the force that keeps her from reaching Peeta. Whatever she’s saying, whatever she’s trying to tell him, it’s lost to the cruel trick of the arena. Peeta doesn’t stop trying, though. He keeps talking, keeps reassuring her, keeps reaching out even though she’ll never hear a word of it.

Your chest tightens, but your focus shifts as you search for someone else. Your heart pounds as your eyes scan the jungle, moving past Katniss and Peeta as fear digs its claws into your stomach. Then, through the gaps in the trees, you find him.

Finnick stumbles through the thick undergrowth, his body tense as the birds swarm him. Their sharp cries echo around him, their wings beating wildly as they dive at him again and again. His arms are raised, shielding his face from the relentless attack, but it’s not the physical assault that’s breaking him—it’s the sounds. The voices. You see the way his shoulders shake, his hands pressing against his ears as if he’s trying to block out something far worse than the flurry of wings around him.

Without thinking, you drop to your knees, your hands trembling as they press against the invisible wall separating you. The smooth, unyielding surface is cold beneath your fingertips, offering no way through, no way to reach him. He’s right there, so close that you can see every detail—the way his sea-green eyes are glossy with unshed tears, the deep crease between his brows, the way his body trembles under the weight of something you can’t take away.

A sinking weight settles in your chest, heavier than anything you’ve felt before. You’ve fought beside Finnick. You’ve seen him at his strongest, his most unshakable, and even his most vulnerable But this? This is different from those nights. The Finnick in front of you is breaking apart, unraveling under the weight of something only he can hear.

You press harder against the wall, your fingers digging into nothing, desperate for any way to reach him. But there’s nothing you can do. No way to stop this. No way to pull him out of it.

And that’s what makes your stomach churn, what makes your heart pound against your ribs with something close to panic. Because for the first time since stepping into this nightmare, you realize that you’re helpless. That no matter how much you want to protect him, no matter how badly you want to pull him away from whatever horror the Capitol is forcing him to relive, you can’t do a damn thing.

The hour stretched endlessly, each second dragging like lead through your veins. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest as you watched Finnick unravel before your eyes. He was barely there anymore—his gaze glassy and unfocused as the screams of the jabberjays clawed through the air, you assume. His arms stayed curled protectively over his head, his body shaking under the relentless assault of sound. Each shriek seemed to chip away at him, stripping him down to nothing but raw nerves and desperation.

Katniss wasn’t faring any better. She was curled up on the ground, her silent screams breaking through the humid air as her mind fractured under the weight of it all. Peeta hovered over the barrier, his voice low and frantic as he whispered reassurances she couldn’t hear, his hands grasping the air in a desperate attempt to anchor her. But it was useless. She was too far gone, lost to the terror of the voices echoing through the trees.

And then there was you—down on your knees in the dirt, your eyes fixed on Finnick as helplessness bloomed in your chest like poison.

You hated this. Hated how useless you felt. You were strong, smart, cunning—those were the traits that had kept you alive in your Games, that had protected you through the worst of it. But now? Now you were nothing but a spectator to Finnick’s unraveling. The only person who had ever pulled you back from the edge, the only person who had ever known how to put you back together, was breaking in front of you. And you couldn’t stop it.

You wanted to return the favor—you wanted so badly to reach through that barrier, to grab his face in your hands and pull him back to you. But you couldn’t even touch him. Your fists curled so tightly at your sides that your knuckles burned, white from the pressure. Your jaw ached from how hard you were clenching it, trying to keep yourself from screaming in frustration.

This was cruel. Sadistic.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you lowered your gaze to the dirt beneath you. You hated how fragile you felt, how exposed. Snow had designed this arena to break you, and he was succeeding. Because right now, you weren’t strong, or smart, or cunning. You were just desperate.

You cursed Snow in your head, hatred simmering in your veins as you imagined his cold smile watching from above. If not for him, you and Finnick would be home right now. You’d be down at the beach, your feet buried in the sand as Finnick teased you for being too slow to catch fish. The sun would be on your skin, the salty breeze would be in your hair, and none of this would exist. Just you and him, laughing like the world wasn’t a cruel, rotting thing.

But instead, you were here. On your knees. Watching the person you loved most in the world slip further and further away—and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it.

The moment you caught a glimpse of Peeta stumbling through the jungle, his arms frantically reaching out to pull Katniss into his embrace, your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your head shot up, muscles tensing as instinct kicked in. Without thinking, you reached out for Finnick.

But then you froze.

A low, mechanical hum cut through the tension in the air, sharp and invasive. The sound of the cameras. The Capitol was watching. Snow was watching.

Your breath hitched as you hesitated, your hand suspended mid-air. Vulnerability in the arena was a death sentence. Every moment of weakness was a weapon to be used against you later. Your jaw clenched, fingers curling slightly as you weighed the risk. Did you really want to expose yourself like this—to let Panem see the way your heart stammered in your chest at the sight of him breaking?

But it seemed Finnick had already decided for you.

Strong arms wrapped around your torso, the force of it knocking you slightly off balance as a familiar head pressed into your stomach. You sucked in a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the boy clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in a world of chaos. His breath was uneven, ragged against your skin, and his arms twitched as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold on tighter or let go.

It was such a simple gesture—a basic human need for comfort—but it shattered something in you. Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, your arms automatically sliding around his neck as you pressed him close. His body was tense beneath your touch, his shoulders shaking from the aftermath of whatever the jabberjays had forced him to hear. Your hand slipped into his hair, your fingers threading through the damp strands as you guided his head to the crook of your neck.

“I got you, Finn,” you whispered, your voice soft and unsteady. The nickname slipped from your lips without thought, weighted with familiarity and tenderness you rarely let yourself express. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Finnick’s breath hitched, and his grip on you tightened. His arms locked around you as though he was afraid you’d disappear, his fingers digging into your back with just enough pressure to ground himself. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his face pressing deeper into your neck as if hiding there would make the rest of the world disappear. You felt his lashes flutter against your skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, as though the act of letting go would be too much to bear.

You could feel his heart racing beneath your touch, each frantic beat hammering against your chest. Slowly, carefully, you began to rub small circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. Sweet nothings. Anything that might calm the storm raging inside him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Little by little, you felt the tension start to ease from his frame. His breathing evened out, his trembling less pronounced. He took in your words like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground. Slowly, the chaos that had overtaken him began to fade—not entirely, but enough. Enough for him to feel you. To believe you.

When Finnick finally pulled away from you, the world around you began to creep back into focus. Johanna’s voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and angry as she screamed at the Gamemakers and Snow, her axe swinging dangerously through the humid air. Her curses were vicious, each one laced with venom, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Normally, you might’ve smirked, maybe teased her for the poor attempt at theatrics, but right now, none of that mattered.

Your attention was fixed on Finnick.

He sat on the ground, his broad shoulders slumping forward, his arms resting limply against his knees. His eyes were distant, glassy as he stared at nothing in particular. You could see the hollowness in his gaze, the same vacant expression you’d seen before—but never quite like this. This wasn’t exhaustion. This was resignation.

Katniss was still on the ground nearby, trembling in Peeta’s arms as he stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances. Peeta’s eyes, despite the tension etched into his brow, flicked toward Johanna’s outburst with a flicker of amusement. But beneath it, you could see the worry—the tightness in his jaw as he held Katniss like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

You didn’t bother with them. Your focus stayed on Finnick.

Slowly, you moved to sit beside him. Not close enough to touch, but near enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Your knees brushed the dirt, and you sat quietly, listening to the ragged sound of his breathing. His fingers twitched against his thighs, restless and unsure. His eyes, though unfocused, flickered with emotion—anger, sadness, fear—all bleeding together beneath the surface.

You hesitated, your hand flexing slightly in your lap before you spoke.

“Do you want to go to the beach?” you asked softly. Your voice was light, careful. You didn’t want to push too hard.

Finnick’s head lifted slightly, his gaze shifting toward you. For a moment, he said nothing—just breathed. Then, slowly, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Relief loosened the tension in your chest. Without a word, you rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your palms. You reached down, picking up his trident from the ground before holding it out to him. His fingers hesitated for a beat before curling around the weapon’s shaft. His grip was shaky, but steady enough.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath.

You gave a small nod, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turned toward the path leading to the beach. Your eyes met Beetee’s across the clearing, and he gave a slight nod, silently signaling that it was all right. You offered him a quick smile before you pushed through the thick curtain of leaves and branches.

Finnick trailed behind you, his footsteps quiet but constant. Every few steps, you glanced over your shoulder to make sure he was still there. You hated how your chest clenched at the thought of losing him, of turning around to find only empty space where he should be. The arena had a way of taking things without warning, and you weren’t sure if you could survive losing him too.

Finally, the thick jungle began to thin, the trees giving way to the soft rustle of sand beneath your boots. A salty breeze swept through the air, cutting through the heavy humidity. The soft crash of waves against the shore echoed in the distance, steady and calm.

You stepped through the last curtain of leaves, the blinding white of the beach stretching out before you. The water sparkled beneath the sunlight, shades of blue and green rippling beneath the tide.

Finnick stepped up beside you, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His chest rose and fell, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Slowly, his hand brushed against yours—hesitant, unsure. You didn’t move away.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, listening to the waves.

Finnick’s voice was soft, almost hesitant—a quiet vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. "Can I hold your hand?"

It startled you. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them. There was no teasing lilt, no playful edge. Just quiet sincerity, stripped bare of the charm he usually wore like armor. Your instinct was to deflect, to bat it away with a snarky remark, but something about the way his voice sounded—so small, so unsure—made you pause.

Instead of answering, you let your hand drift toward his. Your fingers brushed lightly against his knuckles, and you felt it immediately—the sharp, almost electric jolt that shot up your arm, tightening your chest. His hand was warm despite the lingering chill in the air, rough with the callouses earned from years of fishing and fighting. He didn’t rush. His knuckles grazed against yours, tentative and slow, as though waiting for permission.

Then his palm shifted beneath yours, fingertips ghosting along the curve of your hand before his fingers slid between yours. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and when he interlocks his fingers with yours, his grip was steady but not possessive. It was as if he were memorizing the feel of your hand—every ridge, every scar—like he needed to commit it to memory in case this moment slipped away.

Neither of you spoke as you moved toward the shoreline, your hands still joined. The sun had started to dip toward the horizon, casting shades of orange and pink across the restless water. The sand was soft beneath your feet, the gentle crash of the waves filling the silence between you. When you reached the water’s edge, you both sank down without a word, letting the tide wash over your legs. Your shoulders pressed together, the solid warmth of him grounding you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you let your guard slip. Your shoulders drooped, the tension you always carried bleeding away as you exhaled. Damn the Capitol. Damn Snow. You knew the cameras were on you. You knew that every quiet touch, every shared glance, would be dissected and weaponized against you later. They’d use this—use him—against you if it suited them. But in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Finnick’s thumb stroked the side of your hand, a gentle back-and-forth that sent warmth unraveling through your chest. You could’ve pulled away. You probably should have. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, resting your temple lightly against his shoulder as the waves lapped at your legs. His hand tightened around yours—not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you that he was there.

And maybe that was why you didn’t care about the consequences. Maybe it was because Finnick was still sitting beside you, still holding your hand even though he could feel how your pulse hammered beneath his fingertips. They could take everything from you tomorrow, but not this. Not him.

Finnick’s breath hitched, his hand tightening slightly around yours as you leaned into him. The weight of your lips against his shoulder was light, barely more than a touch, but the vulnerability behind it cut through the fragile space between you like glass.

His other hand drifted up, resting gently on your knee. His thumb brushed back and forth in slow, soothing strokes, but you could feel the tension in his grip, the restrained tremor in his fingers.

“You were crying,” Finnick repeated, his voice quieter this time. He wasn’t looking at you now—his gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the water met the darkening sky. “I’ve heard a lot of things in the arena. Screaming. Begging. But nothing—nothing—has ever felt like that.”

Your eyes slid shut, your forehead pressing against the warm fabric of his shirt. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because if you did, it would make it real. You could handle pain. You could handle loss. But the thought of being his weakness—that terrified you.

“Finnick,” you murmured, voice low and unsteady.

“I couldn’t get to you.” His voice cracked, the words raw and exposed. His hand left your knee and curled around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath your ear. “I kept running, but the closer I got, the louder you screamed.” His head dipped toward you, his forehead brushing against your temple. “And then I realized you weren’t there. That it wasn’t you. But it still—” His breath shuddered against your skin. “It still felt like losing you.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze catching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His face was so close now, the salt from the sea mixing with the warmth of his breath. Your chest tightened painfully at the raw emotion etched into his features—the quiet devastation beneath his usually effortless charm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

His eyes opened at that, the sea-green of them catching the dying light of the sunset. His gaze was searching, cautious, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You say that,” he breathed, his thumb brushing along the curve of your jaw. “But you don’t know that. No one ever knows.”

You hated how true that was. He was right. You could promise him everything, swear you’d never leave, but this world was designed to tear you apart. Still, you couldn’t sit here and let him believe you’d already slipped through his fingers.

Your hand drifted from his shoulder to his chest, where his heartbeat hammered beneath your palm. Steady. Alive.

“You’re right,” you said softly. “I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.” Your thumb brushed over the hollow dip beneath his collarbone. “But I know that I’m here now. I’m with you. And that’s all that matters.”

Finnick’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the conflict there—the part of him that wanted to believe you and the part that was too scared to let himself. His hand slid to the side of your face, his fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb traced slow patterns along your cheek.

“And what happens when that’s not enough?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

You smiled faintly, your hand sliding up to curl around the back of his neck. “Then we fight. Together.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the ocean filled the silence between you, the steady pull and retreat of the waves. His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips inches from yours. Your eyes flicked downward, toward his mouth, before drifting back up.

You didn’t know which one of you moved first, but suddenly his lips were brushing against yours. A soft, hesitant pressure that made your heart stutter. His hand at the back of your neck tightened slightly, and you leaned in, your free hand sliding up his chest to rest at his shoulder. The kiss deepened, slow and careful, the weight of it grounding you more than any weapon ever could.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling between you. His hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw like he was afraid to let go.

“We survive this,” you murmured. “And then we figure out the rest.”

Finnick’s mouth curled into the faintest smile, but his eyes were still sad, still searching. His hand slipped down to lace through yours again, holding you steady even as the waves threatened to pull you under.

“Together,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand. “Together.”