#I WROTE IT AND HE'S STILL HERE MAKING EYES

[steadybear]

“ 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 “

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧

content warnings: 18+ NSFW, 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, general yandere themes, emotional detachment, gay sex, anal sex, anal penetration, mlm, bl, sexual coercion, dubcon to marriage, semi-public sex, choking, hair-pulling, hatefucking, oral sex (reader receiving), male reader, this is a part 2 that might be important information, semi-stockholm sydrome-y, touch-starved/horny reader

Here's the continuation of a fan favorite, "like lovers do", I'm going to leave the actual plot of the fic a secret so you all can enjoy it while you read!! Special thanks to all the people who left comments basically begging me for a part 2 because that's what truly convinced me to write this LMAOOOO if you're looking for anyone to thank for this they are to blame

Fair warning, the content isn't quite as dark as it was before since a lot of people wanted to see the relationship between the reader and Ayato improve, but I also don't enjoy making the reader character complicit in forced relationships so there will still be a fair bit of resistance.

ONE LAST NOTE: i wrote and rewrote this like seven times, if the plot seems disjointed its cause I basically compiled all the different iterations to make the ultimate part 2 kthxbye

Cold.

It was really cold.

Why did Ayato feel so cold?

His eyes opened blearily, blinking rapidly to bat away the exhaustion. The room was dimly lit, like it always was. What should've been his marital bedroom was devoid of a husband, like it usually was in the morning. Ayato couldn't put his finger on it, but something felt wrong. He should've been used to an empty bed and an empty room by now, but the space still felt... desolate. Everything was in place, nothing had moved, the man was even in the same position he usually slept in. Yet despite all this, he felt cold and alone. Why was that?

He went to sit up, to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but instead of maybe a back ache from sitting up all day, he was confronted with an all-consuming pain shooting up his body. Not only that, he noticed when he peeled the covers off of himself he was completely naked.

Well, that explained why he was cold.

But why did he feel abysmally lonely?

His eyes swept over the room, looking for anything out of place, but he wasn't met with anything unusual. That seemed to be a no-go, but perhaps his memories of the previous night would become clearer if he actually got out of bed. Carefully, he swung his legs over the side of his futon, but was met with a strange numbness in his extremities and another wave of searing pain to shoot up his spine.

Things were only getting stranger the more he investigated, but it seemed his questions would be answered all too soon. The very moment his feet made contact with the ground, the brush of fabric startled him. He wondered if one of his blankets had gotten kicked off the bed in the night, but when he looked down to confirm his suspicions, the memories of the previous night stormed his mind like an angry mob.

'Oh.'

His cheeks automatically lit up a cherry red, realizing the 'suspicious fabric' he'd been stepping on was actually his own yukata. Y'know, the one his husband had taken off of him before they... engaged in a night of passion, for lack of a less vulgar term.

Just a few feet away from his clothing were yours, the same kimono he'd tugged off your shoulders, the same sash he'd watched you untie, the same pair of pants you'd left for work in the previous morning, all in a crumpled pile on the floor. He couldn't remember how the clothing specifically got on the floor, having recalled throwing it somewhere on the futon since the both of you were too impatient to properly undress.

The longer he pondered the happenings of the previous night, the more he lost sight of what he had been doing in the first place. Specifically, what he needed to do for the day. After all, the politics of Inazuma stopped for no god, much less any human.

Still, understanding why he felt so lonely didn't help the fact that he still felt lonely. You had been so open and intimate with him the previous night, did you just consider it to be some obligation you had to fulfill if you wanted to keep your family business going? It certainly didn't feel like you were as emotionally distant the night before. Ayato had basked in the glorious sunlight that was your attention, your affections even. You had not only ticked off the consummation box on the marriage contract, you didn't just stop at one round either.

It felt like he was married for once, not just inviting another guest into his home. He might have always worn his ring, caught sight of the matching one you wore when he caught a glimpse of you in the manor, but he had never felt anything close to the adoration and alert focus you'd showered him in the previous night. Even if it hadn't been exactly what he'd imagined for the night, it didn't change the fact that you had been there, in the bed when he'd fallen asleep.

When you'd first gotten married, the part of the day he looked forward to the most was falling asleep in each other's arms. You hadn't given him that satisfaction, but you not only let him hold you after sex, your own arms were cradling him close to your chest like a baby. He'd gotten to use your heart as a lullaby, to feel the burning hot skin on skin contact, the little circles you traced on the small of his back to help him fall asleep; all of it.

He'd hoped--as his eyelids began to grow heavier than lead--that even if exchanging your vows hadn't been the start of your marriage, perhaps yesterday was the true beginning of your relationship.

He knew it was wishful thinking, having sex for the first wouldn't be some kind of switch that flipped inside of you. You wouldn't start loving him just because the two of you had shared one night together, but he'd hoped it might have been the start of things. He'd hoped more than hope itself that maybe you would just barely crack open the gates to the forest containing the forbidden fruit that was your heart.

If he gave you his body on top of his eternal love and devotion, maybe you'd be open to giving him more than the cold shoulder.

He could feel a dismal sense of disappointment settling in his chest, the prospect of giving you all that he had and still not being enough. Maybe if he thought a little harder, he could come up with something to offer you. You had his heart, his body, his entire being, but maybe there was something else he could offer you. He just didn't know what it was yet.

His train of thought was immediately interrupted when the door to the room slid open.

He scrambled to cover himself with the various comforters laying next to him, not bothering to check who was at the door, but then he was met with a melodious chuckle.

His eyes darted to the doorway.

You were in a new yukata, hair completely drenched, and a used towel thrown over your shoulder. He spied your attempt to hide your smile behind the back of your hand. By now, his flush had died down, but the moment he caught sight of you, it returned tenfold. He burst into an electrifying scarlet and completely froze in his tracks like a nervous deer.

You closed the door behind you shortly after, smothering another laugh at his expense. You coughed behind a closed fist, unable to completely wipe the smug grin off your face. "Good morning."

"I-" Ayato tried to swallow some spit down his unbearably dry throat, just now realizing how parched was. "Good morning."

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, "Sorry if I scared you, I woke up feeling less than clean so I decided an early morning bath would be nice." You started walking towards a hamper of dirtied laundry, tossing your towel in before adding, "I didn't want to wake you up, you seemed exhausted yesterday."

"..."

You could only feel yourself smile wider the longer he struggled to answer. His mouth opened and closed like one of those fat koi fish you spied in town a couple weeks ago. The sly Kamisato Ayato was nothing but a flustered mess just from you walking into the room.

You began to notice a trend in what seemed to make you happy these days.

You tilted your head to the side a bit, pretending to look confused as you asked oh-so-innocently, "What?"

He finally seemed to put his thoughts into words when directly questioned. "Weren't you supposed to leave for work earlier?"

You hummed, crossing your arms as you walked towards him. "I moved my work around to a few of the higher ups." Instead of engaging with him further, you bent down and picked up his discarded sleepwear and your clothes from the previous day.

"Oh, and relax, I took care of your work for the day. I didn't exactly think it'd be proper for the head of the Yashiro Commission to be stumbling around like a newborn fawn in public."

"Please?"

You hummed, lazily tracing circles on his lower back with one hand, the other holding your book open. "I'm only taking care of you for the day, you don't need me here tonight."

You had been suspiciously good to him, willing to do just about anything he asked if he persuaded you enough. As of now, he'd managed to convince you to let him cuddle up to your side while you did your own relaxing. One of his hands lay on your chest next to his face while the other was squeezed beneath him on the futon, balled up in a fist next to his heart.

So, so sweet, you had been to him. So tender and caring and lenient; it made him feel suspicious but he had thought himself to be too cynical. Instead of being ready to be burned, he wanted to fully be able to embrace this beautiful warmth in its entirety.

Still, he knew there would be some kind of caveat.

Everything you did, everything you said, everything you let him do, it was only for today. He knew it from the start, when you'd told him upfront you were willing to support him while he was recovering from your rendezvous in the sheets the previous night. He had you wrapped around his finger, but only for the day.

He traced his finger over the hemline on your top, gingerly ghosting over it. While you were still scanning over the words in the book, it brought him some satisfaction that you were still listening to what he said. "Surely, I won't have to beg you to stay in bed tonight." There was a bashful smile on his features as he poked, "What if I need something in the night? You've been doting on me all day, but my legs are still numb."

You rolled your eyes, flipping to the next page of your book. "You are the head of the Yashiro Commission, you are not delicate or fragile. We have plenty of attendants, should you need anything you're strong enough to leave the bed and call for their assistance."

He made sure to exaggerate his expression as he pouted, stopping the movement of his free hand. "I may be the head of the Commission, but that doesn't mean I'm indestructible. Perhaps I want to be taken care of for once." He closed his eyes and huffed as he pushed his head further into your chest, "I don't sleep well at night when you aren't next to me. I need the rest if I am to make a full recovery come tomorrow."

"You're more than welcome to get your 'restful sleep' now, there is nothing stopping you." You continued to scan over the kanji sprawled across the page in front of you. Your hand stopped tracing its own circles on his back, opting to rest comfortably against the curve of his spine.

He sighed, dramatically. Even though he acted annoyed, he couldn't deny the pacifying qualities of your touch and your attention. It would be stripped from him at the end of the day he glumly realized, but being unable to have your focus on him unequivocally for the past few months truly weighed on him.

He wanted your eyes to only look at him. He wanted your arms around him every night, every single day. He wanted to be able to indulge himself in your company after work like a glutton. Every single ounce of your remaining time would be spent with him in his own little ideal fantasy world, but with every rejection he could feel his already broken heart crack and shatter just a little bit more.

Would it kill you to share a bed with him? Kill you to be willing to sit in the same room? To eat dinner together? Maybe sit down and discuss both of your work days? If you couldn't love him, could you at the very least pretend? Perhaps that was why he couldn't be mad at you for only loving him conditionally.

He couldn't convince you to love him at all otherwise.

He sat up from where he was leaning on you, pressing his hands down on one of your thighs, "What must I do to convince you, darling? Is there really nothing? I've enjoyed spending the day with you so much I fear I won't be able to take it if you withdraw so suddenly."

You raised a brow skeptically, still not taking your eyes off of your page. He playfully smacked you on the arm, trying to draw your attention away from your silly book. "No, Ayato, I've already told you there is no reason for me to sleep here tonight. You have everything you could possibly need-"

"But what if I need you here?" He urged, wrapping his hand around your bicep. He tugged, scrunching up his fist along with the fabric. "Your husband is a very greedy man, you agreed to take care of me today."

You still didn't divert your attention from the light novel in your hand, flipping to another page. "Just because you are greedy doesn't mean I'll spoil you to death. I agreed to take care of you during the day, I didn't say anything about tonight."

He whined your name, moving to straddle your hips. He put his hand over your book and pushed it to the side. His hands gripped the collar of your yukata, forcing you to look at him, focus on him without any distractions. The divine pink that surged up from your neck sent a pleasant satisfaction pooling in the bottom of his gut. "Could you just consider it a part of your obligation to me today? How can your heart stand to see your precious husband begging you to come to bed and still be so cruel-hearted?"

In any other circumstance, you'd likely shove him off, but in this scenario you let his hands wrinkle the fabric of your collar. Your hands rested tentatively on his waist, averting eye contact. "Only you seem to be calling yourself precious here, Lord Kamisato."

He gasped, putting an offended hand over his heart, "How could you still say such hurtful things to me?" He threw his other hand over his forehead, closing his eyes as he slumped away from you sadly. "You should be groveling and begging for my forgiveness, dearest."

You rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to his exposed temple, "There, does that make up for it?"

He turned back to face you, rested his hands on your chest again. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before resting his face in the crook of your neck. "Partially, I do believe you know what truly would make it up to me."

You huffed, "I'm afraid I will have to leave this injustice unresolved." You picked up your book from where he'd shoved it out of your hands.

Promptly, his hand rested on top of yours. His face withdrew from where it had comfortably rested, "If you aren't going to be here tonight, could you at the very least pay attention to me?"

You seemed to consider wrestling your page-turner from him, to turn him down again. But instead, you let a deep breath pass your lips before setting the hardcover on the nightstand and opening your arms. You were basically offering yourself up to him.

He let himself fall into your embrace, a happy purr passing his lips as he slumped against your chest. He let himself be babied as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pulled him into your chest and rested your chin on top of the crown of his head.

If he only had today, he would wring as much love from you as he could.

"What are you doing here?"

The Yashiro Commissioner hummed as he took a pointed seat across from you in front of your desk. "Will you be this suspicious of me for the rest of our lives? Is it really all that strange that I want to make a routine out of coming to visit you at work?"

You flipped to the next page of one of the various packets of documents on your desk, "I believe the question you should be asking is whether or not you will always want something from me when you make a visit." Your middle finger carefully scanned over the line of said document before carefully filling out a beautifully calculative signature.

"Oh hush," Ayato gently rested his forearms across the table, face in his palm, "I finally decide to trouble myself with the trip to your workplace and the only thing I get is a sour attitude. Whatever will I do?"

Despite the sincere nature of the words that would flow from your mouth, your dreadfully flat tone betrayed any potential endearment. "How treacherous, for such a doting lover to be so unappreciated."

He smiled, despite all your mockery, always able to find a way to twist each and every little action of yours in his mind. "Precisely, I do believe that you should make it up to me, darling."

You rolled your eyes, "It seems every time I fail to greet you as if we have been starcrossed lovers separated by the cruel writings of fate and time, you believe I have inexplicably wronged you, Ayato."

His hands came to rest on his heart, the sweet jingle of the metals on his attire creating the auditory illusion of the similarly sweet chime of bells. "Because you have!" One of his hands reached forward to rest on your table, "Each and every morning I wake and we are apart, my heart shatters into an insurmountable pile of pieces. Every moment we are apart, my very soul longs to be by your side-"

You waved him off with your non-dominant hand, "Yes, Ayato, you have made all of this clear to me since the moment we were wed. What is it that you want from me? I'm afraid I don't have as much time to entertain you today."

"How cruel," he pouted, "I only wished to invite you out for lunch today."

You raised your brow, still not taking your eyes off your current page. Carefully, you set one packet of paperwork off to the side before setting your sights on another. "What exactly do you 'wish' to get out of lunch?"

There was a saccharine chortle that resounded through the air, "Your company, dearest. I've missed you so." He absentmindedly checked for a clock somewhere around the room, "I do believe I got the time correct, you usually send for your own meal around this hour, don't you?"

You paused, setting down your brush finally. "I suppose I do."

His eyes glistened expectantly, pressing both of his palms firmly on the table. The same cunning smile you used to find so beautiful seemed to only churn a mixed cauldron of negative emotions within the bottom of your ribcage.

"..."

"..."

You sighed, "As much as I would love to join you, I'm afraid your argument falls apart when one realizes I usually work through my lunch. I can't exactly afford to fall behind."

He groaned, his hands shooting forward to grasp at your own. He seemed to completely ignore the fact that you flinched backwards at his touch. Instead, his gloved hands swallowed up your own palms in his, expression desperate as he hunched over your desk. Your eyes weren't very focused on his face when you noticed just how close his pure white sleeve was to a nearly full inkwell. "You work far too much for someone with so many subordinates who are perfectly capable of doing the same job. Surely, you can spare me just an hour? An hour, no more, I swear to you."

You bit the inside of your cheek, averting your gaze from his. "I work because I want things done correctly, I know I can trust myself to complete such matters within the given time frame. As trusted as my employees may be, in the middle of a project as large as-"

He huffed, pressing a kiss to back of your hand, "You're always beginning and ending projects back-to-back, if you don't give your workers any opportunities to prove themselves, will you simply continue to work yourself to death? You don't have a much better chance than this. Give me this one hour, give yourself this one hour, love. Just this once?"

"Ayato-" you tried to warn, however, you were interrupted by this all powerful primal sense of dread as he stood up from his seat across your desk. He circled around you like a hawk before coming to sit by your side instead. One of his hands trailed to your thigh, resting there, innocently malicious. You called his name again, reprimanding intonation, but he seemed to pay no mind.

He rested his head at the junction connecting your collarbone to your neck, just gently ghosting his lips over the skin that remained exposed above your collar. Self-pity washed over you like a flood, accompanied with an embarrassed heat flooding across your face. "This is highly inappropriate at my place of work-"

"Then let's take it out of your place of work." He whispered it tenderly against your neck, nestled right between gentle samplings of your skin. "We can always just go out for lunch too, either way, the decision is yours, darling."

You chewed your bottom lip reluctantly. It seemed, however, Ayato didn't seem to be feeling all that merciful or patient.

He bit down just beneath what would've been visible on your collar.

"Okay, okay- We can go out to lunch, give me some time to arrange for some work to be evenly redistributed." You scowled at his more than satisfied grin, pushing his face away from you, "You are such a headache."

"Yours," he hummed, all but delighted at the outcome of your conversation. He could care less about being unceremoniously being forced to get his grubby little hands off you, instead all but celebrating in his mind as he stood up and dusted himself off.

Yes, you mentally lamented, unfortunately, he was your headache.

'Would you be interested in walking me home?'

"H-Oh shiiiitttt-"

"You're much too loud, if you can't keep it down, I'll leave you here by yourself."

Chinju Forest was quiet and undisturbed a majority of the time, something that appealed to you in your younger years. You enjoyed being invited to the Kamisato Estate as a child just so you could come and sit in the tranquility of the silent trees and the whispering brook.

Pluck off your sandals, toss your socks into the grass and let the tips of your toes gently ease their way into the moving stream. You and the other young heir would come here during your fathers' meetings. Unlike you, when the two of you made your way into the forest, he enjoyed running around.

He liked to skip stones, to hunt for Crawfish underneath the large boulders, run after fireflies in the darkness created by the canopy of trees. While you rested and allowed yourself to turn off your brain, Ayato took hold of his opportunity to be a child. Despite his rather prim and proper nature as an adult, he enjoyed chasing you around with angry cicadas when he was young.

While your sword had seen the punishing end of the hilt in your older teenage years, you hated the idea of filth when you were a child. He enjoyed your screams of terror and the way you'd retreat into the creek, barefoot when he'd come to the water's edge with a screaming bug.

He was your tormentor up until your late twenties, it seemed. Now, you enjoyed tormenting him. To make him uncomfortable, that was your purpose, your passion.

Which is exactly why your pace, like always, was punishing. The grass was soft against his back, but it seemed with each connection of your hips with his you were intent on driving him into the hard ground. He should have felt humiliated, to be defiled against the soil, but he couldn't help the pleasant pulse of ecstasy freely pumping through his body.

His right hand gripped your shoulder in a bruising grasp, fingers coiling around your collarbone. His nails dug into your skin, sure to leave angry little crescent marks in their wake. His left hand was clamped over his mouth, in an attempt to be quieter.

His eyes were squeezed shut, eyebrows curled upwards towards the inner corners of his eyes. Had this been any other time, he would've been alert and at full attention. Drinking in the sight of the man of his dreams looming over him, sweaty and laser-focused on every single arch of his back and every roll of his hips. However, in the middle of the woods, with only the curtain of shadows casted by the tree tops, he couldn't seem to muster up the strength to pull open his eyelids.

What with the churning shame in the bottom of his gut and the surging tendrils of overstimulation coiling through the insides of his you were currently rearranging, he couldn't do it. With the vice grip on his hips and the piercing stare you were aiming at him, it seemed impossible.

"Tell me-" you hissed in between harsh jabs of your hips, "could you really have not waited for me to get home? Was the sole purpose of your trip to my office to lure me into your bed again?"

As much as he might've wanted to answer, Ayato could only answer in pitiful whimpers and whine into the palm of his glove. Each and every single one of them being punctuated with another angry shove of your dick further inside of him.

His eyelids darted open when your attention seemed to shift to the fabric of the glove he was currently biting. Your fingers curled around his wrist and pinned it to the grass next to his head, "Hey-" your hips halted for just a few seconds before moving agonizingly slowly. Just barely enough movement to keep fanning the flames of overwhelming want in his gut, just barely enough to be prodding at his prostate, but slowly enough he was painfully aware of the twitch of his own erection against his stomach. "I asked you a question."

He nodded blearily, shaking his head as quickly as the friction against the nape of his neck would. He tried to let a few words stumble from his swollen lips, but he could only blubber pathetically and push his perineum closer to you in response.

You pulled him to be flush against your pelvis, looming over him with a tilt of your head. "Words, Ayato, use your words."

"Yes- Archons yes- please just keep moving-" he begged.

He mewled with another quick roll of your hips into his, left hand clenching and unclenching around nothing next to his head. "Really? What did I ask you? Did you hear me or are you too much of a slut to think about anything but how to get me to touch you again?"

"I'm a slut-" his back arched up dramatically as your hand smeared the lines of white that painted his exposed stomach against his skin, "I'm yOur whore- hnnn~"

He tried to squeeze his thighs together as another teasing wave of pleasure surged past his senses, another hiccup falling past his teeth. He tried to pull you impossibly closer with his legs, but found the traitorous tremor in his muscles prevented him from exerting any real strength.

"Did you touch yourself during work? Was that really all that was on your mind while you sorted through your papers?" Your hand teased his dick, languid strokes up and down as you watched him seize up in a beautiful curve.

His mouth fell open as another string of curses slid out of his throat like a waterfall. You also couldn't help the grunt that resounded through the air past your own closed lips when he got impossibly tighter around you. You pulled his hair to get him to look at you, "Answer me."

He nodded again, "Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes-" He keened, trying to push himself further into the gentle caress of your hand. "I coUldn't stohoopp thinking about youU-"

You hummed, "So you fingered yourself open over your desk? You didn't excuse yourself to your room or anything? No breaks? Just how long did you sit there touching yourself before my lunch break?"

He shook his head, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he tried to shy away from your prying leer. "I don't know- ouH~"

"Was it really that long?" You continued to stroke his painfully red dick through another orgasm. "Give me an estimate."

He trembled, only really trying to pull himself together as you started getting slower with your movements. "I-I-" He swallowed, "M-maybe an hour? Ahn~ I don't knohowww-"

He practically choked on his thoughts when you sped up again, pleas falling past his lips like a prayer as he arched up into another release.

You'd been nice enough to take care of him again after your escapade in the woods.

You took him home, explained he'd 'fallen ill' on the way home, and informed the staff (Thoma) you'd be back in around an hour to take care of him after sorting out work affairs.

Just like before, you let him gently wrap you around his nimble finger. Each and every little request was met as long as his words were sweet enough, as long as he played each and every one of his little cards right. As long as he looked pitiful enough, you would let him cuddle up in your lap. If he complained enough, he could convince you to give him a massage.

Sweetly, he would call your name and you'd be at his side. Patiently, you'd brush the hair off of his face and make sure he was comfortable. If he so wished it, you would let him join you in your office while you worked. Of course, while you could hand off your work to others in your company, Inazuma, the Commissions, and politics didn't stop just because he needed the day off.

Instead of getting one of his many retainers to do his work for him, you took it upon yourself to sit yourself down at his desk and take care of it yourself. A husband should be able to understand and complete his partner's job, you told him when he teased you for it. So, despite never having dipped your proverbial toe into the world of politics, you took on the mantle without hesitation.

Paper after paper, meeting after meeting. Later in the day, you even bothered yourself with hand-delivering a few signed notices and making appearances in spots he was supposed to be. It was only understandable you would return home exhausted after that. Still, in your tired daze, you insisted that you would sleep in your office once again.

"If not for me, than for yourself, darling." He pleaded, perched at the edge of the futon in his Yukata. He watched you wander around the room tucking away paper after paper and muttering to yourself. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were to sleep on the ground tonight. You've just about worked your fingers to the bone so I could take the rest of the day off."

You waved him off with a hand, eyes still scanning over a booklet of etiquette that came with a Tricommission meeting. Seeing as the Yashiro Commission mainly served as a cultural regulator and mediator between the two commissions, the tasks of the acting representative during the meeting were relatively simple. In theory, it wouldn't be difficult to allow Ayato another day of rest. All you would need to do would be to resolve any conflicts should they-

"Would it ease your mind if I slept elsewhere tonight?"

You only really snapped out of it when you felt his arms rest themselves delicately around your hips.

"I-" You cleared your throat, "No, there's no need. I can manage just fine with you here."

You felt him sigh against your back, resting his face against your shoulder blade. "So you'll stay here tonight? I'm glad."

You paused, "That... isn't what I meant." You gently pried his arms off of the curves of your waist, snapping the booklet you'd been cradling shut. "I'm a grown man. A sore back isn't a concern I've made a priority for a long time. You can sleep here, I will be fine in my office."

He pressed himself into your back, if not only insisting with his words, than also with his actions. "I don't care if you'll be fine in your office, I care what is best for you. You've worked all day, it's nearly midnight. The futon will comfort your physical ailment if not your mental strain. I can sleep in my own office tonight for a change."

You shook your head, sliding the booklet into one of the many shelves that adorned your walls. "Absolutely not. You will sleep in bed tonight as you always have, I only worked this hard so you could recover your strength. Sleeping on the ground would only-"

He huffed, "If you don't want to sleep in the same room as me, I'll be sleeping in my office. You can't seriously think you'll be able to stop me. If you want me to sleep in bed, you will sleep in the bed with me."

You shook your head, "That-"

You flinched as he pushed you up against the wall, inhaling deeply as he rested his face in the crook of your neck. What made the position all the more embarrassing was your inability to gauge his expression. "Please?"

You sighed, "Don't make this difficult. Sleep in bed, sleeping in my office isn't a bother to me-"

He called your name again, exasperated. "Do I have to sweeten the deal for you in some way? What do I have to do for you to take my offer seriously?" He wrapped you up in his arms again, this time snuggly situating himself around your torso. "I'm tired of only catching glimpses of your grumpy face when you leave in the morning because of the lackluster sleep you managed to get. Just for tonight, I promise. If you don't believe me on anything else, just for tonight I'm asking you to sleep on the futon sincerely out of concern for your wellbeing and not my own selfish desires."

"Ayato-"

He gave your torso a squeeze. In fact, he let you unravel his arms from your figure without any of the usual fuss. "What do you say?"

You shook your head, turning to face him with an annoyed expression, "Go to bed like you do every night, I don't know how many times I need to keep telling you-"

He silenced your complaints with his lips.

He wrenched his arms from your grip on them, going to trail them up and down your sides. You exploded in surprised shudders, unwittingly complicit in his little act of intimacy. Soon enough, he was sinking down on his knees, pressing his lips to your clothed body at random intervals on his way down.

"What are you doing?"

His breathing got heavier as he descended, fingers settling at your waistband. "You only finished once earlier, didn't you?" With a flick of his wrist, he exposed your flaccid dick to the cold air of your bedroom. He gave an experimental lick up the side from base to tip, listening to the sharp inhalation of air through your teeth. He could feel it getting hard under his tongue with a few more kitten licks to the tip.

"If you aren't tired enough to stay in bed as is, I'm sure I could tire you out some more."

Ayato gave a sleepy sigh as he sunk into your chest.

Today, it seemed, you two still had enough energy for some clean-up post-coitus.

You admonished him gently. "Hold still, you'll end up getting soap in your eye." Your hands gently combed through his hair and did your best to swipe the foamy bubbles off of his forehead. You did your best to scrub the sweat off his scalp while still remaining tender.

He curled up against you despite all the space that was left in your rather luxurious bathtub. His legs tangled with yours in your seat, tracing hearts over where yours was hidden beneath your skin. You grabbed the wooden bowl from beside the tub, filling it with water before pouring it over Ayato's head gently.

The suds ran down his back and into the rest of the tub. He rubbed what little soap remained around his eyes before looking up at you. Something similar to a cat purring emanated from his chest, eyes filled with a soft fondness you couldn't stomach head-on.

It would've been nice if he hadn't forced the ring on your finger half a year ago. It would've been sweet, it would've been mind-numbingly heartwarming. But as it stood, you couldn't seem to meet such a gaze without a deep resentment bubbling up in your chest. Even if you might've wanted to fall in love for the sake of your own sanity in the long run, could you really ever learn to love someone like him?

As if reading your mind, he interrupted your thoughts by reaching up to grab the bottle of shampoo himself. "Do you want me to wash your hair too?"

Still, despite knowing he would never do anything to hurt you, to so much as go out of his way to upset you, you could've let yourself to let your guard down to him in the slightest. "No, I can do it myself."

Ayato snickered, "Well, I know you can, but do you want to have your hair washed?" His laughter was soft and domestic sounding, something that should've squeezed your heart gently. Yet, the squeeze felt more like an impromptu strangling. Something hurt when he laughed so mercifully. Something felt extremely wrong when he laughed without so much as a care.

Did he care about you?

Did he have the capacity to care about anyone but himself?

Did he truly love you, or did he love the idea of the two of you together?

He waved a hand in front of your face, calling your name quizzically. "Did you hear me? Do you want me to wash your hair or would you rather just rinse it tonight?" He shook his head, the water droplets that clung to his exposed skin glistening in the low lamplight. "Nevermind, just go ahead and turn around, let me take care of it."

You shook your head. "I can do it myself, you should relax."

He clicked his tongue, "Let me do this one thing for you. You always seem to take care of me and never let me do the same for you. Do you honestly think so poorly of me? There isn't any poison in it."

'Yes', you thought breathlessly, more like admitted it to yourself. 'You did think that badly of him.'

You already told yourself earlier, reassured yourself, he wouldn't so much as hurt a hair on your head if not for your own wellbeing than his twisted ideal of this relationship. You wondered if someday, if you didn't play into this little role he'd assigned you in his head, would he ever grow bored of you?

Would he no longer be interested in playing happy little family with you?

Would he toss you to the side like all the other lives he seemed to treat like objects to creep further towards his goals?

What did it mean exactly to be one of his goals? You didn't know.

The fact that you didn't know scared you.

It scared you more than anything.

Perhaps that was the true reason you wouldn't ever let him care for you. You didn't know what his definition of care was.

"Please?" he pleaded again. He always loved to drop in that magic word whenever you were feeling more open to spending time with him. "You just used the shampoo on me, you usually use it yourself, it couldn't hurt just this once, could it?"

"Fine, but don't draw it out. I want to go to bed soon."

You watched the smile grow on his features as he gripped at the sides of your face. He peppered kisses all over, gracious thanks leaving his lips every moment they weren't attached to your face. You silently let him continue to shower you in his affections.

Finally, when he seemed to be done with kissing you wherever he could plant his mouth, you let yourself sink more into the bathtub. You leveled yourself out to where he could get to your locks.

You leaned against him, though he was quick to admonish you for being as stiff as a board. "Relax, I'm not going to do anything but wash your hair, love. You worry too much."

He planted another kiss to the wet skin of your nape before dumping a generous amount of shampoo into his waiting palm. He rubbed his hands together to gather up the suds before his hands descended upon your waiting scalp with a calculated gentleness.

He seemed to pay special attention to each and every hair on your head. The obvious devotion made you feel like you were squirming in your own skin.

Carefully, he brushed the hair away from your face, lathering each and every lock thoroughly. It seemed as though he was looking for every excuse he could to touch you.

"That's enough, my hair is more than clean by now."

He went to complain, but held his tongue. It seemed he realized just as quickly as you did that you were being far too lenient with him. But it was difficult to stop him at the same time. Usually, you were good at maintaining your boundaries and making sure he knew you weren't going to fall victim to this ludacris script he'd orchestrated in the recesses of his twisted mind.

But throughout the course of the night, there seemed to be one thought that scared you more than what Ayato's definition of care was.

What would he do to you when he stopped caring altogether?

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" hey guys, kicks rocks "

I FINALLY FINISHED IT

if you were reading literally anything else I posted today, you'd already know I wrote and rewrote this like ten times and then I was having trouble picking which parts I wanted to be in the final post but AHHHHH it's finally here!!!

I know a lot of people wanted Ayato and the reader to actually fall in love but in my mind that's really not like a mental bridge that the character I wrote can cross, maybe eventually, but that'd have to be like decades in the future when they're old and pruny lols

requests are always open and welcome! (with a fair warning that I have a lil handful of them in my backpocket that I'm working on)

thank u to all my faithful readers for motivating me to keep writing everyday!!!

I personally would like to dedicate the editing phase of this fic to my bf's sad girl playlist

- love, operator t-19

[mssainz]

INTRUDER | PART 3

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Lewis invited his ex to your wedding.

You were given plenty of plates to taste. Lewis notices your apathy towards the cake tasting. “Did you not like it?” Lewis whispered into your ears, snapping your bubble. “No, I like them. I was just contemplating what to choose. Which one stood out for you?” Y/N replied.

“Anything is good for me. So you can choose what you want. I'll be okay with it,” Lewis replied.

Are you even interested in choosing one or are you just forced to join me here?

“Alright, strawberry cake for me,” You immediately replied. You lost your interest in even taking your time choosing what you really want. You felt like your husband-to-be doesn't even want to be involved with anything and just goes with the flow. He just agreed with everything you want and just let you choose not showing any interest in any details of your wedding. Knowing that he opt to invite his ex to your wedding makes you ruminate more if he just want to allow you to have your dream wedding or if he just want to get everything done just like that.

“Is there something wrong, love?” Lewis broke the silence while driving. “Nothing, why?” You responded.

“Nothing, it's just your quieter than usual. You usually talk non-stop about your day, even oversharing some stuff that I don't even need or want to kno..”

“I'm just tired,” You said, cutting Lewis off.

Oversharing stuff that you don't even need or want to know? Well, I'm sorry if I talk to much and I'm sorry that I choose to spend my remaining energy communicating with my fiancé how my day went.

YN is fuming mad in her mind but chooses not to say a word. She just doesn't want to start an argument when he just apologized.

He meant it when he said that he'll make it up to you. He brought you to your favorite restaurant, a place you cannot resist. You are enjoying your food and when his phone rang.

“I'm sorry, love. I think I need to go. I need to go to the headquarters right now. If you want, I can drive you home first before I go to the hq or...”

“No, it's okay. You can go. I'll finish my food,” You replied, not daring to look into his eyes.

“I'm sorry, love. Text or call me when you get home, okay?” Lewis said, before planting a kiss on your temple and leaving you behind.

“One bottle of red wine, please.” You finish every drop of the bottle before commuting home.

“I'll make it up to you, my ass,” You said as your removed your heels while entering your office. There you saw the newly printed out guest list without the name of his ex-girlfriend slash first love on it.

“What do I even have against her? She was your first love, a beautiful and mature woman, and you still can't forget her. And I'm just your fiancé, whom you apparently met when you broke up with her, whom apparently overshare even though you don't want to know about it” You said, tipsy walking towards your bed.

You lay down on your bed and stared at the ceiling for as long as your consciousness can hold.

Am I even doing the right thing? Is it still right to marry you? Won't I regret marrying you?

“Well, divorce is a thing,” You said before finally closing your eyes and slumbering.

The day came. You're in your white wedding gown, full glammed. You are fidgeting with your engagement ring.

You were asked to have your own personal vows prior to your wedding day. But until the very moment, you haven't written a single thing on the paper given to you.

You took a deep breath and wrote everything you wanted to say to Lewis before the ceremony started.

“Y/N, let's go no.. YN?” Your bridesmaid entered the room and found no bride in white dress.

The door of the venue opened, but it was not the bride who walked in the aisle. It was her bridesmaid rapidly walking towards Lewis with a note in her hand. It was not a vow but a farewell letter to him.

“I'm sorry, Lewis. You are free now. I'm letting you go, my love. Thank you for everything, for the wonderful years we have spent together. Thank you for the love that you made me feel. I love you Lewis. I'm sorry.”

“No, this can't be happening.” Lewis ran towards your room. He look at every place where he thought he can find you.

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, past trauma, mentions wounds, ptsd, anxiety, panic, fluff, mentions hurt/comfort, and smut. Plus sized reader. NSFW!

A/N: I missed Eddie. I’m feeling quite down on my body type, so I kind of wrote this with my own body size in mind ❤️

~*~

Eddie Munson always said he didn’t care. Didn’t want to be a boyfriend. Wasn’t pissed off if girls didn’t cling onto him after their brief time together (usually late nights, quiet places). If they don’t want the freak, why would the freaky freak want them? Fuck love, it’s just a facade.

At least, that’s what he used to say until he met you in the Spring of 86. You were involved in Henderson’s little banded family unit, constantly being talked about even before Eddie saw you. He was a bit perturbed already. If you were close to Wheeler and Harrington, you were probably a snob. Quite the contrary, as Eddie remembers clearly, watching you quiet from the sidelines as he’d been told monsters were real, but not cool dragons or slayers — just a teenage girl with mind powers.

Gentle, but rough. You dove in before Wheeler to save Harrington, you jumped back into that disgusting hole in the floor to try and help wake Nancy up, and when it came down to battle? You wore your outfit without fear, and silently had reached for Eddie’s hand on the way to everyone’s stations, squeezing. He’d seen that face before, your vacant expression, a false smile you attempted when you were not in thought. You weren’t okay, but you had been trying to make it that way for everyone else.

And it wasn’t, not for a long time. Not after you lost, he died, Carver died, and Mayfield went into a coma. A fight occurred in Hawkins before he was brought back, one that Eddie still sees in your eyes when the sun goes down and it’s quiet in the trailer, sans the beeping of the smoke alarm. Sometimes you just bring him impossibly closer, that he isn’t sure whose body heat is causing him to perspire. And others, you wake up in his arms, pulling him on top, clinging to his neck, your lips panting pleas into his mouth that ask for help.

Mutual scars, tragedy, blame, regrets, trauma, you helping his recovery, his process, even when he wasn’t so nice, that he wished he’d stayed gone. It’s all there, things that he feels safe only sharing with you. His marked body, one he is comfortable letting only you feel, see. He isn’t sure when it happened, really. But he knows now, especially looking at you beside him, your necklaces hanging around your neck, their charms dangling between your breasts, one leg propped, the other flat, lying open, evidence of the previous half hour shining between your thighs, and he’s propped on his palm, blowing out the last of his cigarette smoke, stubbing out the end.

You’re reading a piece of his work in progress fantasy novel, one based off of things that have happened. You’re lost in his vivid descriptions, captivated by his words, led by the hand that holds his pen. And his enriching, dark eyes, they caving into blown pupils, his ring clad finger trailing down your shoulder, following the curvature into your elbow’s inside. You’re already smiling by the time that he reaches your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, trailing wet kisses over your jugular. His arm elongates, easing his creation from your grip to throw aside.

You pretend to huff, and he catches your mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, tastes of smoke, but it’s precise, it’s familiar, it’s Eddie. Your fingers slide through his curls, freshly washed, yet frizzed from previous humidity. You tug on his blood stained pick, and he knows your implications, follows your soft look. He has to tilt your chin, shaking his head. “Remember that I’m right here, sweetheart. All of me but one nipple.”

He treasures you by bestowing that trademark Munson smirk, making your brief panic ebb away to pleasure. And you cave you into him, permitting his fingers to slide against your cunt, cupping. It’s a whine in his mouth that gets him to slide an ankle beneath yours, pulling you open for more availability. You could have anyone, you could’ve had something going on with Steve. But it’s Eddie you go to bed with every night, it’s he that you spend hours talking to on the phone when you’re not together, it’s him who holds you when you have a nightmare, and it’s Eddie Munson that you’ve already given your heart to, unbeknownst to him.

He’s falling into your grip, trying to situate himself, amused as he asks. “Already? Can you take it —“

And he goes head over ass, world Olympics type shit when you manage to maneuver him onto his back, unafraid, sat on top him in all over your glory. Your curves overflow, breasts sitting heavy, begging to be touched. You reach behind you, taking him in your hand. He’s nodding like an eager ass, little nerdy beaver. He could giggle right now. Your pupils are blown to the brim of your irises, a look of lavish possessiveness sweeping across him, and holy fuck does he feel sexy.

He doesn’t have to verbalize his consent, his brazen ‘take me now’ appears in the form of his hands reaching for your tits. You groan upon him getting a handful (and Christ, they still won’t fit). It’s a burning stretch, but you slide down his cock in moments, ones that Eddie holds his breath for, only able to gasp when you’re seated fully, sticky and spread around him.

He cares. He cares so much.

You grasp onto his wrists, clenching around him as he gives you two words, “Go, baby.” And then your hands are dropping to dig into his chest, thumbs beneath his chain, in newly grown out hair along his sternum, making scars feel like warrior wounds he’s proud to own.

You look at, leveling off his hands before they can drop from your breasts, pressing down so that he gets the message to grip tighter.

Fuck. He’s in love. He’s in love with you.

[allbark-no-bite]

don’t write checks you can’t cash.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 3.6k)

summary: jake seresin is under your skin. or maybe you’re under his. either way you’re going to eat each other alive. jake isn’t about to take the fall

warnings: mentioned age gap, heavy sexual tension (the smut is coming i promise)

author’s note: back on my topgun bullshit bitches (respectfully). i’m not usually one for multi part fics but i actually wrote something with plot for once so please just bear with me. part two coming soon! loosely inspired by Zach Bryan’s ‘nineball’. please note this fic title is subject to change bc i hate it

————————————————————————

You don't believe in love at first sight. You think the whole concept is some foolish idea that people who have already fallen in love have the liberty of saying they believe in. Then people who have been through failed relationship after failed relationship are convinced that they're never going to fall in love because it just doesn't happen. The whole idea pretty much just sets the rest of the population up for failure from the start.

Even the concept of finding the right person one day and growing to love them is hard for you to grasp. Because how can you love someone that much? How do you know you love them enough?There are some days that you don't enjoy the presence of even your closest friends for very long, friends who you would do anything for. Even family, you only tolerated so much.

Your high school boyfriend hated that about you, the fact that you realistically needed so little of him—or anyone for that matter. You have always been violently independent, able to provide what you require, and therefore having to maintain a simplistic relationship became nothing but a monotonous task. Even most of your closest friendships faded with time.

Eventually, you prosed the question: what can someone else give me that I cannot give myself?

The answer was companionship. Because when you strip away everything from a person and all they have left to offer you is themself, you have to be willing to choose them. And sometimes that's not the most appealing quality.

Something did happen, the first time you made eye contact with Lt. Jake Seresin, but it was far from love. It was something terrible in your chest, like an aching. Like you knew in your gut that he was going to change your life. Good or bad, you didn't know, but it was certain to happen.

You don't even believe that you two were destined to meet — you just happened to, and in that moment, the damage was done, it was your fate to ruin each other.

——

You like the way he says your name. You like that he says your name on purpose, like he is intentionally seeking out reasons to say it. It's not as harsh sounding coming from his mouth.

"You from around here, [L/n]?"

You're wiping down the glass hatch of your F/A-18 when he approaches you from behind. You swivel your head to catch sight of him behind your back but he's already making a wide circle around you, his chin tipping up then down as he inspects your plane from behind his tinted aviators.

As you watch him scrutinize your aircraft, you regard him with a certain level of apprehension. Jake Seresin was nothing short of gorgeous. He was six feet of bronze skin and lean muscle, withbright green eyes, and a movie star smile. Not to mention the southern accent that had girls drooling over him.

"Austin," you correct him. "Austin, Texas."

You'd been transferred over to Miramar a little over a month ago, becoming the newest addition to the Dagger squad. California was a nice change of scenery, and everyone you had met so far had welcomed you with open arms. That is, everyone but Lt. Seresin— Hangman as they called him. You were still trying to find your footing with him.

You genuinely don't know what his problem is with you. The guy had hardly even given you a glance since the moment you'd arrived. Your first guess would have been that he was one of those dickheads who didn't like women working in the field, but his relationship with Phoenix disproved that theory.

Your answer seems to warrant his attention, and he looks up. His expression twitches at the correction but he doesn't say anything in response. For the first time since you arrived at Miramar, still, unsmiling green eyes catch yours from across the aircraft.

You hold his gaze. After a moment, your stomach twists in an unsettling way, like even it doesn't know what to do with itself. Your first instinct is to look away. Your brain is telling you that if you do, you can avoid any sort of confrontation that may happen as a result. But it's like you can't.

This is the first time he's looked at you, and now you don't dare to look away.

Even from behind the tint of his perfectly polished aviators, you can make out the distinct color of his green eyes. They're so distracting that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

After what feels like eons of uncomfortable staring, he breaks your gaze —surely it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Flustered, you glance around to see if anyone else has picked up on the affair. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you're not quite sure which, it's nearing 6pm and the base is on the better side of empty. It's a Friday evening and everyone is eager to head out for the weekend.

Someone clears their throat. Hangman is still standing there, hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't have anywhere better to be. You want to say something but your gut is telling you that there's some sort of game going on here and you're not sure of the rules.

Finally, he faintly nods his head, as if to excuse himself, and turns to walk away. You watch his retreating back and relax a little, breathing a bit easier.

As you're turning back to your plane, relieved that the interaction is over, you hear him call back over his shoulder.

“The team is heading to the Hard Deck at nine. Don't be late."

And then he's gone, disappeared between one of the hangars.

——

For nine thirty on a Friday evening, the bar isn't nearly as busy as you'd expected it to be. You don't have to fight for a parking spot out front and there's not even a line at the bar. Other than a rowdy looking gaggle accumulating at the pool table, the atmosphere is pretty laid back. Looking around as you walk further in, there is a handful of people in civilians, but the majority of the crowd is composed of off duty aviators in their summer khakis.

You're about to head over to the bar top, where you were sure you had spotted Captain Mitchell, when someone shouts your name.

"Hawk!"

Your head swivels at the sound of your callsign, and you catch sight of Rooster beckoning to you over at the pool table. Immediately you recognize the familiar faces of the Dagger squad around him. You acknowledge him with a smile and head over to join them.

“And here we thought you were going to be a no-show," the brunette pilot chirps, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as soon as you're close enough. You lean into his embrace while touching his chest with a friendly pat of your hand. Bradley is by no means close to drunk but most definitely more than a little buzzed if you're going off of the smell of beer and lime on his breath and the occasional involuntary twitch of his mustache.

"I thought about it, but I can't keep letting you guys have all the fun," you laugh, holding out your other arm so that you can greet Natasha with a hug as Rooster releases you.

After hugging you, she presses a sweating bottle of beer into your hand. "Coyote bought everyone a round so I figured I'd save you one before the boys wiped them out. Sorry if it's a bit warm, you did show up fashionably late."

You playfully roll your eyes at her, taking the beer anyhow. "Thanks, Phe."

Payback places a large palm on the top of your head, diverting your attention towards him as he returns from the bar. "Don't let her fool you, we're just getting started over here. Rooster isn't even drunk enough to get on the piano yet."

Laughing, you glance over at the brunette aviator. "Now that I've been waiting to see. I hear you're quite the show, Bradshaw."

Since you transferred over to Miramar, you had been hounded nonstop to go out drinking with the team for weeks, and Rooster's infamous performance had been one of their key selling points. That and the fact that the owner, Penny, often gave them free drinks. Apparently she had a thing for Captain Mitchell.

Rooster grins, leaning against the pool stick in his hand as he waits for Fanboy to take his shot. "Let me get a couple more beers deep and I promise you won't be disappointed."

As you go about making your rounds to greet everyone else, you can't help but notice that there's someone missing. After you take a seat beside Bob to watch Rooster and Fanboy play, you glance around the bar a few times, convinced that you've somehow overlooked him despite the fact that the place isn't busy enough for that.

An almost disappointed feeling pulls at you despite how ridiculous the realization makes you feel.

After spending the better part of an half hour trying to push the feeling away, you finally spot a familiar head of blonde hair over at the dartboard. He's by himself, about three darts in and half a bottle of beer down. So much for the personal invitation, you think.

You watch as he throws a dart, practically without so much as aiming whilst contemplating whether or not you even have it in you to muster up the courage to face those green eyes again.

Without giving yourself the chance to back down, you swallow back the rest of your now warm beer and head over.

He tosses another dart just as you reach him, and it finds itself dead center with the previous three.

"With a hand like that, you should be kicking Rooster's ass over there in pool," you say as you come to a stop behind him.

Walking away from the dartboard, Jake turns to grab his bottle of beer from the table beside you.

"I'm not much of a betting man," he huffs, leaning back against the table. The muscles of his biceps bugle distractingly against the sleeves of his uniform.

You look back over your shoulder, watching from a distance as Fanboy's cue clips the eight ball and sends it ricocheting off the sidewall. He groans, and Rooster whoops triumphantly from behind him.

"It wouldn't be much of a bet. Even with his winning streak, I think you'd give him a run for his money."

Hangman takes a sip from his bottle, mouth lingering on the rim before he sets it back down and crosses his arms. "Rooster's all luck and no skill. The table's got a lean."

You raise your eyebrows at the confession, half laughing at his lax confidence. "Oh? And you would know this how?"

"C'mon, son. Fuckin' hit it in."

Body tense, his arm quivers ever so slightly and the pool stick bobs shakily in his hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in.

"I haven't got all day, kid."

He breathes out and breathes back in. The smell of cigar smoke and cheap beer swims in his head.

"What're you doin'?! Quit wastin' time."

He exhales, opens his eyes, and hits the pool stick forward. The white cue ball shoots out to the left, bounces against the eight ball, and sends it hurdling towards the side pocket. At the very last moment, it veers off to the left and falls into  the back corner pocket instead.

The man standing on the other side of the table curses, his pool stick dropping to the ground, but Jake pays little mind to him. He straightens, looking around eagerly for the only set of eyes that matter. The grin falls from his face when he realizes the old man isn't even watching, too busy counting out his prize money and yanking out a ten to hand to the bartender.

Jake looks up at the clock on the wall over his shoulder.

12:57 am

"Dad, I wanna go home."

"Not yet, son. I've already got fifty put down on another round."

"Want me to show you?"

His offer makes you pause, and you can't help but cock your head a bit as you try to weigh out just where this is heading. For weeks he has acted as though you barely even existed and now you're engaged in the longest conversion the two of you have had since your arrival.

Jake finishes his drink and sets the bottle down whilst walking over to you. "Final offer. Take it or leave it."

You laugh a little before stepping back so that he can make his way to the pool table. "Lead the way then." But before you can make it too far, his palm finds the flat of your back, pressing you forward so that you're in front of him. You're glad he can't see you because your face flashes hot at the unexpected contact.

"I'm not the one playing, kid. I'm just going to show you the ropes."

"Oh, I didn't-"

Any objections you have about the situation are ignored as he pushes you firmly in the direction of the pool table and asks Payback for his cue. "Look alive, Bradshaw. Hawk is about to show you how this thing is done."

Straightening his wide shoulders, Bradley grins, smug and easy as you and Hangman approach the opposite side of the table. "And here I thought you were here to reclaim your throne now that I'm intoxicated."

Jake grins back. "You don't need to be drunk for me to do that."

Bradley's mustache twitches, but he's still smiling. "Sure."

Jake turns back to you, placing the pool stick in your hand. You can't help but think that his expression is all too confident for someone who has never even seen you play pool.

"Nervous?" he asks as you take the stick from him.

"Should I be?" you ask back, turning your head to watch as Rooster takes the liberty of breaking the rack.

He shakes his head, his green eyes glowing with a warmth that you've yet to see from him. "Not as long as you don't totally suck."

Seeing that it's your turn, you brush past him to stand at the table. "I guess I'll let you be the judge of that."

Thankfully you've played your fair share of pool and so you're able to hold your own for most of the game. Jake remains criminally silent as you play, arms once again crossed as he leans against a nearby stool, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back the entire time. It isn't until the end of the game and you've missed the same ball multiple times that he steps in.

"Shift left," he directs you. When you glance over at him, he nods his head as if to insinuate where you should move but doesn't move from where he's planted himself since the beginning of the game.

Hesitantly, you shuffle over a half step and take the shot. The ball comes closer than you have been but still hits the sidewall just short of the pocket. You huff in frustration, and Rooster steps forward to take his turn, sinking his second to last ball in the same pocket.

"I hope you're ready to buy the next round, Seresin. Looks like Hawk is losing her nerve," Bradley goads, unable to keep himself from boasting a little at your expense. When it comes to Hangman, he can't resist the chance to taunt him.

You roll your eyes at his comment, not bothered so much by it as compared to the fact that you're losing. When it's your turn again, you line up the ball and lean down to assume your position when Jake stops you.

All the sudden he's right beside you, palm pressing into your hip to scoot you to the side. "Move over." When you look at him like he's crazy, he huffs. "C'mon, do you want my help or not?"

It isn't so much of a question as it is a statement and the press of his hand against your side doesn't leave you much of an option and so you shuffle over to the far right side of the pool table.

Before you can even comprehend what's going on, he's leant over you, his impossibly tall frame pressed to your back so that he can reach around you and guide your hands. One wraps around your hand on the stick and the other cups your opposite elbow.

It takes everything in you not to jerk away, overwhelmed by his sudden proximity. Instead you try to focus on controlling your hammering heart and pray he can't tell how clammy your palms suddenly are.

"Hey, that's not allowed," Rooster complains. "Is that allowed?"

Coyote shrugs. "It's not not allowed."

Distracted by their bickering, his voice in your ear nearly makes you jump. "Hit the cue ball. Hard."

The lean press of his body is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he's done a god awful job of lining up the shot. There's not one alternate reality where you make this shot.

"You can't be serious."

He's so close that you feel him smile beside your ear. "Dead."

"Any day now," Rooster prompts, as if you aren't aware that Jake Seresin has been pressed against you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. And if Hangman has noticed the fact that your heart is fluttering erratically inside your chest or that your skin is flushed hot to the touch, he doesn't let on. 

"I'm waiting," he reminds you, his voice placid in your ear.

Against your better judgement, you take the shot.

The white cue ball hurtles into the black eight ball with a hard clack and sends it flying across the table. It smashes against the sidewall, exactly as you had expected it to, and you release a breath of defeat. And then something unexpected happens. The ball slows, but instead of bouncing to a stop, it continues to roll left across the table. You all watch as it rolls directly into back corner pocket of the table.

"Well I'll be damned," Payback mutters aloud.

"Hell yeah, [L/n]!" Phoenix shouts, her loud and robust voice ringing out across the bar. "Shots are on Bradshaw!"

"Thanks buddy," Coyote laughs, teasingly grabbing the back of the brunette aviator's shoulders as he heads off for the bar.

Bradley waves them off, looking a bit miffed but still good naturedly accepting his defeat.

"How about it? You're a cold blooded killer."

Like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head, the sound of Hangman's voice coming from behind you jerks you back to reality. You haven't even noticed that he'd stepped away. Something inside you twinges at the loss of his body pressed against yours.

You turn around to face him, your brain still trying to comprehend what just happened.

"How'd you do that?" you ask incredulously, your tone almost accusing. A deeper part of you wants to ask 'why did you do that' but the smile on his face stops you.

His top row of pearly white teeth that you glimpse is pristine, however brief, before his pink lips come back together in a more subdued smile. It's an expression that is so very genuine and carefree that it sends a spark straight through to your heart. You've never seen him actually smile before, and especially not at you.

"You're smiling," you accuse before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, half giddy at the discovery yourself.

Jake looks slightly away, turning his head briefly in order to suppress his smile before looking back to you. “Yeah? So?” His green eyes are twinkling as he says it, like he knows he’s been caught.

You jab the short end of the pool stick into the center of his chest, but he’s quick to grab it before it can find home.

“Up until yesterday, you could barely stand to even look at me,” you say.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not true.”

“So you’re saying that I’m seeing things.” You try to tug back on the pool stick but Hangman doesn’t release it.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be seeing things.”

With that, a larger portion of the previous smile is gone from his face, a more sober look replacing it.

Just like that the spark fades. Even though you want to shut down, turn your back to his face and just walk away. You force yourself to keep talking, holding your voice steady. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

Inside you know exactly what he means.

His eyes flicker up over your shoulder but the Dagger squad has already moved on to crowd around Rooster at the piano.

You clamp your jaw together as he releases the pool cue and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes him look more relaxed than he is.

"Look, whatever this is—whatever you think I am, I'm not." He says this with the realistic conviction of someone who knows that even if it is, you can't. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

You’re not quite sure how old he is—barely thirty if you had to guess— but he’s older. Too old. Not to mention fraternization is deeply frowned upon.

"I know," you answer firmly. Because you do. Because even if it isn't, you want it, whatever it is.

He stares down at you with those green eyes, his pupils pinpoint sharp. After a moment he heaves a sigh and releases it, nodding his head. “So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We’re in agreement.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

[ghouljams]

Real quick I woke up (again) at like 2am and frantically wrote smut in my notes. Here's some omegaverse. Omega!Ghost x alpha!f!reader

cw: somnophilia, scent kink, omegaverse, CONSENSUAL noncon

The heady scent of alpha(alpha, alpha, alpha) pheromones straight from the source. Simon's mouth waters, his tongue slick with foamy spit as he opens his mouth to lick your cunt. He may as well feel his pupils dilate. The rush of endorphins his brain pumps out at just the taste of you makes him feel faint, his body eager to give in to baser instincts. Whatever you want, whatever you ask for, he lives for you, lives for this. To be between your legs, to lap up the slick that drips from you. He must be getting close to a heat, the air feels so heavy with your scent even when you sleep that he can't ignore it. Can't ignore the wanting ache of his cock when he wakes up with you in his arms.

Simon spreads your folds with his tongue, seeking out the wet heat of you. His tongue prods at your hole, and you let out a soft whimper. The fuzzy fruity scent that makes up your signature is so much stronger when it's dripping from you, juicier, sweeter, Simon feels the itch in his teeth to bite, to claim. He opens his mouth wide, settles his teeth against your clit as he drags and drags and drags his tongue over you. You squirm and he grabs the soft flesh of your hips to hold you down. The noises you make are so soft, just on the cusp of wanting. He might have waited for you to wake up if he wanted you loud, but it's better like this. It's better when he can just take his fill of you.

He presses a kiss to your clit, feels the way your muscles jump at the attention. If he gives you too much you'll wake up, and he can't have that, but he can kiss the sensitive little bud, spare it a brief suck in between the light peppering of kisses. Just enough attention to make you nice and warm for him, to feel your pussy clench and drool for him. So that when he presses his tongue into your hole, slurping your slick straight from the source, you're relaxed enough to welcome the intrusion. Simon wiggles his tongue in as far as he can, pressing against the muscles that swell with your knot, the delicate spongy spot that makes you scream. His nose presses to your skin, and he finds his head a little emptier with each inhale of your scent.

Soft peach fuzz on his tongue, that drips fruity and sweet down his throat, warm and heady in his nose... How you can walk around smelling like the best part of summer and still be walking he doesn't know. You deserve to be bent over every available surface, split open on his cock, fuck- He doesn't care about his dick, just let him do this. Let him lick and suck at your pretty cunt until his lips are red and his mouth tastes like peaches, until his head has emptied out of anything that isn't the soft moans you let out and the feeling of your skin under his hands.

He swallows you down, groans at the sight of your glistening folds, at the smear of your slick over your thighs. Simon licks his lips, and drags his tongue flat against the bend of your adductor. Look at how nice he's being cleaning you up, he thinks to himself, taking care of you. His teeth press against your skin, his breath heavy. It would be so easy to bite you, mark you. He wants to, his teeth itch, his mind pushes at him, body clean of everything but instinct. He presses his teeth a little deeper, feels your skin dimple. It feels good, it feels right, you're so soft for him, so pliant, so willing. Deeper, deeper, deeper.

You yelp, and push at his head, very much awake. Simon feels the growl that bubbles up in his chest, his eyes darting to the person trying to take his toy away. The sudden tension leaves him at your frown. His teeth unlatch and he soothes his tongue over the blossoming bruise on your thigh, his eyes locked on yours. Your fingers pet over his buzzed hair, trace down over his cheekbones, and hook under his jaw. You coax him up with a gentle pull he could never deny.

"Good morning," You mumble. Your voice drips like honey down his spine, his fingers dropping from your hip to wrap around his cock. His nose bumps yours, and you tilt your hips up, letting him press the leaking head of his cock against your hole. He knows the pinch in your brow, the pout, the soft draw of breath as he pushes inside all too well. The slight burn of the stretch as his fat cock splits you open, before it dissolves into pleasure.

"Gettin' close to a heat," He tells you. Fuck the way your cunt wraps around him is heaven. All hot, wet, silky walls that seem to cling onto his cock. He pulls out of you just enough to rock another inch deeper. Back and forth to make up for the lack of prep. You whine, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging into his back. "Big stretch, you can take it," He murmurs, the rumble of his voice may as well be a growl, but it doesn't matter with you, you take what he gives you without complaint, open for him like a chapel to the weary. Succor to the sinner.

You nod, letting him circle his hips, grind himself inch by inch until he's settled with his hips against you. You tilt your head, drag your tongue over his morning stubble, tasting yourself on his chin before he can kiss you properly. His perfect girl. Perfect little alpha to care for, to pump full, to take every inch of his cock until he's satisfied.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Small firsts - Lewis Hamilton

Lots of fluffs. 10 of them to warm our hearts this rainy weekend.

request: "'All these little things' made me think of the small moments that are milestones in a relationship but aren't celebrated as such. Maybe, you could do something like that?"

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +4K

a/n: Writing these warmed my heart. Celebrate the small moments guys, they make the path worth it

Also there's +20 more fluffs just like these ones here - Ways to say I love you & Ways to say I love you pt. 2 - and here - All these little things & All these little things pt. 2 .

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The first time he played a personal song of his to you

Lewis's strumming sounds on his guitar drifted out onto the balcony, a melody muffled by the crash of the ocean on Monaco's shores. You sat on one of the plush chairs, bathed in the soft glow of the sunset, your laptop open and fingers flitting across the keyboard.

The sound had become a familiar soundtrack to evenings with him.

Lewis poured his emotions into his music, something he’d usually only share with those closest to him. You'd heard him play snippets so far, familiar tunes or warm-up riffs, but never a complete, original song, not yet.

Not until a melody caught your attention, something unfamiliar. It was softer, melancholic yet strangely hopeful, with a recurring guitar line that tugged at something.

You paused your work, peaking from the laptop you saw Lewis playing on the couch across the space, his face half colored by the remaining lights half in the dark shadows.

His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers danced across the guitar strings. But as the song was about to reach what seemed to be a chorus, he glanced up, his gaze meeting yours, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He stopped playing, the silence echoing for a moment before he spoke, his voice a low murmur. "Didn't know you were an audience."

"It's beautiful" you said, caught by surprise by the huskiness in your own voice.

Lewis's smile faltered slightly. He ran a hand through his shorts, a nervous gesture you rarely saw. "It's... something I wrote a while back."

He looked away, then back at you, as if wondering if he should share that with you, if he could anyway.

Without a word, you closed your laptop and stood up. Crossing the room, you settled on the couch next to him, still leaving a comfortable space between you.

Lewis watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a small smile played on his lips again. He lifted his hand and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, a silent thank you for understanding.

He didn't need to say anything more. The music spoke for him, a tribute to someone he still loved or had loved dearly.

As the melody filled the room again, you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

This wasn't just music; it was a glimpse into Lewis, a gift he was choosing to share with you. A side of him he rarely showed the world.

The city lights had started to twinkle below, but all you could see was the gentle smile playing on Lewis's lips as his fingers strummed in the cords of that guitar.

The song ended softly; the silence afterwards filled with unspoken emotions for you both.

He squeezed your hand, a grateful glint in his eyes. "Thank you for listening."

The first time you do each other's laundry.

The crisp Colorado winter wind howled outside, rattling the windows of Lewis's house. Inside, Lewis's furrowed his brow at the pile of laundry that seemed to be multiplying on the floor.

“Why did I even let that much laundry pile up?!" he muttered to himself, sorting through a mountain of workout gear. He reached for a familiar worn-in sweatshirt, a smile forming on his lips. It was the one Y/n had practically adopted, leaving her scent as a constant reminder to him.

Beside his own clothes, a smaller pile of delicates caught his attention. Nestled amongst his t-shirts, lay a few lacy underwear, some of which he vaguely recalled seeing in her body, or peeking out from under her sweater.

But, practicality reared its head.

He stared at the lacy contraption, feeling a touch out of his depth. Sure, he could handle sweaty race suits and gym socks, but lingerie? That was uncharted territory. But he wanted to take care of her things too, to make sure they stayed as soft and delicate as they felt in her skin.

Just then, Y/n walked in, her cheeks and nose a touch flushed from the cold, a steaming pot tea in her hands. She stopped short, amused by the sight of clothes scattered on the floor and Lewis looking defeated.

"Laundry day already?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

"More like laundry mountain day" Lewis replied wryly, gesturing at the pile. "Thought I'd tackle it while the storm has us stuck inside."

He caught her eye flicker to the lacy item, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Oh” she teased, setting the mug down on nearer surface. "You’ve found my delicates…"

Lewis, ever so slightly flustered, held up one of his favorites pieces of hers. " About that" he stammered, "how exactly do you wash... them?"

Y/n burst into laughter, the sound warm and genuine. "Oh, Lew" she said, shaking her head as she walked towards him, taking the bralette from his hand as her fingers brushed against his in the process.

She explained the delicate cycle settings on his washing machine, her voice soft and patient. She showed him the difference between hand washing and machine washing, a playful glint in her eyes as she demonstrated with some of her more delicate pieces.

Lewis found himself completely entranced. Here he was, a world champion, only now learning the intricacies of lace washing. And somehow, it felt more nerve wrecking than any qualifying session.

"There you go" Y/n finally said, placing a folded lacy bra in a basket. "See, not so scary, is it?"

Lewis shook his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "Thanks" he mumbled, clearly still a bit embarrassed "Appreciate it, love."

"Thank you, for doing my laundry" she replied, leaning in and nuzzling her nose against his neck. "Besides," she whispered, her voice husky, "now you have more reasons to admire those pieces."

Lewis laughed, wrapping his arms around her. "That," he admitted, pulling her close, "might be the best part."

The first time it's not his friends, but ours.

The rain hammered against the London house's windows, a steady rhythm that masked the city's usual symphony of honking horns and sirens. You fumbled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside, greeted by the warmth and distant sound of music.

Lewis's laughter cut through the melody, drawing you towards the source. There he was, surrounded by his friends, sprawled on the floor, instruments scattered around them, clearly in the midst of a brainstorming session.

Miles's head snapped up first, a wide grin splitting his face. "Y/n!" The room erupted in a chorus of greetings as they scrambled to their feet.

"Hey guys, how's the music coming along?" you asked, stepping into the chaos.

"Slow," Daniel admitted with a wink. " Your lover boy here is being particularly stubborn about this riff." He nudged Lewis playfully.

"It needs work" Lewis protested, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

"Been avoiding us, have you?" Daniel teased, opening his arms to engulf in a bear hug when you detached from Lewis.

You scoffed playfully. "Avoiding you? Never. Just swamped with work myself."

"Uh-huh," Daniel drawled, unconvinced.

You were about to retort when Lewis cut in. "Now she’s confirmed it, lay off you all." He said pulling you closer to leave a soft kiss to the back of your head.

The music resumed as you settled onto the couch, content to watch them work their magic.

Later that night, as you snuggled into bed with Lewis you couldn’t help but feel how lighter he always looked when he had time with his friends.

"You know," you said softly, "I had a really nice time tonight. Your friends are…"

"Amazing?" Lewis finished, a smile in his voice.

"Yeah" you agreed, chuckling. "I’ll let you gloat on this one, they really are amazing”

Lewis reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "And they're your friends too, you know." he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

You looked up at his eyes. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled softly. "They haven't called you 'Lewis' girl' for a while now. It's been only 'Y/n'. They like you."

A warmth bloomed in your chest. Your fingers circling his naked chest. "Really?"

"Hm" he confirmed, his gaze holding yours. "Don't think of them as just my friends. They’re ours."

The first time he refers to you as “mommy” to a pet

You peeked through the doorway, a silent observer in the warm glow of the late morning in the living room. Lewis was sprawled on the rug, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he wrestled with Roscoe.

Toys were scattered around them like colorful confetti, and Roscoe, tongue lolling out in pure joy, was putting up a valiant fight against Lewis.

"Alright, alright, rascal!" Lewis chuckled, giving Roscoe a back rub that sent the dog into a fit of happy wiggles. "Who's the bests boys in the whole wide world, huh?"

Roscoe barked in agreement, short and enthusiastic barks that vibrated his entire chunky body.

"That's right, yous ares" Lewis said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "The bestest boys. But you know what you need to be an even better boy?"

Roscoe tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"You need to listen to Mommy," Lewis continued, his voice dropping a playful octave. You froze at the doorway, a blush creeping up your neck. Mommy?

Lewis reached out and scratched Roscoe behind the ear. "Yeah, Mommy said we should pick up all these toys before lunch times. What do yous says, champ? Wanna helps Mommys cleans ups?"

Roscoe whined and nudged Lewis's hand with his wet nose, tail thumping against the floor. Lewis ruffled the dog's fur.

"That's a good boys" he said, his gaze flickering towards the doorway for a brief moment. "Time to make Mommy proud."

He stood up, gathering a handful of stuffed animals, and your heart did a little flip-flop. The way he said it, so casual, so natural, you were not expecting that, at all.

You stepped into the room, a playful smile on your face. "Did someone say 'Mommy'?"

Lewis looked up, a surprised grin splitting his face. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, his hands scratching a hidden spot in his neck. "Just, uh, motivating Roscoe here."

Roscoe dropped a squeaky toy at your feet, tail wagging furiously. You knelt down and scratched him behind the ears, earning a happy snuffle.

"He seems pretty motivated already" you teased, glancing at the half-cleaned pile of toys.

Lewis cleared his throat. "Right, well, he just needs a little help from his favorite humans, right, Roscoe?"

The bulldog barked again, his excitement for playtime clearly evident. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, alright," you said, picking up a plush bone.

Lewis's grin widened. "Knew you wouldn’t resist" he said, his voice warm and inviting.

The three of you spent the next twenty minutes engaged in a playful battle against the scattered toys. Roscoe snatching them back just as you were about to put them away.

Finally, as Roscoe settled in his lap as he sat on the floor in the kitchen you leaned against the counter, watching the peaceful scene. He glanced up, catching your gaze.

"So, 'Mommy', huh?" she said, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Well," he shrugged, playfully mimicking her earlier tone "someone has to take care of us two."

She chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Can't argue with that."

He reached out a hand, silently inviting you to join him. You crossed the room and slipped down into his embrace, the warmth of him surrounding you. Roscoe whined and shuffled closer, his large head now resting comfortably on your legs.

The first time you admit to someone else you love them.

The apartment was filled with the comforting hum of conversation and the clinking of wine glasses. Y/n sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, surrounded by her closest friends and the nearly empty bottle they were sharing.

“So, how’s everything going with Lewis?” asked Y/N/F, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Y/n smiled at the mention of his name alone “It’s going really well,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, it’s still early days, but things are… really well.”

Another woman leaned in; her interest showing. “What do you mean by that?”

Y/n took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste as she thought about how to explain it. “I don’t know. He’s just...he’s attentive and caring. Like, he remembers the little things, you know?! The things I never go without at home there’s always a stock at his place, he knows my schedule even if he doesn’t know his own…”

Her friends exchanged knowing looks, but Y/n was too lost in her thoughts to notice. “He just remembers things I say, things I need, without me having to remind him.”

“He sounds like a keeper” one of them said, her voice tinged with amusement. “What else?”

Y/n’s smile widened as she continued. “He’s introduced me to his family, and they’re all so wonderful. And he’s met mine, too. We’ve been taking these little steps, and it feels so natural. We’re not rushing, but we’re also not holding back.”

Some eyes narrowed playfully. “Lovely, you’re glowing just talking about him.”

Y/n chuckled embarrassed, ducking her head. “I guess, he makes me feel special.”

Y/N/F put her glass down and leaned forward, her expression serious. “Y/n, it sounds like you’re in love with him.”

Y/n blinked, the words hanging in the air between them. “What? No, it’s too soon for that” she protested weakly, no certainty whatsover.

She reached out, placing a hand on Y/n’s arm. “It’s not about time, it’s about how he makes you feel. And from what you’re saying, it sounds like love to me.”

Y/n’s mind raced as she replayed her words, the moments she had shared with Lewis, the way her heart felt safe every time she saw him. She bit her lip, a shy smile forming. “Maybe” she admitted softly.

The first time they make you cry.

The argument had started over something small. A casual comment about how Lewis seemed to be running himself ragged with his schedule. But somehow it spiraled into something much more intense.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard, Lewis,” Y/n said, her voice tinged with frustration. “You need to take a break and focus on your mental health. You can’t keep going like this.”

Lewis sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’ve been living like this for years, Y/n. I’m fine. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

Her heart ached at his words. “But I’m here to help. That’s what being in a relationship is supposed to be, us taking care of each other.”

“I’ve managed just fine on my own” he snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t need fixing.”

Y/n felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Who said anything about fixing you, Lewis. It’s about being there for you. Supporting you. Why can’t you see that?”

He turned away, his shoulders tense. “Because I don’t need it. I’m not like that.”

The tears spilled over, and she wiped them away angrily. “Do you not trust me? Because this is about trust too.”

Lewis whirled around, his expression softening as he saw her tears. “It’s not that. At all. It’s just… I’ve always handled things on my own.”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m not asking you to change who you are. I’m asking you to let me in. In the good and the bad.”

His anger melted away, his features softening. “Please don’t cry” he said quietly, stepping closer and reaching for her hand.

Y/n shook her head, trying to hold back more tears. “I’m crying because I care about you, so damn much, and it hurts to see you struggling and not letting me at least try and help.”

Lewis pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, the warmth of his embrace a welcome contrast to the cold distance of their argument. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt. “I just want to be there for you. To share the load.”

He sighed, holding her tighter. “I know. I’m just not used to it. But I’ll try. Promise, okay?!”

Y/n pulled back slightly, looking at him to find sincerity in his eyes. “That’s all I’m asking.”

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I do trust you. It’s just hard to let go of old habits.”

The first time you share a hangover so painful you actually think you might die.

The throbbing in her head felt like a techno beat gone rogue. Every breath felt like knives torturing each cell, from her temples straight down to her toes. And to top it off she was pretty sure she'd swallowed a swarm of angry bees, that were now very, very unhappy residing in her skull.

"Ugh," Y/n groaned, pulling the covers further over her head.

A faint chirp from the doorway alerted to Lewis's presence. He peeked in; concern etched on his face.

"Hey," he said softly. "How's it going?"

"I think I’m dying" she mumbled from the depths of the covers. "Or at least the feeling is just like I imagine dying to be like."

Lewis chuckled, a sound that surprisingly didn't send her brain into a protest. "Sounds rough."

"Rough is putting it mildly" Y/n croaked. "I think I might have made a deal with the devil for another tequila. And apparently, he holds a grudge."

He approached the bed holding a tray that looked like it had come straight from a health spa – a steaming mug, a glass of water, and a plate of suspiciously green fruit salad.

"Is that… kale?" she peeked at the salad with suspicion.

"Don't knock it till you try it, babe," he said, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "It's packed with just what your body needs right now."

Y/n grimaced. The thought of kale was about as appealing as a root canal right now. But she appreciated the effort.

"Fine" she mumbled, reaching for the glass of water. "No promises though."

Lewis helped her sit up, propping pillows behind her back. He handed her the mug first, the smell of ginger and honey filling your senses.

"It'll help with the nausea." he said, his voice gentle and reassuring.

Y/n took a tentative sip. It wasn't bad at all. Dare she say, it was kind of good?!

As she finished the drink, Lewis picked up the spoon and started feeding her the fruit salad.

"Hm, Lew” she whined, swatting playfully at his hand. "Do I look like a baby bird?"

"Not really," he grinned, dodging her hand. "But you do look like a very cuddly koala who needs help."

And cuddly she was. Deprived of her usual snark and fueled solely by the desire for her pain to end, she found herself clinging to Lewis for the rest of the day.

Y/n buried her face in his shoulder, nuzzling it like a giant human teddy bear. "See?" Lewis said, wrapping his arms around her. "Much better now, salad and all."

She mumbled something incoherent but contented against his chest. The warmth of his embrace, the gentle pressure of his hand rubbing circles on her back, it all felt strangely soothing.

After a while, the pain in her head seemed to dull a little. Maybe it was the tea, maybe it was Lewis's cuddling skills, but she started to drift off to sleep.

"Feeling better?" Lewis whispered, his voice barely a murmur.

"Just don't let me do any more tequila. Ever.” Y/n mumbled back, sleep almost pulling her under until she turned into his chest to look at him with a smirk “Unless is Almave”.

The first time you realize you have a side to the bed.

The crisp morning air snuck through the thin hotel curtains, hitting in stripe like figures across Lewis's face. He stirred; the warmth of Y/n pressed against his back a comforting weight. He instinctively reached out, his fingers trailing along the curve of her arm, a silent morning greeting.

A muffled groan escaped Y/n's lips; her face buried in the crook of his neck. Lewis chuckled softly, already familiar with her morning routine. He was an early riser, Y/n, however, reveled in sleeping in whenever possible.

"Morning sunshine" he whispered, his voice husky with sleep.

A sleepy mumbled response was all he got before peace settled again. Lewis smiled, content to simply lie with her, enjoying the quiet moments with her in his arms. He was about to drift back to sleep when a small wrinkle appeared on Y/n's forehead.

With a sigh that spoke volumes about her reluctance, Y/n began to roll over. But before she could fully turn into the sunny spots, Lewis's arm instinctively tightened around her, gently but firmly stopping her movement.

"Wrong side," he murmured, his voice still laced with sleep.

Y/n blinked, momentarily disoriented.

Sun. It was way too early for sun.

She squinted towards the window, the golden light streaming in directly at her.

"Oh," she mumbled, her confusion finally dissipating.

"See" Lewis chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This side's better for you. Less light in the mornings."

She connected the dots. All this time, she'd assumed it was a coincidence that she always ended up on the darker side of the bed. But Lewis, bless his soul, had evidently been making sure of it.

"You knew?" she asked, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her still sleepy features.

"Always," he confirmed, his warm breath tickling her ear.

"You never said anything."

"Didn't have to" he replied smugly. "Seemed to be working just fine."

She snuggled closer. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes about his attentiveness, about the way he already knew her preferences.

"Thank you, my savior” she teased, rolling onto her back and gazing up at him.

He met her gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just making sure you get your beauty sleep."

"Oh, so that's it?" she challenged, a playful glint in her eyes. "Not just protecting your own slumber?"

"Maybe a little bit of both," he admitted with a disarming grin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss.

"Well," she murmured, as he pulled back, "thanks for looking after me, even when I'm clueless."

Lewis brushed a stray strand of loose hair. "Always," he promised, his voice a low rumble.

The first time you have to suck it up and say sorry.

The fluorescent lights of the medical center buzzed overhead, nothing like the snowy wonderland you were just minutes before in the Colorado snow winter.

A throbbing ache pulsed behind her forehead, a constant reminder of her spectacular faceplant earlier on the slopes. She’d tried to impress Lewis and his friends with a daring jump, ending up in a tangled heap of limbs and snow.

"You okay?" Lewis had appeared at her side in a flash, his face etched with worry.

"Yeah, just a little tumble," She'd mumbled, brushing snow off her jacket. The truth was, the world had tilted a bit when she hit the ground, but she hated feeling like a damsel in distress. Especially not on a trip Lewis had been planning for months.

A few hours later, the world wasn't just tilting; it was doing a full-on waltz. Nausea churned in her stomach, making it hard to even think straight.

She excused myself from the group, claiming a bathroom break, her head swimming with every step.

At the medical center, a stern-faced doctor delivered the news – a possible concussion, observation for a few hours. Finally, frustration giving way to helplessness, she finally dialed Lewis's number.

He answered with a clipped greeting, his voice laced with tension. "Y/n, where are you?"

"Uh, hey Lewis," she started, voice small. "I'm, uh, at the medical center."

A beat of stunned silence followed, then a torrent of words. "Medical center? What happened? Are you okay? It’s about that fall, isn’t it?!"

She winced at his sharp tone, but knew it came from a place of concern. "I… I just didn't want to ruin the day," she mumbled, guilt twisting in my gut.

"Ruin the day?" There was a pause, then a sigh. "Babe. You're more important than any ski trip."

Shame burned in her face. "I know, I just…" she trailed off, unable to articulate the stubborn independence that had gotten her into this mess.

"Just… just stay put," Lewis finally said, the anger replaced with a tired resignation. "I'm on my way."

The wait felt like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open, revealing a furious and concerned Lewis. His face softened when he saw her, the anger replaced with a wave of relief so palpable she could almost touch it.

He rushed to her side. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I did a faceplant off a mountain," she admitted, a weak smile tugging at her lips hoping to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound. "That sounds about right." Then, a softer note entered his voice. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "I'm sorry, Lew" she apologized meeting his gaze. "I just… didn't want to hold you back. I know how much you were looking forward to this trip."

He cupped her face in his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're never going to hold me back," he said, his voice low and serious. "Promise me you'll tell me next time."

The first time you look at them and think of forever

Snow fell around the cozy cabin, a relentless drumming that created a comforting rhythm.

Inside, curled up on the oversized couch with a mug of hot cocoa clutched in her hands, Y/n watched Lewis.

He wasn't doing anything particularly extraordinary, simply mending a tear in a pair of his skying pants, his brow furrowed in concentration as he threaded the needle. He didn't even notice her watching, his full attention focused on the task at hand.

And yet, in that ordinary moment, a warmth flooded her chest, stealing her breath away. Here he was, a man who commanded the attention of millions, bent over a sewing kit with a needle as delicate as a butterfly's wing.

She'd seen him conquer podiums and defy physics, but the sight of him patiently mending a simple tear, a frown adorably creasing his forehead… that was something different, entirely.

A glimpse into a side of him rarely seen, a quiet vulnerability of a man who wasn't afraid to solve things, to mend not just clothes, but maybe something broken in other places too.

A shy smile spread across her face as the realization hit her. This, this right here, the Lewis who faced his fears on the track and mended his own clothes, was the man she was falling for. He wasn't just the celebrity, he was real, flawed, and utterly endearing.

"You're staring," Lewis finally said, catching her eye. He looked up, a playful smile on his lips. His cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of self-consciousness creeping in.

"Just admiring your skills" she teased, taking a sip of her cocoa.

"Didn't know you were a fan, sewing skills are highly underrated" he replied, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Maybe I am" she confessed; her voice soft. "Maybe I am a fan of everything you do."

He put down the needle and thread, the unfinished pant left in his lap. He leaned in, his gaze holding hers captive. "Everything?" he murmured, his voice husky.

She held his gaze, feeling heat creep up her neck. "Even the mundane stuff. Specially those, actually." she whispered back, winking before closing in.

A slow smile spread across his face. He leaned in further, the space between their lips connecting with a gentle warm touch; a quiet understanding that went beyond words.

As they pulled away, his thumb brushed away a stray strand of hair from her face. "Forever might be a crazy promise, Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But if I were to make it, it would be with you."

______________________________________________________________

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[literaryavenger]

You're Still My Sunshine

Summary: A year later, a lot has changed.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Grief. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 750

A/N: This is just a little blurb to continue You Were My Sunshine, hope ya like it.

Masterlist | Part 1

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

A year later

“Hi, mom.” You kneel down in front of the grave, placing down the bouquet of blue roses.

You look around the cemetery for a moment, if anything just out of habit to make sure there’s no danger, but you’re alone.

“Happy birthday.” You look back at the grave, cleaning it a little by brushing off the weeds on it.

“Another year, huh?” You say quietly. “A lot happened… And I’m not sure how we got here, but…”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a hand on your shoulder but you don’t bother turning around.

“I’m sorry, baby, it took me a little to find the candle.” Bucky’s voice rings in your ear as he kneels down beside you.

You look at your boyfriend, smiling at him as he lights the candle on the cupcake and passes it to you. 

Like usual, you look at it for a moment before you blow it out and you can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek, except this time Bucky’s there to promptly wipe it away.

You spend the next few hours there, the both of you talking to the tombstone and to each other while Bucky holds you and wipes your tears away.

When you’re back at the Compound, the team is gathered around the living room watching a movie.

“I still can’t believe Elsa is the only one you allow to know about your special day.” You roll your eyes at Tony’s nickname for Bucky while the team snickers.

“Actually,” You start while you and Bucky sit down on the couch next to Steve. “I… I’m ready to tell you guys.” 

You’re a little hesitant, but for the past year you and Bucky have talked about it a lot, since you started dating you’ve opened up to him in a way he didn’t even know was possible considering you were already the most open person Bucky’s ever met.

And it felt good, you thought to yourself, and you decided last night you were ready to open up to the rest of your family too.

So you tell them everything, every little detail of the things you do, explaining why you do them because they were your mom’s favorite things. They’re understanding, not loving that you went through all that on your own, but they respect your choice and were glad you now allowed Bucky to be there for you. And, with some more grumbling from Tony, they accept that you aren’t ready to have them all there with you yet.

But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t do anything for you…

Another year later

You almost don’t recognize the grave, having to double check the tombstone to make sure it’s the right one.

And it is, only it’s full of flowers, teddy bears, papers and Avengers action figures for some reason. 

You’re as confused as Bucky when the two of you kneel down and you reach for one of the papers and you start chuckling when you see it’s a message from Tony, to you. It’s clear that he wrote it to make you laugh, full of sarcasm and jokes, and Bucky’s glad to see it’s working.

You read all the notes one by one, all from the team to you, between tears and chuckles, and you can’t be more grateful to have found this family.

You almost forget that this year you have big news, the engagement ring sitting on your finger shining with the sunlight.

I have a lot of things to tell you, mama, you think to yourself while absentmindedly stroking your stomach, where you found out just yesterday your very own little ray of sunshine is growing.

Yes, things are definitely getting better.

[baejax-the-great]

One Last Drink

“Well, here we are old friend.”

Varric takes one cup out of his pack, then another. He plonks each down on the creepy green stone he supposes he’ll be seeing a lot more of in the coming days and pours in some brandy from his flask.

He raises his cup aloft and says, “I always wanted to have one last drink with you.”

This is a lie. But then Varric is a liar. Hawke would forgive him for it.

He didn’t want to have one last drink with Hawke—he wanted a hundred more drinks with Hawke, a thousand. He wanted to sit around with her in their old age with creaky knees and white hair drinking mead and shouting over the table because their ears were both shot. He wanted to slide into old age listening to her sass all those heroes that have followed in her footsteps. He wanted to see her wielding a cane in a bar fight.

But this—this is what he has.

He taps the rim of his cup to Hawke's. The brandy goes down burning.

“You know, I somehow doubt drinking in the Fade will make it any better,” he says. “Seems like the place you’d probably want to be sober for.”

His ears strain. Was that a whisper somewhere? The Fade is weird. Maybe he’ll get a response. What would Hawke say, anyway?

Isn’t the end of the world a good enough occasion for you?

Something like that. Light tone of voice, half twisted smile at the end, she’d clink her cup to his and take a swig, maybe point out that if the Fade is now leaking into everywhere, then anywhere is as good a place to sit and drink with a friend.

“This new generation,” he says, “They’re something. They grew up hungry for a fight. Fearless. They saw the sky explode as kids. They’ve known something was wrong their entire lives. But then, I guess you also were forged in the crucible of apocalyptic disaster.”

Lothering wasn’t that bad.

This she’d say with an artful quirk of her eyebrow before letting her smile take over her face.

Varric fills his cup again. He’s played this game before, become the author of who Hawke would be if she was still anyone. He can hear her voice in his head so clearly, but for years he’s had that creeping doubt that her voice is actually just his. It’s been ten years after all.

He doesn’t know why he thought the Fade might do something nice for once. Solas always talked about those friendly spirits, but it looks like one can’t be assed to channel Hawke for Varric.

“These Veil Jumpers—out of their minds. You know they come here on purpose? Reminds me of you and all those damn caves you dragged us into, except the caves didn’t shift around while we weren’t paying attention. Similar number of demons, though.”

Not by the time I got done with them.

“They told me that right here, right where we are? That’s a fixed point. A landmark.”

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Bellara had said when Varric stopped in his tracks on seeing the statue. “She always seems to be pointed toward an exit, though, so we’re always on the lookout for her. We call her Macabre Martha.”

I’ve been called worse and you know it. You wrote all those names down in your book—you know them better than I do. Not to mention the atrocious name my own mother gave me.

Varric pats the foot of the statue next to him.

“Should I tell them who you are?”

That question he has not been able to answer for her. He looks up the silent statue, Hawke, caught in the moment a spider’s claw pierced her chest, her mouth open, her eyes wide in horror, both woman and spider leg petrified together.

He somehow thought in this place, in this warped reality, if he summoned her up in his mind, maybe she’d still be here. Maybe she’d speak to him. Maybe he could get her to look less scared.

This isn't how she'd want anyone to remember her.

“Never thought I’d see a statue of you worse than the one we put down by the docks.”

Varric pushes himself to his feet. He puts a hand on her arm as if to comfort her in the last frozen moment of her life. He thinks maybe this time the stone will crumble under his hands and reveal her, still fighting, still able to be saved, still ready with a joke.

This? Minor flesh wound. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been impaled.

It’s just stone under his hand. Stone, and half his heart stuck in this awful place for the rest of time.

He picks up Hawke’s cup and drinks that, too. He places the half-full flask at her feet in case she ever gets thirsty.  

“So long, old friend.” He gives her one last squeeze on the arm, then shuffles off in the direction of her terrified expression. The next generation of adventurers awaits, and Varric isn’t so quick these days.

The susurrations of the Fade are all that answers him, but he still calls her voice to mind. So long, Varric.

[mareagirls]

OK this just hit me and if i wrote for joel id have a blast with this BUT

what if r and joel were out on a job somewhere or going to his storehouse outside the qz and instead of ellie being bitten and immune it’s r!!!!! the drama when she doesnt turn

LOL not me acting like you didn’t send me this request over a year ago, i’m so sorry it’s so late 😭 i hope you like it sweetheart. I’ll come back and check this for typos later!

> established relationship, established family dynamic, protective!joel, sad joel, sad ellie but she tries to hide it, sad reader but there is fluff and comfort and the end i promise

tws: reader asks joel to kill her (i'm not sure if this should be a tw but just incase!

I believe unconditionally in a free Palestine, and am aware that one of the creators of TLOU is a zionist. i do not support this and strongly encourage anyone reading this to engage with the link below!

how you can help Palestine

-

There’s a clicker snapping and snarling above you. You bring your arms up to keep it away from your face as you try to shove it off. Joel won't take the shot, you think, not when there’s a risk of hitting you.

With a final push of adrenaline, you manage to kick it up so it’s further off you. You scream out for Joel then, strangled.

“Fuck- Joel!"

The rippling bang of a gunshot pierces the air.

The thing on top of you goes slack, features still contorted in a gruesome snarl. You shove it off and scramble away, standing up as soon as you’ve put enough distance between you. Silence returns to the forest.

When you look up, you don’t find the relieved looks you’re expecting from either of your companions. Joel is looking at you, horror painted across his features as he stares at your arm.

You follow his gaze down.

Blood is leaking out of a clear bite mark just above your wrist. Your shirt and skin are shredded where the things teeth ripped into you. Red coats your hand, dripping thickly onto the ground.

Your legs go weak at the sight.

"Shit- shit, Y/N-" Ellie is panicking. She’s closer by, arms reaching out for you. You take a half step back, unwilling to let her get nearer, and her head snaps up. "It got you."

You all know what this means. It’s a death sentence. A promise that even if you’re not dead now, you will be very soon.

You look at Ellie with a wobbly smile that you know won't do much to placate her panic. She looks like she might cry and behind her, Joel has gone rigid - eyes wide, hands in tight fists by his sides. You don't know what's worse.

"It's alright, Ellie, sweetheart," you focus on trying to calm the girl down first. “It's okay. It's alright. You have to leave me here."

Before Ellie can retort, Joel stiffens.

"No- no." He collects himself, rolling his shoulders slowly as if to shake off the stupor. “That is out of the question.”

You think to yourself that denial looks devastating on him.

"Joel," his name is a broken supplication on your lips. "You need to take Ellie and get back to Jackson. She needs to be safe."

It’s low, reminding him of how dangerous the world is in an effort to make him focus, but Joel cares about keeping you and Ellie safe above anything else. Reiterating that he can’t protect everyone might hurt him, but it’ll keep them both alive long enough to forgive you.

You're shaking, you realise then. Tremors wracking your body as the adrenaline of the fight dissipates and leaves horror in it's wake. You glance at the bite again and a low wounded noise escapes you.

Joel steps forward, arms reaching out to comfort you instinctively, and you take two back, doing your best to avoid the hurt that flashes in his eyes. His voice is ragged when he next speaks, and Joel Miller has never been one to beg, but right now he’s sounding awfully close.

“Let us stay with you."

“The bite is in your arm, right?" Ellie regards you carefully. "You still have a few hours left. We can keep you company."

Shaking your head, you step further away.

"I don't want you to see me turn into one of those things."

“We’ll kill you before you get to that point.”

Ellie speaks matter of factly, but you don’t miss the way her hands flit anxiously at her sides. She’s tough, your girl, but you and Joel both know her tells better than you know yourselves. Behind all the snark and self assuredness, she’s a kid. You wont force her to watch another person she cares about succumb to cordyceps.

“Ellie,” you try to reason. “I don't want you to see me like that.”

You turn to Joel, expecting agreement, but he’s wiped his face clear of any emotion, inscrutable - you cant read him at all. He's putting his walls up, brick by brick in an attempt to hide how he feels. You don't blame him - you think you'd do the same were your roles reversed.

“We’ll stay with you, Y/N.” His runs a tired hand over his beard. “No infected or people 'round here for miles. We can set up camp. When the time comes...”

He trails off, like he can't bring himself to say the words.

And that's that.

-

Night falls.

Joel ties you up to a tree as a safety precaution, grunting a soft apology when he pulls the rope across your chest too tight and you wince.

Despite your protests, he bandages the bite, careful motions and gentle hands. He thumbs over it when he’s finished, more out of habit than reassurance. You doubt he even realises.

Ellie tries to crack some jokes, doing her best to alleviate the mood. You offer her a halfhearted smile in return but you can tell she's not convinced by it.

It all feels overwhelmingly pointless. Joel will have to kill you soon, and if he can’t, you’ll do it yourself. He's only delaying the inevitable by keeping you alive. When you try to tell him so - try to make it clear that he's just putting himself and Ellie in danger - the man’s shoulders go tight and he turns away from you.

You don't try to dissuade him again.

Now, Ellie is reading her comic by the gas lamp, eyes flickering to you every so often. You twist your body away from her as much as you can and stare into the dark of the woods. You don't want to risk her seeing you get sick. You want her to remember you healthy, smiling - not overcome by the infection.

Joel comes over to you with your water flask in hand and you shake your head. You shouldn't use up resources when you'll be dead soon. When you tell him as much, the man bites his lip but stays quiet. He doesn’t question you though - water is a valuable resource. He knows that just as well as you do.

"Shoot me the moment I start to turn." You murmur, quietly so that Ellie won’t hear you. Joel looks down at you, ashen. Some of the barriers that he’s put up since you were bitten fall away - you see glimpses of the Joel you know inside.

He’s afraid. Devastated. Doing his hardest to keep it together for you and Ellie.

"Y/N-"

"Promise me, Joel. Promise me you'll shoot me."

He swears it, and the words hang stagnant in the air between you.

You thank him before turning away again, raising your voice a little so that Ellie can hear you too when you next speak.

"Goodnight."

I love you both so much. I'm so honoured I got to love you. I'm sorry we didn't get more time. Keep eachother safe. I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry.

It's easier than saying goodbye.

-

You wake with a start to the feeling of someone tapping your cheek.

It’s still dark, the gas lamp casting long and shifting shadows on the small clearing where you've set up camp, but all you can think about is the fact that someone is touching you.

Flinching back with a gasp, you snatch your bitten arm to your chest. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to what's around you.

Ellie and Joel are kneeling by your side, the latter's hands raised as to not spook you. You blink up at them, not understanding. When Joel tries to get closer, you curl in on yourself, the back of your head clipping against the tree and causing you to wince.

"It's alright,” Joel’s saying. “The infection didn't take. You're alright."

You can barely understand him past the rushing in your ears, still focused on the lingering feeling of his rough fingertips on your face.

"Why would you- Fuck, Joel. I'm fucking infected! Why would you touch me? " You're panicking, gasping between words. All you can think of is that Joel touched you and he could get infected too now and Ellie will be alone if you both get sick. She'll have to kill you both.

Joel looks like he wants to get closer, but when he tries, you make yourself as small as possible- knees up against your chest.

"Please, Joel- I don't want to hurt you."

The man shakes his head but doesn't try to come closer again. "You won't. You won't."

"You're still alright, Y/N," Ellie is kneeling on the other side of you. She picks up your injured arm and tugs off the bandage before you can stop her. "Look," she urges. "The infection hasn't taken."

Sure enough, the bite mark is still there, - angry and red and crusted with blood, but there aren’t any purpling veins expanding from it. No greenish hue indicating infection.

This is a trick, you think then. A cruel trick your mind is playing on you in your last moments of clarity. A sick manifestation of your survival instinct begging you to not lose hope.

“You’re not feverish,” Ellie continues. “You’re not coughing or vomiting.”

When you look back at Joel, he looks so convinced - more hopeful than you've ever seen him in the time you've known each other. Nothing else has ever given him that expression. Not the Firefly's promises of revolution, not the prospect of a cure. Joel Miller's thought processes have always been grounded in reality - stoic, stony, calculating.

But right now it looks more like those of the countless QZ kids who get drawn into the Firefly's ranks every year on promises of a better future. You want him to snap out of it. Want to remind him that idealism can only bring trouble- he taught you that.

"The infection hasn't taken yet, Y/N." Ellie is still speaking, small hands gripping yours. "It should have by now. You're still alright. Maybe you're immune like me."

You fight the urge to believe her. "Maybe it's just taking longer to spread.”

"And why the fuck would it do that?" Joel snaps at you, breathing in deep when you flinch at his tone. He runs a hand through his greying hair.

"I'm sorry, I’m sorry. I just- think about it, darlin'," the pet name he usually only reserves for the moments you're alone slips out. "Ellie is right. It should have spread by now. It's been hours."

And you are thinking about it, you are, but you also don't want to hold onto foolish hopes. The likelihood of you and Ellie both being immune feels unfathomable.

“Don’t give me this, Joel,” you say, quiet.

“Don’t give you what? Hope?”

“You promised you’d shoot me!”

Your voice rises, and you realise then how hysterical you sound. Joel’s hand moves to his chest, like it’s physically hurting him to hear you speak like this.

“I promised I’d shoot you when the infection set in. It hasn’t.” His tone is clipped, even, but his expression is anything but.

“So you’re telling me that you’re going to be able to look me in the eyes and put a bullet through my eyes when it does? After you’ve worked yourself up into the idea that I might fucking survive this?”

Surprisingly, Ellie is the most level headed, interceding between the two of you.

She speaks quietly, evenly. “We should just wait a bit more.”

You try to intercede but she stops you.

“No, Y/N. You’re tied up and you’re not getting sick right now. We should wait a few more hours.”

“Ellie-"

“I won’t lose someone else if I don’t have to.”

Your shoulders sag under the weight of what she's saying. Ellie leaves no room for argument. She wraps a clean bandage around your wound and brushes her thumb over it the same way Joel did last night. They’re so alike without even realising it. You tell yourself that at least they’ll have eachother when you’re gone.

A tentative voice whispers inside your head;

If you’re gone.

-

By the evening of the next day, nothing has changed.

Joel and Ellie have barely left your side, the former only disappearing into the woods for a half hour before returning with a few dead rabbits.

"You should try eat something.”

You don’t have an appetite. Haven’t since you were bitten, but Joel and Ellie keep looking at you like you’ll keel over if you don’t eat, so once he’s skinned and cooked the meant, you take what is given to you.

Your companions seem to have taken this new change in their stride, Ellie especially has come to terms with the idea of you possibly being immune very rapidly, but it’s a lot to wrap your head around. You flinch away whenever they get too close, and when Joel tries to untie you, you don’t let him.

“Y/N.”

“Please don’t.”

He swallows hard but nods.

That night you fall asleep still tied up against the tree. You’re woken by nightmares of rotting flesh.

You don’t shut your eyes again after that.

-

It takes three more days for you to let Joel touch you.

You let him untie you on the second because you’re painfully aware that your little group needs to keep moving. You’re unsure about whether you’re still heading for the Fireflies or if Joel has changed route and is taking you all back to Jackson, but you keep your distance either way, choosing to walk a few meters behind them at all times. You keep talking to a minimum, too overwhelmed and exhausted to say anything. Between the two of them, they make up for your lack of sound. Ellie chatters a lot anyway, and Joel answers all her questions, humouring her every joke. He’s filling in gaps that you’d usually contribute in you realise. Sometimes, their voices even drown out the noise in your head. It’s a pleasant distraction.

The next time you set up camp, Ellie goes straight to sleep. Something in her seems to have relaxed since you haven’t become infected. Joel is sat nearby, having offered to take first watch. His features soften when he doesn't think anyone’s looking. A small smile tugging at his lips as Ellie snorts and mumbles something in her sleep.

When he notices you staring, he offers you a tired smile.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.”

Nodding, you get into your sleeping bag. You’re still not sure what to say and do, but if Joel thinks anything of your apparent immunity, he hasn’t shown it. He’s probably trying to let you rationalise and make peace with what’s happened on your own before he or Ellie give their input.

You try to sleep, you really do. But every sound the forest makes has you flinching, peering into the darkness, shifting in your sleeping bag restlessly.

You don't know if it's the overwhelming stress of the last few days, or the exhaustion, or something else entirely, but once you've started to cry, you can't stop. You try valiantly to smother the sound by clamping your hand over you mouth, but Joel has always been far too attentive for your liking. When the second sob leaves you, you hear him walk over. He stops in front of you, taking in your form (curled up in your sleeping bag, hand pressed against your lips, tears streaming down your face) and a small breath escapes him.

"Oh, my girl."

Before you can apologise, Joel is crouching down in front of you.

"Can I hold you?" His palms are up, open. He doesn’t mean any harm. He won’t hurt you, he never has. More importantly, you won’t hurt him.

Part of you wants to say no - still not used to the idea of being immune - but his proximity makes your skin sting and ache for contact, you're hurting almost with the absence of touch. After days of sitting so far away from Joel and Ellie with nothing but your jacket around you, you give in to him.

"Please."

It's all it takes. One minute Joel is still staring at you like he doesn't want to scare you off, and the next, he's pulling you firmly to his chest, sleeping bag and all.

He smells like pine. Feels like safety. When he presses his lips to the crown of your head, your sobbing intensifies.

"That's it, honey. Let it out. You're safe."

His arms are crowding you, but it doesn't feel stifling. It feels like coming home.

You shudder in his hold. “I’m scared, Joel. I was really fucking scared.”

“I know, baby” he coos - softer than you’ve ever heard him. “S’okay. It’s been a scary few days, hm?”

Another great sob cracks through you and you nod as Joel’s large hand moves up over your back to cup your head carefully. He holds you like a babe, like you’re something worth saving, and if he's afraid of the fact that you were bitten, he doesn't show it.

“It’s alright, honey. You’re safe. I’m gonna keep us all safe.”

He rocks back and forth gently with you clasped to his chest.

"It was killin' me, y'know? Not bein' able to hold you. Comfort you.”

"I'm sorry."

"You don't gotta be sorry, sweetheart. Just know that we got you." He smatters more gentle kisses along your hairline. "Me, you, and Ellie. We're a team."

You nod, because you are a team. You have been for months now. You trust them to keep you safe.

“What are we- What ‘re we gonna do, Joel? The bite…”

Joel shushes you easily, shaking his head.

“That’s a problem for tomorrow. We’ll face it when the morning comes.”

You sink into his chest further, nodding.

“Thank you.”

Joel pulls away ever so slightly to look you in the eyes properly.

“Don’t gotta thank me, honey. Don’t ever gotta thank me for anything at all.”

You fall asleep like that; held to his chest like something worth protecting. That night, no nightmares come.

[rottingworship]

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x Reader | Chapter One

A/N: QUICK NOTE! MY BLOG IS 18+! This is just a silly idea I had, and after reading some fics here and on ao3, I wanted to post it! So, as stated this is a silly idea. While I'm writing this very seriously, it started out silly in my head. I don't know how to explain it. Also, this is my first ever creepypasta AND marble hornets fic. SO, please go easy on me. I used to be the biggest fan of both, but never wrote fics for either as I was like... 15.

Warnings: blood, reader has... a power(?), eventual smut, sorta kidnapping, the operator gets your ass, semi-brief mentions of vomit (nothing too in detail!), reader wishing for death, mentions of murder, not really proofread, me taking my own artistic liberties...

word count: 2.7k

The woods are ever expanding. You feel like you’ve been running forever. Barefoot and barely breathing. You reach a field and run towards the middle of it. Every inch of you aches and your lungs burn. Your head begins to pound. You freeze when the moonlight hits some tall silhouette standing what feels like miles away.

It’s faceless.

You want to puke. You look behind you, wondering if you could book it back out of the woods. You already saved yourself once, you do not want to need to do it again. You know you can not do it again.

As you turn to look over your shoulder you see one of the men who were chasing you earlier. A hatchet in his hand. You look to both sides of you and see a man in a mask on each side. You drop to your knees, and let out a loud scream. Maybe someone will hear you? You doubt it. Your hands go to your head and a loud whimper escapes you.

“Please,” You cry quietly. You know that thing can hear you though. “I wanna go home.”

“N–No can do.” A voice comes from behind you.

The men are closing in on you.

“You killed our target!” The masked man on your right growls out loudly.

Your eyes widen. “There is no blood on my hands!” You cry, folding into yourself. A sob racks your body.

Your brain starts to feel fuzzy. Your nails dig into your scalp and a scream rips from your throat.

Join me.

What you can only assume is the silhouette across the field is in your head. You shake violently. “No!” You scream aloud, your voice ripping through the cold, night air. You have a feeling you don’t have a choice though. You killed the target. The voice reverberates through your head. “Please!” You hope maybe one of the men will save you. Your eyes are on the dirt in front of you. A static sound is stuck in your mind.

Your hands move from your head and to the dead grass below you. You dig into the dry soil and scream again. “Stop!” You shake your head again, trying to make the noise come to an end. “Make it stop!”

There is no choice to be made. The voice booms. You yelp. You look back at the man with the hatchet and begin to plead. “Kill me…” You whisper to him. “Kill me!” You scream this time. Hoping and praying he complies. His hand twitches, and for a moment, you are sure he is listening. He stops though. He stiffens and straightens up.

“It won’t work on us.” The man on your left sounds so matter of fact. “The Operator makes sure of it.”

The Operator… That must be the thing across the field. Your eyes shoot up to him and you think about bargaining. “I won’t tell anyone about this!” You grovel. “I’ll go home and go to bed, and then wake up tomorrow like nothing happened!”

You are useful.

His only response. The sick feeling is getting worse. “Okay!” You shout at him. “Please, I’ll do it! Just… Stop! Make it stop!” You muster up all the power you can in that last sentence. Another scream rips from your throat, one sending chills down the spines of the men around you.

Most excellent.

The static grows louder momentarily, and your hands move back to your head. Your spine snaps back, your back arching and one last scream pulling from your lungs. Once the static stops, you lurch forward, vomit, and fall to your side. Your head is still pounding, and you shut your eyes. You are out almost immediately.

_-_-_-_

You wake up to rummaging around you. You do not open your eyes immediately. Your head is spinning, and you are sure any source of light will cause you pain. So, you lie there. As you begin to fully wake up, you remember everything that happened. You are most likely not in your own home.

Your eyes squint open and the movement around you gets closer. Eyes are staring back at you. His mouth is covered. You gasp and move back, a sick feeling settling in your stomach again. You are going to puke. You sit up fast, making the nausea worse. You look around the room and spot a trash can in what seems to be the kitchen. You stand up, cover your mouth, and sprint towards it. As soon as you reach it, you drop to your knees and begin to dry heave. There is nothing on your stomach.

Your eyes shut tightly and you whine. You rest your head on the side of the trash can.

“Co–come on!” A voice comes from behind you. “I’m n–not ugly!” He's frustrated.

You peek over your shoulder and realize the man is standing right behind you. “Don't look at me!” You hiss. Swatting him away to no avail, you lean back over the trash can let out another, softer whine.

“Dude!” Another man walks into the room. “Were you waiting for her to wake up, Toby?”

“Sh-shut up, Brian!”

You stand up from the trash can when you realize you aren't going to be sick, and you turn around. The look on who you only assume is Brian’s face is shocked none the less. He quickly gives you a soft smile, acting as if he did not just make a horrified expression at you. You pout at him. Your hand goes not your stomach, and you want to cry.

Then you catch it. A glimpse of your hand. It is dirty and blood is caked under your nails. Your blood. You settle in the fact you are just going to feel sick from now on. While looking down at your hands, you notice your feet are bandaged. You hear chattering in front of you but you're too focused on yourself to realize what's being said.

“Who fixed up my feet?”

“Tim.” Toby and Brian say in unison.

“I wasn't about to to–touch feet. And yours were b–bloody!” Toby announces it so matter of fact.

Tim seems to have made his way into the room, or you hope he's Tim and there are no other men hanging around. “You make it sound like you don't deal with blood regularly.”

Toby scowls. “It–it’s different!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He looks at you. Saying your name. Your stomach flips. You never had said your name. “Looks like you're part of the team now–”

“The team!?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming the night before. Your mind is boggled. “I was just fucking chased down… by you three I think–” you try to shout, “–had some... thing speak into my mind, and now– Now I'm part of some fucking team?” You want to explode.

“Well, yuh–yeah.” Toby says it so matter of fact. Your fists ball. They all notice. “You accepted this.”

You can easily fly off the handle. Maybe it is best you do… You rush Toby, ready to throttle him. You do not even get to touch him. You are intercepted immediately, and your arms are restrained. You struggle against strong arms as they wrap around your biceps and torso, keeping you from reaching Toby. Your legs kick out and you are quickly maneuvered backwards. Your back hits the wall and you let out a frustrated cry. Your wrists are held at your sides and Brian is almost on top of you.

“We do not want to hurt you.”

“You tried to kill me last night.” You hiss at him, your voice low and venomous. His grip on you tightens and you try to move your wrists. You struggle fruitlessly. “Let me go.”

You watch Brian's eye glaze over momentarily. His grip loosens and suddenly your head gets tingly. Before you get out of his grasp he tightens back up “Stop.” His voice… Your legs buckle, eyes widening for just a second.

You let out a steady breath. Your eyes lock with his, he doesn't look away. Thank God for unknowing men. Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Let. Me. Go.” His hands fall to his sides and his eyes glaze over again. Suddenly, you don't feel so well. You fall back against the wall with a groan, and you grab your head.

“Your nose–” Tim says as you realize it's bleeding. “What the fuck?”

You slide down the wall and cover your nose. Blood is steadily dripping. What the fuck is right. You look up at the three men in fear.

“Hey! Do not look at us th–that way!”

“What way?” You snap back.

“Like you didn't just mind control Brian!” Tim looks concerned to say the least.

You look up at Brian with fear filled eyes. Maybe he will kill you for that outburst. After a moment of pure silence, you stand up to rush to the bathroom. They let you go. You eventually find the bathroom and shut the door tight, locking it. When you look in the mirror you want to scream. You understand why Brian seemed startled when he saw you.

Your face is dirt covered and tear stained. Blood, that is most definitely not yours, is splattered against your clothes. Which leads you to remembering what happened before you were being hunted in the middle of the woods. You outwardly cringe, a chill running down your spine at the memories. You decide to rinse your face with water and as you stand there, you realize how sore you are. You have time to process how much pain you are in. You want to cry again.

You finish rinsing your face and walk from the bathroom. You make your way back to the living area and the three men stop talking. Their voices were hushed anyway, but you pinpoint the exact moment they shut up. You are ready to go ballistic. You hold it together.

“You–You’re really pretty without all th–that dirt on y–your face.”

“Toby.” Your tone is a warning. You shut your eyes and inhale sharply. You hear someone hit Toby and then he groans. He apologizes. “I have questions for you guys.”

“We have questions for you.” Brian shifts.

“Okay,” You don’t want to answer their questions at all, “how about: I ask a question, you answer, then you ask a question, and I answer. That way all questions are answered.” The three look at each other and then nod. “Okay, first question, what the fuck happened last night?”

“You killed our target.” Tim shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

“What does that mean?” You want to scream.

“Not your turn,” Brian shushes you. “How did you do that to me?”

“Your ‘operator’ didn’t tell you?” You scoff at them. When they all seem unamused, you sigh. “I don’t know, I just… I can control people. Always have been able to, since I can remember. I mean,” You pause, eyes looking off, gathering your thoughts, “Not all people. Like, babies and animals I cannot control. Their brains are different. But! Most people are controllable.”

“Is th–that what happened last night?”

You scowl at Toby. “Not your turn,” You mimic Brian’s earlier tone. “Where’s my phone?”

Toby pulls it from his pocket and shakes at you. Like it’s some enrichment for you. You narrow your eyes. “My tuh–turn.” You can tell he’s smirking; he sounds smug. “H–How did you kill our target?”

You really do not want to answer that. Your stomach begins to growl. The sick feeling has subsided for now, and you haven’t eaten in… a while. You are starving. You place your hands on your stomach and sigh. “Is there anything to eat?” They all look at you with confusion. “I’m not avoiding the question, but if I don’t get to eat… I will be avoiding the question.” You smile at the three of them. Brian groans. He motions for you to follow him, and you do so, willingly. No questions asked.

They all make note of that.

“Here is the kitchen. Feel free to look around.” Brian sighs. You nod. “Now, answer the question.”

You open the cabinet and find some cereal. “Okay,” as you pour a bowl you answer the previous question. “What happened last night–” you grab the milk out. As you pour it into the bowl, the scent hits you. It is spoiled. You gag.

“You gotta stop doing that–” Tim scrunches his face up. “The gagging–”

“Who the hell let this spoil!?” You look at the date and reel back. “Well, I’m no longer hungry.” You get rid of cereal and notice the men are on the edge of their seats. Waiting for your answer. “Anyway,” You nervously rub your hands on the outside of your thighs. You do not want to recount the night. “I just, I’m on vacation, last night was the beginning of it–”

“Where are y–you from?”

“Not your turn, but I’ll be nice–” You shoot a look at Toby. “Here. I’m on vacation from work. Not everyone has the luxury to leave and go somewhere amazing. But I am– I was going to make the most of it!” You are growing anxious. “My ex–” You close your eyes.

“He’s the one you killed?”

You immediately snap. “I haven’t killed a single goddamn person! As I’ve said before, there is no blood on my hands.” You growl out. They sense you’re on edge. “He came to town; he moved away a while back. Moved onto greener pastures, or whatever–” You roll your eyes, “–but he wanted to pay me a visit…” Your stomach is turning. You shut your eyes gathering your thoughts and grip the hem of your sweater. “He decided to, uh–” You cut to the chase. “He had a gun. He did not come to just visit me. And apparently,” You let out a nervous laugh, “pastures are not always greener when you move away.”

Toby, Tim, and Brian are all listening. Very well.

“My turn!” You try to shift your mood. “Can I have my phone back?” You place your hand out at Toby and bat your eyelashes at him. “Please.” You are staring at him through your lashes.

Toby laughs at you. “S-sexy, but no.”

Your face drops. You ignore the ‘sexy’ part. “Did you forget I can mind control people?”

“Did you forget your nose just exploded with blood?” Brian scoffs. “You are not mind controlling any of us without consequences.”

He’s right. You sigh. “Scratch that last question, when can I get my phone back?”

“When we can trust you.” Tim is blunt.

Your eyes darken. “Fine.” You cross your arms. “Whatever, I don’t need that anyway. But–” You pause. “I will need, like, I don’t know– My fucking essentials?” You want to shout again. “Like face wash, deodorant,” You pause, humming, “tampons. Oh yeah, and clothes.” Because they really have you fucked up if they think you aren’t getting those things.

The three look at each other and then back at you. Tim is the first to speak up. “I’ll take you to get some stuff.” They are not about to let you leave alone. “You said you live in this town, right?”

“Well,” You look around you and out of a window, “I couldn’t tell you where I was right now, so I don’t know.”

Toby huffs. “We’re in m–my cabin.”

Oh, how dare I not know that, you think to yourself. “That gives me nothing to go off of. But, if we’re still in the same town, yes, I'm from here.” You deadpan. “If you get me out of these woods, I’m sure I could show you where my apartment is.”

“Hold on,” Brian speaks up. “Tim, Toby, come here.” He motions for them to follow them out, and they all motion for you to stay put. Once again, you listen. And once again, they all note how obedient you are.

You hear them mumbling. You can’t make out what Brian is saying, but he’s the most concerned it would seem. You wait patiently for them to get back to you. You look around the kitchen and examine everything. The place doesn’t look too lived in. The table is… not very used but definitely looks older. The sink only has your dirty dish in it, nothing else. This may be Toby’s place, but he or his friends definitely are not here often.

“Come on,” Tim walks back over to you, “we’re gonna go to your place.”

Thank God, you sigh. You want to shower more than anything. Getting away from whatever the fuck is going on is a close second though.

“Wait a minute,” You look down at your bandaged feet. “I don’t have shoes.”

[kodathings]

𝐹𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒

Aeri Uchinaga x drunk!reader

Gender: Fluff

Warnings: drunk reader, slight mention of blood and fight with someone else at first.

a/n: Hello 😁 It's been a while since I've been here, hasn't it? Anyway, I came back with little creativity and I'm still writing something about Winter, but it will take a while to come out. I hope you enjoy what you read and if you could give me suggestions on what I should write soon. Oh, and this fanfic was inspired by a materialist about aespa that I read, I don't remember who wrote it but if you search you'll find it here on Tumblr.

"You fucking bum!" You scream, drawing the attention of the entire bar as you attack a drunk man who confronted you. With your weight you managed to knock him to the ground and punch him in the face, which were difficult to aim with in your drunken state. This all didn't last long when he pushes you, making you hit your head on the table and some glasses of drinks fall on you along with a perfect punch in the middle of your face and soon after your vision goes dark.

-

"You know how stupid that was, don't you?"

"But he was talking about you, I heard it!”

"That was stupid" Giselle shut you up by putting alcohol swabs on your wound under your eye, making the area burn. She was with you at the bar when you fought with that strong man, she was the one who brought you home in fact. You went to the bar to drink because the next day she was going to visit her family in Tokyo and you were staying because you still had to work, so it would be good drink with her before that.

You mumbled something under your breath when she pulled the cotton away with little blood this time "I was just trying to defend you...". Well, she can't send it, it was cute to see you this way, flushed from the drink and with a pout on his lips trying to justify yourself to Giselle.

"You didn't have to do this, just accept that you have a hot girlfriend." She joked trying to lighten the mood. You can't help but laugh at this and go back to sulking when you remember that guy. "But I didn't like what he said" she could even count how many times you've repeated that tonight "Drink really messes with your little head, doesn't it?"

Once again the cotton made contact with his skin, this time a new cotton that went to another wound in the corner of his lip. It was incredible how powerful that man's fist was in you face. The cotton came off and her soft fingers brushed against his skin for a perfect bandage that she had done before, she obviously knew very well what she was doing. Her glass came a little forward with her eyes focused on your bruised face, Giselle didn't even notice how you silently admired her.

"You are very beautiful" a shy murmur escaped his lips with a goofy smile. Now it is clear that the drink was messing with his head. You felt like a fool falling in love again, it was so strange in your head, out of nowhere you felt that way as if you had hearts in your eyes when you saw her.

Aeri smiled at the sight of you just being a jerk for her "You're so silly, Y/n" she pressed a quick kiss to your cheek leaving the lipstick mark there. You liked that, you really liked that. It wasn't like you to like physical contact, this wasn't really your love firm, but this time it was different because of the sparkle in your eyes and she noticed. A smile painted her lips painted wine red, the perfect tone to mark her skin as if it were a painting and she was the artist.

"Why are you like that, babe?" Cynical, she knew how to play with you according to what you was feeling. Your eyes just stared into her dark orbs, you're too stupid and in love for that. You have a headache, your nose still hurts from the punch, your hand hurts a little but you continued to look at her and your girlfriend's red lips "You're going to Tokyo tomorrow...I don't think I can stay without you around for three weeks".

It's cute, but it's sad at the same time. She felt the same way, of course she would call you every night to see how she was and not to mention that she wouldn't be alone in Tokyo since she will see her family, But knowing that I would be far from you is kind of painful to be honest. It would be fair if she left you with a memory of her even if it was just for a little while.

With a sigh she left you lying on the bed comfortably, you didn't understand anything, you just accepted your fate and the soft bed that made you lie there without protesting. She sat on top of you and leaned in close to your face, dangerously close to your lips that tasted like a strong drink that she didn't particularly like the taste of, but it would be worth it later. Your arms were wrapped around her involuntarily quickly, not letting her leave now.

"Silly..." she called you with the new nickname that would be acquired for the rest of your life. It was then that the kissing session on her skin began. First one on his left cheek, he moved up his lips to his forehead forming a path to his right cheek and chin. She was careful not to end up undoing the bandages, which was the reason to make a trail of kisses to his jaw and neck. Meanwhile you were soft with the amount of kisses you received from the Japanese woman.

You felt like you were in heaven, the angels were granting you this great woman before you entered the gates of heaven. Her hands were roaming over your shoulder and arms to make sure you would have blurs of memories the next morning.

Suddenly the kisses stopped, making an irritated groan come out of you in protest, everything was so good. Your eyes opened to see what happened but closed soon after with the quick kiss that was placed on your bruised lips, you swore you just melted like butter on the bed. Aeri had surreally soft lips, a feature you considered very advantageous.

"How it feels?"

"I won't get this off my face until tomorrow"

"Idiot"

[tervaneula]

Okay call me crazy but it's 5 AM and am thinking about YOUR leo x usagi (sue me/lh) but listen here... Listen.. Listen...

I love my fluff like my France fries dipped in sauce 🩷

So i thought of about one of your previous NQK chapters where leo tries to wake up but can't because he's just exhausted or burned out but he have to!

When he was with his family - after going back in the past - he somewhat had to wake up and do something unless his family would get worried about him but after marrying his honeybun Usagi?

I can imagine leo feeling guilty like " I need to do something today, something productive... Doesn't matter what " and Usagi whom sleeping next to him is like " Do you have too? " Like Usagi has no problem spending the whole day with his hubby, cuddling in bed, having a nice breakfast in bed (bet they feed each other) and doing bad flirts and top it off with saying how much they love each other as they share kisses.

You know. YOU KNOW. This has been my go-to comfort ask for over a month now and it's been so, so needed. Thank you so much for sending it. It's beautiful.

And now that I haven't been well, I needed even more comfort so I wrote a little ~800 word thing for it :') <3

Leonardo blinks.

And blinks again.

His blurry gaze sharpens slowly, the switched-off ceiling light above him coming into focus little by little. He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, finally closing his eyes.

He doesn't know how long he's lain awake just staring at the ceiling, unseeing, barely hearing the rain outside, the thoughts inside his head yelling at him to get up. Get up, be useful, get up, get up, get up.

He can't get up and he can't make the voices go away. He's stuck and he can't do anything about it, his fists clench in the sheets, a frustrated sob forcing its way out of his dry throat– 

"Mmh, Leo? How long have you been awake?"

Leonardo twitches his head to the side and sees two brown eyes glinting in the low light of the late morning, looking at him, fuzzy from sleep but intent, and a brow furrowed in concern. He tries to reply but he swallows the words instead, closing his eyes again with a barely-there shake of his head.

He hears a soft hum, feels the mattress next to him shift and soon two arms are wrapping around his neck, a warm weight settling on his chest. Yuichi nuzzles his cheek, then his neck, and presses his face against him. His fur is so soft on Leonardo's scales.

"You don't have to get up, you know," the white rabbit murmurs, voice gentle but still rough from sleep, "we've nothing to do today."

Leonardo disagrees.

"...breakfast."

"There's cereal in the cupboard and berries in the fridge."

Leonardo huffs at the straightforward reply and somehow that spark of amusement lets him finally regain control of his own body. Yuichi has trapped his right arm under him but the left one is free to move, and he moves it straight up to bury his fingers into his partner's sleep-fluffed hair. He earns a soft chitter for it and he purrs in response, feeling a sorely needed warmth spreading from his chest outward.

-

Yuichi forbids him from getting out of bed, getting up himself, and bringing a tray filled with various low-effort breakfast items with him when he comes back. There's the promised cereal along with a carton of yoghurt, a big bowl of assorted berries, a bunch of grapes, a cold coffee drink and two glasses of orange juice.

Leonardo drags himself upright and the tray is carefully set on his thighs. Yuichi burrows under the blankets, emerging right next to him and pulling the tray towards him so they both have equal access.

"Well then," the rabbit smiles, light and loving and loved. "Dig in!"

-

They finish eating, unhurried and comfortably silent, content to enjoy the taste on their tongues and the warmth of each other's presence. Yuichi picks up the emptied dishes and moves them to the floor, then turns back to Leonardo, grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess what's next?"

"We… get up?"

"Nope!"

-

It's late afternoon when Leonardo wakes up. He stirs slowly, indulgently, so very different from before, feeling warm and cosy between his mate's arms. His beak is buried in silky soft fur, his head cradled in an embrace so gentle it's as if he's something precious, something to be treasured and held with utmost care.

He's been on the verge of tears the whole morning – well, the whole day at this point – and they finally start to fall. It's a quiet cry, merely a release of the anxious energy that's finally letting him out of its grasp, a relief.

He breathes in Yuichi's scent, comforted and– and happy, he thinks, so very happy.

No matter how cruel Leonardo's mind is to him, Yuichi makes sure to never judge. They both have their bad days, Leonardo's being worse but it's never been a problem for the rabbit.

He looks at him and accepts him and is there for him, for better or for worse.

He reminds him that it's alright to take it slow. It's alright to just exist.

He loves him, his jagged edges and gooey core, the whole of him. 

And Leonardo knows he loves Yuichi more than he could ever put into words, more than his actions could ever express. 

More than there are stars in the sky. 

Leonardo doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a love like this but for once in his life, he doesn’t question it. This good thing that he has, this new life he’s built with his family strong by his side – it’s not something to doubt, to ruin by stubbornly waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels deep in his chest that this is it. 

This is it for him, and no matter if he’s earned it or not, he will hold onto it with everything he’s got. 

(he holds onto Yuichi just a little bit tighter.)

[fryday]

I just realize the Dan with the bow picture that Phil shared during the stream was also take in the Lester family home... Why does the fact that Dan visiting the Lester so causally and kinda often make my heart burst? I love all the pictures that Phil shared in the previous years, but the vibe definitely changed this year. I am not sure if it is because they get to explain the "lore" behind each pictures or it is because the pictures that they shared this year are so much more intimate and vulnerable... Like I am still deep in the trench of the silly glass with the intense heart eyes Howell pic. (yeah. i definitely would stare my housemate/bro who i shared mortgage with like that i guess.)

OH. i - i didn't realise it was in the lester home - i didn't - i -

not but really you're right, you're so so right. looking back at the birthday tweets through the years, they definitely start out more haha funny, especially in the years pre-coming out. then in 2020 we got the devastatingly coupley starcourt mall photo. but this year — two super super soft and homey photos in the tweet itself, plus the extras in the stream including the bow pic, two of them having been taken in the lesters' house.

i think them explaining the lore plays a part in it, like phil telling us how his mum kept handing dan snowballs as he was sat editing the trombone champ video (heart pain), but i also feel like the things they didn't explain were equally important. like that glass photo?? ok i wrote a whole post about it so i won't rehash it all here, but suffice to say, the sort of non-explanation and presentation of that photo just felt slightly intentional. and therefore made it extra devastating imo

also re: dan visiting the lesters so often and so casually, i know, i get you, it's the "your family is my family" thing by now & aaahhhhh. it's also about how casually and openly he's telling us about his visits these days. from what i've seen people say, he used to be very cagey and secretive about it before (and for good reason) but in 2024 he's on a livestream with 20,000 people saying to phil, UNPROMPTED, "i went to visit your parents pre-christmas" with emphasis on the "your"! like it's juuuuust. agh

idk. i could go on and on and on about dnp and phamily and whatnot but i'll stop 😭

[amourtoken]

1 and 3 with Noah?

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to forget that guys name”

"What would they think if they saw you right now?"

I wrote something similar to this ages ago and deleted it so here's my chance at redemption 💀

You and your partner had gotten into a huge fight over the dumbest little thing and your first move was to leave the house. At the very least you'd be gone long enough to cool down but at this point you weren't quite sure you ever wanted to go back with how they treated you. This outing led you down a few streets but thankfully you lived in a pretty big city so there was no shortage of people or things to see.

That being said, you happened to pass by a hotel and an unfortunately attractive group of strangers. You didn't expect a second glance but right as you were about to pass them one called you over with a concerned look. Hopefully he's not an unbearable catcaller and genuinely has something worth a shit to say.

"Hey sweetheart, everything alright? You look upset."

Oh he's pretty, and his voice sounds so nice...

You cave and turn around to face him, having to look up to make actual eye contact. His eyes were so pretty too...

"You alright? Like I said you look upset. You're too pretty to be walking around with that expression. Whats wrong, baby?"

You explained the entire situation, trying not to be too emotional but you were still so hurt and angry you couldn't help it. Noah threw an arm over your shoulder and was comfortingly tracing shapes on your arm. You knew this was probably a stupid idea and normally would've just walked right past the group but he just feels inviting and you can't help but notice how pretty he is either so...really what's the worst that could happen.

"They sound like an asshole. I could treat you so much fucking better...you should let me show you."

Noah's hand slid from your shoulder to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. How could you turn him down, really? Maybe he wasn't even serious, but you're already this far why not find out.

You did in fact find out. He was dead serious. Normally you'd say this was stupid and insane but the way he feels fucking into you like he's trying to split you in half you really can't be upset that you've essentially just gone to bed with a complete stranger. He's got a big tattooed hand around your throat and your whole body bounces when he slams his hips against yours, and he laughs at you when you yelp after particularly harsh thrusts.

"wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this, all fucked out under me. Bet they'd be fuckin jealous I'm making you feel better than they ever could, huh?"

[khunyuki]

"I've lived my life with blade and you always in my mind"

ꜱɪᴅᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ: 𝚍. 𝙸 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙸'𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚑𝚞𝚑?

Synopsis: Narumi Gen initially thought that Uzui Kagami was pathetic with her self-depreciating thoughts and how she let people run their mouths. He hates how he lets himself be dragged around by her cuz it's comfortable, especially that sweet smile that makes her look unbothered when it was, in fact, the opposite. He also hates how she's the fiancee of his rival when she should've been...

Pairing/s: Unrequited!Narumi Gen x OC

Note/s: I was too lazy so I just wrote 3 scenes😭 Will make a part 2 soon. It's also connected to 'that decision' mentioned in the intro

Masterlist: TOC, A, c

Uzui Kagami didn't expect her life to take an unexpected turn after transferring to the First Division. Heck, she didn't even expect she'd be recruited by THE Shinomiya Isao but she did! Yet here she was starting to maybe regret her decision as she stared at the lazy man in front of her.

.

.

"Excuse me"

She called out to the man hiding behind a vending machine, crouching like the object would hide his body. The man was playing with a handheld console she recalled was a PSP with a game she doesn't know. His hair was let down to cover his eyes yet she recognizes this man. It was 'The Troublemaker' Narumi Gen, who was in the same squadron as her.

She found him by coincidence after she left the study room to go to the training room as stated in her schedule when she heard sounds coming from a vending machine besides the storage room. It wasn't loud enough to be heard by an untrained ear so any normal human would probably not notice it but Kagami could. She seemed to have deduced that there's only one person in the base who would go out of his way to hide in an inconspicuous location just to play.

"Narumi Gen-san?"

She once again called out to the dual toned hair guy who tried to ignore her once more but couldn't as she stood in front of him.

"What do you want? I'm busy"

Gen just waved her away with his hand then resumed back to his game.

"Training starts in 10 minutes. We're going to be late"

Kagami, with her outstanding patience, didn't seem bothered at all by his gesture. She reminded him of the scheduled training they have that afternoon.

"Then you go by yourself. Why bother asking me?"

Narumi Gen was starting to get annoyed by the persistent woman in front of him.

"I do not wish to see you be scolded for being late if there's something I can do about it"

Kagami gave him genuine concern as she had already seen him be scolded multiple times during her time there. To her, his demeanor wasn't normal and it bothered her.

"Why are you being so concerned? Who are you anyways?"

Gen finally looked up to the meddlesome person in front of him to see a person he didn't know. Her long black hair hanging on her side and black eyes staring at him without any trace of scorn, something he usually sees from people around him.

"Pardon me for not introducing myself first. I am Uzui Kagami who just joined the First Division last week. I was assigned to the same squadron as you, Narumi-san"

Seeing him finally looking at her, she crouched down to meet him eye to eye when introducing herself as it was polite to do so. Her untied hair bouncing as she did, gently draping over her shoulders. Her smile was as polite as it can be but it was doing something to Gen's heart.

"Y-yeah whatever"

Somehow, he couldn't meet her in the eyes so he turned back to his game where the words 'YOU DIED' was displayed. Usually he'd feel frustrated but he was still trying his best to hide the heat that was growing on his face.

"Ummm is that game that important?"

The lady who introduced herself as Uzui Kagami moved to the empty space beside him so she could peek as his game. She doesn't really understand how it works but she could feel that it's importance whenever he focuses his concentration on it.

"I'm about to defeat the boss"

That's what he said when in fact, he was still stuck in the middle levels and just restarted the game. He tried hard to ignore the woman watching him, who was tucking the stray strands of hair on her face back to her ears.

"Will you be able to finish it within 5 minutes?"

Kagami watched him play for awhile then turned to the watch of her wrist. There were only 5 minutes left and the way to the training grounds is also 5 minutes, if not more.

"Probably"

"Then excuse me"

As soon as she heard his response, she immediately put her hands under his knees and on his back then lifted him up. Time was running out and she needs them to go now or they'll be late.

"W-wha?! What the heck is wrong with you?!"

Wide-eyed, Gen was so surprised when he was suddenly lifted in a princess carry that he almost dropped his console. Why was the pretty stranger yet not stranger carrying him?!

"Please don't worry. You can just play your game while I bring you to our destination"

Kagami gave him a reassuring smile as she fast walked to the training grounds with him in her arms.

"It's not that! My problem is why am I being carried like a princess?!"

Gen couldn't help but cover his entire face with his console in embarrassment. Never in his life had he been carried like this by anyone!

"Ohh... I thought it would be better than having you on my shoulder or on my back so you could play comfortably. I'm sorry for touching you without permission"

She slowed down her pace but continued to walk. It really doesn't matter to her what position he's in if they could go there fast but it seems her consideration was a bit too much for him. She couldn't see what was wrong yet as she's still blinded by the fact that they'll be late.

"Just why are you doing this to me?"

"I told you. I do not wish for you to be scolded for being late."

Narumi Gen wanted to die from embarrassment. Yet he couldn't bring himself to be angry at her, who seem to really just want to go with him to the training grounds together.

"At least change the position"

Her eyes brightened and she eagerly let him down and he could see how big their height difference was. She was a head shorter then him yet she could carry him with such ease... Well, most could probably do so but who would want to involve themselves with him if not this weirdo.

"You're so short yet you really think you could carry me?"

He uses his hand to visually compare their heights by placing it on his head then to her own. But his hand couldn't reach her before she crouched down.

"Height does not matter when slaying kaijus. Please hurry up or we'll be late"

She turned to him with a smile as she crouched down in front of him, her hands ready at her sides to carry him.

"You're going to regret this"

He warned her yet he still got on her back to a comfortable piggyback ride to the training room.

'I could get used to this'

He thought as he played to his heart's content without minding anything else, ignoring the fast beating of his own heart. The confused bystanders who saw them couldn't seem to believe their eyes at the sight. The quiet newbie and the troublemaker combo was the least thing they ever expected to see that day.

The combo that would soon become a common occurrence in the First Division.

.

.

.

"Umm why am I doing this again?"

"I told you, you were going to regret it"

He reminded her as she started carrying him again to their destination for the nth time. Kagami couldn't help but sigh at the past her's actions as it was her fault she made him be comfortable by volunteering to be his transportation.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Only a few months after joining the First Division, Kagami has successfully established herself as a proper member of the base. She would've wanted to be recognized for her skills most but she knew she was more known for something else. That something was related to the missing, newly promoted captain, Narumi Gen.

"That brat, Gen, is missing again. Uzui, do you know where he is hiding this time?"

Hasegawa Eiji, who was annoyed to see the empty room, rubbed his temple as he turned to the only officer standing inside the captain's office. Despite having on a respirator mask, he knew exactly who it was as she's the only one allowed inside his office.

"I beg your pardon Vice Captain Hasegawa but I am not a missing person detector"

Officer Uzui Kagami couldn't help but sigh. She wasn't annoyed but she's been asked about his location all of the time ever since they showed up together, with him on her back, to training. She knew there would be consequences when she chose to be involved with him but she didn't think it would affect her life for so long.

"The two of you are the only ones in the room. There's no way you don't know where he is"

Vice Captain Hasegawa is extremely suspicious. He knew of her skills. The Uzui's are mostly known for being shinobi's, and that shinobi's are masters of deception. He also knew that Kagami is an honest person that doesn't see any benefit from lying. If not for her mask, he could at least try to read her face for any lies.

"Where is he?"

Kagami blames herself for befriending her captain as it meant she had to serve under him and follow his orders directly. It also meant that whenever he's hiding, she'll be the one to find and fetch him. To drag him from whatever mess he's creating and clean up after him.

She isn't scared of her vice captain despite the scary expression on his face right now. Nor is she scared of the complaining her captain will whine about later. She just wanted to get it over and done with.

"He's inside one of the boxes over there sir"

"Kagami, you traitor!"

She pointed over to the tower of amazon boxes that he ordered. She and her captain made a fort that was hollow inside so he could hide when the vice captain arrives but she knew it was a futile attempt. Especially when he let out a loud noise after she exposed his location.

Vice Captain Hasegawa dragged out the whining captain and went out of the room while the officers he brought with him were cleaning up his room. Usually it was her job to do so but she had to follow them out first. After all, she had something more important to do.

After they arrived at Vice Captain Hasegawa's office where Gen was being scolded, she got caught in the crossfire for letting him be. Used to being scolded, Kagami just stood there and let the time pass by.

"Officer Uzui, what's the business you wanted to talk about?"

Vice Captain Hasegawa, having finished his rants turned to the woman still standing properly, ignoring the whining man on the side. She took a letter from her pocket and placed it on the table.

.

.

"Captain Narumi, Vice Captain Hasegawa. I would like to quit the defense force"

"May I ask the reason why?"

The whining captain immediately went silent and the vice captain opened his eyes wide in shock. Hasegawa kept his composure and asked.

"My family has been encouraging me to quit for a long time now. I've been postponing it but I think it's time to listen to them"

"I won't accept that kind of reason"

Narumi Gen, with a uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, was incredibly upset.

"Are you a puppet? It's been on my mind for a long time but why do you keep letting your family decide on your actions? You're old enough to be independent and have a mind of your own yet you still let yourself be pushed around like this"

He stood up from where he was at and trekked towards her, his hair now slicked back revealing his eyes. The eyes that were compatible with Kaiju no.1, which could be considered a lie detector if used well. Stared straight to her own despite the mask, he took the resignation letter and ripped it to shreds.

"You are the one who told me you wanted to change and become better and I believe you. You are my soldier. You can't just leave because you lost confidence in yourself thus blaming it on your family. I am not letting you go just because they said so. Your place is here in the First Division. And you, Uzui Kagami, is stuck here with me because I said so"

Placing his face closer to her own, it would seem really intimate if not for the mask she's wearing. She had no choice but to lift up her head and not break eye contact as it meant she'll lose.

And she did lose. Because all she ever wanted was someone to believe in her and acknowledge her hard work, enough to blow away her worries.

"How is that any different from my family, sir?"

"It's different because I know full well you want to stay here"

This was the moment she vowed to support her captain.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

"Hey! Why didn't you tell me?"

As soon as Kagami got back from the day off her fiance forced her to get after getting injured, she was approached by her frustrated captain.

"Tell you what, sir?"

Confused, Kagami tilted her head. She doesn't really know what he's talking about.

"That you're that guy's fiancee"

As if a bulb of realization lit up her mind, she finally understood what he meant.

"Ah... Apologies sir, everyone from my previous division knew so I just thought you guys knew, as well"

Kagami didn't really mean to keep it a secret. She thought it was already a fact everyone knew but clearly it wasn't as she never really talked about it before. It never got brought up in a conversation after all.

"Still does not justify you not telling me! I thought we..."

'...Had something special' is what he wanted to say but trailed off. As he bored holes into her round eyes filled with innocence, he just couldn't bring himself to do so.

"I thought we were friends?!"

He just let out something else, something that describes their relationship better.

"Eh? I thought you said we weren't friends?"

Kagami remember him saying that while Gen recalled his interrupted confession before. He was glad he didn't get to do so as it would've risked everything with her.

"Tsk would I let you carry me and do all that to me if we weren't"

Narumi clicked his tongue, not only from the missed opportunity but also from just being called a 'friend'.

"Captain Narumi..."

"Gen"

"Eh?"

"Just call me Gen, since we're friends and all"

"But..."

"Don't even bother with the honorifics! We're friends so you have the right to call me that!"

Frustrated once more, Gen couldn't help but increase the volume of his voice. He saw how she flinched at his sudden volume so he immediately toned it down.

"If you're that bothered then you can just call me that when we're alone"

Rubbing his neck, he didn't know what to do if she still rejected him after this.

"Alright, Gen"

"Though Gen seems a bit too intimate, can I just call you Gen-kun?"

His heart thumped loudly he thought she could hear it. He asked her to call him that yet here he was getting flustered over it. Even hearing her call him Gen-kun was enough to make him feel like he just slayed multiple daikaijus all by himself.

"I-It's fine either way"

His rival may have gotten her first but there's no way in hell he'll give up just yet.

[gemstone-roses]

Make it better

Hannibal x reader

Hurt/ comfort.

no specific plot. I’ve just really needed this.

Thankyou @ajokeformur-ray for reading this over and assuring me it wasn’t utter garbage. ILY ♥️

Warnings: reader is estranged from her family. Female reader, Mentions of death, panic attack, anxiety, stress. OOC Hannibal maybe. Shush. 🤫

A/N: I know I’ve been a bit absent. I’ve had an incredibly difficult few months and it just keeps getting worse. I’m working on all your requests I promise. I wrote this in the hopes it would make me feel a tiny bit better. If anyone needs any comfort I do hope you find a bit in this too.

The ache in your chest that’d settled there the past few weeks was showing little sign of residing. You sat in the worn armchair in your little office flicking through the brown folder making sure your work was correct before handing it to Dr Lecter. You took witness/ surviving victim statements, and passed them onto Dr Lecter to look over at the beginning of any case that came through. Hannibal admired you and your strength, sensing a deep wound buried somewhere in your past.

A few weeks ago, on the way to a crime scene, he’d asked you how your week had been you’d told him you’d had news of an estranged family member who’d passed, and said nothing further. Hannibal could sense there was a struggle of some sort, like you didn’t know what or how to feel, and a stirring of horrid memories you’d hoped long ago to bury. He’d offered sincerely to be a listening ear as a friend, and you’d waved him off, thanking him, assuring him you were fine.

You’re here later than everyone else, a consequence of your unrelenting mind, not wanting to go home just yet.

Every single bone in your body aches, the events in your personal life of the past few months weighing heavily on you.

With a defeated sigh you untangle your legs from beneath you and head to Hannibal’s office. You’re not expecting him to still be in, taken aback slightly when his door is ajar and Bach is sounding softly through the door. You knock, even though he always insists if his door is open you may come in without doing so.

“You’re here late” Hannibal cocks an eyebrow, he’s not at his desk, he sits on the couch that divides the room of his office, his slight curiosity soon turns to concern as he regards you. The bags under your eyes are considerably deeper, your slightly hunched frame, arms wrapped around your middle, folder tucked under your arm, like you’re subconsciously trying to comfort yourself.

“Ah, I just wanted to get this done for you” you say, passing him the file. He notices the slight quiver of your hand as you pass it.

“Thankyou, do you want some tea?” He asks kindly , getting up to get you a mug before you’ve even answered.

“I don’t want to impose” you said a little awkwardly, old insecurities coming to the surface thanks to the past few months.

“You are never an imposition” he says, his voice laced with concern. He’s missed you these past few weeks, you’ve been present, physically, but your sarcastic quips and laugh hadn’t filled the room for weeks. You’d told him in general conversation how you were estranged from your family- they were awful people, who did awful things, and he never pressed you further. Only assuring you that it was their loss, and they were undeserving of a person as lovely and kind as you.

“Sit” he says, gesturing to the seat next to him and handing you the mug, his fingers brush yours as you take it, his hands are warm, at one point you’d wonder how they’d feel holding yours, now, feeling like you’d insulted him by accidentally brushing your fingers against his.

“Sorry” you mumble, Hannibal catches it, his heart aching at your words, wanting nothing more than to take away whatever was hurting you.

Hannibal places his cup on the side, kneels down in front of you. It startles you slightly. You’re glad you have your hands wrapped around the mug, as Hannibal would definitely pick up in your nervous fidgeting.

Hannibal reaches a large hand to cup your face, you turn towards it.

“It’s alright” he says lowly, stroking your cheek.

You bite the inside of your cheek, lest the tears that have been unable to fall finally spill. You shake your head, lip quivering.

“I’ve got you, I’m here, your safe” he soothes as you blow out a shaky breath, chest tightening.

“Y/n, darling” Hannibal speaks, he’s lowered his voice, cupping your chin now forcing you to look at him. His brows furrow, taking in your struggled breathing and your shaking frame. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” You try, unsuccessfully of course, eyes slightly wild with panic. “Okay, Okay, look at me, slowly, yes?” He coaches, splaying his hand on your chest. “Good” he nods, his other hand squeezing your shoulder. “Again” , and you do, Hannibal nods, a reassuring smile on his face. “Good girl” he says, thumb swiping at your tears. He stays holding you, hand on your chest comfortingly until your breathing returned to normal.

“I’m so-

Hannibal cuts you off.

“Ah, no, none of that” he admonishes gently.

He rises from his knees, towering over you on the couch, his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into him. His hold is strong, Hannibal presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m making your favourite this evening, come home with me” he says. You tense slightly, again not wanting to impose.

“Allow me to make it better for you, even just for a night” he whispers. “Okay” you say.

He insists you sit by the fire as he cooks, refusing any pleas from you about helping. You eat together, and in the night, he holds you. You curl into his open arms as he wraps them around you, encasing you. You feel safe there, Hannibal pressing soft kisses to your forehead and muttering soft compliments as he waits for you to drift off, and you think, perhaps everything will be alright as long as your here with him.