#actually that happens at least twice. i think. if i write it that way

[short-and-ugly]

can count on my hands how many times skoodge initiates contact with zim first throughout my entire series

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

[medusaesque]

Kim Kitsuragi and the pale-

Kim has a unique relationship to the pale, I tried dissecting it and making sense of it. Reposting with more thoughts after some good conversations with @binomech.

Warning- it's insanely long.

1. After life, death

One of the first thing you can learn about Kim is that he would hurl himself in death's way to save you. From the very first moment, Kim is related to sacrifice and death, it follows him wherever he goes-

The slaughterhouse.

He lost his parents at two years old. He worked a year in Processing (here's good post about that by @renmorris and @spilledkaleidoscope). He lost his partner, Eyes. People have taken a bullet that was meant for his more than once. His survivor's guilt is insane. He's killed six people. He's afraid of killing recklessly, and has a deeply unhealthy relationship with his gun (made another embarrassingly long post about that).

Kim also hears pale 'ghosts' on the police radio all the time, talks about it like it's normal, and says he doesn't believe in ghosts.

If harry is with Noid during the Moralist dream quest (more on it later), Harry can even wonder if Kim himself is a ghost, prompting this beautiful exchange-

And he's not entirely wrong. When Harry gets shot, after Kim fulfills Espirit's promise and stands in death's way for him, you can ask as you fall into darkness what will happen to you-

It's the living who are ghosts. You can leave them behind and rest. Go into the wild pale yonder, along with everyone else Kim has ever cared about. Or at least you can try to.

When death is at the door, you have two options-

2. After death, life again

Kim might associate himself with death, but Harry associates him with life again and again- Death is darkness, Kim has a light bulb halo. Death is a sunset, Kim is a sunrise. Death is where you are when the game start, it's ready to take you, and then- a clarion call, the sound of a motor carriage, a detective arriving on the scene, and you open your eyes.

Of course Kim is no actual saint, no guardian angel, but it's really telling that even in harry's deification the symbols of Kim's holiness are worldly, almost mundane, the matters of every day life- a celling's fan lightbulb, the engine of a car..

Or the way @binomech said it when discussing Kim's portrait: this is the only thing keeping you from the full brunt of the world in your mind #but truly you are already in the world #and he is just a man #and that's just a car and that's just a ceiling fan

The game is very clear about Harry being a ceaseless agent of the world, but he's not the only one. Harry stands at death's door twice, and Kim is his way back to the world both times.

3. After the world, the pale

So what is Kim's relationship with the pale?

As casual as he might try to appear, Kim is clearly uncomfortable with the pale, afraid of it even. When Harry brings up the pale, he intervenes, genuinely worried for the fragile stability of his mind, trying to protect him-

It's no more terrifying than water or death or that we're stuck behind our eyes for all eternity?? Sounds pretty terrifying Kim...

I think the key is in the moralist vision quest, When Harry attempts to reach the Committee of Responsibility, and he hears the pale crosstalk coming through the radio, when suddenly-

"Pale is a shroud of memories and it doesn't really distinguish to whom those memories belong to. You could hear anything." You could hear anything, but you hear Kim. Soona even says that the odds of us hearing him, out of all the voices in the pale, are astronomically low.

We know the past has not been harmless to Kim, we know it's full of ghosts and cold winters, but that's not the thing that's eating at him-

Kim is afraid of forgetting. He's constantly writing, he thinks through his notebook, always recording, so he wouldn't lose anything. That's why the pale is so terrifying to him.

4. After the pale. the world again

The world is what it is. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

That leads me to the expeditions through the pale-

Volta do Mar is a skill unique to Kim, according to the stats of this pilot jackets, and it's a Physique skill.

It's driving me crazy to think how Kim wanted to be revolutionary pilot as a kid, and is walking around dressed like a pilot as an adult, to give himself the ability to navigate the pale. To return from the sea-

DISTANT ENEMY OF HIMSELF?? kim....

Seeing how Volta do Mar is strengthened by his jackets, and the items' descriptions point out that most of the people who used to wear this jacket are long gone (alongside what they represented) and considering that the only real advance in pale transit is the speed with which an aerostatic craft can pierce it, is seems fitting that returning from the 'sea' requires the kind of armor that ghosts wear- the ghost of who you wanted to be but never could, of a home that was never yours. Glory to them.

@binomech said it best in this conversation we had about Kim's skills: "your traitorous race. your traitorous job. your traitorous parents. your traitorous senses. distant enemy of yourself: seolite, communist, cripple, faggot. and you wear it as armor"

Kim is equipped for Volta do Mar, he armors himself for it every day, for the thing that makes it possible to return sane, and discover a new world-

This is one of the most touching Kim moments in the game to me- putting his hand in the rain, looking up to the sky, mouth open, welcoming the spring rain, even knowing it'll bring death and destruction with it. He is devoted to this world and the role he has to play in it, or at least the role he thinks he has to play-

But we know Kim has a bigger role to play, he's trying to do his part right there, getting Harry to stay-

His connection to Harry can keep him on this world once again- keeping the two of them together. Their real work is down here, him and Harry are Revachol's only hope. If they stick together they might be able to keep her on this earth.

UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT.

I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT.

I LOVE YOU.

[futurewdclandonorris]

Friends Don't | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: you go out to celebrate George's home race win, not even imagining what the night will bring

Warnings: smut, drunk driving, unprotected sex

A/N: you will maybe have to necessarily read part 1 and part 2 hehe. For the sake of the plot, we'll pretend some things already happened. I've spent the whole week writing this and only got it to all click together from the third attempt. Third time's a charm, right? But at least had a blast while editing, which is a rarity. I actually enjoy writing these 'chapters' and building this world sm <3

Sundays were a day for rest and relaxation. A day for sitting down with a good book and a cup of coffee. A day for cuddling up with a loved one and watching a movie. A day for taking some time for yourself; a day to reflect and recharge.

That was, of course, unless your best friend was George Russell. And that your Sundays didn't consist of spending most weekends a year at different race tracks around the world. Not all of them, but you tried to be there for him at least once or twice a month, as much as the opportunity allowed.

That afternoon, George took the checkered flag in Silverstone in P1 and now you were in your room, preparing for tonight's celebration. The victory party was going to be wild, and you knew it. You had seen how George celebrated previous wins, and tonight was going to be no different. Especially because it was his home race.

You took a deep breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. You had dressed to impress, wearing a sparkly blue dress that fit you perfectly. Finishing your look with a pair of strappy heels and a silver necklace, you couldn't help but think about how previous events with George brought you even closer together.

Your friendship kind of became more... intimate. No pun intended. Guess you were both afraid not to lose each other over the past experiences, and that deepened your bond whether either of you wanted to admit or not. Now your only fear was that your closeness wouldn't tear you apart.

A soft knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see George standing at the door with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair tousled in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, his voice low and husky. "Ready to party?"

Never before have you paid any mind to the nicknames he called you, but now a thrill ran down your spine. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the world.

"I am," you said, smiling at him.

As you stepped out of the door, George took your hand in his and led you to the car waiting outside. The drive to the club was short, but the anticipation was high. The party was in full swing when you arrived; loud music, flashing lights, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.

George led you to the VIP section where his friends and family were already celebrating. You saw his siblings and a few of his close racing buddies. You could hear their loud cheering as they saw George walk in with you and feel the envious glares of the other women in the room.

George handed you a glass of champagne and raised his own in a toast. "To the best damn team in the world," he said, looking at you and his friends.

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, feeling it go down smoothly. The night was young, and the energy in the room was electric.

The party kept going on as the night deepened, and the noise of the songs blasted through the room. Glasses were filled up with drinks constantly, making it more of an effort to ignore the effects of the booze. You found yourself on the dance floor, surrounded by George and his friends. The bass of the music throbbed in your chest, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

Throughout the night, each person had a chance to take their turn with you on the dance floor, and eventually you were spinning around in George's arms. The heat of the club mixed with the buzz of the alcohol made your skin flush against his. You could feel his muscles flexing as he twirled you around, his hand firmly holding onto yours. The closer you danced, the more the tension between you grew.

For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was watching. You moved on him like it was just the two of you in the world, your hands moving over his body like never before, and hips swaying in perfect synchronicity. You were so close to him that you could feel his breath on your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses. You felt yourself getting lost in him, and something stirred inside you.

And it seemed like George caught up on your odd behavior as the song faded away. He grabbed your arm and started leading you away from the dance floor until you reached a quiet corner. But your drunken mind wasn't understanding his intentions.

You threw yourself onto him and he had to secure your hips with his hands to stop you from slipping. You let out a hazy chuckle as you started grinding against him once more before he pushed you back against the wall.

"Stop it, that's not why I brought you here."

But you didn't listen. You pulled yourself even closer, letting your lips brush against his neck. "Then why did you bring me here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, your breath tickling his skin. "The drinks have gone to your head. I brought you here to take a break and cool off a little." he avoided telling you that you were drunk and not acting like yourself, afraid to provoke any unnecessary argument between you two.

Still, you weren't paying any attention. You were too inebriated to realize that your behavior was a little out of character, and you certainly weren't considering the consequences of your actions. You clasped your hands around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him again.

George tried to keep a respectable distance between you, pushing his hip backwards as you pushed yours forward, fighting the urge to get too close. That got you into an interesting position; you were leaning against the wall in between his arms with your shoulders as he leaned into you with his upper body. Your hand naughtily ran down his side, poking him. You knew you probably shouldn't touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself. His muscles strained as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're getting awfully close to me," he murmured, unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. His fingers slowly slid from their grip on the wall.

"Then don't push me away," you said back.

His face was just inches away now, and your lips unconsciously moved closer. The atmosphere between you two was thick with anticipation, a feeling that you currently relished in. Your lips were only a breath away from his when he spoke.

"We can't." his eyes locked with yours.

"Why?" you asked breathily.

"Because we're best friends." his voice was barely a whisper.

He hoped the reason he gave you would remind you of everything you asked from him that first time. But he didn't tell you that he feared you'd regret it when you sobered up, and that it would be his fault for not stopping it.

"And?" in the state that you were, did he really think that would stop you? He couldn't have been more wrong. You wanted to push him to feel something. Anything. "Best friends can do a lot of things." you smirked.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes still on yours. "No, they can't." he gritted, shaking his head.

"You're right." you said, the alcohol clouding your judgment. "They can't do this." and your hips finally met his.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay level headed. "What am I going to do with you?" he said in desperation, his hands pressed flat on the wall behind you, trying their best not to touch you as they dangerously started slipping down.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palms as you glided them down his torso. "Remember how you said you can read my body language?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding his head.

"What is it telling you now?" you whispered against his lips.

"It's telling me we're going to be in big trouble if you don't stop this," he replied. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"Then don't fight it. Show me." you murmured.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. Your arms snaked around his neck and fingers twined through the hair at its nape, pulling him closer. You couldn't believe that you had done all those other things, but never kissed. And when ultimately his mouth closed on yours, it was like finally locating the elusive jigsaw piece on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday while tidying up your home that you thought had been lost forever. It made you almost not want to kiss anyone else ever again — almost, because deep down you knew you shouldn't have been doing this in the first place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his head tilted to get a better angle. The kiss was soft, tentative, like both of you were very aware of what might happen. You pressed your mouth against his more firmly, tasting him. Parting your lips slightly, you felt the silky wetness of his tongue on yours. You bit his lower lip, letting out a deep moan when he groaned in response, hands that were in his hair tugging on the strands slightly. He groaned into your mouth again, pulling you even closer against him. You had no idea how long you were kissing, but it was definitely not enough.

The kiss broke, and you leaned your face against his neck, panting heavily. He glanced down at you, his lips so close to yours that if you had merely lifted your head, they'd be touching again. The warmth emanating from your body made him want to do things he knew he shouldn��t. He placed his forehead against yours, trying desperately to get control of himself.

"We should get back." he said between breaths. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his scent and the magical kiss, it took you a moment to realize you were no longer kissing him. You opened your eyes and met with him.

"We should, before they realize we're missing." you nodded. He frowned, but his eyes were smiling. He was relieved, but he was also worried for you and what tomorrow might bring when you sobered up.

"Lets go," he said, turning around, but kept an arm around your waist so as to not let you get lost. You looped one arm around his neck, holding onto his shoulder, and gently hit his other shoulder with your head.

The night was still young and the party was still going. Music was playing, people were dancing, and laughter filled the room. Your friends cheered when they saw you two come in together, but neither of you paid any attention to them; all that mattered was that you were here, with him. Guys grabbed drinks for the both of you from different parts of the room and put it in your hands.

You found a spot on the couch and George sat next to you, his arm around your waist protectively. The conversations flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you both forgot what had happened earlier as you joined the rest of the group in drinking, singing along with music and laughing.

He later found you on the dance floor swaying around completely out of rhythm with a drink in your hand. Your face lit up when you saw him.

"There you are, my champion." you leaned into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

"I won the race, not the championship.” he chuckled.

“Mm, don’t care. To me you are the champion.” you slurred, pouting.

“Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, supporting you.

"Mmhmm." you mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." you could hear the frown on his face. "You're drunk." he spat as he attempted to take away the half empty glass from your grasp.

"I'm not." you said, feeling yourself lose your balance a little as you swayed back and forth. He put his arm around you to help you balance.

"Yes, you are. I should've taken you home the first time around." he sighed, somehow not surprised you managed to get even drunker. You were both intoxicated for that matter, it's just that George knew how to hold his liquor. And he looked to never go over his limit in case something like this happened.

"No." you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm taking you home." he tightened his grip around you, leading you out of the party. You mumbled something in response, not quite sure what you were saying.

He helped you into his car and buckled your seat belt for you, before getting in himself. He drove slowly, carefully navigating the roads while you were almost passed out in his passenger seat. Every now and then he'd take a hand off the wheel to reach over and brush your hair away from your face or wipe away a stray tear from your cheek if one escaped your eye. As he turned into your street and parked the car, your eyes fluttered open.

"Um, could you walk me to the door?" you asked.

"I was planning on it," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Both of your arms wrapped around his left one, holding on for support, as he walked you to your apartment. Your little nap helped clear the haze from your head, but you were still tipsy. When you reached the entrance of your flat, you propped yourself against the door and blinked up at him.

"Do you want to come inside?" inviting your best friend into your home have never before seemed more dangerous and George should've known better than to say yes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you asked to break an awkward silence that fell among you the moment he shut the door.

Before even waiting for his answer, you made your way towards the kitchen, but he extended his arm and grabbed your waist, preventing you from moving further.

"I think we both had enough to drink tonight," he said.

"Then what do you want to do?" you whispered.

"I want to claim my prize." he must have had a few more drinks than usual at the club to summon up the courage for that sentiment.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the alcohol still fogging your mind but not enough to miss the implication of his words. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. His hand still rested on your waist, his fingers tracing small circles over the fabric of your dress.

"Is that what I am, a prize?"

"No, no." he said quickly, his eyes softening. "You're so much more than that, you know that." his hand cupped the side of your face. "When I saw you looking up at me on the podium today, I realized I couldn't have done it without you. You were the one who had been cheering me on from the sidelines all this time. You've been there for me when no one else was." he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You've been my lucky charm all these years and I want to show you how much you mean to me."

The way he was looking at you made your chest heave with a mixture of emotions. You were both under the influence, and you knew this was not the best time to make decisions, but you couldn't resist him. You leaned in and attached your lips together again, only this time with more passion, more desire. You could feel his hands running through your hair as he kissed you back, his tongue playing with yours, his body pressing against yours.

He pulled away, looking at you with a hunger you had never seen before. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to say anything. His lips crashed onto yours, hungrily claiming your mouth as his own. Your body responded to his touch, your hands roaming over his chest and tangling in his hair. He lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. Climbing on top of you, his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, your hands gripping tightly onto his muscular back. He pulled his lips away from you, looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

You nodded, reaching up and pulling him back down. He gently kissed you again and you responded in kind, but he pulled away again.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." he whispered. "I don't want to do this unless you want to." 

"I want to." you murmured. The alcohol may have distorted your judgment, but it surely helped your courage.

"Are you sure?" he asked a third time. You laughed softly, trying to push him off. He had you pinned to the mattress, still pressing you down.

"Yes, I'm sure." you said, no longer laughing.

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you hard, his fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of your dress. He ran his hands underneath, gently resting them on your ribs, and pulled your dress upwards. You lifted your hands above your head, freeing him of the task of removing your dress as you squiggled out of it and freed yourself from the restriction that was your dress.

He kissed you again, letting his hands run over your bare skin. His lips kissed down your throat and chest, his hands undoing your bra. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, taking in the sight of you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said. You blushed, and he smiled. His lips traveled down your leg, gently caressing the outside of your thigh. "But I'm a little jealous, you know?" his lips traveled back up, his tongue tracing over the slope of your breast and hands kneading them softly. "You got to taste me, and I..."

He kissed his way down your body, his hands going over every inch of exposed skin, reminding you how skillfully he handled you that very first time. He reached your inner thigh and slid his hand underneath your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his fingers brush against you before a long finger slid inside you. You moaned loudly, spreading your legs apart for him. He smiled against your neck, his teeth taking in your skin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire behind.

His finger slowly moved inside you, circling you before sliding in and out. His hand pulled your underwear down, you kicking them off to the side. His mouth moved down your figure, hovering over your breasts. He teased you for a moment, blowing against your nipples before drawing the tip of his tongue over one. He did the same with the other, his fingers never ceasing to move. His kisses continued further down, over your stomach until they reached your mound.

"Can I?" he asked, peeking at you.

"Please..." you tried to hide the shake in your voice.

His tongue slid between your lips, gently licking you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin. He teased you, his tongue circling your clit before sliding inside you. His tongue flicked over your clit, his hands holding your thighs apart. You spread your legs even wider, your body arching up to him. He leaned in, gently sucking on your clit and you moaned loudly, his tongue moving faster. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against his face.

You were nearing your end, your moans growing louder with every movement of his tongue. You could feel his lips smile against your skin, enjoying the sounds you were making. You cried out, your body tensing as you came, shaking against him. He pulled away, slowly kissing his way up to the top again. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not hurrying you up as you sucked in his bottom lip, squeezing out your own juices.

"Taking that trophy is the second best thing that has ever happened to me." he whispered. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, your hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "The first, of course, being you. You're my greatest reward." he continued as you trailed kisses down his neck, removing the shirt off his shoulders.

"Stop talking, George."

"Sorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes, surrendering above you.

You kissed his chest, your nails raking up and down his sides, feeling his muscles tense. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and could sense the urgency in his touch. His hardness pressed against you, begging to be liberated. You pulled away from him, reaching for his belt buckle and his eyes shot open, hands reaching for yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. He knew if you go any further there would be no going back and some irreversible things would be done.

"Are you sure?" you asked back, smiling mischievously. "I thought this is what you wanted." your nail dangerously circled around his lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch with every word he spoke.

"I-I do. I'm just making sure you're not doing it just because I want it." you could tell he was really struggling to hold himself back.

"I think we've already established that..." you whispered against his lips and prompted your body more to his.

"Okay," his hand moved away from yours, and you undid his belt.

His pants fell around his feet and he kicked them off. His boxers were the last thing left, and you reached for them, slowly pulling them down. His hand held the back of your head as he kissed you, his tongue twirling around yours. You moved to pull away but he held on tighter.

His boxers hit the floor and you looked up at him, his hands resting on your frame. Gently taking your hand, he placed it on his dick. You gasped, feeling it grow even more underneath your touch. He pulled away, his lips planting kisses down your neck as his hand guided yours up and down his length. You felt him shiver as you grazed the tip with your nails, his breath hitching. He removed his hand, and your eyes shot open when you felt his tip brush against your entrance.

He teased you, running it up and down your slit. You threw your head back in pleasure, your back arching against him. The more he prolonged what you needed the most, the more your neediness grew. You tried to guide him inside you but he resisted, placing a finger on your lips instead. He dragged it over them before he made you suck on it, his eyes never leaving your face as he blew a stream of air out. Your eyes widened when you felt his head brush against you again, making you gasp audibly, his name falling from your lips.

"Please," you remembered what he told you the first time he had you in his arms like this. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please..." you chanted over and over again.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Hearing you beg for him made his head spin again. It was like you'd put him under a spell every time you'd utter that word and he'd not be able to deny you anything. Not that he ever wanted.

He slowly pushed inside of you, stopping at every inch to wait for you to adjust. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to move again. He kissed you, your nails digging into his back as he stretched you more. He was so gentle, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. This was not the normal rough, lustful sex. This was the man who loved the sight of you, the sounds of your pleasure. This was the man who wanted to make love to you, to show you what true pleasure was.

Your fingers sank into his back again, and he responded by thrusting into you harder, your moans getting louder. His lips traveled down your chest, his tongue flicking a nipple as he pushed into you again.

"Oh, god." you moaned, George's name falling from your mouth repeatedly. Your hands dug into the sheets as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"You feel so good... so damn good," he kissed your skin. "Making me feel like I don't ever want to take anybody else again."

"Don't stop, please, whatever it is that you're doing, please, just don't stop." you cried, twining your legs around him to press him deeper.

He moaned in pleasure when you did, his hands tightening their grip around you. His breathing grew heavier and faster, your bodies reacting to each other. He was so close, and he could feel you held right on the edge.

You cried out his name, your form shuddering under him. He had no intention of stopping, and he continued his movements as you kept shaking, your voice loud enough to wake up the whole apartment complex.

"You, George, only you…" you whispered into his ear as you were coming down.

You felt his whole build shake, his cock pulsing inside of you, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to hear him as he climaxed. You wanted to hear the sounds he made, the sweetest song in the world.

"George… George…" you panted, your breathing coming out in jagged breaths.

He cursed, as his body trembled with pleasure. His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he came. You buried your face in his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. He kissed you, holding you close to him. He wanted to stay inside you forever, to feel the sight of your face as he pleased you. You did that to him. You were the one making him see another reality where only he and you existed.

But he pulled away, your eyes searching for his as you slowly came back to reality. He kissed you again, his lips landing on yours.

"That was amazing… you were amazing…" he whispered, stroking your face gently.

"So were you." you said back, playing with the bangs that fell over his forehead.

He rested his head on your chest, finding a comfortable spot, your hands moving into his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" you whispered, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to."

"Always."

He hugged you tightly and rolled over so that you were now on top of him. His fingers softly ran along your back as your body let go and fully relaxed. The peaceful sound of your heartbeats and his breath seemed to take over the room. You drew near to him, feeling the up and down movements of his chest gently rock you to sleep, matters of your friendship left for tomorrow's morning news.

Next part

[pressureplus]

Not sure if you have done it or if anyone have already requested it.. but I do like to see a headcanons (NSFW?) on the ovipositor of Sebastian. Like if reader finally agrees to let him pregnant them with his eggs. Kinda stuff like how would it feel like during/after breeding? does it will hurt? How long long does it take? How those eggs/babies develop? And how does the giving birth would be and feel like? Anything like that.

Btw, I love your headcanons and oneshots! <3

So glad you asked! I've been dealing with pain lately so Ive needed consistent care. As per usual we are writing, this one just happened to be finished first. Also, thank you for the compliment <3

♡Sebastian Solace Ovipositor Headcannons♡

Warnings: Describing this Non-Erotically, Implied Sex, Oviposition/Ovipositor, AFAB and AMAB Cannons (God Im Sorry), Pregnancy/Birth Vaguely Mentioned, M!Preg Mentioned

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜

Starting off strong, the moment you agree to have that mans babies he is all over you

Excited, yes, and at the mention of his Ovipositor being put to use he’ll be a little shy but happy to oblige! How can he not be? The idea of having a family almost makes him feel…normal. Happy and normal.

As his tendril is always sheathed, it stays very slick, which makes insertion easier. Despite his absurdly large length (he is well over twice your size) he doesn't need to be all the way inside your body to use said Ovipositor

During the process of actually putting those eggs in your body, it feels…odd. The best way I can describe this is like swallowing those Boba Pearls in drinks? But like…obviously not with your mouth

Doesn't hurt! The eggs arent too large, about an inch in length and diameter, but still not painful! You’d think they would be, right?

This is due to both the slightly muscle relaxant features of said slick, and the flexible nature of his eggs

Despite their size they can easily compress to be smaller if pressure is applied…too much pressure will pop them and make them no longer viable but yes they can get a bit smaller

They're like little jelly balls with a turquoise color

After the fact, you'll really just feel oddly full for the next day or two. These things are decently sticky and almost parasitic in nature so those that are going to continue to develop will be burying themselves into your body

Not a painful process either, by the way

Those that don't end up attaching to anything are not particularly viable as they can't take any of your DNA to make anything. So those really just have to be removed. This can be done decently easily with some pressure applied to your stomach and a bit of pushing

Produces 6-12 eggs on average, but may produce more or less, so you never really know how many actually stuck

The way these eggs develop is rather unnatural to say the least.

If you're AFAB then they'll attempt to fill your uterus much like a normal baby would. They also take as much ‘code’ from your DNA as possible, feeding off your blood for minerals similar to how Anglerfish pairs function

If you're AMAB things get a bit..sticky for you. They'll hollow out their own space inside you, kind of like a very small faux womb. This is NOT painful, but does leave a sort of dull ache like you've just worked out for a while. This small little wound will close behind the eggs as well so they won't be disturbed. They feed off you the same way as they do for those who are AFAB

This pregnancy can last anywhere from 6-9 months depending on how large the batch of eggs is. They do technically ‘share’ their meals so they'll all be ready to hatch at the same time. Think of it like an evolutionary trait for a better chance at survival.

Doesn't entirely feel like pregnancy, you'll feel weaker, bloaty, and maybe a bit sick mostly due to lower mineral/vitamin counts. But as long as you take some kind of supplements or eat healthy you'll be fine

You don't get particularly round or anything either, just a small bump that could easily be passed off as weight gain

On the Plus side for the AFABS, your body does not continue to have its menstrual cycle during these months. They release their own chemicals into your body/bloodstream for a better latch and less chances to be ‘rejected’

As for having these babies? There's conractions/cramping for sure and a bit of blood from where those eggs detach. I wouldn't call them particularly bad contractions, as they're slower and a lot less painful than normal child birth

The body doesn't have to prep as much since they're not normal sized human babies.

If you're AFAB, they'll come out the natural way. If you're AMAB, you're going to need surgery

Surgery is of course an option for both if preferred.

They pop their eggs and are ready to go the second they break, now for the most part the body can just absorb the nutrients in these empty ‘shells’ but they can also be removed. It won't cause additional harm either way

These babies aren't very big when they're taken out

In fact, they're all about palms sized. They're warm to the touch, covered in a bit of blood and whatever liquid is inside those eggs, so they're a bit sticky. But just fine to wipe clean

They’ll be oddly…blue and pale for the first while as they learn to breathe oxygen with their very small lungs. Don't worry, they'll figure it out. They look almost like normal babies aside from this, well, not including those that look more like Sebastian

They’ll develop faster than normal babies as well. Some may even be born with sharp teeth, others will get their set within the first two months.

They're already up and ready to go in about a year or less, as if they're made for survival like wild animals. However this will come at a cost. Your sanity mostly when your 1 year old is chewing through the casings of wires and chair legs.

By the time they're around 5-6 they'll be just a little smaller than the size of a normal human child.

As teenagers getting their growth spurts? Many of your children may end up BIGGER than average humans!

Overall your children will be different, as was the process of having them, but they're still perfectly healthy

[ipseitydelrey]

Sei!! I'm obsessed with your writing!

Since your requests are open... I was thinking maybe.... NSFW alphabet with Reid? 👀

aaaa thank you so much !!

nsfw alphabet ☆ spencer reid

ship spencer reid x afab!reader

warnings smut, use of protection (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos!!), p in v penetration (i feel like this goes w/o saying), oral (m and f receiving), hair pulling, mutual masturbation, wet dreams, teasing, sex toys, he’s self-conscious :(, slight mention of what cat adams did (only implied), also he’s bi <3

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

it’s quite possible that spencer loves aftercare more than actual sex. he’s so enthusiastic about taking care of you; he’ll get food and water, run a bath, cuddle, etc.

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and of yours)

although he’s pretty self-critical about his looks, he does like his hair. his hairstyle changes frequently so he always appreciates it when you compliment him or you run your fingers through his hair.

spencer probably feels awful that this is his favourite part of your body, but he loves your boobs. no matter the size or shape, he lives resting his head on your chest like it’s a pillow.

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

either in you or in a condom. he doesn’t really like it when it gets everywhere. although, if he does end up cumming anywhere else (like on your stomach or face, etc.), he will definitely try to clean it up quickly.

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

it’s not too much of a secret but it still sort of counts: spencer has wet dreams about you. since you also sleep in the same bed, during those dreams, he would subconsciously rut against your leg and moan in his sleep. so far (at least to your knowledge), this has only happened once because you woke up to him doing it. you both are aware of this fact, but spencer isn’t aware that you know. you haven’t told him because you don’t wanna embarrass the poor guy.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

with women, very little; not even sex or second base, at most he has made out and gotten his shirt off but that’s it (we’re not including cat adams in this discussion of course). with men though? he’s not a virgin, so he does have some experience.

although if we’re counting what he knows through books and articles, then in theory he would be amazing in bed.

F = favourite position (this goes without saying)

if he’s on top, he loves missionary. the position gives him the opportunity to kiss you while he thrusts into you; he loves the romance and intimacy of it too.

if he’s bottoming, then he likes it when you ride him, especially if you’re facing towards him. he can still kiss you — giving him his much needed intimacy — and he loves to watch the way your chest heaves as you bounce on him. fondling your boobs is an added bonus! another position he loves is when you fuck him with your tits. that one doesn’t need an explanation.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

he thinks he’s serious (he’s trying soooo hard, he wants it to be perfect) but he’s unintentionally goofy. usually during sex, he shares little tidbits about the benefits of an orgasm, or how eating pineapple can make cum taste like the fruit…and it’s hilarious. it doesn’t really bring you out of the moment, just makes you laugh.

H = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

spencer has a mouth-watering happy trail. much like up north, down south it’s unruly, but can still be classified as well-groomed.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

not much can be said, but expect tons of “i love you”s as he cums. he’s a romantic at heart, of course he wants some romance during sex.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn’t masturbate a lot, maybe once or twice per two weeks at most; that’s if he’s not with you. in your presence is a whole other story. it was a bit awkward jerking off in front of you at first, but over time he’s come to love it (ngl kinda wanna write a drabble for this one).

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

why do you think he keeps his hair long? it’s just begging to be pulled! seriously, during a makeout session, you got a little curious and your hand trailed to the back of his head and you gave his hair a lil tug. the result? an involuntary moan. and as mentioned before, mutual masturbation is on the table.

L = location (favourite places to have sex)

he believes any sort of sexual intimacy should be confined to the bedroom. he values his privacy and he doesn’t want to risk getting caught in the middle of having sex by anybody.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you being smart, especially when you teach him something new (which doesn’t happen often but when it does, he’s so turned on). that’s pretty much it. genuinely loves it when you correct someone else, or if you work with him in the BAU, when you realize something about a particularly hard case that causes a breakthrough.

N = nope (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

doesn’t want to hurt you in anyway shape or form. it’s likely that later in your relationship, when you trust each other more, you both might experiment with biting or spanking, but that’s as far as he’s willing to go. sensory deprivation (especially with blindfolds) are also a no.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s so different, yet so similar when both giving and receiving oral; he doesn’t have a preference.

if he’s giving, then he’s giving. at first, he wasn’t too good at it (you had to keep giving him pointers and tell him what you like and don’t like, but he has the basics down), but over time, he does get the hang of it. in short, his tongue has other uses than just rambling about statistics.

if he’s receiving, it is the hottest thing you have seen and heard. he gets so flushed in the cheeks and so sweaty, his hair starts to stick to his forehead as he’s panting. and the noises? the noises he produces makes you want to rut against the bed, the couch, his leg, wherever you can.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

if he’s bottoming, he does like it when you go fast, especially if he’s pent up (and maybe has been edged for a while too). but if he’s on top, then he loves to go slow. although most of the time, he’ll go whatever pace you want him to go.

Q = quickies (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he doesn’t like quickies, especially early in your shared sexual life. he does prefer to take his time and not have any interruptions and the like, but quickies are bound to happen with how many cases there are.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

this is a man of science we are talking about; of course he’s game to experiment in the bedroom. with his limited experience (especially with women), he doesn’t know exactly what he likes and doesn’t like. but as for risks, almost never. the closest he’ll probably get to fucking in public is in a motel/hotel. he doesn’t want to get caught in such a compromising position.

S = sexts (yes? no? pictures?)

he doesn’t really understand why people would sext when they could just A. say it to their partner directly or B. just call and listen to their voice. he understands why people send nudes even less; he doesn’t want to take pictures of himself in that way, or even risk sending them. the technophobia is real with this man.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

doesn’t own any, but he isn’t vehemently opposed to using them (either on you or him) if you own some.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

spencer doesn’t really like to tease so much as he likes to be teased. it gets him all riled up, especially if you tease him in public. as long as the teasing is masked well, he’s all for it.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

the way this man moans is symphonic, it’s mind boggling. he is loud, his noises can reverberate through the room. he doesn’t just moan, he’s got a whole arsenal of sounds; whimpers, whines, cries, etc.

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

the first time he got hard in front of you was a complete accident and he was so embarrassed, rapidly spitting out apologies and slight self-deprecating comments. you tried to calm him down - which sort of worked, thankfully - and asked if he wanted help with it. the event didn’t escalate into full-on sex, but hands were enough for him and you both.

X = x-ray (dick size)

like him, his cock isn’t particularly girthy, but it’s long, definitely above average. in fact, it’s long enough that you could still feel the aftershocks of it even when it’s been a day.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

the man is so touch-starved that at this point, any form of intimacy would be near too much for him. so, his sex drive would probably be high, but he would still only be able to go maybe one or two rounds. later in your relationship, he might be able to go longer than that.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

spencer is the type of guy to feel sleepy after sex, even if he cane only once. the activity takes a lot out of him, but he would still prioritize you first before himself. after he does his whole aftercare routine, he’s out like a light. this could be different if he has a migraine, in which case he’ll probably be up for a couple more hours (yay insomnia).

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[ilguna]

hii could you please write a young coriolanus x reader arranged marriage trope thank you

☼ plinth legacy (Coriolanus Snow) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, blood mention, some grief.

wc; 7.7k

notes; made the reader sejanus's sister for angst reasons :)

--

Coriolanus Snow.

A name, much less a person, you had never thought would constantly be on your mind. He wasn’t before. In fact, most days you wouldn’t glance his way twice, unless you had to. He was just another face at the Academy, a friend of your brother, Sejanus. Which, by association, made him a friend of yours. Or, at the very least, acquaintances.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, or that he was unbearable to have a conversation with. Actually, his presence was nice, on the occasions that you were around him for longer than a few minutes at a time. He was polite, and always seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, even if he’d heard it all before from Sejanus.

You started to see more of Coriolanus when they became mentors for the tributes in the districts. You weren’t eligible to participate, and it wasn’t due to grades, but because you’re a year younger than your brother. This didn’t stop him from pulling you to see the tributes in the zoo when the opportunity first struck.

Ma had warned you two to be careful, after what she had seen happen with Coriolanus getting stuck inside. Still, she happily made the sandwiches when Sejanus requested it, and even made extra after he told her what his plan was. He wanted to give them to the tributes inside of the cage, he had a feeling they were hungry, and he was right.

Sejanus couldn’t get them to approach the bars, no matter what he said, or how hard he tried. A few times, you’d tried yourself, attention focused on one person in particular, who was on the far side of the cage, refusing to look your guys’ way. 

Your fingers curled around the cold steel, leaning into it. “Marcus.” You breathed, a smile on your face. “Please, we want to help.” His eyes found you, standing above where Sejanus was crouched. “It’s just a sandwich.”

He didn’t budge, of course. Sejanus took a glance behind the two of you, getting to his feet. The sandwich lowering in one hand, as he waved someone over with the other. When you looked, you found Coriolanus coming through the crowd, blonde curls bouncing with each step. 

When he caught your eye, he gave you a smile. “Trouble?”

“None of them trust us. And why should they?” Sejanus asked.

“Us?” Coriolanus echoed.

“I’ve been trying, too. But not as broadly.” You shook your head.

A girl had marched up next to the three of you to point to a sign on a pillar next to the enclosure. “It says, ‘Please don’t feed the animals.’” 

“They’re not animals, though,” Sejanus told her. “They’re kids, like you and me.”

“They’re not like me! They’re district. That’s why they belong in a cage!” She shouted.

Sejanus sighed. “Once again, like me.” He then looked at Coriolanus. “Coriolanus, do you think you could get your tribute to come over? If she does, the others might. They have to be starving.”

He hesitated, looking through the bars to find his tribute. He took a moment to think, debate whether or not he should. All he needed was a little push to convince him, so you leaned forward, over Sejanus, to place a hand on his arm.

“Please?” The word was sweet, more than you had intended it to be. His eyes moved to you, instead. “Do you have any ideas?”

He took in a breath, “I can’t just treat her like it’s feeding time at the zoo,” He was shaking his head. “Not mine. But I could offer her dinner. Maybe they’ll join after that.”

Sejanus nodded, you removed your hand, giving him a smile. Your brother opened up the backpack for Coriolanus to see the amount of sandwiches and fresh plums that were inside, waiting. “Take whatever. Ma made extra. Please.”

Coriolanus took two sandwiches and two plums, and then moved away to a more private spot, where he sat down on a flat rock. His tribute went up to him to join, and they spoke briefly. She took a bite out of one of the sandwiches, a smile appearing on her face. 

The other tributes had moved forward, seemingly gauging her reaction to make sure that it was good. When she swallowed her bite, she turned her head to them. “You all should get one. They’re real good!” She waved her district friend forward. “Go on, Jessup!”

Jessup took his time approaching the fence, black hair sticking to his forehead from the heat. Sejanus wordlessly handed him a sandwich, and a healthy plum. As soon as Jessup had returned to where he’d been before, the other tributes rushed forward.

You stole a sandwich and a plum, holding them to your chest, eyes on Marcus, as he refused to come forward. A dozen hands stuck themselves through the bars, and your brother struggled to fill them quickly. Within the minute, the food was gone, everyone had gotten one. 

Except for Marcus. 

He had his arms crossed over his chest, face hard. Sejanus pulled a sandwich out of the very bottom of the bag, unaware that the food you were holding was for Marcus, and not for yourself.

“Marcus, this is for you. Take it. Please.” Sejanus said, leaning out as far as he could. “Please, Marcus.” He pleaded. “You must be starving.”

You watched with a sinking heart as Marcus looked Sejanus up and down, and then turned his back to the both of you. One of the other, smaller, boy tributes took the opportunity and ran forward to claim the sandwich, snatching it from Sejanus’s hand. 

The news crew showed up after that, pushing a camera into his face. Your brother wasn’t having it, slinging the empty backpack over his shoulder. He held his elbow out for you, so he could escort you through the crowd better.

“I’m going to talk to Marcus.” You told him. “I don’t want him to go hungry.”

“Ma will be upset that I left you here.” Sejanus said, “She told me to watch you.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving me. I have Coryo.” You motioned to Coriolanus, who was in his own world with his tribute. You cleared your throat, getting his attention. “Sejanus is going to leave, you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on me, would you?”

Coriolanus nodded, smiling, “Of course not, why’d you even ask?”

Sejanus was satisfied, lowering his elbow. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Tell Ma I won’t be too late.” You said, watching him weave through the crowd to leave.

And then you turned back to the cage, eyes on Marcus in the corner. He was stiff, unmoving in the corner for another few long minutes. Which was probably done to ensure that you two had left. 

When he decided that enough time had passed, he took his time turning around. The first place he looked was in your direction to confirm the coast was clear.

You were certain he was going to shut you out at the sight of you, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, and so did you. You waited for him to relax, even if it was a little bit, before you bothered to hold up the sandwich and the plum you’d been holding to your chest. The food that you’d been protecting for him.

His face twisted, you stared, drawing in a breath. “Ma made it. I don’t want you to go hungry, Marcus.”

Marcus deliberated, eyes wandering from yours, and then he’d pushed himself off of the wall. You crouched, so that he wouldn’t have to come up the dry moat if he didn’t want to. He took his time, drawing attention to himself. 

If he had any respect from the other tributes for abstaining, it had crumbled like his resolve. 

Marcus stopped at the bottom of the moat, you held out the sandwich and the plum for him. “We’re so sorry you’re here, Marcus. We never could’ve imagined it’d come to this.” He didn’t move, watching you. 

And then all of a sudden he did.

His hands closed around your wrists, yanking you forward. You barely turned your head in time to keep your nose from slamming into the bars, eyes wide, trying to pull back. He had a tight grip on you, squeezing hard enough for you to feel the blood beginning to build in your fingers.

“You aren’t.” He said, voice hard.

“Marcus…” You wiggled, “Marcus, you’re hurting me.”

He tried to pull you in closer, forcing you to press into the bars of the enclosure. “This is what you get, (Y/n). This is what happens when you treat people like animals.”

“But this isn’t my fault!” You shouted, panic settling in. “Let go of me!”

“You’re the one that moved to the Capitol. You didn’t stay in District Two. You’re just as bad as they are.”

“Let go!” You cried, tears in your eyes.

“Get off of her.” A hard voice demanded, a hand shot in front of you to make a grab at Marcus.

Coriolanus was angry, an emotion that you hadn’t seen him wear before. He was always so cool and collected, there wasn’t a lot that could get him riled up. If it did, he would excuse himself, to keep from tarnishing his perfect reputation.

A stern crease was between his eyebrows as he got his hand around one of Marcus’s forearms, bringing him forward with one solid pull. 

“I said, get off of her.” His voice was low.

“Or what?” Marcus asked.

“Or I’ll make you wish you never met her.” 

Marcus listened, never taking his eyes off of Coriolanus, as if he could jump through the narrow bars to strangle him. His hands released, and you let go of the sandwich and the plum in the process. You caught yourself on the bars before you could fall completely, standing up swiftly, brushing dust off your skirt.

Coriolanus reached for you, and you held onto the red sleeve of his Academy uniform, breathing heavily. You shook your head at Marcus, heart beating in your chest. “Just because we’re here now, doesn’t mean we’ve changed, unlike you.”

The evening was ruined, but the zoo was closing anyway. Coriolanus let you hang onto his elbow, as he began to lead you out while blocking the cameras from bombarding you. You didn’t make it very far before you saw Sejanus, sitting behind a boulder. And even though you could’ve let go of Coriolanus, you didn’t.

You were upset, for multiple reasons. Your intentions were completely different from what Marcus assumed. You weren’t there to save face with District Two, you were there to help him. And even worse, you were mad at Sejanus for dragging you along in the first place.

It was the last time you went to see Marcus with Sejanus, but it was the first time Coriolanus kept you up at night. It was the way he had stepped in, how he reached for you first, instead of waiting to see if you wanted his comfort. It stuck out in your mind, and then it didn’t.

When your mom saw the bruises on your wrists the following day, she told you that you were done. Sejanus would have to do the mentoring on his own. This doesn’t mean that you heard about it any less. You probably heard about it more, getting every detail without ever having to ask, because Sejanus offered it up.

You didn’t see Coriolanus for a few days after that, despite the fact that you wanted to thank him. You were too invested in schoolwork, while also trying to come up with ideas for Sejanus to use with Marcus, because he wanted to make things right between them.

When you did see him next, it was the day of Arachne Crane’s funeral. The whole school had gathered on the front steps of the Academy. The groups were divided neatly and alphabetically by class, but Coriolanus wasn’t. He was in the front row, sitting alongside important individuals, namely President Ravenstill.

You had no idea why, until the Academy clock struck nine, and the entire crowd fell silent. That’s when he rose from his seat and walked to the podium, where he sang the anthem. The president then gave a speech about Arachne, how her life didn’t deserve to be taken when all the Capitol is doing is striving for peace.

You bit your tongue, hard. If they wanted peace, they should treat those in the districts together. You’d heard about what happened to Arachne, what she did to her tribute. She was teasing a starving girl, and while you don’t agree that taking a life is the right form of payback, you can’t blame the tribute.

The funeral procession came around the corner, following the drumming. At first, it was all peacekeepers from the honor guard. The crane was next, attached to a flatbed. And dangling from the hook, with bullets in her dead body, was the district girl. Below, shackled to the truck bed, were the twenty-three other tributes, filthy with their heads down.

You were sick, struggling to breathe, as you imagined the amount of pain they had to be in. As you pictured yourself hanging from that hook, or chained to a truck that you couldn’t even stand on. The rest of the funeral was a blur, as the truck disappeared.

Still, you went to find Coriolanus, ignoring your own brother to do so. He was standing near the podium, talking to Dean Highbottom, but as soon as he left, you slid in.

“You sounded amazing.” You said, Coriolanus turned to you with raised eyebrows. When he saw your face, he gave you a smile. “I wish I sounded half as good.”

“I’m sure you do.” He said, hand on your shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of days, is everything okay?”

“Ma told me I’m not allowed to help anymore, she saw the bruises.” You said, “I’m fine, though.”

“He left bruises?” That crease between his eyebrows returned.

“He was mad. I would be too.” You muttered. “They got dumped into a zoo, literally. You were there. How did it feel?”

His face contorted, “Wrong, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

“You’re right.” You sighed. “I never got to properly thank you for stepping in. I think he would’ve let go eventually, but—”

“You don’t need to thank me, (Y/n).” He interrupted, watching as you reached into your backpack.

“I do, actually.” You pulled out a neat plate of bread pudding that had been sitting flat on the bottom of your bag. When you looked up, you saw his parted lips. “You can’t ask how I know, but I heard that you really like bread pudding. I made enough for you and Tigris, or even if you wanted to share it with Lucy Gray.”

“You bake.” He said.

“On occasion. If you have any requests, I’ll be more than happy to make it for you.” You nodded.

He gave you a smile. “Thank you, (Y/n), but I don’t think I could ever ask that of you.”

“Please, don’t hesitate.” You told him. “I’ll see you around.”

You’d expected to see Coriolanus in the hallways next in passing, not the hospital later that evening. The mentors had gone to the arena with the tributes to do televised interviews, when rebels set off several bombs, killing multiple people. Both of the tributes from Six were killed, as well as the Ring twins—Diana and Apollo. While three mentors had been injured, that being Coriolanus, Androcles Anderson and Gauis Breen. The latter one lost both of his legs.

And of course, with the exit being wide open, four tributes went running for it. The tributes from One were dead before they stepped foot out the door, while the girl from Two had made it to the river. She made it over the wall, but died in the fall. While Marcus… he disappeared completely.

Sejanus was, thankfully, uninjured. The Academy canceled classes, so he came straight home. He didn’t really speak until the following day, when he suggested for the two of you to visit Coryo in the hospital. You’d agreed, because leaving your brother alone while he was that upset didn’t seem right.

Ma made more meat loaf sandwiches, because Coriolanus seemed to like them so much. When you visited him, he sat up in the hospital bed. Sejanus set Coryo’s book bag down on a table, while you took a seat. Together, the three of you enjoyed the sandwiches, while talking about anything but Marcus.

When you were done, you wished for him to get well soon. It would be the second time that he’d stay on your mind, this time lasting longer. You didn’t like that he was hurt, especially when he didn’t deserve to be. The war was between the districts and the government, not the people in-between that were being forced to help.

It didn’t seem to bother Coriolanus, though. He kept fighting for his tribute, and you tried to pry him from your mind. It was easier to do when the Games did finally come around, especially that first day. When the cameras started with a wide shot of the arena as a whole, and the fourteen tributes that stood in a circle around the center.

Then the camera changed, as it slowly zoomed in on twin steel poles, twenty feet high with a crossbeam. And at the center, Marcus hung from shackles at his wrists, beaten bloody, face swollen. When he moved his lips, it showed his broken teeth.

You raised to your feet the same time that Sejanus had. He was standing a few feet in front of you, next to Coriolanus, who was watching him carefully. The only reason why you were allowed to be in the hall was because you were there to support your brother, and you quickly understood why.

Sejanus rushed forward, grabbed an empty chair, and hurled it at the screen, where Marcus’s mangled face was. “Monsters!” He screamed. “You’re all monsters here!”

You watched in silence as he left the hall, leaving you there. No one had moved after him, and you were too stunned for a minute to chase after him. Coriolanus turned in his chair, where he saw you grabbing at your wrists, where the bruises were just healing.

“(Y/n)--” He was worried, shaking his head.

“He’s right.” You breathed, backing up toward the door. “What have we done?”

“Miss Plinth,” A hand had grabbed you.

You jerked away, eyes wild, lips parted. It was Dean Highbottom, and there was a warning on his face, telling you not to cause a scene. You didn’t want to be like your brother. Except, it was too late for him to step in, because the two of you were already too similar. Born from the same tree branch that split into two.

“Get away from me.” The words were harsh, “Don’t touch me.”

He let you go, as you followed after Sejanus. He wasn’t too far, just down the hall, where he was heaving heavy breaths, hands in fists at his sides. The look he gave you could’ve killed anyone, but his expression softened when he realized it was you.

You hugged him, standing there for what felt like forever. Marcus ended up dying later that afternoon by another tribute, presumably a mercy killing. Sejanus encouraged you to go home, telling you that he’d be right behind you in a few hours. You listened, told Ma that Sejanus was upset and that was it.

Well, that’s what you thought, at least. He didn’t come home that night, and as it got later, Ma was getting more worried. She asked you if you had any ideas where he could’ve gone, and you told her no. All you could do was suggest Coriolanus, because they were close, and Coryo seemed to care.

Ma took you to the Snow penthouse, where Tigris opened the door, dressed in a nice lavender dress. With Ma in hysterics, you explained the situation, and she invited you inside to sit in the living room. Tigris made tea, while her grandmother took a seat in a chair nearby. On the television was the arena, but it was too dark to see anything, even with the moonlight.

Tigris poured jasmine tea into cups on the table, while your mom tried to clean herself up with the handkerchief. “You’re such nice people. I’m so sorry to have dropped in on you like this.”

“Any friend of Coriolanus is a friend of us all.” His grandmother said. “Plinch, did you say?”

Your eyebrows twitched, Ma didn’t skip a beat. “Plinth. It’s Plinth.”

“You know, Grandm’am, she sent the lovely casserole when Coriolanus was injured.” Tigris said to remind her.

“I’m sorry. It’s too late.” Ma sniffed.

“Please don’t apologize. You did exactly the right thing.” Tigris patted her shoulder, looking up. Her eyebrows raised suddenly. “Oh, here’s my cousin now! Perhaps he knows something.”

You turned, finding Coriolanus gently shutting the door behind him. He gave you a gentle smile, but when you didn’t reciprocate, it dropped slightly. “Mrs. Plinth, (Y/n), what an unexpected pleasure. Is everything all right?” He asked, coming closer.

“Oh, Coriolanus. It isn’t. Not at all. Sejanus hasn’t come home. (Y/n) said he left the Academy this morning, and I haven’t seen him since. I’m so worried." She said. “Where can he be? I know Marcus being like that hit him—” She placed a hand on your knee, hand squeezing. “Them hard. Do you know? Do you know where he could be?”

“He was upset, ma’am. BUt I don’t know that it’s any cause for worry. He probably just needed to blow off some steam. Took a long walk or something. I’d do the same thing myself.” He tried to ease her.

“But it’s so late. It isn’t like him to up and disappear, not without letting his ma know.”

“Is there anywhere you can think of he might go? Or somebody he might visit?” Tigris asked.

Ma shook her head. “No. No. Your cousin’s his only friend.”

Coriolanus looked at you, where you hand your palms on your lap. “You know, if he’d wanted company, I think he’d have come to me first. You can see how he might have needed some time alone to… to make sense of all this. I’m sure he’s all right. Otherwise you’d have heard of it.”

“Did you check with the Peacekeepers?” Tigris asked.

Ma nodded. “No sign of him.”

“You see?” Coriolanus asked. “There’s been no trouble. Maybe he’s even home by now.”

“Perhaps you should go and check.” Their grandmother suggested.

Tigris gave her a look. “Or you could just call.”

Ma shook her head. “No. Your grandma’s right. Home is the place we should be. And I should let you all get to bed.”

“Coriolanus will walk you.” Tigris said.

“Of course.” Coriolanus nodded, you got to your feet.

“My car’s waiting down the block.” Ma told them, getting up as well. She smoothed down her hair. “Thank you. You’ve all been so kind. Thank you.” She reached back to grab her handbag, you looked away from Coriolanus to the television, where you stopped.

There, on the screen, a shadowy figure came out the barricade. The moonlight catering the side of his face, the features eerily familiar. He was carrying something in his hands, as he crossed the arena to Marcus’s corpse, where he stopped. Above laid a sleeping girl, the tribute that had killed your friend to keep him from suffering. 

“Shall I walk you to your car?” Coriolanus asked, Ma had begun toward him. “I bet you’ll find Sejanus in bed.”

“No.” The word was a whisper out of your mouth. “No, Coryo.” He’d turned his attention to you, mouth opening to speak, when you did it first. “Sejanus is in there.”

Coriolanus came closer, passing Ma. You reached out to grab him, hand on his shoulder. Sejanus knelt down, and tried his best to arrange Marcus in an appropriate manner. He rolled Marcus on his back, straightened his legs and tried to fold his arms over his chest. And then he stood up and held his hand out over Marcus’s body.

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung into your eyes.

“That’s your son in there? What’s he doing?” Asked their grandmother.

“He’s putting bread crumbs on the body.” You murmured, lips trembling. “So Marcus has food on his journey.”

“His journey where? He’s dead!”

“Back to wherever he came from.” Ma told them. “It’s what we do, back home. When someone dies.”

You swallowed thickly, a tear running down your face. A handkerchief materialized out of Coriolanus’s pocket, he passed it to you. “Thank you, Coryo.”

The phone rang a moment later. “Is the whole city up?” Their grandmother sighed.

“Excuse me.” Coriolanus said, holding your gaze for a moment, as he walked away. He turned his body away to speak.

You wiped your eyes with the handkerchief, and then folded it neatly to place back on the coffee table. You needed to leave, to go to Sejanus. Why hadn’t he mentioned this to you? Was it because he knew it was a stupid idea?

When Coriolanus came away from the phone, he sighed. “That was the Head Gamemaker. She’d like you to meet her at the arena to collect Sejanus, and I’m to accompany the both of you.”

“Is he in trouble?” Ma asked, eyes wide. “With the Capitol?”

“Oh, no. They’re just concerned with his well-being. Shouldn’t be long, but don’t wait up.” He told his family. 

The three of you shuffled out of the apartment after that, going down the elevator and through the lobby. Your parents’ car rolled up silently, and the three of you got inside, with Coriolanus requesting the arena. The Avox nodded, nad began to drive down the streets in a hurry.

“First time we saw the Capitol, it was night, like this.” Ma spoke quietly.

“Oh, yes?” Coriolanus asked, looking at you.

“Sejanus sat right where you are, saying, ‘It’ll be all right, Ma. It’ll be okay.’ Trying to calm me down. When we all knew it was a disaster,” Ma looked out the window. “But he was so brave. So good. Only thinking of his ma.”

“Hm. Must have been a big change.” Coriolanus said.

“Family and friends cut us off.” You told him, adjusting in your seat.

“No new ones to be made here. Strabo—their pa, that is—still thinks it was the right thing to do. No kind of future in Two. His way of protecting us. His way of keeping Sejanus and (Y/n) from the Games.”

“Ironic, really. Given the circumstances.” Coriolanus said. “Now, I don’t know what Dr. Gaul has in mind, but I imagine she wants your help getting him out of there.”

“I don’t know if I can. Him so upset and all. I can try, but he’ll have to think it’s the right thing to do.” She said, glancing at you. “I can’t let you go inside. You two have always been close, but I don’t want you in there.”

“I don’t want her to go inside, either.” Coriolanus chimed in. “Maybe there will be a different way.”

When you got to the arena, there were people already waiting outside of the doors. A dozen Peacekeepers, a good handful of Gamemakers, including Dr. Gaul. You approached tentatively, unsure about her presence. She didn’t always come off stable, that’s why you tried to keep your distance. 

Coriolanus noticed this, choosing to stand between you two.

“At least you’re punctual.” Dr. Gaul said. “Mrs. Plinth, I presume? And little (Y/n).”

You pressed your lips together. Ma nodded, “Yes, yes. I’m sorry if Sejanus has caused any inconvenience. He’s a good boy, really, It’s just he takes things so to heart.”

“No one could accuse him of being indifferent.” She agreed, looking at Coriolanus. “Any idea how we might rescue your best friend, Mr. Snow?”

“What’s he doing?” Coriolanus asked, ignoring the comment.

“Just kneeling there, looks like.” Dean Highbottom said, eyeing you. “Possibly in some kind of shock.”

“He appears calm. Perhaps you could send the Peacekeepers in now without startling him?” Coriolanus suggested.

“Too risky.” Dr. Gaul shot it down.

“What about putting his mother on a speaker, or a bullhorn?” He asked. “If you can darken the screen, surely you can manipulate the audio as well.”

“On the broadcast. But in the arena, we’d alert every tribute to the fact that there’s an unarmed Capitol boy in their midst.” Dean Highbottom said.

Coriolanus didn’t speak for a second. “What do you propose?”

“We think someone he knows needs to slip in as unobtrusively as possible and coax him out.” Dr. Gaul looked directly at you. “Namely, her.”

“No.” Coriolanus said immediately, shaking his head so hard that his blonde curls started to bounce. “She can’t go in there. I will.”

“Oh, no!” Ma cried. “It can’t be Coriolanus. The last thing we need is to put another child in danger. I’ll do it.”

“What we need is someone who can make a run for it, if necessary. If your daughter won’t, then Mr. Snow is the man for the job.” Dr. Gaul motioned to the Peacekeepers, who came over at her motion to dress him in body armor. “This vest should protect your vital organs. Here’s your pepper spray and a flash unit that will temporarily blind your enemies, should you make any.”

Coriolanus looked down at the bottle of pepper spray. “What about a gun? Or at least a knife?”

“Since you’re not trained, this seems safer. Remember, you’re not in there to do damage; you’re in there to bring your friend out as quickly and quietly as possible.” Dr. Gaul told him.

You started to shake your head, “Coryo, I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You aren’t asking.” He looked at you. “I’m volunteering.”

“He’s just a boy. Let me call my husband.” Ma begged.

Dean Highbottom gave Coriolanus a small smile. “He’ll be all right. It takes a lot to kill a Snow.”

You watched as Coriolanus’s face dropped, he sighed. And then he looked at you. “I’ll bring Sejanus out. Don’t worry.”

“Be careful.” You told him.

The Peacekeepers took him to the arena, where he disappeared inside. Your attention shifted to the news truck with the live feed of the tributes. It was dark though, too dark. You could barely make out anything, meaning you might as well had not been looking at all.

You were able to make out their figures, as Coriolanus slowly approached Sejanus to not scare him. They stood there, the minutes dragging on for what felt like forever, until they finally made the movement to leave, but not without Marcus’s body. They picked it up, made it a good deal across the arena before the other tributes came up to them. Less than a minute later, they came out.

And you were there in an instant, because you refused to leave without seeing either of the boys, while Ma went home. You had to push past the Peacekeepers to see Coriolanus and Sejanus, sitting on the tile. You crouched in front of them, hands on your knees.

“That was stupid of you, Sejanus.” You told your brother, looking at the blood pooling on the ground. “But you did what I couldn’t do.”

And then you looked at Coriolanus, who had his eyes on you already. You could see the scrapes on his face, his chin mostly, and the blood on his forehead. You reached out, he winced, but let you touch the area around the wounds.

“Thank you, Coryo.” You whispered.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Of course, (Y/n).”

From then on, seeing Coriolanus for longer than a few minutes at a time was rare. You looked forward to it each time. You saw him when Sejanus announced the Plinth prize, the sparkle in his eye at the mention of it.

He stopped by a couple days later, after Sejanus had gone to bed and Ma was cooking in the kitchen. You think he wanted to talk to Sejanus, possibly about the whole ordeal in the arena, but he had taken his sleeping medication. With the dosage he was on, there was no waking him.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, swiveling side to side on the stool, talking to Ma as she baked her pies. You were about to go to bed, dressed in your pajamas, the only reason why you hadn’t was because you were waiting for her to put the peach pie in the oven first. At the sight of Coriolanus, the cuts on his face, and the smile on his lips, you’d clammed up.

“I was just heading off to bed.” You said to him, sliding from the chair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a piece of pie, (Y/n)?” Ma asked you, worry on her face.

“I’ll have a piece tomorrow.” You told her. “Besides, I think Coryo will have a piece big enough for the both of us, isn’t that right?” You smiled.

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Goodnight.” You murmured, pausing long enough to let Ma kiss your forehead. You waved to Coriolanus, and then disappeared around the corner, where curiosity stopped you. 

Except, what they talked about while he enjoyed the blackberry pie wasn’t important, just about Sejanus and how the university would be better when he graduated. The real talk came after, when Pa wanted to see him. And Coriolanus went inside, closing the door behind him, which you then pressed your ear to.

“You look just like your father.”

“I hear that a lot,” Coriolanus said. “Did you know him?”

“Our business overlapped at times.” Pa said. “It’s striking, the resemblance. But you’re nothing like him, really.” He paused for a moment. “Nothing at all. Or you’d never have gone into that arena after my son. Impossible to imagine Crassus Snow risking his life for me. I keep asking myself why you did it.”

“I couldn’t let (Y/n) go inside. And he’s my friend.”

“No matter how many times I hear that, it’s difficult to believe. But even from the beginning, Sejanus singled you out. Maybe you take after your mother, huh? She was always gracious to me when I came here on business before the war. Despite my background. The very definition of a lady. Never forget it.” Pa said, there was another pause. “Are you like your mother?”

Coriolanus didn’t speak right away. “I’d like to think I am, in some respects.”

“In what respects?”

“Well, we shared a fondness for music.”

“Music, huh?”

“And I do think we both believed that good fortune was… something to be repaid… on a daily basis. Not taken for granted.” Coriolanus said.

“I’d agree with that.”

“Oh, good. Yes, well, so… Sejanus.”

“Sejanus. Thank you, by the way, for saving his life.”

“No thanks necessary. As I said, he’s my friend.”

“And (Y/n), is she your friend too?” Pa asked.

“Yes, she is.”

“She tells me that you’ve done a lot for her lately.” Pa said slowly. “You helped her at the zoo?”

“That was nothing.”

“I wouldn’t consider it so. She could’ve gotten seriously hurt if you hadn’t stepped in. You saw the bruises.” He said. “You’ve checked up with her since. And volunteered to keep her safe when Dr. Gaul suggested that she should go inside of the arena.”

“Well—”

“Coriolanus, in District Two, there are traditions we have for families like ours.” Pa said, your eyebrows drew together. “Wealthy families, I mean. I’m not sure if the Capitol has the same beliefs.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following.” Coriolanus said.

“Arranged marriage.” 

You felt your blood run cold, but at the same time, the heat flamed in your face, licking your cheeks. You pulled your ear away for a second, thinking that you shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation.

“I’ve heard of families coming together in the Capitol, but it’s not very common.”

“It’s for more than just wealth, it’s to combine names as well.” Pa told him. “Snow is a grand name, don’t you think?”

“As is Plinth.” Coriolanus agreed.

“So, you understand what I’m implying then? What would your grandmother think?”

“I think that she wouldn’t agree to doing it so soon.”

“Of course not, it would happen after graduation, before university.” Pa said, “Will you give me your home phone? I’d like to discuss this with your grandmother.”

After that point, seeing Coriolanus would be painful… except, you didn’t see him the following day. In fact, you didn’t see him again at all. The next time his name was brought up in your house was with Sejanus’s, which was tied in with the words District Twelve and Peacekeepers.

“What?” You asked, coming around the hallway corner. Ma’s eyes widened. “Sejanus is where?”

“Oh, darling, you weren’t supposed to hear that. We wanted to tell you tonight.”

You shook your head. “Sejanus and Coryo went to District Twelve? Why?”

“I believe Coriolanus Snow signed himself up.” Pa told you. “As for Sejanus, it was the best we could do. He won’t be there long.”

“And what about Coriolanus?”

Pa made a face, tilted his head, “Twenty years, is what I was hearing.”

Your mouth dropped open, a reaction that you couldn’t stop in time. “Is that the same for Sejanus?”

“Yes.”

The only option you were given to keep in touch was letters. You could write to either of them whenever you wanted. Ma even told you that she was going to pack them food to send, stuff that they’d never be able to get in the districts, let alone Twelve.

With it being summer, you had plenty of time on your hands to write, but every time you picked up the pencil, the words escaped you. Everything that you’d been bottling to save for Sejanus seemed meaningless. So, you mostly replied to what Sejanus said, which could be a lot. He carried the conversations mostly, and you told him that you missed him. And you’d continue to miss him until he finally came back.

Which would never happen, not that you knew that at the time. It was a quiet day when the news reached your parents about what happened. That your brother had got caught up in rebel activities, which was treason. He was hanged without a trial, without a single letter sent home. For once, your family’s money couldn’t buy his way out of this one.

A black hole appeared in your chest, sucking in everyone’s words, their emotions. Ma couldn’t help you, even though she tried. She spent more time with you, trying to get you to speak, but all you wanted was to forget. Or to go back in time and tell Sejanus he needed to stop, that his actions would cost him his life.

Sejanus.

The boy you grew up with, the one you trusted with every secret, the one that kept you safe. Who you’d play with as a child when no one else would, who would help you with your homework when you fell behind. His sweetness, his hopefulness, his personality. He’s gone. He’s gone and you never got to say goodbye. 

All you gave him was half-assed letters. If you’d known that it would be the last time you talked to him, you would’ve done more. You would’ve said so much more. 

It was like almost every piece of him was gone, until the next wave of news came. While Sejanus would never get to leave District Twelve, Coriolanus had been honorably discharged. He was coming home to the Capitol. And with it being weeks after Sejanus’s death, it opened up a conversation that you thought was done for good.

The Snow’s were falling. You’d heard the news about Tigris and their grandmother almost immediately after Coriolanus had left. They had to sell their apartment, the nice penthouse you went to visit once. They couldn’t afford to keep it, so they downgraded, but the apartment lay empty.

Pa had decided that it was time to revisit the topic of an arranged marriage when he heard that Coriolanus was coming back. Ma really liked Coryo, because he was such a good friend to Sejanus. With your brother being gone, their attention had shifted a little, split between you and Coryo. Why keep it that way when there was a solution?

His grandmother agreed to it. It took a little bit of convincing, but at the mention of Pa buying the penthouse back as a gift, it made her cave. A letter was promptly sent to Coriolanus, who wasn’t to leave Twelve for another few days while they settled his paperwork. 

And his reply? ‘It would be my pleasure.’

As you straighten out the dress again, you look at the time on the clock that the train station has on display. Coriolanus should be arriving at any minute. It was requested that he were to be picked up by a Peacekeeper truck to take him to the Citadel, but Pa pulled strings, as he always does. He wanted your face to be the first thing that Coriolanus saw when he stepped off. 

You didn’t agree to this. You wanted to put this off for as long as possible. Sejanus chose to go to District Twelve to follow Coriolanus. They were close. He was the last one to have a conversation with your brother when he was alive. Besides, you’re set to marry him in a few short weeks. His suit measurements take place in two days.

A horn sounds, you look up from your polished shoes, the one scuf you managed to get this morning on the walk here. It was too late to turn around and change the shoes. Besides, they’re the only pair that matches this dress. A whole new outfit bought for Coriolanus, and he won’t even realize it.

The train pulls in the station, blowing cool air into your face. You take in a deep breath, trying to correct your posture. This will be the first time you’ve seen Coriolanus in months. Does he even know that you’re here to greet him?

It doesn’t matter. Once the doors open, you take a few steps toward them, trying to be casual. It’s hard to, with the hammering in your chest. You press your lips together, regripping the handbag, coming to a stop in front of the doors. The first few people that file out look like regular Capitol workers.

You’re too busy looking for Coriolanus’s blonde curls, that you almost miss him stepping out of the doors. His eyes flicker up for a moment, likely to collect his bearings, glancing over you.

You must register in his mind the next second, because he looks directly at you again, stepping off the train. You swallow, eyes stuck on his hair. Or rather, the lack of it. His head’s been shaved.

“(Y/n).” He smiles, “I wish I would’ve known you’d be here, I would’ve had something for you.”

“Your curls…” You murmur, face beginning to contort. If they got rid of his hair when he was enlisted, was the same done to Sejanus?

Coriolanus closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you into a tight hug. You press your forehead to his chest, hands gripping the clothes he’s wearing as you fight off the tears that threaten you. You don’t want to cry, you’ve spent so much of your time doing exactly that. For once, you want to be in control.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” He says, “I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been.”

“I miss him.” The words are strained, you pull your head back, looking at Coriolanus. “I wish he would’ve told me what he was planning.”

“He’d never put you in danger.” 

“I know.” You back away from the hug. Coriolanus holds out his elbow for you to take, you begin to lead him to the car. “I trust you’ve learned a lot these past few months. Did you get to see Lucy Gray, at least?”

His face smooths out, this was not the right question to ask. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “I did, but her lifestyle is much different from mine.”

You nod. “You’re not district.”

“I’m not covey.” He corrects, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, so she had you singing?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He looks away, at someone passing by.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a moment. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but much like the letters to your brother, the words have left you. You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“You have something on your mind.” Coriolanus says, it’s not a question.

You sniff. “It’s um… It’s about Sejanus, just one thing I have to know before I can stop thinking about him.”

“He wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“It’s to put my mind at ease.” You stop outside of the car. “I know it’s not your tradition, Coriolanus, but were you able to…”

He nods. “I was.”

You meet his eyes. “The bread crumbs? They let you see his body?”

“He has food on his journey.” He tells you.

You breathe out a sigh. “Oh, good. Ma will be happy to hear that.”

Neither of you move for the car door, standing there, staring at each other. He eventually starts to shake his head. “(Y/n), I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

“It’s too late for that.” You tell him. “We can talk about it more later on, in a few days.”

Coriolanus reaches for the car door, motioning for you to go inside first. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You don’t move to get inside. “Thank you for being such a good friend to my brother.”

He tilts his head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“You’re the only piece of him I have left.” You shift on your feet, “I have to thank you.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[nyrasbloodyclover]

who else decodes you? (modern!aegon targaryen x reader)

cw: alcoholism, eating disorder, reader wants to fix aegon, aegon is pathetic, but i love him

a/n: i am finally writing fics again! another malachy and another aegon fic coming up, but i think i'll continue writing for daemon bc i miss him.

Targaryens were very strange. Well, I was only friends with Helaena, but being her friend also meant spending time with her family, as much as I didn't want to. She always invites me to their dinners and movie nights, so naturally, her brothers were also there. Their mother was always warm and welcoming, Alicent wasn't the issue, at least not to me. Nor was Aemond. He ignored me most of the time, which I had no problem with.

Whenever I stayed over, Aegon always found a way to bother me. When we watch a movie, he keeps tugging on my hair, or touching my neck in a very annoying way, I slapped his hand once and caused all of the attention to focus on us, which was so embarrassing  I immediately went home.

When I started dating my first and only boyfriend he somehow found out and mocked me until Helaena started yelling. She never does that.

Aegon was walking down the hallway when he saw me and Haelena sitting on her bed, with an open door, so he took that as his invite after hearing our conversation. He peeked from the door. "He's only waiting the right time. To fuck you, I mean."

My cheeks started burning. "Are you jealous?" I had no better answer to his remark.

"How could I be?" He grinned, ready for me to bite back, but when I didn't, he just giggled, "You'll just feel used after he's done with you."

Then Helaena snapped and kicked him out, cursing, which was the funniest thing, I couldn't even feel bad.

It turned out he was right, but not the way he thought. I couldn't stop thinking about his words, so I broke up with that guy. And then I found out he started dating someone, only to fuck her then leave her. Almost the whole school was talking about it, so he saved me from that humiliation. I was never going to admit it, though.

He was the strangest and most rebellious from the three of them. Aegon was drinking. Aegon was fucking. Aegon smoked and went to parties he was not supposed to. Actually, he was just harming himself, but nobody wanted to see that. It was like everybody turned their heads when it came to him, but it wasn't my place to comment on it.

He occupied my mind more than I'd like to admit. With all his unnecessary comments and devilish grins, Aegon got under my skin. 

Helaena once accidentally left her charger at my house and asked me to bring it to her. I had nothing to do, so I immediately went to her. What I didn't know was that nobody was home.

Well except for, obviously, Aegon.

I knocked once, then twice, but when no one opened I just entered. The house was empty. Or so I thought for the first few seconds. Until I heard muffled sobbing.

My whole body went rigid. I was invading someone's privacy at that very moment and I needed to go back home, but I couldn't. I knew the cries were coming from Aegon and it made everything worse. 

I went upstairs, dragging my feet towards his room. I didn't have to do anything. I could just go back and pretend I didn't hear anything. He was probably waiting to be alone, to have a moment to break down and I was ruining it.

"Aegon?" I thought he was going to be startled, yell at me to go away, but he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He was on the floor of his room, covered in vomit and spit, probably, with an empty bottle of god knows what. I wanted to cry.

His mouth was half opened, face relaxed for a second, then it became painful again, new set of tears coming through. I kneeled beside, holding his shoulders, "Aegon, can you hear me?" I wasn't panicking because it would do more harm than good. I gently pushed away his sweaty hair. 

I didn't know what was happening but I was going to help him before someone could see him like this. It was obvious that he did stuff like that when no one was near.

I ran to the bathroom first and took some towels, then to the kitchen for a glass of water. I somewhat had experience with things like this.

It was the middle of the day and he was wasted. 

I went to him and took his head into my lap while I cleaned away the vomit.

"I'm sorry." He turned his head away from me.

"It's okay," I whispered, "But please cooperate. You need to get into the shower." Aegon said nothing, but let me continue cleaning his face and neck.

"Come on, let me take off your shirt, Aegon please."

I somehow got him out of his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. He was so beautiful, and it hurt me to watch him like that. What a pretty, broken creature. He had tattoos over his arms and ribs that were much more prominent than last summer. We went to the pool together with Helaena and Aemond and I couldn't help but notice that change.

We managed to get into the bathroom and I dragged him under the shower, letting cold water shock him. His hair was soaking wet, I took another towel and tried to dry him as much as I could.

My heart was racing, he was completely depending on me in that moment and I was so scared someone was going to see us. 

We were in his room once again, Aegon on his bed, under the covers. I quickly cleaned his room, got rid of the dirty clothes and towels I used and hid the bottle. I sat beside him.

"Aegon, you need to eat something." 

"No."

"I'm afraid you have no control over that now." 

"No...don't want to..." 

"I will feed you if you don't do it yourself and I'll tell Aemond." His eyes immediately opened. 

"You wouldn't dare," he mumbled.

"I would." 

I brought him some leftover pizza from the fridge and he ate it, barely moving his jaw, he was almost unconscious. He drank some more water and finally closed his eyes, drifting away. I stroked his hair once more and then left after Sunfyre came into his room.

When I got home, a text from Haelena appeared on my screen.

Sorry for leaving my stuff, won't happen again (I think) <3

I smiled and answered her, because I knew it was going to happen but then one more message came.

Aegon says thank you

Don't know what for though 

I was realived that she didn't know about my little moment with Aegon. I wanted to keep that between us. He wasn't going to remember any of it tomorrow and I couldn't say I was glad.

A month later, Aegon moved out. He still visited home and stayed some nights, mostly when he went out. It set an alarm in my head, now that he was completely alone, he could do what he wanted as much as he wanted. It scared me.

When I started going out I started seeing him more, which didn't help. I couldn't stop thinking about the day I saw him almost poisoned, he let me take care of him in that vulnerable state. It had to mean something, right? Or nothing. He was drugged, nothing more.

When I was with my friends, sipping on my wine, trying to stay as sober as I could, I saw Aegon at the table across from us with some of his stupid friends and a girl on his lap, eating his face. He was hard to miss, with his almost white hair and eyes so blue they were practically violet. I spilled some wine on my golden shirt, but didn't care at the moment.

He stopped for a second to take a shot and then continued kissing her. I didn't know how he could drink after being so sick from alcohol that day. 

I watched him—No— I stared and all of my friends noticed, but to make everything worse, Aegon opened his eyes mid make out session with that girl and locked his gaze with mine. My stomach made a turn. The girl he was kissing didn't notice that his attention was on me. His eyes were intense, but his intention unclear, at least to me. I felt bad for the girl immediately so I broke eye contact.

She wasn't there when he needed someone. I was. Poisonous words.

One of my friends gripped my forearm, "What was that ?" 

"What was what?" I asked, my vision becoming hazy. I took the wine glass and quite literally shoved the rest of alcohol down my throat. And almost threw up.

"You, eye-fucking Aegon Targaryen from across the room?"

"I wasn't." My face was hot. Red wine. From red wine, yes.

"Oh, really?" She pulled out her phone with a photo, of me staring at something, someone, you couldn't see clearly who on the picture, but she was right. "Oh, my god! Delete that. GET RID OF IT!" I was eye-fucking Aegon!

"Told you!" She shouted over the music. 

I laughed. Then giggled. I couldn't believe. Then ordered another drink, until I couldn't see Aegon anymore. I was convinced that my mind would think more clearly without alcohol clouding it. I never ever thought about him like that. 

It was red wine, I thought. 

It wasn't red wine. The next day I couldn't stop thinking about him. I kept replaying the moment he turned his gaze towards me. The goosebumps, the pressure in my stomach and heat I felt throughout my whole body. 

Helaena asked me to hang out later that day. I obviously said yes because I adore her, but an unsettling feeling came and I knew exactly why. Aegon was probably going to be there, even though he had his own place.

I entered their house and everything was silent. I went to Helaena's room that was plastered with posters of bugs and pretty stones and her crazy drawings. She was reading a book and smiled when I came in.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mother is at work, Aemond at the library and Aegon is sleeping. He drank too much last night. As usual." She said that like it's no big deal. It bothered me. It bothered me that I cared enough to ask her about it.

"And none of you have a problem with that? I mean if I drank as much as him, my mother would actually kill me." I laughed so it wouldn't sound suspicious.

 "Well...No, not really. At the end of the day, It's just Aegon." I nodded, like I was agreeing with her, but that was far from the truth. We changed the topic but my mind always kept coming back to him. I couldn't stop.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," I said and left her room, I needed a splash of cold water on my face.

But instead of going directly to the bathroom, my eyes turned towards Aegon's room. The door was open, so I could clearly see him really sleeping on his bed, wearing a green hoodie, looking almost angelic. His hair was all over his forehead, his lashes gently touching his cheeks and he was hugging one of his pillows, comfortably snuggled. I wanted to stare at him for the next five hours but that just was not possible. Sunfyre ran into his room and jumped beside him. 

Aegon's eyes fluttered and my heart stopped, I thought I was going to get caught, but I wasn't doing anything wrong. Not really. He frowned as he slowly opened his eyes and I couldn't move. His frown turned into self-satisfied smile but he just turned to the other side and continued sleeping. He didn't see me. 

Did he?

I quickly went back to Helaena's room, trying not to think about Aegon's perfect face, his soft hair and lips or the last night's encounter. Impossible.

She asked me to sleep over and I agreed after calling my mom. I wasn't too tired, since I slept good part of the day. We talked, ordered food, watched a rom-com. It was fun.

Haelena fell asleep and I went downstairs to clean the dishes, trying not to wake up anyone, it was almost three in the morning.

While I washed our cups I felt someone's presence behind me.

I turned my head. "Hello, Aegon. Why are you up so late?"

"I just woke up." His eyes were heavy, his words slow. Hungover, still in his green hoodie, hair messy.

"Well, are you hungry? There is some food left, Helaena and I-"

"Why do you act as if I'm a child?" He frowned. "I can eat if I'm hungry." He snapped suddenly at me.

I sighed, leaving rest of the dishes in the sink. I turned to face him.

"But you're not going to, am I right?" He said nothing.

"Aren't you hot in that?" I nodded towards his hoodie. I was in a top and low-rise shorts and I was still sweating like crazy.

"I can take it off if you want, mother." I couldn't breathe. I recognized mockery behind his words, it came to me like a slap. I knew that I was mothering him and he knew that too, which made everything even more embarrassing.

"No, thank you, I've already seen too much." I meant that as a lighthearted joke but his whole face darkened. Aegon's shoulders slouched and went stiff. He was silent.

"I didn't ask you to be there. I didn't ask for your help."

"Aegon, no, I didn't mean it like that. I could've walked out and then what?" I whispered at him, angry that he's not reading my emotions right. "Helaena calls me and tells me you're dead? That you choked on your own vomit?"

"Stop being dramatic, stop it. None of you understand, so quit trying to act as if you do. It's pathetic."

"Tell me one thing," I got closer, "When was the last time your own mother cared enough to even wonder what is happening with her son?" 

Aegon wasn't even offended by my statement. "Oh, okay, so you noticed. It was that obvious." He shook his head. I hated our conversation, but I also felt some kind of thrill when speaking to him like that. I wanted to know more.

"When did you start drinking? It seemed like you had a fair share of wine and...other things last night." He was changing the subject and I was glad.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Aegon."

"Well, then, you should come to my place sometime. I have a wine collection we could try out." 

My face heated, but then I remembered that he obviously has a problem. And I can't use him like that, no matter how much I wanted to get wasted with him and see where would that take us.

"Thanks for the invite, but I'll pass." Before I walked out of the room, I turned to face him once again, "And try not to make a mess again." I wanted to beg him to stop hurting himself but I was nothing to him, not even a friend, so I had no right to tell him what to do to his body.

"Not promising anything."

I was getting ready to go out, putting on red lipstick, mascara, some glitter over my arms and chest. 

I wore leather mini skirt and a black top that matched perfectly. I wish I thought about anything other than the fact that Aegon's apartment was so close to the club we were going to. What if— No. 

I had to stop myself from finishing that thought but I suddenly wanted to be near him, as near as possible.

I had a few drinks. Maybe more than few. Because you should either go big or go home. And I always followed that rule. I wanted Aegon to be there, my eyes were searching for him everywhere, until my head started spinning, that good, freeing feeling kicking in. I was brave enough now. I could do whatever I wanted.

"Should I take away your phone?" One of my friends shouted over the music.

"I'll behave. Promise." I smiled to myself, an idea already forming in my head. "I'm going to the bathroom, It'll be quick." They just nodded and I went in, sharp white lights blinding me. Everything was too bright, too loud. It was funny. I smiled to myself.

Some girls were inside too, but I didn't bother looking at them. I took out my phone, grinning, and found Aegon's contact.

Helllllllooooiiiiooooo

I didn't expect him to reply to me at all, but my heart did a jump when he replied. We never texted before.

hello? 

My fingers were almost numb and I genuinely had no idea what I was sending him.

AREE YOU BORRED?

certainly not now. u drunk?

I called him and he immediately picked up.

"Aegggoooonnnn?"

"What the fuck..." I guess he was just surprised. I laughed at him and when I gathered myself, I wanted to hang up because I genuinely had nothing to say to him, at least nothing that made any sense. But the reckless part of my brain won.

"Can I come over?" I grinned, he could not see it tho.

He was silent for a while. "Alone?" 

The girls in the bathroom giggled. 

"Yes, alone, you whore."

"I do live close, but you, my girl, are hammered."

"Oh my god, you said 'my girl'."

"It was just an expression."

"No it was not. Come pick me up, please. I helped you once, you should help me too!"

"And what do you suppose we do at my place? You can barely speak properly."

Oh, I did not want to say it. But he knew, And I also knew. 

"Nevermind, I'll call a cab."

"You don't know the adress."

I laughed again and hung up. I knew the adress, Helaena told me.

One of the girls in the bathroom looked at me, smiling, "Was that your boyfriend?"

"Hell, no." 

"So you just plan on hooking up with him, drunk? Do you think he'll want that?"

"To take advantage of my fragile and vulnerable state when I'm clearly not thinking right? Yeah. He can't wait."

"Be careful, I heard it's painful when you're drunk."

That was SO funny. So I cracked up. "If you saw him, you wouldn't think that." I had to stop talking, half of them probably knew Aegon, or fucked Aegon! 

I ditched my friends, that was not the right move, but I texted them my location and that everything is fine.

My feet were hurting but I hardly felt it. Cold night air was a nice change, I thought I might suffocate from the cigarette smoke. 

I called the cab and in five minutes I was in front of Aegon's door. 

Thank god I had one more drink before heading out, I couldn't be sober now. I was much braver, and let's hope Aegon lacked morals like I thought.

I knocked and waited, I was completely sure I heard his footsteps and then door opened. It took everything in me not to jump on him in that moment because I never saw him look so... comfortable.

His hair was a bit shorter, disheveled and Aegon's face seemed so soft. "Hi." I smiled and reached for his face, but his hand stopped me. His hand...

Yeah, I was too drunk.

He let me in and I jumped on his couch. I had no capacity of looking around. Everything was spinning. I sat on it, staring at his ceiling.

He was standing over me and he looked pretty pissed off.

"Why are you here?"

"I missed you!"

"Stop with the nonsense or I'm kicking you out."

"It's not nonsense! How dare you?" I laughed, "Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"

He started mumbling to himself and walked away, only to be back with a huge glass of water.

"Nooooo! You're so boring! Aren't you the one who wants to fuck every living, breathing woman."

"Yes, I am. Now drink this."

"Oh, I know. You spiked it." I laughed again. Everything was really funny.

"What the fuck? No, actually, you're not right in the head now. It's fucking water. You need to sober up."

"Why? I though you'd fuck anyone."

"So that's why you're here...Yeah, no."

"What? Am I that despicable? You want anyone, just not me? Really nice."

"I want...I want you to fucking drink this. And start sobering up. Then tell me what you want."

"Oh, you'll see." I took the glass from his hand and gulped it down. He brought me some food and I started eating like a starved animal.

"Aren't you going to join me?"

"No." 

"I actually never saw you eat in the last year and a half." It was an accusation.

"Why are you so obsessed with me and eating? You need to relax."

"Aegon." I glared at him. He said nothing.

"I know what's going on and you have to quit it. I've seen you shirtless. It's scary. Plus the drinking—"

"What do you want? To save me somehow? Fix me?"

"Yes. I helped myself, I'm going to help you."

"I don't want that."

"Bullshit. Aegon, you're ruining your life. You don't eat enough and drink more than I do. That's concerning."

"Are you sober yet?"

"Yes," I lied. I still felt dizzy and brave enough to continue fighting with him.

"What will Helaena think?"

"About what?"

"Me fucking you when you're obviously still drunk and lying to me. Also, you can try to fix me and don't get mad if you fail."

It was like a dream come true. He gave me a permission and that I've always secretly wanted.

"Which one first? Do we fuck or do I try to fix you, as you say?"

"Surprise me."

I congratulated myself for wearing an outfit that was so easy to take off. Now I was standing in front of him in my underwear and he was as serious as ever.

I took a handful of his t-shirt and tugged on it, trying to take it off. He finally let me do it and then I pushed him backwards on his couch. I sat on his lap, straddling him and for a moment I just stared with the biggest grin. "You have no idea for how long I wanted this."

"And you needed to get drunk to actually do it?"

"You're intimidating." I bowed down and kissed him on the cheek, then on the neck, throat and I did it slowly, it was torture for both of us.

I finally reached his lips and I let myself feel his breath for a moment, before pressing my mouth to his. We moved in sync with each other, but I was desperate for more of him. 

"You should've been the one to ruin me. I wouldn't have regretted it."

Aegon closed his eyes as my hand went down his sweatpants, feeling him grow harder and harder with each passing second. But then he turned his face away from me.

"Please get off." Okay, I can't say that it didn't hurt. Especially coming from him. I sat beside him, trying to recover myself from the sudden emotions.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I just can't do it with you. Not yet. Sorry."

"Is that improvement I hear? Not being with a wasted girl?" I joked and thankfully he smiled. I smiled back.

"Go shower, you drunk. You reek of alcohol."

"You sound just like my fatheeeer." He basically pulled me into the bathroom and got out so that I could clean up. Aegon even left me his green hoodie, that green hoodie, but I didn't want to wear it.

"Aegon!" I was really feeling better, I felt like I could finally think clearly.

"Yes?" I heard his voice behind the door.

"It's okay, you can come in." I had a towel around me and as soon as he stepped in, his eyes shamelessly went over me, I hid my smile.

Aegon cleared his throat, "What is it?"

"Can you get me another?" I picked up the green hoodie and gave it to him.

"What's wrong with this one?"

I crossed my hands nervously. Yes, I was totally sober. "I want you to wear it." He looked taken aback by my request. It was a strange one, indeed, but at least there was a chance he's going to fulfill my wishes.

"But...You know what? Nevermind. I'll wear it."

He was so beautiful and he actually looked rested. I was sure he had been drinking, but there was no alcohol in sight. His whole apartment was mostly empty, but clean. I didn't know this side of Aegon existed. Then, he lied about his wine collection.

I followed him into his bedroom and he turned on the lights. Again, empty, no pictures, no decorations, just plain white walls and king-size bed. He opened his closet and threw another hoodie at me, while I was still in a towel. I took my underwear, at least, I was decent like that.

He didn't bother asking me to let him change, he just took off his shirt, revealing his bare torso and the tattoos I loved so much, but had no idea what they meant. He was scarred from the inside and it was starting to show but I said I won't let that happen.

"You quit drinking?" My eyes were on his face now, he was completely dressed.

"I am trying," he was staring at the floor, "How'd you know?"

"I had a feeling." He was a lot calmer, he didn't look so tired and there were no bottles in sight. It seemed like moving out was his best decision yet. I didn't know what triggered his urges, but I was glad he was on his own now.

I put on the clothes he gave me and we went back into his living room. We sat beside each other.

"About earlier..." He started.

"I should apologize, I shouldn't have drank that much and you shouldn't have seen it."

"I am glad it was me and not someone else. But I'm sorry I disappointed you."

"What? How?" I frowned, genuenly confused if he was still talking about the same thing.

"I backed out in the last second. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"Aegon. I was drunk and out of my mind. I wouldn't have regretted it, but...I want to do it again, when I can remember everything clearly. If you want it too, that is."

He looked at me like a lost puppy and it broke my heart, I didn't know the details about his habits, or his friends that were clearly effecting his life in all the worst ways. All of that made him think that everything is his fault and that he deserved no better.

"Are you nuts? Of course I want to. It's like my most bizarre dream, you, drunk throwing yourself at me—"

"Oh, I wasn't—" Yeah, I was.

"You were, darling, and I rejected you. What a dumb cunt."

I laughed and felt comfortable for the first time with him, because there was no one else who could judge and interrupt. 

It was almost 5AM and my eyes felt so heavy I couldn't keep them open anymore.

"You should take me on a proper date, Aegon." I unconsciously rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes finally. It was too good to be true.

"And ruin my reputation? Yes, I think I should."

Sleep came over me and I felt Aegon shift under my body, until I was laying on top of him, my head on his chest. He was stroking my hair.

[crusty-chronicles]

is there any chance you could add killua for the airheaded but strong s/o headcanons? If not, then no worries, I just love how you write them!

Yeah, I don't mind but it's gonna be platonic because I'm a little iffy about writing for him romantically. He's just a boy 🥺🥺🥺 This is mostly a crack fic.

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Killua (HxH)

Honestly tried to kill you at one point

Oh you're strong huh?

Then proceeds to hit you with everything he's got, only to see that it hardly affected you. (Kinda like the way he first treated Zushi)

After that he's petty, but impressed.

Congratulations 🎉🎉🎉 You've earned his respect 🥳🥳🥳

You're basically Gon 2.0

And he hates it

Cannot take you two anywhere

"We should break the lock to get in." Gon suggested.

"Are you stupid?" You scoffed.

"What's the point of having a door if you're just gonna break it?"

And Killua is momentarily at peace that at least one of you has some sense. Until you open your mouth again.

"Obviously we should smash open a window."

And Gon is nodding along enthusiastically

"You're right! What would we do without you 🤩"

And Killua is just 😮‍💨.

He is the parent of the group and I will die on this hill

If Gon's the sun, you're a nuke

He's constantly dragging you away from Hisoka

Nope. Not today

Why do you insist on talking to strangers.

No scratch that.

Why do you insist on talking to creepy strangers????

It gives him a massive headache everytime you almost get abducted.

Honestly thought about putting a tracker on you to avoid this happening.

But then he remembers you're practically indestructible so he drops it.

Is afraid Illumi will come for you and hurt you.

He was never allowed to have friends, and after Illumi threatened you and Gon at the Hunter Exam, he's very protective.

But then he remembers something you said after Greed Island.

"The three of us are all gonna become the best of the best. We're gonna get all wrinkly and old together and still kick butt!!! We're gonna stick together no matter what!"

And it temporarily quells the fear of his brother.

It makes him look forward to that outcome and gives him something to fight a little harder for.

When it comes to fighting, he does get a little envious of how you and Gon just rush in without thinking.

And how you always manage to win despite the circumstance.

But he never feels left behind because of it.

Like with Gon, he won't baby you, just call you an idiot and move on.

You fell?

Get up loser.

You can't read?

Find somebody else to translate. Or he'll make you do it and be laughing nonstop while you struggle to pronounce the word "Apple"

"Gon what color's an orange?"

"An orange is the same color as it's name. Just like a lemon."

Please somebody take you two back to first grade.

Killua is begging.

Even though he won't baby you, he'll rush as fast as he can if you're in actual danger.

You got caught by the phantom troupe?

"Are you completely brain dead!?!!? Where are you!?!?"

Now he regrets not putting a tracker on you.

"This nice clown man gave me candy and told me to follow him." You tell him over CALL.

"HISOOKAAAAA!!!!"

He is screaming and panicking.

You trespassed into the mountains his family lives to see him.

"WHY???? DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT MIKE!?!?"

And when he gets there he sees you rubbing the monstrous canine's tummy. Petting him and calling him a "Good Boy."

Names he has called you out of spite: Idiot, Moron, Dummy, Psycho, Airhead, Ditz, and probably Pea Brain

On the bright side, you are Alluka's favorite person.

"Give me your ribs."

"Oh, are you hungry? Let's see if we can't find you a smokehouse for those ribs."

And it baffles both souls so much that Nanika accepts that as fulfilling her command.

Plus you have endless amounts of energy that works to drain both girls out. Even when they've both already swapped twice.

Killua designates you her official babysitter when he's busy.

You are a complete lunatic and moron, but you're one of the people he trusts the most.

Even if he does complain about you a lot.

MASTERLIST

[channiedotcom]

late night gaming

i.n x gn!reader – fluff ; gamer!jeongin ; college au 

word count – 1.1k

a/n – i’ve been hoping to write something like this ever since i found out that i.n plays overwatch… it’s one of my favorite games and i like to imagine how fun it would be to get to game with him (and the other members of skz of course) also lmk if y’all would be interested in a pt 2! 

Late into the night, bluish-purple light seeps under the doorway of your bedroom. Every now and then, flashes of varying colors find their way into the mix. Your fingers move swiftly over your keyboard and mouse as your character turns in-game, taking shots at the enemy team. The payload is so close to creeping into the final point when–

Your character falls to the ground. You’ve been eliminated by fnncfx on Widowmaker. You hit your desk lightly with your fist, frustrated. “How did they even hit me? I swear I was behind that wall in time,” you mutter, watching the kill feed. You sigh and continue, exiting the spawn and getting back into the fight. Less than a minute later, it happens again. The same fnncfx gets a headshot, taking you out once more, just as quickly as you rejoined the battle.

The more it happens, the more frustrated you feel. Hoping to end the infuriating cycle, you switch to Sombra. If they’re going to keep targeting you, it’s only fair you do the same! You track down the Widowmaker and swiftly eliminate them. Within seconds, a message pops up in match chat:

fnncfx: counterswap? kinda weird

You roll your eyes and choose to ignore it. The game goes on for another minute or two, and you help your team by eliminating the Widowmaker at least twice more. As the timer runs out, your team finally completes the objective, and the word “Victory!” plasters itself across the screen. Before the game ends, you notice a small string of messages in the match chat:

fnncfx: ggs, except sombra fnncfx: i know ur mad i kept killing you lol

In a fit of frustration, you click on their profile and press the “add friend” button. You don’t really need to, but you want to talk to them and explain yourself. Almost as soon as you do, they add you back. You invite them to your group, eager to express your frustration. They accept and join in.

“You know I had to switch characters so you would stop eliminating me, right? You didn’t have to be such a jerk about it,” you huff, leaning towards your monitor.

There’s a pause. You stare at your screen, face illuminated by the glow. Why aren’t they responding yet? Did something go wrong?

“...Is this y/n?” he finally says, breaking the silence. As he speaks, your heart drops into your stomach. You recognize that voice instantly. It’s Jeongin– the cute guy from your math class. What is he doing playing this game? How did you end up in the same lobby? Your mind races. You’ve admired Jeongin from afar all semester- he’s the one you glance at in class, hoping he’ll notice you. And now here he is, in the same game, talking to you. Getting lost in your own thoughts, you almost forget to respond.

“I- uh- yes, hi! Oh my gosh, I didn’t- I didn’t think I’d run into you in this game! I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t come across as rude or- or anything…” You stumble over your words, your voice trailing off as you put your face in your hands. You feel like you’ve seriously messed up.

He laughs.

He laughs.

You look up, your face warm. Despite the circumstances, you can’t help but think about how absolutely cute that sounded.

“I didn’t know you played this game, that’s actually pretty cool,” he says, his voice reminding you of liquid gold. It sounds warm and soothing, just like how you remember hearing it in class. 

“Yeah, I’ve had it for a while. I don’t play much stuff like this, but I guess this game is just different.” You shrug, leaning back into your chair a little bit. Knowing he isn’t upset as of this moment brings you a bit more peace. 

“Would you maybe… want to play a few games as a duo?”

Your eyes light up. He actually wants to play with you? He wasn’t going to ditch you immediately? 

You don’t even wait a moment before giving him a confident “That would be amazing!”

The two of you play through a few matches and do rather well, especially since he’s quite good at the game. You both find yourselves having a great time, giggling at the characters who seem to have no idea what is going on. You work together to take down enemy team after enemy team, barely losing any games.

After some time, you can hear him let out a sharp sigh. “I hate to do this to you, especially because I’m enjoying this so much, but I think I have to get going. My roommate Felix says he needs me to run it back in some scrimmages; I forgot I told him yesterday that I’d help out with that. I hope that’s alright…” He goes quiet, clearly disappointed to have some prior commitment. 

You frown, but aren’t too surprised. Of course someone as talented as him would be on some sort of gaming team. “For sure, that’s okay! I still had a great time; I would love to do this again, if you’d be down for that.”

“Yeah, totally! Why don’t you write down my number, and I’ll text you when I have time to do this again.” 

You can feel your face turning red at the idea of getting his number. This is someone you’ve admired from afar all semester, and now he wants to talk to you more. You feel like you’re in the clouds right now, your head spinning. 

He tells you the digits of his phone number and you swiftly enter them into your phone, then send him a text so he knows yours as well. 

“Okay, well you have a goodnight, y/n! It was great talking to you.” You can hear him smiling on the other side of his screen, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s blushing too. After he leaves the group, you log off out of the game and turn off your computer. You stand up from your chair and fall back onto your bed, wrapping yourself in the sheets. Giddy laughter escapes as you kick your feet in excitement. The thought that the most attractive boy in your class just gave you his number swirls in your mind, like a dream you never want to end. It still feels so surreal that he seems to at least tolerate- if not actually like- someone like you. As you hold your phone close to your chest, you slowly drift away into a deep sleep, dreaming of what could come of this newfound friendship, or maybe something more…

[littlelou22]

pretend | joel miller x fem!reader

summary: joel ends things with you, leaving you in the dark as to why. will the two of you get back together or stay apart?

warnings: angst, hurt, mean!joel, insecure!joel, eventual fluff, age gap (reader in undefined age but young, joel’s canon age), language, men being TRASH, violence, y/n used like twice, probs shitty writing, idk let me know if I miss any

divider credit: @saradika

word count: 6.2k

author's note: my first post, let me know what you think :)

requests open!

The two of you stood on opposite sides of the bed in your – his – room, chest heaving as you stare at Joel. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, the two of you were fine when you returned from patrol a few hours earlier. Joel had gone to help Tommy with something and you had taken Ellie to see whatever movie was playing tonight.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so cold with me,” you spoke, shaking your head. 

And you truly didn’t. You and Ellie had stopped at the Tipsy Bison to pick up dinner for the three of you after Joel was helping Tommy. Ellie had run off while you waited for the food, seeing Dina stationed at one of the tables. You passed the time at the bar, occasionally making forced small talk with the other patrons. Even though you had been in Jackson for a few months, you still didn’t feel quite at ease with most of the people here.

After you got the food, you ventured off home with Ellie to wait until Joel was done. But he never showed, not until after you and Ellie had eaten and the younger girl had gone off to bed. Joel had stormed in, kicked off his boots, and immediately went upstairs, not sparing you a single glance. Obviously, you had followed him, but you have no idea how you ended up here.

“I’m done with this,” Joel says, eyes everywhere except on you. “I’m done with you.”

“What?” You take a step back as if his words had physically pushed you.

“I needed you for her. That’s it,” Joel snapped at you. “Now that it’s over, I don’t see a reason to pretend anymore. Understand?”

You felt as if the air had been sucked out of you, as if Joel had kicked you right in the stomach. You thought you finally had a grasp on Joel, that you could finally read how he was feeling. But as you stared at him from across the room, he felt more like a stranger than the man you fell in love with.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to plead with him to not do this. To not leave you like everyone else did. But you didn’t – you couldn’t. Before you could even process what was happening, you were nodding.

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding your head. You felt the tears burning behind your eyes, begging to be released, but you refused to crack in front of him. Refused to let him see how much his words had made your heart ache. “If that’s how you feel, then okay.”

So, you left. Out of his bedroom and down the hall, passing Ellie’s door where you knew she was inevitably listening to the fight. Down the stairs and out the front door, letting it swing closed behind you. Your feet carried you down the dark street until you couldn’t go any further. The tears burned behind your eyes, a sob escaping you as you stumbled into the stables, barely making it to one of the hay bales before collapsing in on yourself.

You didn’t understand what happened, what had changed since you got back from Salt Lake City. Since the three of you tried to integrate into the community. Since Ellie started at school. Since you and Joel started to patrol and help wherever you could in Jackson. 

Did you do something that upset Joel? That made him rethink whatever it was between the two of you? The two of you weren’t officially together but your relationship wasn’t nothing. At least, you didn’t think you were nothing.

Clearly, you were wrong. What you thought was a relationship was actually just a means to get by, a way to pass time for Joel. You get it, you really try to. The road was long, it was tough, and it was lonely. The three of you had seen, and done, unthinkable things to get Ellie to the Fireflies. Obviously, that didn’t go as planned, landing the three of you back in Jackson. Where it felt impossible to return to some semblance of normalcy. So, how could you blame him for using you as an escape?

You just wish he would’ve told you from the beginning what it actually was.

It was morning by the time you dragged yourself out of the stables. Thanking whatever higher power there was that you didn’t have morning patrol, you made your way to Tommy and Maria’s. If Joel didn’t want to pretend, then neither could you. You couldn’t pretend to be okay with being around him after what had happened, so you decided to avoid him at all costs. But, you couldn’t abandon Ellie, not after everything the young girl had been through. Even if she was more distant after Salt Lake, you couldn’t bring yourself to up and leave her. You wouldn’t.

With a deep breath, your knuckles rapped against Tommy and Maria’s front door. You knew it was early, the sun barely just peeking over the horizon but you couldn’t wait. You and Joel were assigned second patrol, and you’d rather not be subjected to that after last night.

“You look like shit,” Tommy said after answering the door. You knew you did, sleeping on a rectangular stack of hay could only offer so much.

“Good morning to you too,” you force a smile at him. You liked Tommy, you had become close with him and his wife after settling in Jackson but you didn’t want to see the younger Miller brother right now. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but you couldn’t help the deepening pit in your stomach at the sight of him. “Is Maria up yet?”

“She’s out back, hanging laundry on the line,” he answers, eyes scanning over your puffy eyes and pale face. “You okay, bug?”

“M’fine Tommy, thank you” you grimace at the nickname. Joel had gifted you the name when the two of you met and upon arriving in Jackson, Tommy took up to calling you that as well. You make your way to the back of the house where you found Maria, true to Tommy’s word. Sighing, you grab one of the shirts in the basket, joining her at the laundry line.

“Good morning,” Maria muses, a playful smile on her face as she turns to you, wiping her hands on her jeans before resting them on her hips. “What can I do for you?”

“What makes you think I need something?” You can’t help but respond. Maria was the closest thing to a friend you had in Jackson, it was hard not to feel as though you could be yourself around her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up and out this early in the morning,” she says, glancing back at the house to see Tommy in the window, watching the women through the glass. He shrugs, answering her silent query. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh heavily, pinching your nose between your fingers after hanging the shirt on the line. “I need you to switch my patrol partner.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Maria asks, voice gentle as if you were a frightened deer.

“No paradise to have troubles in,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It didn’t work out, I just need you to switch my partner.”

Maria stared at you, narrowing her eyes as she, like Tommy, surveyed your condition. You knew she saw right through you. Knew there was more to the story than you were letting on to.

“Okay,” she nodded after a minute, looking at the watch on her wrist. “There’s still fifteen minutes before first patrol, go let Alexander know he’s with Miller now. You can patrol with Marcus now.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, relief filling you to the thought of not being around Joel. The relief soon left at the mention of your new partner, but you couldn’t be picky here. “Thank you Maria, I won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You better get going if you want to make it.”

“Right,” you say, turning on your heels to start the walk back to the stables, knowing the morning patrol people would be there by now.

Maria watches you leave, only making her way inside once you are out of her sight. As she enters the kitchen, Tommy appears before her with raised eyebrows.

“What was that about?” He asks, passing her a cup of warm tea.

Maria sighs, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, but your dumbass brother might.”

“Joel?” Tommy questions, confused as to what might’ve happened between his brother and the woman he is obviously infatuated with.

“Do you have another brother that I don’t know about?” she raises her eyes at her husband, shaking her head. “She wanted to switch patrol partners, wouldn’t tell me why or what happened.”

“Shit,” Tommy sighs, leaning back against the counter before muttering. “What did you do, Joel?”

“I have no idea,” Maria shrugs before setting her mug in the sink. She pats Tommy’s shoulder before making her way towards the stairs, turning to face her husband before she climbs them. “But have fun letting him know!”

“That was fun,” Marcus smiled at you as the two of you rode your horses through the front gates after patrol. Eyes zeroing in on your hips as they rise and fall with each step of your horse.

You force a smile at him, half listening to him as your eyes dart back and forth in search of Joel. You knew he was due to head on second patrol and the last thing you wanted to do was see him. “It sure was.”

“Alex never looked that pretty when taking down Infected,” Marcus continues, not picking up on your disinterest in him. “Glad there was a change up, I was beginning to get bored of watching him.”

You don’t offer him a response as you continue towards the stables, preoccupied with hoping and praying that Joel and his new partner had already left for patrol. For once, whatever higher power out there was on your side as you find the stables vacant.

“Thank God,” you mutter to yourself, sliding off your horse, Luna, to guide her towards her stall which was thankfully far away from Marcus’. Once you got her in her stall, you began to take off her saddle and get her ready for the night. As you did so, your mind wandered to your new patrol partner. 

You weren’t oblivious, you knew what Marcus was doing. It wouldn’t be the first time that he tried to sweet talk you. The man had been adamant to gain your attention since you stepped foot in Jackson after the Firefly incident. Whether it was at the stables, the Tipsy Bison, or at movie night, Marcus tried everything to engage you in a conversation.

Any chance he got, Marcus would try his best to make an impression on you. To ask you out on a date. None of his advances ever made it far, you weren’t interested in the men of Jackson and had made it clear. At least, you thought you did, especially after yesterday’s event at the Tipsy Bison.

While you were waiting for the food, Marcus and his friends were putting the ‘tipsy’ in Tipsy Bison. When drinking, Marcus liked to get a little handsy and his previous rejected advances did not seem to deter him trying again. In good Marcus fashion, he attempted, again, to get you to go out with him. You rejected him, as you had many times before, by sliding his arm off your shoulders before moving to a different part of the bar. Luckily, your food was ready soon after so you didn’t have to endure his stares any longer.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice rang out in the stall, causing you to whip around to find the intruder.

Ellie leaned against the opening, arms crossed over her chest as she watched you catch your breath, clearly you had not heard her enter the stables.

“Jesus, Els, you can’t sneak up on people like that,” you breathe, shaking your head at the young girl. You eye the backpack she throws onto the ground before she flops down onto the stool you had brought in earlier. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school right now?”

“It’s boring,” she answers as if it was an acceptable reason. “You gonna tell Joel I’m skipping?”

You stiffen at the mention of his name, glancing at Ellie before answering. “Nope.”

“You want to talk about what happened last night?” She presses, confirming your previous suspicions of her eavesdropping tendencies.

“Nope.” Exiting the stall, you make yourself appear busy to avoid further questioning from the girl.

Ellie follows, picking at the end of her sleeves, shifting from foot to foot as she watches you flit around the stable. You spare a glance at her, knowing that her mind is running a mile a minute as it gears up before speaking.

“You okay, Bellie?” You ask, halting your work.

“You aren’t gonna leave, right?” Ellie asks after a moment, eyes avoiding your face.

You sigh, setting down the pail of food you gathered before walking up to the girl. You place your hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “Of course not, I promised you that I would never leave you, remember?”

The girl nods, “I remember.”

“Good,” you smile at her, ruffling up her hair before giving her a gentle push towards the stable doors. “Go back to school before you get us both in trouble.”

After Ellie leaves, you putter around the stables for a few hours before you hear the clopping of horses approaching the stables. Peeking out of the window, you see Joel and his new patrol partner.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You think, immediately running back to Luna’s stall. You frantically grab your things and hightail it out of the back entrance of the stables. Leaning against the back of the barn, you wait until you hear the men enter before making your way back to town. You had no idea how you were going to avoid Joel for the foreseeable future, but there was no way you were ready to face him.

The next few weeks went by similarly. You left the house before the sun rose, before anyone in the house was awake. You would go on patrol, endure several hours of the torture that is Marcus and his antics before returning to the town. You’d wait to watch Joel leave for patrol before going to the house you shared or going into town. Once he was back home, you’d return to the stables where you would spend your evenings, only returning home in the late hours of the night. One day while he was on patrol, you had moved all of your things into the third bedroom that was now your own. It worked, you rarely ran into Joel. When you did, you would turn and go the opposite direction or retreat back to your room. 

It worked until it didn’t.

You were at the Tipsy Bison, leaned against the bar with a drink in your hand as you listened to Maria. She had to practically drag you out here after days of begging for you to socialize. To be a part of the community. You partly did it to get her off your back, but as you listened to the conversation around you, you felt happy that she managed to get you to come out. It had been a long time since you stayed in one place for longer than ten minutes without constantly checking over your shoulder.

Maria had been recounting a story about Tommy from early on in their relationship when you felt it. Felt eyes burning into your back. Stares that felt like ice water spilling down your shirt, sending vicious shivers up your spine. It felt uneasy, putting you on edge. The longer it lingered, the more uncomfortable you grew.

Turning to give the establishment a once over, you noticed two things. One, Joel was in the corner with his brother, hands full with glasses of neat whiskey as they conversed with one another. Eyes on Tommy, not on you. And two, your oh so lovely patrol partner making his way over towards your group.

“Maria,” you start, turning to your friend, attempting to say your goodbyes before booking it out of the bar when a rather large and heavy arm is slung around your shoulders.

Marcus steadies himself on your shoulder, the smell of alcohol seeping from his pores as he surveys your group, eyes lingering on you for too long. “Ladies! Looking fantastic tonight!”

“Why thank you, Marcus,” one of the women, Fiona, in your group respond, smirking at the obviously drunk man. She bats her eyelashes at him and you feel sick. “How can we help you?”

“Just wanted to talk to my patrol partner here,” Marcus turns to peer down at you, offering you a smile as he squeezes you to his side. “Tommy told me we are patrolling a new area tomorrow, so I figured the two of us could talk strategy. Maybe over a drink or two.”

You grimace, trying to shrug his arm off your shoulder but he is gripping onto you impeccably tight. “It’s late, Marcus, and I was just about to leave. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“How about he walks you home?” Maria suggests, raising her eyebrows at you. You throw her a look, hoping she picks up on the obvious disapprovement you have over this idea. But she doesn’t, the other women in the group joining in on the idea. “The two of you can discuss it on the way back.”

“It’s the least you can do,” Fiona nods at you, cutting you off when you go to protest. “You did force him to change partners, you can’t blame the man for wanting to make sure he’s safe tomorrow.”

Sending Fiona a hard glare, you push Marcus’ arm off of your shoulder to slip on your coat. “Fine, let’s go.”

You wave off the group’s goodbyes before beelining for the door. The faster you get out of here, the faster you can get home and away from Marcus. On the way out, you glance at the table that Tommy and Joel were residing at, finding it vacant. At this point, you didn’t care if you would run into Joel at the house. Anything was preferable to spending any more time than necessary with your insufferable patrol partner. 

After exiting the building, you start towards home at a quick pace, hoping to shorten the usual ten minute walk into a five minute walk. You don’t feel Marcus at your side, hoping that you lost him in your haste out of the bar. Your thoughts are silenced when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, yanking you to a halt and into one of the allies in the town square.

“What’s the rush, sweetheart?” Marcus smirks, pulling closer to you as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Got the kid waiting up for me back home,” you quickly lie, tugging your wrist back in an attempt to free yourself. “QZ schools weren’t the best, she needs help with her homework.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at you before backing you into the brick wall of the alley behind you. “I’m sure her dad can help her with that. We have some things to discuss.”

“It would be best to discuss whatever it is in the morning,” you gulp, pressing closer to the wall to create more space between the two of you. “When we both haven’t been at a bar for the night. With clearer minds.”

“Baby,” Marcus breathes, “My mind has never been more clear.”

He ducks his head, pressing his lips forcefully against yours. His hands move to your hips, pressing himself into you. You desperately try pulling your head back to avoid him, but the brick wall behind you prevents you from moving away. Panicking, you sink your teeth into his lip, biting down until you taste the metallic tang of blood. Your hands move to his chest, pushing him off with all your strength. Marcus stumbles back, hands dabbing at his lip to feel the damage. 

“What the actual fuck are you thinking?” You seeth, wiping the taste of him away with the back of your hand. You stare at him for a beat, bewildered, before pushing off the wall to make your escape.

You make it a few steps before Marcus surges forward, arms encircling your waist to pull you off the ground. All attempts of your struggle are thwarted when he throws you onto the pavement, hands wrapping around your throat as he straddles your stomach, your arms pinned to his thighs.

“You disrespectful, little bitch,” he spits, hands tightening at your throat. “Your daddy ever teach you manners as a young girl? Like all girls need to be taught?”

You gasp at the lack of oxygen as you try to squirm your way out of his grasp. Your constant struggle only seems to agitate Marcus more as he pulls you off the ground before slamming you back down. The back of your head bounces off the hard pavement beneath the two of you. All efforts to fight cease as dots begin to swarm your vision. 

“You respect men that want to talk to you,” Marcus growls, smirking at your dazed face. His hands continue to tighten around your throat. “You’re lucky to even have my attention.”

Your vision is starting to go dark when his weight is suddenly pulled off of you. Coughing, you roll onto your stomach, attempting to gain your bearings. You hear fighting next to you, propping yourself on your hands and knees to try to see what’s going on.

“So help me god,” Joel practically snarls, one hand gripping Marcus’ collar while the other delivers a nose shattering punch. 

“If you ever go near her again, I will kill you.” Punch.

“If you look at her again, I will kill you.” Punch.

“If you even so much as breathe in her direction, I will kill you.” Punch.

“Do I make myself clear?”

You watch from your hands and knees as Joel delivers punch after punch until Marcus is whimpering under him, gasping for air like you were only moments earlier. Once he believes the message has been received, Joel drops his hold on Marcus and backs away, chest heaving.

You must make a noise as he turns to you, eyes quickly scanning your face before his gaze settles on the hand prints adoring your throat. He’s rushing to you before you know it, gentle hands helping raise you to your feet.

“Can you stand, bug?” Joel whispers, softly turning to check the spot where your head had kissed the payment. Today must be your lucky day, no blood appearing on his fingers after he gently ran them through your hair.

“M’fine, Joel,” you rasp, embarrassment pooling in your stomach. While you were thankful that he came by when he did, you couldn’t help but wish it happened to be anyone else. 

Joel sighs, running his hand down his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I said I’m fine Joel,” you pull yourself out of his gentle grasp, wrapping your arms around your midsection tightly. You take a few cautious steps back, stumbling but steady enough to walk.

“Let me get you home, angel,” Joel steps forward, hands reaching out to help you. “Ellie’s been askin’ bout you.”

Shaking your head, you continue to take tentative steps away from him. “I can take care of myself, Joel. You don’t have to pretend anymore, remember?”

And with that, you turned on your heels and began to make your way back to the house. You knew he was trailing some feet behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. All you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and forget that the night ever even happened.

“It looks like the bruising should heal in a few weeks,” Rick, Jackson’s one and only doctor, assesses, fingers gently pressing against the prominent hand marks on your neck. “The petechiae should clear up within the next few days.”

You nod, readjusting your collar whenever the doctor leans back to scribble down some notes. In the corner of your eye, you see Tommy and Maria share a glance before whispering, as if you weren’t even in the room.

“Any new loss of consciousness? Confusion? Dizzy spells?” Rick asks, pen pausing on the paper.

“Nope,” voice still scratchy but nowhere near as bad as it was a few days ago. “Can I go back on patrol now?”

With a sigh, Rick sets his clipboard down. “Sweetheart, what you went through was a traumatic event. You need to let yourself have time to recuperate mentally too, not just physically.”

“I take that as a no then,” you deflate when the doctor nods.

After answering the rest of Rick’s questions, you’re finally able to leave the infirmary. It seemed like you were there for hours, so to feel the sun on your face whenever you exited felt like sweet relief.

“Y/N,” Maria starts, guilt practically dripping from her.

“Maria, if you apologize one more time, I think I might implode,” you interrupt her, turning to face her. “You didn’t know, I didn’t tell you what he had been saying on patrol. This isn’t your fault.”

“But –”

“No buts,” groaning, you grab her shoulders, giving her a playful shake. “Some drunk asshole’s actions are not your fault. There was no way you could’ve known what would happen.”

“Darlin’, she’s right,” Tommy intervenes. “It’s no one’s fault but the man that did it.”

You hum in agreement, rolling your eyes at the way Maria practically pouts. “Just don’t give me another shitty patrol partner and we can call it even. Okay?”

Maria nods, pulling you into a tight hug. You gently pat her back, knowing the hug is more for her sake than yours, so you allow yourself to enjoy it, just this once.

You’re about to walk away but Tommy stops you, hand gently on your wrist. “Ellie wanted me to tell you to meet her at your house, said she needed help with somethin’.” 

“Little shit skipped school again?” You groan. “What would be so important that we have to do it now instead of after dinner?”

Tommy shrugs, smirk playing on his lips. “You really think I'm privy to how she operates?”

“I wish I was,” you mutter, waving your goodbyes before trudging back to your house.

You were going to have to talk to Joel about this. Ellie skipped at least twice a week and you thought the last discussion you had about it got through to her, but apparently not. You understood why she struggled with it, being one of the only outsiders in a building full of kids that had never been outside the walls of Jackson. People looked at you guys funny, you and Joel got it too. Even in the apocalypse, school was important.

After what seemed like an eternity, you crossed the threshold of your home. “Ellie?” you called.

No response.

“Ellie Bellie?” You called again, hanging your coat on the hooks by the door. You knew Joel was on patrol so you began to wander to find the girl.

After checking the entire upstairs, you began to worry.

“Ellie!” You yelled, thundering down the steps and into the kitchen.

“In the basement!” The girl finally responded.

With a breath of relief, you descended the basement steps and found the girl sorting through boxes, various tools of Joel’s spread around her.

“What did we talk about?” You approach, tugging on her ponytail. “No more skipping school, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she waves you off, pointing to the door behind her. “The water heater is in there, right?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You shrug. “The old man takes care of that stuff.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the door. “Well the stupid fuckin’ thing stopped working and I want Joel to be able to have a hot shower when he gets back from patrol.”

“So call Tommy, Els,” you resist her tugging. “I can’t fix it.”

Pouting, the young girl bats her eyelashes at you, putting on her best puppy dog face. “Please, please, please?”

After a few more seconds of her insistent begging, you cave in. “Fuck, fine. Just stop with the face. Promise you won’t skip school again and I’ll see what I can do?”

“Promise!” Ellie smiles in victory, holding out the worn owner’s manual to you.

You grab the dusty book from her before shouldering the door open, wandering into the room. It’s pitch black and you can’t seem to find the lightswitch.

“Els, where’s the light?” You ask, blinking to try to adjust to the lack of light.

“Don’t be mad, okay?” You hear the girl plead before the lights flicker on and the door slams shut, lock clicking.

A tired looking Joel sits in front of you, one hand handcuffed to the gas line of the water heater. You gape at him, part of you impressed that Ellie was able to get the one up on him.

But then the reality of the situation sets in and you start to bang on the door. “Ellie, open the damn door!”

“You can come out when the two of you work out whatever shit happened,” Ellie’s voice is muffled through the door but her message is loud and clear. A key slides in from under the door. “Unlock him if you want to.”

“Great, just great,” you mutter, forehead resting on the door. “Looks like we’re never going to get out of here.”

You can hear Ellie stomp up the basements and slam the door, off to do god knows what with both of her guardians locked in a room. Turning, you look to see Joel, his eyes watching your movements. You take in his appearance – right hand cuffed to the flimsy gas line of the water heater, left hand resting in his lap, both legs extended in front of him with crossed ankles. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed.

“Would you mind givin’ me that key?” Joel asks, motioning to the key resting on the ground by your feet.

Nodding, you kick the key to him, praising yourself that it slides within reach of him. You watch as he uncuffs himself, rubbing his skin where the cuff adored his wrist. Joel slowly stands, exhaling as he stretches himself up right. Once he’s upright, you take into account his bruised knuckles, undoubtedly from the other night.

The two of you are silent. The tension is palpable – too thick to cut with a knife, maybe even a chainsaw. You watch as Joel awkwardly shifts foot to foot. You can tell that he has a lot on his mind, but you aren’t sure if you want to know what he’s thinking.

You clear your throat, already regretting your next words. “Thank you, by the way.”

Joel nods, staying on his designated side of the small room. “I’d never just let that happen to you, y’know that.”

The awkward silence lasts a few more beats, neither of you know what to say to the other.

“You don’t have to avoid the house and town,” Joel breaks first, clearing his throat. “We can be friends, can’t we?”

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, turning around to see if the door is actually locked. It is, to your dismay.

“Bug…” Joel starts but the nickname sets you off.

“Can you, like, not call me that?” You snap, whirling around to glare at him. “You lost any and all privilege to that the second you decided to use me for your own personal pleasure. Without regard to how I would feel, may I add?”

Joel scoffs, shaking his head, “I didn’t use you for my ‘own personal pleasure’.”

“Really?” Laughing, you feel insane with how worked up he has got you in one sentence. “Then what exactly did you mean by, and I quote, ‘pretend’.”

Joel opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.

“Or what about ‘I’m done with you’?” You step into his space, practically chest to chest. “Because being done with someone doesn’t really leave room for friendship, now does it?”

“That’s not what I meant, y’know that!”

“Do I, Joel? Because it doesn’t feel like it!” You can feel your hands shaking as you shove him back. “You are so hot and cold. You give me fucking whiplash. I can’t stand it! You–”

His lips press against yours, hands settling on your waist to keep you in place. You freeze, the feeling of his mouth moving against yours is a foreign after not feeling it for so long. You feel yourself melting into his arms, your own wrapping around his neck as you kiss him back, lips fusing together as if they were made for each other.

Until you realize what’s happening.

“What’s wrong, bug?” Joel whispers after you throw yourself back, chest heaving.

“You can’t just do that,” your voice shakes and you feel small under his gaze. “You can’t fuck with my feelings like this.”

Joel lets out an aggravated sigh, hands running through his curly locks. “I’m not tryin’ to, sweetheart.”

“Then what are you trying to do, Joel? Because I can’t do the back and forth.” You desperately try to blink away the tears pooling at your eyes. “One minute you want me, the next you don’t. I don’t know what you want from me.”

A tear slips down your cheek.

And all of Joel’s resolve breaks.

“Baby,” he breathes, hands cupping your cheeks as he thumbs away your tears. “I…shit, hold on.”

You wait. You wait as his eyes squeeze closed. As he inhales and exhales deeply. As he shakes his head before looking at you again.

“I love you,” Joel admits. “But I’m no good for you.”

“Joel–”

“Please,” he begs. “I can’t protect you, or Ellie. You saw what happened with the raiders at the university, I almost got the two of you killed because I’m not as young as I once was. I’m not a good man, bug, I’ve done so many bad things that I will never deserve someone like you, no matter what I do now.”

You listen to all of his reasons why he doesn’t think he deserves you. You watch the pain of his past hold him back from ever realizing how much he is worth.

“Is that why you did that?” You ask quietly, hands coming to rest on his chest. “You pushed me away because you think you’re too old for me? Too much of a burden on me?”

Joel nods, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“But, Joel, those are your reasons,” you breathe. “Your thoughts, your opinions. Not mine.”

He shakes his head. “But–”

“But nothing,” you interrupt. “I love you because of all of that. I love everything about you, your past included, Joel. There is nothing that you could do or say that could ever possibly change that. Why do you think I avoided you for weeks?”

“Because you hated me?”

“Because I couldn’t be around you thinking that I loved you when you hated me.” You laugh, leaning up to briefly press your lips against his. “Next time, how about you talk to me before you make all the decisions?”

Nodding, Joel leans forward and slots his lips against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, locking your hands together. You feel Joel smile against your lips, a feeling you had missed, before pressing yourself as close to him as possible. Your kisses become more feverish, Joel backing you up against the door as his hands run down your sides to your hips. His hands snake around your waist, lowering themselves to your butt, groaning at the way you react to him.

A loud bang on the door startles the two of you apart.

“As much as I love that the two of you figured it out,” Ellie yells through the door. “I don’t want to hear those noises. Ever.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you hide your face in Joel’s neck, a smile spreads across your lips when you feel his arms encompass your waist.

“Are you decent? Can I let you out now?”

“Yes, Ellie.”

“Thank god,” Ellie unlocks and swings the door open. She smiles seeing the two of you wrapped up together. “I was beginning to think you’d never figure it out.”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up.”

“You mean ‘you’re welcome’,” Ellie teases before escaping up the stairs, pausing at the top. “Just don’t suck each other's faces around me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” you salute her goodbye before turning back to Joel, who is pretending to look annoyed at the teen.

“By the way, how did she manage to handcuff you?”

[stuffeddeer]

Hello! Are requests open?

If not, ignore this ask.

I wanted to ask you a beast dazai x neglected reader. Like, a reader who has been ignored and neglected from her entire family since she grow up. She no longer gets goodbyes, she has to cook for herself, her parents don't even acknowledge her when she's sick.

She's been recently accepted as a member of the port, more specifically a secretary of the one and only Dazai Osamu in flesh and bones. Just her luck, this so "scary demon prodigy" is also the sweetest most loyal and pretty boyfriend of her.

When Dazai finds out how she gets (or rather not get) treated at home, he gets genuinely pissed off!! And wanting her to just be good, he asks her if she want to spend sometime in his penthouse, far from that family, somewhere where all the attention she needs is on her, at least there Dazai can actually show her how much she's worth all the love in the world! Come on, she gave him a reason to live, how could he even accept she is living a shitty life in such an house?

Also, PLEASE, PLEASE. An au where beast dazai doesn't kill himself. Also, I love the concept that in every universe the reader and him are soulmates. Like, it's just so perfect I'm so in love with that idea!!

ALSO AGAIN OPS, i wanted to say that I LOVE LOVE your dazai SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH!!!! I've recently stumbled into your blog and I MUST SAY THAT THIS IS JUST.. PERFECT???? I love YOU, deer, for all your wonderful ideas, I love THE ASKS, because damn all your asks give just as wonderful ideas as the one you write out, and I love YOUR WORKS especially the y!dazai like yes???? Just yes????

(My favorite character is Chuuya, but my soft spot for Beast dazai is actually insane, you don't even imagine how much I love that man. Also, because my heart just hurt and break each time people talk about Dazai being a cheater, THANK YOU??? THE ASK, AND YOUR REPLY, THANK YOU SO MUCH??? COULDN'T LIVE WITH THE FEELING DAZAI THAT CHEATS ANYMORE! THANK YOU THANK YOU)

Anyways.

Woah, this got long, I swear I'm not crazy..

Can I be ⏳️ anon if no one else is??

HIII ⏳️ ANON!!! im so glad you enjoy my works and my dazai!!! (as opposed to . asagiris dazai lmaooo)

im sorry this is so late 😭 but im back on the writing grind 😼

The lights were on in your boyfriend’s penthouse, a bolt of worry shooting down your spine at the sight. With his spare key haphazardly shoved into your pocket and door left wide open, you tiptoe into what should've been his apartment, trying to find out if someone broke in.

Dazai had asked you to stop by and drop off something at his place — not exactly standard work for a secretary but you were happy to assist your boyfriend. In your arms now were the groceries a different lackey had picked up and left on your desk. Normally Dazai would take them back himself, he said, but he would need to stay at work late and finish up some things. You were to take his place and make sure the refrigerated goods didn’t go bad. That’s what he said to you, anyway, which you found a bit confounding; Couldn't he have a lackey bring it up in your stead? Sure, Dazai liked to bring his own food to his home to alleviate the threat of poison, but it wouldn't be the first time he let it happen anyway.

While you had been a bit skeptical, pushing the topic seemed unnecessary since you were more than willing to do it either way. Any time spent far from your home and your family was time you cherished, so you didn’t think twice before accepting his stupid and unusual request and taking his spare penthouse key.

But now, you were regretting it. Anyone capable of breaking into the Port Mafia boss’s penthouse was not someone to be underestimated: you were in serious trouble. Cautiously, you hold the paper bags tightly to keep the food from moving around noisily before peeking into the kitchen: the room with the lights on. What could they be doing here..?

Plating dinner, apparently.

“Love! You’ve finally arrived - good. Take a seat!”

Your boyfriend was donned in a frilly pink apron you’re sure he bought just for this occasion, since you've never seen him in it before. With an amused chuckle, you stepped back. "Let me close the door then I'll join you."

After putting away all of the groceries he'd asked you to bring home for him - and realizing he already had all of these items in his cupboards and refrigerator already - you tug on the ribbon keeping the apron fixed against his neck.

The top half falls down from his chest, curling over the second tie around his hips and dangling loosely. "Undressing me already?" Dazai hums playfully.

"You're obnoxious." Next comes the tie around his waist, the bunched up apron fabric quickly pulled against your chest. You gently push Dazai to the side as you unfold it. "C'mon, I'll take over now."

Dazai huffs childishly, pouting dramatically for the full effect. "Hey!" He reaches out, snagging the apron from you and quickly tying it back on himself. Hands securely gripping your waist, Dazai lifts you from the ground and carries you - feet hovering just over the wooden floor - to the dining room, where an empty basket sits between variously sized candles on a decorated table.

On either side of the table are empty plates and fancy napkins, ones you hadn't known Dazai even owned, with cutlery resting on top. Two glasses sit on the table, one scotch and one wine glass, both filled with their respective drinks. Dazai sets you down next to the table, feet finally touching the floor once again while his arms snake out from your waist, making sure to pat your tummy once as his hand slides around it.

"Hope you're hungry - I made your favorite. It's all plated and ready to go, I just... burnt the bread you like. That garlicky kind from that restaurant we went to a few weeks ago? I gently requested the chef to give me the recipe and she happily handed it over! Of course, it must've been my handsome good looks that finally made her acquiesce rather than the gun in my coat pocket— "

Your wonderful boyfriend continues to prattle on and yet you barely register any of it, just thinking about how he knew you liked that bread and wanted to go to extreme lengths to recreate it for you. A bit timidly, you hold his hands in yours, giving them a mild squeeze. "I can't believe you went to the trouble."

The sound of your whisper makes Dazai grin, puffing out his chest in pride. "Of course! I'd do anything for my love," he says, voice leaning more on the side of egotistical than genuine, a light joke hoping to make you laugh. Like always, he succeeds.

The kiss you press to his cheek makes his smile turn more sincere, a hand moving to flatten the frilly pink fabric around his waist. "Guess you read my apron."

You look down, noticing the tacky KISS THE CHEF embroidered onto the front. A playful scoff passes your lips, rolling your eyes while trying to bite back a smile. "You're annoying. How long have you had this?"

"Umm~," he hums for a moment. "7 hours? And I thought you said I was obnoxious." A high pitched ding! sounds from the kitchen, Dazai quickly rushing back and leaving you alone. You gaze back at the dinner table he set up, smiling excitedly at the thought of him putting all this together just for you.

Spending time with Dazai always lifts a weight off of your shoulders, laughing at his dumb jokes and complaining about your day - it’s a wonderful feeling the both of you lacked prior. Him from his upbringing in the mafia, following in Mori’s footsteps and cursed to take his position, and you - not allowed to rely on anyone except yourself from the moment you could walk. Both you and Dazai were accustomed to loneliness and isolation, knowing the only people you could trust were yourselves.

Coming together after forced alienation all your life made you bit hesitant to depend on him, especially at first. Asking for attention and affection is much scarier than just wanting it. However, Dazai had seemed to warm up to the idea relatively quickly, as though he already knew you could be trusted and had already been used to your presence.

It was a bit jarring, knowing the scary mafia boss was so enamored with you he'd practically jump onto you if you got too close. All things considered, he should've been as cautious as you were, but Dazai so easily slid into his role as your partner. Sometimes you feel bad knowing that you haven't been as forthcoming as he has.

"Stay with me tonight."

The sudden turn in conversation makes you freeze, hand pausing with your glass of wine lingering just in front of your lips. Conversation had been flowing easily just moments prior — chatting about each other's day and various similar small talk, before turning to the dinner at hand. You'd thanked Dazai for the meal before asking him why he decided to do this for you so randomly. Instead of answering, he'd simply replied with the above: stay with me tonight.

"Stay here? Overnight? It's a bit last minute..."

Dazai smiles as you set your wine glass down, staring at him as though expecting an elaboration. Which, of course, he's willing to supply. "And tomorrow night, if you'd like. The one after and every night after that."

Is he asking me to move in? you think, breath hitching. It's all so sudden; you'd never even discussed this possibility with him. Sure, you've spent a night or two over here and there - but very sporadically. It wasn't something often and definitely not frequent enough to lead into moving in so soon.

"Stop overthinking," he cuts into your thoughts. "Take what I'm saying at face value." Gently, Dazai's hand reaches out to grab yours, arm resting on the table as his thumb traces your knuckles. "Stay with me tonight. And we can reassess tomorrow."

Of course he knows how to calm you down, causing you to breathe as you focus on his thumb's ministrations on your hand. Well, it would be nice, knowing the options are to stay with your loving boyfriend or go home to your neglectful family. They wouldn't even notice you're gone, much less care where you ended up, but...

"I have pajamas and clothes for you to use, spare toothbrush and the like." Dazai had answered your question before you even asked, something that always made you smile. No one had ever taken the time to know you, much less well enough to read your mind like that. "If they're not to your liking, I'll have a subordinate get you something else."

You shake your head, wanting nothing more than to spend a night away from your home once again. Or away from your house, rather - since Dazai has quickly proven himself to be your home. "I bet they're perfect. And if not, I— " you hesitate, not wanting to impose. The last thing you wanted was to be—

"You aren't a burden. If not, we can just get something else," Dazai cuts off your train of thought. "I want to, okay? I want to take care of you. I want you to know what it's like to be looked after and taken care of."

"I was going to say if not, maybe I can move some of my clothes here... for the times I stay over." Anxiously, you pick up your fork to poke and prod at your meal, the lovely dinner Dazai had crafted just for you consisting of only your favorite foods.

Dazai nods quickly, eyes glimmering at the idea. He knows this is your metaphorical olive branch, letting him know that you're working up to one day moving in with him. All he wants and all he's ever wanted for as long as he's known you, spanning across multiple lives, is to keep you safe and happy.

The topic changes as dinner continues, and before you know it you're donned in the most expensive pajamas curled up against Dazai fast asleep. Watching you snore beside him, all he can think about is making sure you're surrounded solely by people who cherish you.

[ipegchangbin]

I have not stopped thinking about seungmin with a pussy being a squirter since you said it. People around me keep asking why my eyes keep glazing over and I keep zoning out, I’m busy dreaming up new positions to absolutely wreck that pussy in

….its a decent sized problem, I can’t focus 😭

you inspired me to write more. this is my problem now too

— boypussy seungmin headcanons

18+ only. minors do not interact.

🏷️ sub!boypussy!seungmin, dom!amab!reader. squirting. dacryphilia. reader has a cock.

— no doubt a squirter. he squirts almost without warning, like it just happens. he gets so wet so easily to the point you’d think that was it, until he holds your hand and warns you in the softest voice that he’s going to cum. when he actually squirts, it’s a powerful stream of sweet cum that you can’t get anywhere else.

— seungmin’s the shy type. he likes to hide his face behind his hands while you’re fingering him. you tell him to show his pretty face and he simply shakes his head no, but in reality he’s just too shy. you have to pry your hands away from his sweater paws just to see his flushed cheeks and teary eyes. he’s such a sight to see, and he has the pussy to match it.

— speaking of his pussy, seungmin’s got a well-groomed and beautiful cunt. his folds sit nicely, outer lips just thick enough to hide his inner lips when you’re not playing with it. his clit is delightfully small yet sensitive. it’s the best when you suck it swollen because his whole cunt blooms in response, dripping wet with need as the overwhelmed seungmin pleads for you to help him cum.

— his cum tastes amazing. like any other person’s squirt, the consistency of his cum is runny yet interesting, but the taste is to die for. it’s particularly sweet but not overwhelmingly so; he has a tinge of a savory taste that feels like the sweat of a fairy that you can’t quite pinpoint. he smells amazing, too: even after digging your head in his cunt and smelling pussy, it’s a clean, fresh pussy at that.

— seungmin squirts the most when you’re fucking him with his body folded. he loves but would never admit that putting him in a mating press, locking his limbs together, or squeezing his thighs tight against your body, all get him going. maybe it’s the pressure of contorting his body in different positions that makes his pussy tighten against your length, maybe it’s the way that his folded body makes his sweet spot hit the head of your cock better. seungmin loves it as much as you do.

— prepare to comfort him, he cries when he cums. he doesn’t cry because it hurts, but rather the opposite. it’s easy to overwhelm this boy but it’s an honest treat to see the tears stream down his face as he squirts all over you. for a clean pussy, he makes the biggest mess when he cums; his squirt gets on your cock, on his tummy, on your hands, everywhere. it makes him cry a lot more and he isn’t sure why but you savor the tears nonetheless.

— he still gushes even if you’re done with him. there’s no science that can explain why his cunt keeps gushing even while you’re cuddling after sex. it’s adorable that his body still chases the need. his cunt even twitches and clenches for minutes on end. perhaps that’s why he especially craves your cock stilling inside his pussy when you’re both done.

— in reality, seungmin loves his own squirt. you once fed him your cock after he squirted all over it, and after getting a taste of himself, he’d crave it over and over again. since then, seungmin would ask you to kiss him after eating him out. you’d collect his juices on your fingers and rest it on his tongue. he thinks it’s nasty but seungmin craves it, maybe because he’s as much of a freak as you are.

— as a bonus, seungmin can’t finish by squirting once. he always has to squirt at least twice. if his own cum keeps you going, it keeps him going too. are you ready to get this boy wet all over again?

[t-lostinworlds]

Treasure Be Damned | Nathan Drake

》 PAIRING: movie!nathan drake x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: childhood best friends to lovers; angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: Nathan wished it didn't take something drastic to happen for him to finally realize what he felt for you. And no matter how much that gold was worth, you will always be his greatest treasure.

》 WARNINGS: both are orphans (mentioned), tech genius!reader, protective!nathan, switch pov halfway thru, kinda canon divergent (a.k.a. i made slight changes to some scenes from the movie), pining, jealousy jealousy, idiots in love, some angst, kidnapping, canon level violence, injuries, love confessions and a cute fluffy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.4k+

A/N: hello! me again with another fic. this may seem super random but this was commissioned by the lovely @theslayerofthevampires ! thank u so so much hun <3 my first ever commission btw. trying to stick to a certain word count was actually quite interesting to me alskalsk but this was fun to write and i hope i did it justice!

+ also i couldn't think of a better title and the summary is kinda cheesy but we love cheese in this house so alksalkslaks

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

You and Nathan had been best friends for as long as you could remember.

When he punched a guy twice his size all because they made you cry on your first day at the orphanage, he quickly gained your trust and loyalty. It was reciprocated when you dumped all your lunch on a kid when they poked fun about why his brother left him.

You two had been inseparable ever since.

Nathan was protective of you, and you were protective of him.

As years passed, that protectiveness only grew tenfold. With it came the care and affection that went from strictly platonic to something warmer, sweeter.

For you, at least.

You couldn't pinpoint when it started, all you knew was that everything Nathan did for you suddenly felt special—like it was solely for you.

The change wasn't outright. It was a slow realization, when the little things he did made your heart grow warmer and beat faster all the same.

At first, you thought it was a simple crush—a silly phase, that with time, it would fade.

But no.

As months moved to years, it went from something that lingered to something you couldn't escape from.

The moment you truly figured that what you felt about him wasn't as simple as an adoration for your best friend was on your eighteenth birthday.

Nathan had spent all the money he saved from working odd—and honest, he made sure to make that known—jobs on a silver necklace.

Maybe you watched way too many romcoms, maybe it was all in your rose-tinted head, but there was an underlying romance in the way he stood behind you, so close and warm, as he put the necklace on for you.

With bated breath, you let him, trying your best not to melt over his simple touch. His fingertips brushed against your skin so delicately but felt electric in all the right ways.

You only regained your breathing when he finally stepped back. Yet he took it away a moment later when he gently tapped the charm—shaped like a compass—sitting between your collarbone, a fond smile on his lips when he said,

"So you'll always find your way back to me."

How could you not fall in love?

What a cliché.

Falling in love with your childhood best friend.

It would've been cute if it was reciprocated.

But whatever he saw you as was strictly platonic.

You were constantly reminded of how unrequited your love was with the hook-ups he brought back to the apartment.

You had agreed to be his roommate to help lessen the expenses. Even though you had only recently moved in together, you were starting to doubt if it was a good idea—for your heart's sake, anyway.

It didn't even stop there.

Because here you were once again, sporting an ache in your chest as you watched him flirt with a blonde girl at the bar.

As much as you enjoyed visiting him at work, seeing him flirt with the pretty customers regularly will always leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Jealousy.

A feeling you shouldn't be entertaining in the first place. You were just a best friend. You had no right to go all green-eyed whenever you saw him with another girl.

Nathan Drake wasn't yours.

You didn't even realize that you were too deep into your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you out of it.

"You okay?"

You blinked, looking up to see Nathan regarding you with brows furrowed in concern.

"Huh?"

"You've been glaring at that thing for a good minute now," he explained, nodding at the personalized cocktail he made for you.

He always did that whenever you stopped by, experimenting with new mixes he thought you'd enjoy solely based on how well he knew you. You give him your honest feedback in return. It was your own little game.

"Is it bad?"

"No, no, no," you said, taking a sip before smiling. "I liked it."

"Just 'like', damn. I need to step up my game," he sighed in feigned disappointment. When you didn't react as much, he added, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Nathan looked at you for a moment, lips pursed as he shook his head.

"You're such a bad liar."

"I'm not," you scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. "You just know me so well."

"I do," he hummed, grin turning proud. "I also know when something's bothering you so, what's up?"

"Girl things." You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. You could tell it confused him, because he was never uncomfortable to talk about those topics with you. But before he could even question it, you quickly added, "I think I'm going to head home first. You didn't forget your keys, right?"

"That was one time," he grumbled, eyeing you for a moment because he obviously didn't buy your excuse. A second later, he sighed, "Yeah, I got my keys."

"Okay, See you later," you said, gathering up your things before walking towards the door.

"Let me know if you get home safe," he called out.

You only threw him a salute in response.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

It was the harsh light from the huge window in the living room that woke you up.

You must have fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of watching your comfort movie—a poor attempt at trying to distract yourself from your lovelorn predicament.

Who knew dealing with feelings could be so exhausting?

It was the smell of bacon that coaxed you out of your cocoon, though. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Nathan greeted as soon as you stepped into the kitchen. He threw you a warm smile over his shoulder before he continued making breakfast—shirtless, might you add. "There are painkillers beside your water in case your neck is killing you. I would've carried you back to your bed but you kick in your sleep and I've learned my lesson so…"

It did happen once.

He was trying to coax you off the couch and back into the comfort of your bed. But as he got closer, your leg having a mind of its own when you were deeply asleep, you kicked him straight in his jewels—his words, not yours.

The loud thud of him falling on the floor didn't even shake you awake, not even when he was groaning in pain. 

You couldn't even remember any of it.

"How many times do I have to apologize for you to let that go?" you chuckled, settling at your usual seat at the small dining table you had.

"Not enough," he snorted. "I still feel the phantom of the kick, you know."

"You're so dramatic." You rolled your eyes, glancing around only to catch a glimpse of that old yet familiar green trunk. It was then you noticed some of his old stuff littered around, trinkets and memorabilia he hadn't looked at in a while. Just as you were about to question him about it, you saw the excited look on his face. You narrowed your eyes, asking, "Did I miss something?"

"Quite a lot, actually," he chuckled, sauntering over to you with your breakfast for the day. Putting the full plate in front of you, Nathan leaned down and quickly kissed your forehead. "Eat. I'll tell you all about it."

You ignored the phantom of his lips on your skin.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

A treasure hunt.

Nathan dragged you into a treasure hunt.

You didn't trust this Victor Sullivan guy, but Nate seemed to be adamant about finding this gold in hopes of finding Sam too. And you trust your best friend's judgment so that made Sully a friend of your best friend, much to your dismay.

"Do I look okay?" you asked, straightening out your long, black evening gown as you emerged out of the makeshift changing room.

When you didn't hear an answer, you looked up to see Nathan staring at you with a certain look in his eyes.

Your face warmed. "What?"

"Okay?" he scoffed, shaking his head as if he was offended by the word you used. With a gentle smile, he gestured at you with both hands. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. You don't look bad yourself," you responded with a shy smile, unable to hold his gaze for much longer. You fixed your entangled necklace, instead.

"Here, let me," he said, quickly walking over to you to straighten it out, his touch featherlight against your skin. "It's a gorgeous necklace. The guy who gave this to you has good taste."

"If good taste means licking his own ass, then, it's a bit questionable."

"Okay, gross," he playfully grimaced. "All I'm saying is that I picked the right one for you."

"You did." You smiled fondly. 

"Perfect," he hummed with a smile, his gaze slowly trailing from your necklace up to your eyes, his next words barely even a whisper. "You're perfect."

You didn't know if it was even meant for your ears but you could only stand there, staring into his brown eyes that seemed to shift from one emotion to another.

Nathan was about to say something when Sully came out of nowhere with that grumpy look on his face.

"Why are we bringing her again?" he asked as if you weren't standing in front of him.

"She's a genius with computers," Nathan said, a bite in his tone. "She's going to help us get through any security tech easy breezy."

Sully narrowed his eyes between you two before shrugging.

"Fine," he grumbled, looking you up and down before walking away. "We leave in ten minutes."

"I don't think he likes me very much," you sighed once the door shut.

"I don't think he likes anyone," Nathan said, smiling at you reassuringly. "Don't take it personally."

And you didn't. Truly.

But when you got to the auction house, it definitely felt more personal when the old man wouldn't tell you anything.

No communication. No updates. No information. Nothing.

Only when you ask Nathan directly were you able to get a grasp of what was going on or when to proceed to the next step—if he wasn't distracted.

With the countless pretty ladies dressed to the nines, you best believe he wasn't anywhere near focused.

You were angry because this was a dire situation. One wrong move could get you guys caught. You were too goddamn young for prison.

You definitely weren't bitter over something else.

"Do you always feel the need to flirt with anything that walks?" you spat when he finally reached the door you'd been trying so hard to keep open without getting caught. It took him three minutes more since he was busy chatting up some random trust fund girl.

"I wasn't—Jesus," he grunted, the door hitting him on the way as you walked past it.

You couldn't be bothered to wait anymore. You didn't look back and simply sped walk towards the power switch.

"You're upset," Nathan said once he caught up with you.

"I'm not upset," you grumbled. "I'm annoyed."

"It's the same thing."

"It's fucking not."

"Okay, geez," he conceded, pouting, "What'd I do?"

"What aren't you doing?" you asked sarcastically, harshly tapping on your phone as you tried to decode the security lock on the main switch. "Oh right, focusing on your job!"

"Christ, do you two always bicker like an old married couple?"

"Shut up!" you and Nathan barked synchronously.

Shaking your head, you calmed yourself, punching in the security code.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I was just trying to scope potential—"

You glared at him.

"I'm shutting up."

"Just do your thing. I want this over and done with," you grumbled, stepping aside once the circuit box finally opened.

"You're a genius," he praised with a smile, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. "Thank you."

"Whatever."

You wished you could say everything went smooth sailing from there, but when did it ever?

Everything happened so fast.

One minute you two were walking out of the control room, the next you were being chased down but huge men.

Running in heels was not fun.

And then it was a blur, someone grabbing your arm in a way that made you scream in pain to Nathan tackling the guy to the ground, landing blow after blow to his face until blood started to splatter on the suit he was wearing.

"Touch her again and I'll kill you."

You'd never seen him so angry before.

But that anger quickly disappeared when he fussed over you, hands soft against your cheeks yet the panic and worry were evident in his eyes.

It took several 'I'm fine's and a couple more reassurances that you weren't badly hurt to get him to fully calm down and help you up so you could get out of this place.

Unbeknownst to you, there were curious eyes watching everything closely with a knowing yet wicked smile on her lips.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

You thought the feeling of being outcasted was only a small blip at the auction house.

But you were so wrong.

"What happened to you?" you asked when he finally met up with you at the church in Barcelona, soaking wet from head to toe.

"Long story."

"So you brought your girlfriend with you" A girl—Chloe, you later learned—suddenly appeared.

"She's not my girlfriend," Nathan quickly corrected.

Yes, it was true.

But the way he shut it down so quickly as if the thought made him hurl made the sting harsher.

It didn't take long for you to notice how Nathan seemed to be following Chloe around a lot.

So much so that you were becoming more of an afterthought.

They were always conspiring amongst themselves. It was in their line of expertise, you supposed, and you were just the tech girl. But it wasn't like you were clueless about it. Nate has told you enough stories for you to get the gist of what was going on.

It was getting pathetic, trailing behind them like some puppy, wanting to feel included.

When Nathan argued with Sully that you were not leaving his side when it was time to split up, you could only laugh at it now.

What was the point when you were immediately alone when you got into the tunnels?

Even more as you stood by yourself at the club, watching him dance with Chloe, so close, in the guise of blending in.

Maybe if you weren't distracted you would've noticed the man sneaking up behind you. You would've been able to run before he could grab you from behind, hand over your mouth as he started dragging you backward. And maybe you were quite good at kicking someone's jewels when you hit the jackpot the first time, enabling you to escape and scream for help.

You were yelling Nathan's name, but it was the loud gunshot that caught his attention.

It was heartbreaking to think that it took you getting shot in the leg for him to fully acknowledge you.

You were overwhelmed with too many emotions that you became numb, simply letting them take you back to the safe house in silence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he sat by your temporary bed, carefully wrapping the bandage on your thigh after he cleaned it. Thankfully, the bullet was only meant to slow you down, not kill. "I'm supposed to be looking out for you."

"It's fine," you sighed. You knew he was being sincere. He looked thoroughly distraught when he saw you drop to the ground. You knew it wasn't his fault, and you knew he was already blaming himself enough. But with the pain and bitterness—both physically and emotionally—you couldn't stop it. "You were busy. I get it."

He frowned. "What's with that tone?" 

"There's no tone," you grumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"You're annoyed."

You shook your head. "I'm not annoyed.'

"So…you're upset," he hummed, reaching for your hands. You pulled away, carefully getting comfortable on the bed.

"I'm going to sleep," you sighed, pulling the covers over you.

Nathan got the hint, standing from his seat with a sigh, "Okay, goodnight, just…call me if you need anything."

So when you woke up in the middle of the night when a sudden sting went up your leg, you quickly yet carefully got out of bed to look for him.

You wish you hadn't bothered.

The last thing you wanted to see was him and Chloe getting cozy on the balcony, a bottle of wine between them.

You figured you weren't important enough to interrupt their moment. Besides, the ache in your leg couldn't compare to the absolute pain in your heart. It only intensified when they started leaning toward each other.

So you quickly went back to bed, tainting the pillowcase with salted tears.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Here." Nathan kneeled in front of the foot of the bed, tying your shoelaces for you. "So, I've been thinking…"

"Uh oh," you joked.

"Maybe you should sit this one out."

Your smile quickly got wiped off your face.

"What?"

Nathan glanced at the door. You followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of Chloe before she hurriedly walked away.

You pressed your lips, nodding in understanding.

"It's not what you think it is," Nathan placated.

"Sure it's not," you scoffed.

"Look, you're injured and—"

You stood up, abruptly cutting him off. You grabbed your bag, limping around the room as you gathered your stuff.

"Woah careful, your wound is still fresh," Nathan followed you around, arms out in case you stumbled. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving. That's what you wanted, right?"

"What? No!" he rushed, hands on your shoulder, stopping you. "What I meant was, you need to recover first."

"Right," you scoffed, shrugging him off before you continued packing. "Because  it's going to be dangerous and you're looking out for me, trying to protect me and all that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit!"

"You know, after all we've been through, I thought I could count on you to at least be honest with me," you said bitterly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," you pressed, harshly zipping up your bag. "If you wanted me out of the picture, you could've just said so."

Shaking his head, he argued, "That's not it."

"Maybe," you said, looking him straight in the eyes. "But fewer people, more gold to go around, right?"

That rendered him silent.

"You've known me your whole life," he started, hurt flickering in his irises. "You really think I'd do that to you?"

"I don't know anymore, Nate." You threw your hands up exasperatedly. "Because ever since you met them, I barely recognize you anymore. You've been wanting their approval so bad you're getting desperate for it. 

"And I always thought that when we get the chance to find this treasure, we'll do it together, side by side like we always do. But all I've done this whole time is be a third wheel to whatever this is." You gestured at him and the door, laughing sarcastically. "Fourth, if you include Sully."

"That's not true," he argued weakly, realization dawning on his face.

"You whisper among yourselves, nobody tells me a fucking thing, you don't even tell me anything anymore! I'm always left chasing after you because you couldn't be bothered waiting for me to catch up. Fine, I might not know everything about this treasure but it'd be nice to get filled in every once in a while instead of leaving me clueless! Hell, you're starting to forget you brought your best friend with you—"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"You didn't even notice I was getting dragged away until I was shot!"

Nathan looked away.

"All of you are always excluding me and it sucks," your voice cracked, blinking away unshed tears. "And don't think I didn't see you conspiring with Chloe last night."

He looked confused. "Last night?"

"When I came looking for my best friend for help because my leg was hurting like a bitch but I didn't want to be a cockblock so, you're welcome."

"You're not—" Nathan cleared his throat, shoulders slumping, looking at you apologetically. "Y/N…"

You shook your head, harshly wiping at your eyes, putting your jacket on. "The more it goes on, the more I think that you just brought me along because it was convenient for you. Now that I'm considered a liability, gotta leave the extra baggage right?"

"That's not fucking true!" he gritted, pulling his hair frustratedly. "You're part of this as much as I am!"

"Right. Where are we going next?"

Nathan blubbered like a fish out of water.

"That's what I thought," you scoffed, slipping your backpack on.

"Wait, dammit," he cursed when you walked past him, chasing after you into the living room. Frustrated, he called out, "All I'm asking is for you to sit this part out because you're hurt."

You stopped, slowly facing him.

"I never thought that the loneliest I'd ever feel is when I'm supporting you to chase this dream you'd been wanting ever since you were a kid," you admitted, chest tightening as you stared into his troubled brown eyes. "So, I'm not sitting this one out, Nate, I'm done." 

You shoved the cross right on his chest.

"Have fun on your honeymoon," you said, bumping his shoulder as you walked out the door.

"Y/N!"

You never looked back.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Nathan was smart in a lot of different aspects. But emotions and feelings?

Oh he was stupid as fuck.

He wished it didn't take something drastic to happen for him to accept what he truly felt for you.

Part of him was relieved because at least you weren't there when the plane fiasco happened, especially with your injury. He was appeasing his guilt by telling himself that you were safer this way.

Nathan wouldn't know what to do with himself if something worse happened to you.

But as he was decoding the postcards Sam sent—a difficult task to focus on when he couldn't stop worrying about you so much—Chloe suddenly came in with a package.

"It has your name on it."

He opened it confused, but nothing could prepare him for what was inside.

The dread and fear started to creep up his spine when he held the silver necklace he gave you.

You never took this off.

As he emptied the box in a rush, photos upon photos of you tied up and gagged, beaten and bruised with blood tainting your delicate skin, Nathan felt like his entire heart was taken from him.

'The map or her. Choose wisely.'

It came in flashes, moments where you'd been there for each other, the joy and heartbreak, success and failures—you were always there, his one constant.

Then came the moments where he dreamed about you and him, doing things best friends shouldn't be doing.

He always knew what he felt about you but he shoved it down in fear of ruining the friendship you'd built over the years. But now? Denying it seemed insignificant. Now there was a chance he wouldn't be able to tell you at all.

Nathan was losing the love of his life.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"That didn't take long," Braddock laughed sardonically, standing up from a large rock nestled on the beach somewhere in the Philippines.

"Where is she," Nathan growled, the tube map holder slung on his back.

Braddock nodded at one of her men, Nathan's heart sinking to his stomach when they dragged you in, your yelp piercing his chest when they shoved you on the sand.

Nathan instinctively tried to run for you.

"Not so fast," Braddock hummed, clicking her gun before pressing it on the back of your head. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"I think you already figured out I don't play games when it comes to her."

"Well, let's see," she challenged. "On your knees, Drake."

"N-Nate," you whimpered, adamantly shaking your head. Even in your state, you were still trying to protect him.

"It's okay," he reassured with a smile, hands up as he did as told.

Braddock grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you closer to where he was.

He stifled his anger. But best believe he'd already plotted so many ways to make Braddock suffer for what she did to you.

But one wrong move could cost your life.

"Hand it over."

"Untie her."

Braddock rolled her eyes but did so anyway.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Nathan whispered, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. He lifted his chin once, gaze flickering behind you. "I got you, okay? You're going to be okay."

"Enough with this sappy bullshit. Hand over the map or she dies."

Nathan slowly grabbed the map, only to throw it away as far as possible.

On cue, a huge explosion distracted Braddock enough for you to abruptly stand on your feet, hitting her under the chin with your head.

"You bitch!" she yelled, dropping the gun.

Nathan quickly pulled you aside and grabbed the weapon. With no remorse, he shot Braddock on both thighs, once more on the arm to be petty.

He'd do much worse if you weren't on borrowed time.

Nathan grabbed your hand and made a run for it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The silence was tense.

But Nathan was focused on taking care of you first.

He was busy enough trying not to cry whenever he'd discover a new cut and bruise on you that he couldn't even dwell on the fact that you were showering together. You were both in your underwear, but still.

It was when he had you sitting on the counter as he patched you up when you spoke.

"You didn't have to do all that for me."

"You know, it hurts me so much that you think I wouldn't take a bullet for you," he sighed, finishing up a bandage before meeting your glossy eyes. "You're more important to me than you think you are."

"No, I know it's just—" You bit your bruised lip. Nathan quickly pulled it away with his thumb, not wanting you to worsen your injury. You leaned into his touch as you continued, "You've been dreaming of this since you were a kid and I feel like I've ruined it for you."

"You didn't ruin anything."

"But you should be out there looking for the gold," you said. "Instead you're stuck here with me."

"Listen to me, if I had to choose between that gold and—" He took a breath, holding your face in both hands as he stared at you longingly. "The woman I'm hopelessly in love with then…"

Nathan breathed out with a smile, "Fuck that gold."

You stared at him in a way that made him believe that he'd done it.

He'd finally ruined your friendship to a point of no return.

That until you broke out into the sweetest, brightest smile that made his heart grow and his knees weak all the same.

"It's not as hopeless as you think it is."

Nathan felt like his heart was about to burst.

"Yeah?" He grinned, giddy and warm, gently parting your legs and stepping a little closer.

You let him into your space. But suddenly your brows furrowed, frowning. "What about you and Chloe?"

"So you were jealous."

"Nate."

"There's no me and Chloe," he reassured, gently taking your hands, kissing the insides of your wrists before placing them on his shoulders. "Maybe I got the incredibly stupid idea to make you jealous—I know, baby, I'm an idiot—but she shot that down real quick."

"But—"

"Those times you've seen me with her, all I kept talking about was you," he admitted, blushing. "I'm sure she'd grown sick of me being lovesick."

Nathan probably talked her ear out about how hopelessly in love he was with you, seeking advice on what to do because it was the one thing he couldn't go to you about.

She had been really helpful, pushing him to confess because it was better you know before it's too late, and that in this line of work, you'd never know when that would be.

If only he hadn't let his cowardness win.

"She argued with me that leaving you behind was a bad idea, and if I listened to her I—" He pressed his forehead against yours with a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"I know you like to take all the blame but this isn't your fault," you hummed, fingers combing the straggles of hair on the nape of his neck.

"It kind of is," he pressed, eyes watering as he thought about what he dragged you into.

He couldn't stop thinking about the pain you'd gone through all because he was being reckless. For as long as he could remember, he made a vow to himself to always keep you safe no matter what. Yet here he was, failing at that—failing you.

"I'm sorry for being such a shitty best friend this past week," he said, caressing the apples of your cheeks.

"You were pretty shitty," you teased, though he could see the way your body relaxed a little. He could tell that you appreciated hearing his apology. It must've been weighing on you since you left.

It made his heart ache.

"I was and I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "I guess I just got so caught up in this whole treasure-hunting thing that I lost sight of what's truly important to me. But still, it's no excuse. I was the one who dragged you into this, I should've been attentive enough."

You turned your head and kissed his palm, a silent way of saying it was okay. He felt like he was about to melt.

"And I'm sorry for taking so goddamn long to tell you how I feel," Nathan admitted.

"Yeah well," you hummed, smiling at him sweetly. "We're both at fault on that one,"

"Still, I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "For everything."

You nodded, a smile on your lips. "I can't say I forgive yet—"

"Understandable."

"But hey," you hummed, leaning closer. "You have plenty of time to grovel and make up for it."

Nathan chuckled, brushing his lips against yours with a whisper, "Can I start with a kiss?"

You nodded with that cute giggle of yours, one that still echoed as he finally closed the distance.

So many things filled him up at once—soft, sweet, warm. So many emotions rattling his heart as your lips molded into one—relief, passion, love.

It was gratifying, a kiss he'd been dreaming of for as long as he could remember. But, with your fingers in his hair and his hands on your waist, your warm body flushed to his with no space in between, nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

And yes, it was going to take some time to repair the cracks that were made in your relationship. But he was willing to wait and do whatever it takes to gain your full trust back.

Nathan didn't care how long or how much work it would take, as long as at the end of every day, you came back home to him—it was more than worth it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Kid, are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, Sully," Nathan said unapologetically. "But whatever the wife says, goes and her plan is usually better than yours."

"I'm technically not your wife yet," you giggled, your engagement ring glinting as you continued bypassing the security cameras using your phone.

"Technically, yes," he agreed, shrugging. "But in my head, you've been my wife ever since you put that ring on."

"Always thinking ahead, huh?" You finished up the job, slipping your phone into your pocket before turning to him with a raised brow.

"Oh yeah," he hummed, pulling you closer by the waist. "And once we get married, in my head, we already have three kids."

"Three?" you choked out a laugh.

"Five?"

"Let's start with one and see where that goes."

"We should definitely practice later."

"Do I always have to remind you two that this is an open line?"

"Oh we know," Nathan hummed, kissing you with a loud smack which earned an annoyed groan. He then gestured at the door with a bow. "After you, Mrs. Drake."

"Still up for debate."

"I'd take your last name any day."

"I was thinking hyphenated."

"Not a bad shout."

"Get moving you two!"

"Sully, you're getting so close to getting your wedding invite revoked."

You laughed at that.

Nathan couldn't resist kissing you once more.

"Let's go," you giggled against his lips. "We still have treasure to find."

"I'm in no rush," he shrugged, brushing his nose against yours. He was sure his eyes were glowing with pure adoration. "Already got the best one right here."

You groaned and called him cheesy but you still kissed him anyway.

Treasure be damned, with you by his side, Nathan was the richest man alive.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[chaiifluuf]

Underneath the stars, looking for a sign — d. osamu

synopsis. dazai stops by your apartment well past midnight, seeking out to you for solace

content. pm!dazai, pm!reader, fem!reader, angst(?), reverse comfort, unestablished relationship, a mention of double suicide

notes. my writing makes me want to sink six feet underground cuz this looked better in my head :,)

dazai thinks he shouldn’t be here.

not only was it past midnight but he has never appeared out of blue like this on your doorstep either.

with a quiet breath he knocks on your door. a moment passes and nothing happens. he expected this because why would you be awake right now? this must be his last chance to leave and the temptation to do so grows with each second. dazai doesn’t see a point in knocking for a second time if you really were asleep. yeah, he should go, stop bothering you and get a hold of himself. just what was he even—

as dazai is about to turn around, he hears the sound of fiddling from the door lock and freezes in place. were you not asleep? 

the door opens and he’s greeted by your noticeably sleepy figure. so you actually heard his one time knocking through your slumber.

“osamu?” you break the silence with your soft, somewhat confused tone. while he did hear you say his name, all his mind could focus was on you. god how did you always manage to look so perfect? your hair is rather messy, your face seemed tired, you were wearing an oversized shirt with pyjama shorts that had strawberries on it. all of that and you still looked breathtaking to him. he then quickly realises that he needs to say something.

“hey, sorry i woke you up.” dazai responds shortly, hoping you didn’t notice his staring. you blink once then twice, his words not giving you any sort of explanation. “did something happen.? it’s the middle of the night right now…” you question while slightly leaning against the doorframe. he can hear the sleep in your voice. 

“well, i guess i was wondering if you were feeling up for a double suicide?” a familiar, subtle yet playful smile appears on his lips, his tone calm. it doesn’t phase you in the least. your brows furrow and you give him an odd look, not falling for his antics.

“you think i’ll actually believe that? what’s the real reason?” you respond with a tired sigh yet the small concern is there. of course you wouldn’t fall for that, you knew him better than anyone else. but it was worth a try.

dazai isn’t certain what answer to give you right away. he swears his mind has gone blank the moment you appeared before him. 

“can i stay here tonight?” he asks instead, dodging the question. his voice came out softer than he expected and he’s sure he seems pathetic now, the regret coming here slowly returning.

your brows raise a little in surprise. you were still sure something is up but the way how different he was acting from his usual self made you even more worried.

“you can but I can’t guarantee that my couch is the comfiest thing to sleep on.” you say after a moment, a yawn escaping past your lips afterwards. dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. he couldn’t bring himself to care where he was supposed to sleep, if it was at your apartment that alone is already enough for him.

he comes inside and when he makes it to the living room, you speak up: “i’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.” you mention before going to the bedroom.

dazai returns his gaze to your living room, noticing all the small parts of you decorating the space: different scented candles on your window sills, fairy lights hanging on the wall, a phone charger laying on the floor, a vase of lilies placed on the table and next to it a plate with a few muffins on it. reminds dazai of the time you told him how you sometimes liked to bake in your free time and that he should definitely taste them on another day. you really had a bright personality for someone who works for the port mafia.

even from far away and the room still being rather dark, he could tell they looked delicious and probably tasted even better. dazai believes anything made by you would simply be perfect. he has seen the way your eyes shine whenever you talk about things you’re passionate about and he feels like he could listen to you forever. just your voice was enough to make his day better.

you come back with the bed linen that you promised to get, setting it down on the couch. you almost immediately notice dazai’s glance directed to your muffins and a smile grows on your face.

“go ahead and try it, i promise they’re the best muffins i have ever made.” you say with a pleased tone, clearly proud of yourself. he turns his gaze back to you, letting out a soft chuckle. “i’m sure they are, i just don’t really have an appetite right now.” he’s aware that he hasn’t eaten anything in the past few hours because he just can’t bring himself to do so.

but dazai regretted saying that instantly, seeing how your smile faltered.

“that’s fine.” you tell him calmly and shrug it off but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. he really hoped you didn’t take this the wrong way since the last thing he’d want is to upset you. his lips part to say something but no words come out. however, you have already decided to change the topic.

“so, are you going to tell me why you’re actually here?” your eyes are tender yet a little serious at the same time as you look at him. you really weren’t letting that question go but he couldn’t blame you. you had every right to ask that.

a moment of silence passes before dazai replies: “felt like it.” it’s not like he can tell you the real reason. he’s not ready to explain how corrupted his thoughts were back at his dull and cold shipping container, how his own mind started overwhelming him and how he needed to leave from there just so he could breathe normally again. everything seemed meaningless and tiring before the thought of you entered his head. 

he found the fact that thinking about you helped him calm down kind of ridiculous. over time he has gotten more attached to you than he likes to admit. you are the only person who has managed to get this close to his heart, heart that he thought was incapable of feeling anything other than emptiness.

your features softened after hearing him. dazai is not sure why because surely you have no idea what he was feeling. did his expression give him away? he hopes not.

“if you don’t want to tell me then just say so, okay?” dazai will never comprehend how understanding you were. he was being unfair to you and yet here you were not pushing anything out of him with that kind look in your eyes. making it seem as if he deserved any of that. 

“anyways i’m going back to bed now. good night, osamu.” a yawn leaves your mouth as soon as you say that and you send him one last glance before walking to your bedroom. dazai replies with a quiet good night as well and you close the door behind you.

he sighs before putting his black coat away and deciding to lay down. he stares at the ceiling and even with closing his eyes from time to time, falling asleep is near impossible as always. and you were right, this couch is starting to feel uncomfortable. dazai lifts himself up and looks at your closed door. he guesses that about half an hour has passed since you left, you must be asleep by now. dazai can’t help but envy you for getting sleep so easily. the rest he receives is usually by passing out from exhaustion.

staying the whole night here was hopeless, he’s already aware of that. but then he gets a new idea. he stands up and stops in front of your door. dazai hesitates because what if you were awake? that would make this more awkward but he could complain about the couch and that’d give him an excuse. an excuse to sleep next to you.

he stops himself from dwelling on the matter too much and very gently opens the door. the moment he steps in, he’s greeted with your peaceful state, vague moonlight shining down on you. dazai can feel his heart swell because how is someone simply sleeping able to look this stunning? he slowly moves next to your bed, to the left side that had more space and, as carefully as he can, slips between your sheets. this is much more comfortable in comparison to your couch.

dazai lets his head rest against the pillow, his eyes locked on you since fortunately you were facing his side. there is a soft glint in his eyes as he gently tucks some of your hair strands behind your ear. your face features were even prettier close up and after a while he realises something. a part of him wishes to wake up like this everyday, your face being the first thing he’ll see, the chance to be this close to you. a true luxury that dazai thinks he would never be deserving of. after all, why would a person like you be with someone like him?

a subtle noise from you is enough to snap him out of his trance. he wonders if you’re about to wake up but before he could come to a conclusion, you shift a little and slightly nuzzle your face to the palm of his hand that was laying beside you. dazai’s body tenses as he isn’t sure if he should pull his hand away or not. there was no way that you knew he was here. looks like you just stirred in your sleep. he let out a relieved breath, gradually relaxing again. just the warmth radiating from you is more than enough to ease his worries. 

dazai wonders if you know how much you mean to him. probably not. he could never express it enough anyway. but it also scares him because that means the world can rip you away from him in any moment and he literally doesn’t know what he’ll do if that were to happen. dazai told himself from the beginning that he should avoid you at all costs but he has already failed that part. you had him hooked around your finger in a way that you didn’t even realise.

he closes his eyes, now focusing on your touch and faint breathing. maybe if you are right next to him he could doze off for a little while. he can imagine your reaction once you’re aware he’s in your bed in the morning but it will be worth it. anything is worth it as long as it’s with you. dazai decides to make one small promise before trying to focus on sleeping.

he will definitely try your muffins later.

hope this was okay, thank you if you made it this far ^^