#and they seem to be more worried about me not doing chores and being late for school

[bigification]

Handlebars

Day 1:

My first day of college was a lot more stressful than I thought it would be. I finally made it to residence last night, which only gave me one night to get settled before classes started. I was nervous to meet my roommate because of all of the horror stories I had heard about them in the past, but it ended up being so much worse than I expected. In my mind, the worst outcome was some lazy douche who never cleaned up after himself. So you can imagine my shock when I knock on the door and a full grown 30 something year old man answers the door.

"Hey, buddy. The names Mike, come on in."

He looked and sounded like a jock in a college movie, but when the actor is actually 30. His voice was deep and buttery, it almost gave me butterflies. I just smiled awkwardly and walked past him through the door.

"I'm Oscar by the way." I introduced myself.

"Cool, I'll just call you Handlebars." He said, without a care in the world.

He sat down on his bed, and that was the extent of our interactions for the day.

Day 7:

It's been a week and all my other worries about roommates came true. Not only is he 15 years older than me, he's a slob. He gets home from the gym drenched in sweat and throws his gym clothes wherever without cleaning them. He doesn't do his dishes, or any chore for that matter. In fact it seems like he intentionally keeps the place dirty after I try to clean it. And whatever musky cologne he wears attacks my nose every time I open the door, it feels like the smell seeps into everything, including my clothes.

The few times that he actually wants a chore to be done, he just asks me to do it, or rather he just tells me to do it. Normally I would be happy to tell him to go fuck himself, but I always find myself doing whatever he asks. I hate it.

"Yo Handlebars, be a doll and clean the dishes for me."

"Yo Handlebars, I ran out of clean gym clothes, mind running em down to the laundry for me."

It's like he's casting a spell whenever he talks.

Day 15:

I've started to settle into routine. The things that used to bother me about Mike seem a bit more trivial now. We've even started to become pretty close. I get enthralled by his conversations about business. He goes on and on about his father's enterprises, and how they'll be his soon.

I even started going to the gym with him lately. He lent me some of his gym clothes, even if they're way too big. It just made me appreciate him more. I never really clocked how jacked he was, sometimes he goes to the gym shirtless and it shows off his massive pecs and thick biceps.

Since joining him, I've noticed my body has improved quite significantly. I used to be skinny and lanky, but there is definition starting to show throughout my body.

Day 30:

Just a month into school and I was already on my way to failing out. I just don't care about it anymore, but Mike gave me a solution. He said I could just switch programs and do business with him, and his dad would even pay for it. How could I pass that up.

Now that I've switched, it's like all stress in my life has disappeared. Business is so easy, and now I have more time with Mike. We usually have a routine of going to the gym after our last class of the day.

"Yo Handlebars, you're lookin strong man. I'd kill to grow as fast as you."

He shouted at me from across the gym, when he caught me staring at myself in the mirror. Butterflies flew through my stomach when he said that. And he wasn't wrong, I've been noticing a lot of changes in my body. My face has matured, my eyebrows are thicker, my nose is bigger, and my jawline is more square. I even have to shave now, when I never had to before college. A five o'clock shadow engulfs my face by the end of the day, especially above my lip. The rest of my body has gotten hairier too, especially around my pecs, arms, and legs. And that's not even mentioning my progress at the gym. I actually look like I belong there, my biceps have a nice roundness to them and my chest actually sticks out from my body. Those gym clothes that Mike gave me look smaller and smaller every day.

Life in the dorms has also been a dream. I've been wearing that cologne that Mike loves, and it's like I unlocked a whole new level of confidence. People seem to love listening to me talk, and people seem to respect me more.

Day 60:

This past month has been the best month of my life. Now that I'm in my mid twenties, I can drink whenever I want. Mike and I go out raves and frat parties basically every night, my body is basically used to every drug at this point. And with Mike's dad paying for college, I literally don't need to show up to lectures and I get straight A's.

"Fuck, bro. I think you're bigger than me Handlebars."

Mike said with a shocked face when we were snapping pics at the gym. We flexed beside each other, and it was obvious. My biceps dwarfed his, and his gym clothes had become really tight on me lately. The shirt was skin tight against my upper body, showing off my juicy pecs and my growing six pack. And the shorts looked like they were about to burst under the pressure of my ass cheeks and thighs, to the point that the outline of my dick was constantly visible.

"Here bro, take this."

Mike handed me a package. It was filled with gym clothes and jocks.

"Just for you Handlebars."

I yanked him in for a bro hug, I could feel myself blushing.

"You got this all for me bro?"

"Fuck yeah, man. You've been grinding it out in the gym, don't think I haven't noticed my clothes straining against those muscles. And you need something to contain that snake in your pants before we get campus security called on us."

Mike chuckled, his laugh was infectious.

Day 100:

I started in the mirror. Sometimes I barely recognize myself. The confident and cocky mask goes away when I'm alone, just leaving the caring gym bro that's on the true inside.

Damn, I think to myself, Mike is making me too sappy. I give myself a cocky smile after shaving my face, leaving me with a thick moustache. I flex, admiring my guns and bouncing my pecs. Man I look good for a man pushing his thirties.

"Fuck, handlebars. Since when were you so hairy?" Mike asked me when I left the bathroom.

"What? Are you jealous I'm manlier than you bro?" I taunted him by opening my button up wider, revealing the thick pelt of hair that covered my body.

"Nah, it's got me feelin something tho." He smirked at me.

"Hah, I fuckin knew it. You want a piece of this." I bounced my pecs.

"Don't make it gay bro, it's not like that. Just a dude admiring another dude." He blushed.

The tension between us had been building for weeks. He would stand too close when spotting me at the gym, and I'd catch him staring at me in the mirror. Not like I haven't been doin it too. We also wear less clothes around the dorm. I still got that jock strap Mike gave me a while back, I'd be lying to myself if I said it fit but I don't care, and it seems like Mike doesn't mind either. And sometimes I wear an open button up just cuz it makes my pecs pop.

Day 120:

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." Mike whispered in my ear. His breath was heavy as he threw me against the wall. His dick was bouncing with excitement against my ass.

For context, a few hours ago we were at the gym like normal. At this point, we didn't even go to class, it was just gym and parties now. The tension had been growing at the gym forever, sometimes we'd release by foolin around in the showers, but it never went further a quick handjob when no one was lookin. It was different this time, he couldn't keep his hands off me. Broad daylight in a busy gym, his hands would be far down my shorts, teasing.

At first I was dismissive. We already got caught multiple times by campus security, so close to getting kicked out of school. If it wasn't for Mike's dad being a rich alumni, I think both of us would be long gone by now. But he knew how to push my buttons, he always has. I gave in, but had the decency to drag him by the collar to the showers. At least there we could be naked.

Ok, back to the point. I grunted as his thick arms held me in place. Mike had been working extra hard to catch up to me, and it was showin. It turned me on, feelin his muscled forearms against my shoulders. But I wasn't gonna let him win that easily. What Mike seemed to forget was the near decade I spent in the Navy before comin to college.

I whipped around, using the hot water against our skin to slip out from his pin. I pushed his shoulder, sending him tripping over my foot, which I had conveniently placed behind his. I caught him like a damsel in distress, so there was no doubt in his mind who was on top.

Within seconds, it's like my training kicked in and I had him pinned down on his stomach. The bristles of my thick mustache rubbed against the back of his ear as I whispered, "You really thought you could top me?" I asked with a chuckle.

He moaned like a twink when I stuck my cock up his ass. It took a moment for his ass to adjust to takin a beatin rather than dishin one out, but he'll get used to it. The wet fur on my forearm slid across his back as I rode him like a bull. I could almost feel his organs rearrangin to fit my 10 inch rod.

I groaned as I felt months of sexual tension release in seconds, shooting my seed all through Mike's body. He was mine. And by the looks of it, he enjoyed the ride too. A trail of his cum ran from under his pinned body, to the drain in the middle of the showers.

"You're mine."

I whispered in his ear with a shit eatin grin.

"Now clean this mess up before you dare come back to my dorm."

I pushed off his back to get to my feet. I continued rubbing my cock as I walked away, making ropes of cum cover the showers. I walked right out of the showers and into the locker room, making sure to wink at campus security on the way out. Someone always calls them, and we always get away with it Scott free, so I think they gave up. It just feels good to make people know they're beneath you, and to do it while rubbin one out.

I cleaned up and walked alone to my dorm, sat on my couch, and waited for Mike to come back. After a few minutes, he walked in without a word. He walked over to me and laid in my lap as I turned on football. I smelled his hair, making sure he actually cleaned up like I ordered.

"Good boy." I reassured him while massaging his pecs.

Day 150:

I finally moved our stuff out of my shitty dorm. Mikey's father just decided to pay for our diplomas outright, instead of trying to turn all of our F's into A's.

We moved to L.A. and I fuckin love it here. I just walk around in nothin but a jock, and people love me for it. And there are so many entrepreneurs like me, so much money to be made.

Everyone just calls me handlebars, I can't remember the last time anyone called me my name. Now that I think about it, I don't even remember what it was, but who the fuck cares. I'm handlebars, the life of the party and the best fuck in this city.

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

mum… i don’t need ‘sunlight to help with melatonin’ and i don’t need to just exercise more

we are wayyy past that

i don’t get why my parents refuse to acknowledge that actually i’ve tried pretty much everything

like, you did the no screens in my room, ever, and no screens after 8, and having a dedicated bed time, and going on walks every morning and every afternoon, frequently in the sun, exercising frequently, getting up at dawn to experience ‘the first hour of daylight’, and getting up at the same time every morning, medication, prescription and herbal, therapy, meditation, even acupuncture

and none of it has worked

so please stop getting annoyed at me for not wanting to do it all again, and for being exhausted, and for not getting up until 1pm because i’m too tired to move for several hours after i wake up

and omfg stop confiscating all my devices every night… it’s never going to work you guys can’t keep track of more than my phone and my laptop and also it doesn’t fucking help, it actually makes the ocd worse, which, believe it or not, makes it harder to sleep

and i know the holidays are slipping by and all i do is lie in bed!! i’m so fucking tired!! i can’t just get up and paint the fence and mow the lawns and help you put up the curtain rails because i can barely keep my eyes open and if anyone is slightly mean to me i will cry

AND IT’S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT AND YOU’RE NOT HELPING SO DON’T GET MAD AT ME WHEN YOU’RE ‘JUST TRYING TO HELP’ CUZ IT IS CLEAR THAT YOU HAVE NEVER LISTENED TO ANYTHING I HAVE EVER SAID

two things have helped in my whole life. weed, and watching doctor who until i fully pass out, but i can’t tell my parents that, obviously, cuz only my brother’s allowed to do drugs and i shouldn’t have been watching tv! listening to video essays used to help a bit too, but i got into trouble for that one so it’s pretty obvious that actually you don’t fucking care

[raysrays]

Crimson Guardian NSFW

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario : You've recently married into the respected Rengoku family, and while you continue your work as a demon slayer, life starts to get a bit messy. Balancing your duties becomes a real challenge as you navigate the challenges of married life. You find yourself having to make tough choices just to keep your husband happy, all while debating to stay true to yourself and your calling as a demon slayer.

Marriage. Truly one of the most beautiful milestones a couple can achieve. Marrying Kyojuro has undoubtedly been my greatest accomplishment.

I still remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. Surrounded by friends, family, and core members, we pledged our lives to each other. Though it wasn't the most glamorous wedding ever seen, it was enough. Because really, all I've ever wanted was Kyojuro, and now, finally, I have him.

For the first few months, our marriage was nothing short of perfect. I moved into the Rengoku estate with Kyojuro's family, assisting Shenjuro with chores and gradually trying to get closer to Shinjuro. Though I'm not sure how successful I was.

It was only six months in that I realized being a demon slayer and a wife wasn't as easy as I thought.

Before our relationship, I was Kyojuro's Tsuguko. He was simply my mentor, and I trained hard under him to get myself where I am today. It was later down the road that we noticed each other's lingering gazes, the occasional flirting, and all the other subtle hints of wanting to be more.

Kyojuro was strong, and I knew he wanted a family, but I simply wasn't ready to give up training and my duties as a demon slayer just yet.

Every day, after helping out around the estate, I would hike over to HQ and pick up where I had left off the previous day, training until the late hours of the night. I would often come home exhausted, which usually caused Kyojuro to worry. As much as I reassured him, he never seemed fully convinced.

Now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kyo across from me. It was a rare occasion for us to eat alone together like this. We made small talk about our day and training, and then he finally stopped eating and put his silverware down.

"Little Flame, I think it’s time we have a serious discussion about the way things have been as of late,” his usual happy smile seemed almost nervous.

I set my spoon down on my plate, giving him my full attention.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Sunflower, you have been working so hard as of late, and it’s quite admirable. I truly admire your dedication to the demon slayer corps and your training!”

“But…?” I ask, confused.

“But… since our marriage, I’ve found myself in constant worry over you. Every time you go on a mission without me, I have to painfully wait for your return. Not knowing whether or not you'd be injured or even-“

“Dead?” I finish.

I saw his body tense up at the word.

“Yes, my love. Dead. I cannot even bear the thought of you never returning to me. It pains me to my core,” he seemed so sad, so worried about me.

I know Kyojuro, I know he didn’t mean anything bad by what he was saying. However, I felt almost offended. He too was a slayer, a hashira. I also had to deal with the fear of him returning with serious injuries or even never returning at all.

Did he believe me to be incapable of protecting myself? He was the very one who trained me. Even though I knew Kyojuro was strong, much stronger than me, it just felt like he lacked faith in me.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough anymore? Do you think marriage has made me soft?” I realized I might have come off a little too harsh, but my emotions were getting the best of me.

His expression seemed surprised, but I could tell. While he may not have used those words, that was definitely the gist of it.

I watched him get up from his place at the table and walk over to me. He pulled my chair out from under the table, then grabbed my hands and kneeled down in front of me.

His big, bright eyes were now staring up at me.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, my love. I know how capable you are, but please remember…”

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“You are my wife before you are a demon slayer. I cannot risk sending you off only for you to never return.”

I could practically hear the desperation and love in his voice.

Kyojuro wasn’t someone who would usually discourage anyone from pursuing something they're passionate about. So if he was now, I knew that it’s something he’s been internally battling with for a while.

“What about you? Is it not the same? What about my worry? What if you never come home to me?” I could feel my face start to heat up. Everything he was saying seemed to come from genuine care, but it felt so hypocritical.

“I am a Hashira, my little flame. I have a certain responsibility you do not have to burden yourself with. I shall retire soon, in just a few years. So please…”

There’s no way he’d ask me-

“Please retire your sword, Y/N. Please stay home for me. Please allow my heart to rest easy knowing you'll be here waiting for me whenever I shall return,” his voice was pleading.

I felt so conflicted. I’d worked so hard. All of these years of training to hopefully become a high-ranking swordsman myself. However, at the same time, I never stopped to consider my romantic life and how being married would affect things.

We both sat there in silence for a few moments, and I finally rose up from the chair, pulling him up off his knees along with me.

I looked up at him, reaching my hand up to rest on his cheek.

“Kyojuro, you are the only one I would retire my sword for. So please promise me, promise me you will always come home to me. Until the day you yourself retire.”

“I promise you, Sunflower. As long as I know you are safe and waiting for me, there is no demon that could ever keep me away.”

I felt his hand on my lower back and the other holding up my chin.

We both leaned in, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

This kiss started so gently, so lovingly at first. As we pulled away for just a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, we realized how long it had been since we really enjoyed each other’s company.

After that, the kiss only grew hotter and more passionate.

Kyojuro swept me off my feet and carried me straight to our shared room at the back of the estate, the most private spot. It seemed fitting for newlyweds, after all.

As he gently laid me back on the soft futon, I couldn't help but stay focused on him. Kyojuro was simply beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his body, everything about him looked like he was perfectly sculpted.

My admiration was interrupted as I felt him begin to kiss me again. One of his hands traveling to my breasts, gently squeezing it.

The other massaging my thigh.

I feel him pull away from me starting to kiss on my neck traveling all the way down to my chest.

Kyojuro had always known my weak points and how to make me say yes to his every request. He knew my body just as well as I did, and now he was taking full advantage of that knowledge.

I could feel him pressing against me as he moved his hand down my body, lightly touching me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting more.

Then I heard, Kyojuro's soft voice whisper these words, almost as a demand. "Enjoy this little flame, you've kept me waiting far too long.”

As soon as those words left his lips, I felt myself begin to relax. His movements were so gentle, so careful, so loving.

His fingers trailed down my sides, sending chills through my body. His hands went back up and caressed my neck, making me tremble. He kissed me once more, and I melted into him.

It was as if he had cast a spell over me, and all I could do was obey him. He was completely in control of me.

After a moment, I felt him move back down and remove my underwear, revealing my already wet entrance. His hand slid between my thighs, and I couldn't help but let out a moan as his finger slipped inside me. He was gentle at first, just barely grazing me, but it felt incredible.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, his breath hot against my ear.

I nodded but I could tell that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words my love.” He demanded sweetly.

“Yes Kyo, it’s perfect.” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips before pulling back again, smiling at me.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Please," I begged.

He removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock, his tip rubbing against my clit.

"Good girl," he whispered, thrusting into me.

I threw back my head, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. His movements were slow and deep at first and then they became faster and harder, and soon my whole body began to shake. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping my lips, and I couldn't help but beg for more.

When he starts to speed up I know we are both about to reach our limit.

I feel his fingers interlock with mine and his lips pressing against mine again, but this time, he wasn’t just kissing me, he was also letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

He was biting down hard enough to draw blood.

We were both so close and we were both trying to hold back but we couldn’t anymore. We were finally going to let ourselves release.

I was the first one to let myself go, arching my back as I moaned his name.

Then he followed not too far behind.

After he finishes, we just lay there for a bit catching our breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally breathed out, turning his head to look at me.

I turned to face him as well. “I love you, Kyojuro.”

After that, the two of us drifted off in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I awoke, I was still trapped wrapped in Kyojuro's arms.

After a bit of struggling, I managed to maneuver my way out and make it to the kitchen.

There I saw Senjuro, who was already preparing breakfast for everyone.

“Good morning, Sen,” I greeted with a yawn.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N!”

“I'm almost finished with breakfast. Is my brother awake yet?”

“He should be awake soon. We both have to see Master Kagaya today,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

He stopped to turn and look at me.

“Did something bad happen?” he asked nervously.

Poor Senjuro always assumes the absolute worst in every situation. Well, I suppose in this case it’s somewhat understandable.

“No, Sen, nothing's wrong. Kyojuro and I are just going to inform Master Kagaya of my retirement. That’s all.”

He gave a puzzled look.

“Retirement? Why? Haven’t you been training for years to improve your sword skills to move up in the ranks?” he asked.

He was right. I know I shouldn’t go back on my word to Kyojuro, but I really was having second thoughts about my decision.

Senjuro could probably sense my doubt because his next response was:

"If this is something that you're not sure of, then you shouldn't do it. If you have doubts about this decision, then maybe you're not ready for retirement just yet."

His words really struck a chord with me.

Maybe he was right.

Before I could ponder that any further, Kyojuro had made his way into the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are my two favorite people doing?" he said cheerfully.

I smiled.

"Morning, Kyo. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you, little flame," he walked over to me, giving me a kiss.

I could feel my chest tightening, nervous about what was to come.

The whole time at breakfast, I felt so spaced out. All I could hear was Kyojuro and Senjuro talking and the occasional grunt from Shinjuro drinking away at the table.

“Sunflower? Are you okay?”

I was snapped out of my daze by Kyojuro waving a hand in front of my face. All three of them were staring at me, kind of concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

I shook my head a little and looked down at my plate. I felt bad for Senjuro going through all that trouble to cook, but I simply couldn’t eat right now.

After we finished breakfast, Kyojuro and I headed out.

The thought that this would be the last time wearing my uniform with my sword by my side was so weird and almost uncomfortable to me.

I knew that this day would come eventually, but I always hoped in the back of my mind that Kyojuro would be the one to retire before me.

I had been so focused on training and my duties as a demon slayer that it had never even occurred to me how my marriage would affect everything.

I was now a wife. My first priority should be the estate, and helping Shinjuro while he was in his state of grief, and being there for Senjuro as well.

It wouldn’t be right of me to go against my husband's wishes either. Especially after the intimate moment we shared. Right?

As we made it to HQ waiting to speak with the master I felt my heartbeat racing inside of me.

The room was quiet, I could feel Kyojuro’s eyes lingering on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him right now.

Both mine and Kyojuro’s attention was shifted as we heard the door open and Master Kagaya entered the room.

"Rengoku, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you both," Kagaya said, his face as warm as ever.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Master," I replied.

"So what brings you two here? It seems urgent, judging by the fact that you came in so early."

"It is very urgent," Kyojuro began.

He then proceeded to explain our conversation from the night before, and how I was considering retiring.

"Y/N, this is a big decision, and it's important that you feel comfortable and confident in it. Do you think you can fully retire, knowing you won't be able to assist the demon slayers as you are now?" Kagaya asked.

I looked at the master and then glanced at Kyojuro. He seemed so proud and happy that we were here. I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

But, I could also sense the worry in his expression. He was nervous, scared almost.

I couldn't do that to him.

"Master, I've spent most of my life training for the opportunity to become a hashira. To serve the demon slayer corps and protect those who cannot protect themselves. But...I'm no longer just a demon slayer. I'm also a wife, and as such, I think it's only right that I focus on that," I answered.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"If you truly feel this is the right choice, then we support you, Y/N," Kagaya finally spoke.

"Thank you, Master," I bowed.

"Thank you so much, Master! I will never

forget your kindness!" Kyojuro bowed as well.

The two of us left the room and started to head out.

As we exited, we ran into a few of the other Hashira, who asked us about what we had gone to see Master Kagaya about.

They too seemed surprised and a little concerned when Kyojuro explained to them that I would be retiring so soon.

I could tell some of their reactions to the news annoyed Kyojuro. Shinobu used the word “controlling,” and you could see his smile almost falter.

"Controlling" was never a word I would have used to describe my husband. He just loves me, right? He wants to protect me. There's no way my sweet and kind Kyo would ever do anything to control or manipulate me.

Right?

Part Two

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Wrio, Neuvilette, Gallagher, and Jing Yuan helping reader who is dealing with severe burnout. seriously. I'm trying to study for my certifications and I'm dead. I'm so burnt out I just wanna cry. It doesn't help that the learning resource is so poorly done that I can't understand it. It's not like I have an option though. I have to do this so I can get a job with a livable wage and become independent. No other path was viable for me. please save me with the sexy men.

Wriothesley

He's pretty quick to figure out his s/o is burnt out with how irritable they seem especially with how busy they've been lately. He doesn't blame them when they get frustrated over the smallest of things but he does stop them in their tracks so they don't take it out on others too. He sits with them over a cup of their favorite tea and listens to their worries over their work and etc.

Asks how he can help so he can help them get back to a more healthy stressed self. He's busy himself but he's willing to add some of their burdens to his list so they can focus on themselves for a while.

He let's them know he cares about them and that they can come to him for any help they need.

Neuvillette

When he notices his s/o in such distress he pulls them aside to ask them what's wrong.

He's not entirely sure what to do to help his s/o so he asks them what he can do to help them. It can be anything from something as small as cooking dinner or taking over some of their chores for a while. If their work is a bit frustrating for them at the moment he encourages them to take a break to refresh their mind before getting back to work.

He helps them come up with a schedule of work and breaks to help elevate some of the burden from their shoulders if they feel overwhelmed by how much work and little time they have.

Gallagher

He doesn't poor them an alcoholic drink to take their mind off of things but does pour them some juice and asks them to talk about it to him. They can shout and scream or just cry, he's there to listen to their worries and stresses.

He makes sure to let them know that they have every right to be frustrated with how things are and pours them some more juice. He doesn't out right do anything for his s/o but they notice things seem a bit easier for them for a while with chores being done before they can think to get to them.

He does encourage his s/o to rest for a while before taking on any more tasks.

Jing Yuan

As a general in charge of thousands with tons of responsibilities he's no stranger to burn out but he knows how to prevent his own. So when his s/o comes to him burnt out he knows some things he can do to help them out.

He takes some of their chores and either does them himself or has someone else do it for them so they have one less thing to worry about. If they feel like abandoning their work he doesn't encourage them to drop what ever they're doing but he does suggest taking a nice lunch break to clear their mind for a while.

After eating he brings them to his favorite napping spot for a while and just lays with them letting them know he appreciates their hard work.

[wsoc-gay]

World Cup Results II

Part 1

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: The beginning of Ona's Pregnancy

A/N: At least one more part to this of the pregnancy, might continue it after the baby too. But if anyone has a request please feel free to put it in my asks! I work much better and faster with ideas. I'm open to writing anything, smut, fluff, angst, kid fics, just let me know what you want to read!

You and Ona couldn’t be more excited on the drive home from the clinic. Neither of you could wipe the smiles off your faces as your hands were held together and rested in your girlfriend’s lap. The entire ride home was full of loving sentiments exchanged to one another and plenty of blushes being spread across faces. 

Arriving home began your new train in following the advice from the doctor as closely as possible as well as going a bit overboard. Your girlfriend was starting to get annoyed with you, but even she would admit it was sweet how caring you were. Ona never opened her car door, never lifted anything too heavy, didn’t carry her bags to training, and you hardly let her do household chores. Every night for dinner you cooked a meal full of all the proper nutrients the doctors had advised eating and made sure to buy Ona only the best prenatal vitamins.

You both had agreed to not tell your teammates until you reached the 15-week mark, until then Ona didn’t have to alter her trainings and could still play in games. You had let the coaching staff and medical staff know as soon as you found out so they could monitor the Spaniard closer, but as of now you wanted to keep it on a need-to-know basis.  

It was around the 8-week mark, right after the first ultrasound, that some of your teammates began to catch on that something was happening. Any slight bump or tackle Ona took during training led to you sprinting to be by her side checking up on her. The brunette found it sweet but needed you to let up a little bit before they had to tell your team sooner than expected. 

Your worries weren’t without their reason, the chance of miscarriage was drastically higher through IVF and until Ona was outside her first trimester you had every right to worry. The days leading up to your 8-week scan were some of the most stressful days in your recent memory. You and Ona both were worried sick about having the scan show that you had lost your baby.

Ona was more stressed than you were due to her late-night research of her symptoms which often times resulted in her reading many horror stories of parents going to the first ultrasound and finding no heartbeat. The internet on top of her raging hormones led to many tearful nights where you tried to alleviate her fears but knew that the only thing to help the brunette’s anxiety would be seeing your baby. 

Thankfully one day after training the two of you were able to go to the clinic for the scan and see your baby for the first time. Tears immediately came to both of your eyes as the doctor told you your baby was not only alive, but healthy and thriving inside your girlfriend. You weren’t one to cry, but Ona made a comment that she thinks you’ll be a mess at every ultrasound, and you couldn’t help, but agree. There was something about seeing your baby on that screen that made everything seem more real. Therefore, the attentiveness only got worse.

Your English teammates were the first to confront you about your recent behavior. The pair was sat alone at a table during lunch when Lucy pulled you into a seat, “What’s wrong with you?”

You gave the older woman a confused look, “What the hell do you mean?”

Kiera slapped Lucy’s arm and muttered something you couldn’t quite make out under her breath. She looked over to you, “What Lucy meant to say,” She sent the brunette defender a glare, “Is that you’ve been acting a bit different during training recently.”

You truly hadn’t caught onto what they were referring to yet and raised an eyebrow at the pair, “Is this your guy’s subtle way of telling me I’ve been playing badly?”

Lucy slapped the back of your head and groaned, “No you idiot,” You slapped her right back, “Every time someone so much as touches Ona you act like she got shot.” Lucy slapped you again, “And you’re always watching her like a hawk,” You slapped her back.

Kiera grabbed her arm before she could retaliate, “Would you two stop acting like children already.”

This wasn’t surprising behavior for you and the outside back, ever since you arrived at Barcelona the two of you grew much closer. Lucy helped you a lot to settle into the team and lifestyle of Spain, so overtime you grew a lot closer. Hence, why she was one of the first ones to notice a change in your behavior.

You suddenly realized what they were referring too and tried to hide it best you could, “I’m not acting any different, I always worry about her.”

Lucy gave you a dumbfounded look, “Yeah, but this is even pushing it for you,” She began to dramatically mimic you, “Oh my love, Ona, someone leaned on you during our full contact sport, and job, are you sure you’re going to survive this,” She leaned back with an arm laid against her forehead dramatically. 

You started slapping the older brunette again, “Oh shut up, I am not acting like that.”

Kiera sighed and pushed the two of you apart, “Would you two seriously stop it,” she looked at Lucy, “Luce stop being dramatic,” and then turned to face you, “You’re not acting like whatever the hell that display was, but you are acting extra protective over her.”

You ultimately made up some excuse about Ona having reinflamed her ankle and that you wanted to make sure she didn’t seriously injure it again. The pair of English women didn’t seem to believe your excuse, but let you go on your way.

On the ride home you had told you told Ona about the confrontation with Lucy and Kiera which she followed up by agreeing that you needed to tone down the protectiveness and worrying. She had begun to notice it too and believed it was sweet but agreed that it was about to get out of hand and was only a matter of time before more of your teammates began to catch on. 

---

It was a couple weeks later, around the 12-week mark, when Ona was quieter than usual after training. The car ride home was nearly silent, but you didn’t mention it and assumed she was just tired. As the pregnancy progressed Ona was starting to become increasingly more tired throughout the day, so you assumed that alongside the hard training today was the cause for her quietness. 

It wasn’t until a little later when you walked into the living room and found the Spaniard sitting on the couch with her head in her hands that you finally asked, “Is something wrong babe? Are you not feeling well?”

Her head remained in her hands as she softly muttered out, “I need to tell you something.”

You quickly sat down next to her with you hand on her thigh and concern lacing your voice, “Is it the baby? Do we need to call the doctor?”

She quickly sat back and leaned against the couch quickly alleviating your worries, “No, no the baby is fine. It’s just, es posible que accidentalmente le haya contado a Aitana sobre el bebé.” She had rushed out the last sentence in Spanish making it difficult for you to understand.

“Slower, por favor, you know my Spanish isn’t good when you talk fast.”

“I accidentally told Aitana about the baby today,” Feeling increasingly guilty she began to ramble, “I know we didn’t want to tell people about the baby this early, but she cornered me and you know I’m bad at keeping things to myself when someone asks and it just slipped out. I am so sorry mi amor.”

You chuckled at her rambling but let out a sigh of relief knowing this was the cause to Ona’s mood shift and not something more serious. Ona and Aitana had always been close, growing up playing for the academy together and since Ona returned to Barca they became even closer, so part of you was more surprised it took this long for her to find out. The outside back also was known for being bad at keeping secrets. Anytime someone would ask her about something she wasn’t supposed to talk about she would begin rambling making it obvious that she was hiding something and would usually end up saying it anyways.

You dropped back to lean against the couch and moved your hand from her knee onto her, hardly noticeable, bump, “Oh thank god, you had me worried, love.”

Ona covered your hand with hers, “There is nothing to worry about, I’m sorry she found out.”

The outside back when onto explain that Aitana had cornered her in the locker room after training when the rest of the team had already filed out. Instead of the usual comments which were about how protective you had become, Aitana had brought up how happy the two of you had seemed and that you were touchier than usual. She also had picked up on Ona subtly rubbing her stomach and your hand grazing over it after you would hug. She had straight up asked Ona if she was pregnant, and there was no escaping it from there, your girlfriend didn’t know how to lie.

“And you know I can’t lie, amor, she caught me so off guard and I must’ve taken too long to try and come up with an excuse, but she just pulled me into a hug saying how happy she was for us.”

You laughed again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull the smaller girl into your side, “I’m more surprised you lasted this long without everyone finding out.”

Ona rubbed a hand over her stomach instinctively, “As long as everyone keeps bringing it up to you instead of me, we should be okay, there’s only three weeks until I can’t play in matches anymore and then we’ll have to tell them.”

You looked down to her face as you smoke softly, “We can tell the team now if you want, you’re out of the first trimester, we just saw the baby, and everything is healthy, there’s no big reason to keep it from them anymore.”

“No, no, I like just keeping it to ourselves. Our own little bubble outside of football for now,” she leaned up to connect your lips softly and full of love.

---

Aitana did much better of a job keeping the secret to herself than you originally expected. The midfielder took her job as being the best friend and only teammate who knew very seriously. Anytime your teammates would begin on the topic when she was around, she would quickly shush their comments and would back any lie you made up to cover your secret. 

You and Ona were grateful for her efforts, but in a way, it only increased your other teammates suspicions. You also were now partially convinced much of the team actually already knew what was going on. As the last two weeks have gone by Mapi, Ingrid, and Alexia had completely stopped asking anything about the topic. Originally Mapi had been one of the most vocal players about finding out what was going on, but now had completely stopped in her efforts. 

The truth was Ingrid, being the observant and caring teammate and friend that she was, had picked up on the same signals Aitana had. She obviously told Mapi about her suspicions who then confided in Alexia about them. Therefore, they came up with a plan to get the two of you to admit it to them. 

It was after the last game of the season before the Christmas break that Alexia decided the team would go to a club to celebrate before everyone left to their respective homes. You and Ona were going to see your family in England for the break, so you tried to get the two of you out of going by saying that you had to finish packing before your flight. Alexia wasn’t taking this as an answer and needed the both of you there to try and get an admittance from you, therefore, said it was required team bonding and you had to be there. The original plan was for Alexia and Mapi to call Ona out on not drinking and essentially for her to expose the pregnancy, but this plan was quickly stopped when the two of you entered the bar, keys in Ona’s hands, clearly having drove the two of you there. Anytime she was asked about a drink it was easy for her to say she was driving that night, plus she didn’t have to lie so there was no worries about her slipping up.

Alexia and Mapi were still trying to come up with a new plan when, surprisingly, you were the one to let it slip.

You were sitting at a table with many of your teammates while Ona was dancing with Aitana, Patri, Claudia, and Cata when a guy walked up behind Ona and placed his hands on her hips. You were on your feet and dragging the man off her before she had the chance to pull away.

The man turned around to be face to face with the hands that had just pulled him off the girl he was obviously interested in, “What the fuck do you want?”

You stood tall with your chest puffed and harshly spoke, “I want you to get your hands off my girlfriend.”

He scoffed, “Girlfriend? Sorry bud, I don’t think she’s the girlfriend type.”

You laughed, “Sorry, bud, but I’m the one she’s woken up next to for the past 8 years so I think I might know her a bit better than you.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t see you anywhere until after I came over so looks like I’ve beat you to it.”

“Oh, fuck no,” You tried to shove past him to get to Ona, but he moved to block your path.

“Why don’t you prove it to me then?” By now a decent amount of your teammates had noticed what was going on and began to come over to help deal with the man.

This sent you over the edge, it might’ve partially been at fault to the alcohol you had that night, and you being a little more than drunk already. But with one big push to his shoulder you announced, “I think the fact that she’s pregnant with my baby proves enough,” this left him shocked and gave you enough time to walk over to Ona with your back turned to the man and place a hand on the side of her face, “Are you alright, love?” Most of your teammates were now standing around you with their jaws hanging open clearly in shock.

The man clearly wasn’t over the embarrassment yet, as he pulled your shoulder back to face him and landed a hook across your cheek, you threw one right back getting him across the nose before security was dragging him away just as Lucy was doing the same to you. You looked back to find Ona and saw Alexia standing in front of her having clearly dragged her back and away from you and the man, likely assuming the altercation may escalate and after your confirmation didn’t want the Spaniard anywhere near the potential of a fight.

After clearing some things with the security guards, they let you stay and Lucy was dragging you over to the table many of your teammates had gone to sit at, the rest following close behind you. 

Ona slid into the booth next to you with a bag of ice in her hand, and reaching up with her free hand to grab your chin and turn your head to assess the damage, “Are you okay? You know I hate it when you do that.”

You were waving your arm dramatically, clearly still affected by the alcohol in your system, “He wanted to take you home I was protecting you both.”

She had a soft smile and pressed the bag of ice to your cheek, which you took over holding against your face, “I know you were, but you could’ve gotten hurt a lot worse.”

“I don’t care,” You leaned closer to whisper in her ear, clearly having forgotten you had already spilled your secret, “You’re carrying precious cargo, Baby Mami.”

Ona chuckled and patted your thigh, “No point in whispering now, amor, you already announced it.”

You turned to see the rest of your team giving you both dumbfounded and shocked looks, but Alexia, Aitana, Mapi, and Ingrid just smirking to themselves.

Alexia was the first to speak up from across the table, “So, you two are having a baby?”

You moved your free hand to rest on your girlfriend’s stomach and smiled as Ona replied, “Yep, baby y/l/n-Batlle is due in May. We were going to tell you all after the break, but tonight was my last match for the season, I’m about to be fifteen weeks, so no more matches.”

You were met with a lot of congratulations from your teammates when Lucy finally connected the dots and pointed at you, “So this is why you’ve been so unbearably protective over her recently.”

You defended yourself, “She’s carrying precious cargo, that’s the future best player in the world in there,” You patted her small bump, and the brunette covered your hand with hers.

This caused a smile to breakout on Ona’s face and laughs spread around the table. Ona had decided you had enough to drink, and she was exhausted having played 70 minutes today, so announced that you would be heading home. It took a few minutes before you were finally out the door, having to go through and hug every one of your teammates and being told congratulations by each one of them. 

The next day the two of you flew to England for the first half of break, you would spend Christmas with your family before coming back to Spain to spend the rest with Ona’s family who you saw more often. 

Since the secret was already out to your teammates and your families had already known for weeks while home in England you and Ona were able to tell a few of your England and former Arsenal teammates you were closest with. 

While in London and met up with Leah, Lia, Lotte, Alessia, Beth, and Viv for lunch to share the news with them. Leah was especially moved when you told her, having been much like a big sister to you during your time at Arsenal. She couldn’t get past how grown up you were and that now were having a baby. Alessia did a lot of claiming that this all happened because of her setting you two up. While you’ll go to your grave denying her you can’t help but thank her slightly.

---

Thanks for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed! Again, please leave any requests or prompts in my asks!

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist/diver!ghost x selkie!soap au Thoughts

marine biologist ghost who, whenever he has spare time, will go diving with some colleagues to collect trash from the ocean—because maybe it doesn’t make a huge, immediate impact, but it still means something is being done.

then one day while diving, ghost is accompanied by a seal. at first it only observes, and ghost is plenty happy to admire from afar, but then the seal is cozying up to him. it latches onto his leg, nudges him with its snout—even directs ghost and his group to trash that’s otherwise pretty well hidden, wedged beneath coral and rocks and sand.

it saddens ghost, just a little, when the sky starts getting dark and they have to head back. he doesn’t want to abandon his new friend—it’s rare they have wildlife hang around for this long—but unfortunately it’s not safe to wait any longer before going home.

but then the next time they’re able to go diving, the seal is there again. it plays at the same routine, helping out and goofing around, sticking dutifully by ghost’s side even when there’s others along with him. and time after time, it’s the same thing. no matter where the group is, the seal somehow always finds him. they end up lending it the nickname soap, after the odd amount of empty bottles of cleaning products the seal seems to locate for them.

it’s maybe a few months later that soap doesn’t show up, and it’s an instant cause for concern; there’s no reason soap should be missing. they’re in a similar area that the seal likely frequents, there’s no reason for soap to have moved or be huddled away with other seals to have pups.

the group worries, but there’s nothing they can do but theorize and assume as they carry out their regular chore. it’s only a once-off, by this point. maybe soap just didn’t feel like coming out to play just this one time.

but it happens again and again. soap doesn’t appear once, and it has the group of scientists worried sick. but without a tracker, or even a real idea of where soap might frequent when he’s not helping the group, there’s nothing they can do.

they return to shore later than usual one night. it’s completely dark by the time they dock, and ghost waves everyone ahead to go home because they’re all tired, he can manage clean-up by himself.

ghost is just about finished packing up when he sees the figure at the end of the dock. the marina is like a ghost town otherwise, nothing but the sound of turning waves and boats gentle bumping up against the port. ghost approaches slowly, not knowing what other business one could possibly have at the water this late.

“you lost, mate?” ghost wonders cautiously.

the figure steps closer, silver moonlight revealing some of his features. the man looks about ghost’s age, maybe younger—only it’s hard to tell with the haggard look on his face, as he nervously wrings his fingers and avoids ghost’s gaze.

“i’m… sorry i haven’t been around,” he apologizes, and ghost frowns. “someone… someone took my coat.”

ghost’s brow furrows. “i don’t… your coat? i’m not sure i underst—“

“my coat,” the man affirms. “i need it to swim. which is why i haven’t been able to help lately.”

not certain how it’s possible, ghost grows even more confused. he doesn’t get it—a coat to swim? being able to help? nothing makes sense.

“you’ve lost me,” ghost says, shaking his head. “wish i could help, but—“

as ghost tries to push past, the man seizes his arm. he peers up at ghost pleadingly, and while ghost had wanted to conclude the man was drunk or high or something—he hesitates, seeing that look.

“have you ever heard of selkies?” the man asks, an edge of desperation in his voice.

ghost shrugs. “sure i have.” he’s hardly well-versed in mythical creatures, but he knows the gist.

the man doesn’t say anything—just continues to look at ghost with those sad eyes, a plea for understanding like an explanation couldn’t be spoken aloud. so ghost thinks on it a moment.

the coat, the inability to swim without it. not helping out and not being there starting to sound like a reference to soap. to the seal.

ghost’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline in disbelief.

“you’re not really saying you’re soap, are you?”

maybe-soap frowns. “who’s that?”

right. “i mean the seal that’s been following our diving trips,” ghost clarifies. “and you’re saying… because your coat is gone—“

“taken,” soap corrects, “i couldn’t go. i wanted to find you, but i didn’t know how, and… and…”

soap looks frazzled, like his brain has disconnected from his mouth and hands in empty gestures in words trying to convey what he’s thinking.

ghost tentatively sets his crate of gear on the wooden planks of the dock before placing his hands on either one of soap’s shoulders. maybe the story isn’t all there, and maybe there’s still doubt in ghost’s head about any of it being the truth—but ultimately, ghost believes the man. believes it’s soap.

slowly, ghost says, “calm down, and tell me how i can help. we’ll get your coat back, yeah?”

soap offers him a shy, watery smile—but a smile nonetheless. he nods and begins to tell ghost everything.

it doesn’t take long before they’re hatching a plan to win back soap’s freedom.

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Feral Twilight—it's just his instincts, okay?

ּ ֶָ֢. It wasn't until after his adventure that he began to lose his sanity. The loss was gradual. No one noticed until it was too late. After all, no being from the light world should ever cross into the Twili realm.

It has this habit of sentience. Twilight could always feel himself being watched. It wasn't just Midna or any of Zant's minions. It was this territorial force that was angered anytime someone from above came into its land.

Even after defeating Ganondorf, the essence of that anger still lingered. It was calmer but seemed more possessive. It began to want to possess a part of Twilight: his mind.

So after the mirror was shattered, that was a part of him he was never going to get back.

That's where you came in. Just an adventurer from another timeline.

ּ ֶָ֢. He meets you, and it's an instant attachment. Something about you appeases the broken, primal part of him. Wolfie needed to come out and play. All he wants to do is stay near you and listen. Even without his tail on him, you can practically hear the elated wagging of it.

That sealed your fate.

ּ ֶָ֢. He travels with you all throughout different versions of Hyrule. He helps you collect various weapons and treasures. He surprises you with gifts. He is just absolutely addicted to your face lighting up. He is able to smell the happy hormones wafting off of you.

That line within his mind between proper and animalistic grows thinner every day that you travel with him.

ּ ֶָ֢. When stumbling upon the other Links, he is immediately agitated. He is not willing to share your attention or love with any other version of himself. He's standoffish with the others when it comes to matters that concern you. He's quick to become riled up and then dismissive. Some of the others, especially Wind and Legend, enjoy teasing him about his 'little' crush on you.

In the earliest stages of meeting other Links, no one realizes how twisted Twilight's obsession is. He doesn't realize it either. It's just this nagging sensation in the back of his head that tells him he needs to keep you around. It's a variation of the same sensation he felt in the Twili realm.

ּ ֶָ֢. As the months go by, Time recognizes that there is something unhealthy about Twilight's relationship with you. Twilight refuses to leave you alone with another Link. The farmer always rooms with you. Twilight is the only one that helps you take care of chores. No one else is allowed to.

You end up with bruises that he suspects are from Twilight. You brush the worries off as Twilight just being playful. You assure Time that it is nothing serious. Time is still incredibly concerned.

"If Twilight does anything you don't consent to, tell me. Understand?"

Time is a safe place for you. Twilight sees that as a threat.

ּ ֶָ֢. In the dead of night, he ushers you away from The Chain. He tells you that there is something he must show you. You trust him, obviously. You follow him, and suddenly you are pinned under him. It's the first time you feel fear being around him. Your fear because of him is arousing. He doesn't do anything violent. He simply wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your body.

"Twilight. Twilight?"

He didn't respond. He would simply have a pleased growl escape his throat.

ּ ֶָ֢. The night turned into the day, and suddenly you weren't anywhere near the other Links. You were in the forest with Twilight, and now you're back at his farm. He kept you there. He only allowed you into the village. You are not allowed to go farther than that. 

He marks you up and is barely able to form words. He nestles into you any time either of you has nothing to do.

It's strange and a bit unconventional at times. You have thought about running away. You have spent your entire life adventuring, and suddenly you were kidnapped by your closest traveling companion.

You are too afraid to try to escape. You are convinced that Twilight would be able to find you anywhere in the multitude of lines that thread together the intricacies of time.

ּ ֶָ֢. That line no longer exists in his mind. He will always keep you with him. His tongue may not work, but his desires do. He listens to your protests and never crosses that line, even if he has to take care of himself in the privacy of the back of the barn.

You didn't need to know what he did for you. You only know that the rest of The Chain won't be coming to save you.

[callme-holly]

hiii! can you do either 47 (touching their elbow to get their attention) or 22 (falling asleep on the other’s shoulder) with Darry please! :D

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - it's been so long since i've written sorry y'all. school has been crazy busy and i saw grease two days in a row so i've had literally no time to write. I'm still trying to get through requests.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 791 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none

Sunlight streams in through the open kitchen window, bathing the tile in a soft golden hue and casting long shadows across the floor. The radio plays quietly in the background, whatever station is being broadcast lost to the loud thrum of chatter filling the Curtis home, voices blending together to create an indistinct buzz of noise. 

Darry stands at the stove, his back turned to you as he cooks up breakfast for everyone, bacon sizzling on the pan, the smell permeating the room, bringing with it the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken a little while earlier, and even through the fabric of his shirt, you can see just how tense his shoulders are. 

You don’t have to ask to know that he’s stressed, the way his jaw clenches a tell-tale sign in itself, as well as the way his brow creases everyime someone laughs or shouts a little louder than he’d like for 8 in the morning.

He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, which probably has something to do with the steadily increasing stack of bills on the coffee table and the fact he doesn’t slip into bed beside you until late at night, once the boys are both asleep and the house has been tidied the best he can manage in his sleep deprived state. 

You’re yet to mention it, knowing full well that he’ll give you the same answer he always does; a quick “i’m fine, darlin’, stop worrying so much” before returning to whatever chore it is he happens to be working on. You'd be lying if you said you weren't worried about him. 

A soft sigh slips past your lips, heard only by you as the song on the radio fades into another commercial break. It's one of those stations, you note with a sense of exasperation, that seems to play more advertisements than music. 

Someone lets out a particularly loud laugh from the living room and Darry’s entire body stiffens momentarily at their volume. He exhales heavily through his nose, turning off the heat under the frying pan and taking a moment to lean against the counter top, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to drown out the sound. 

Your heart twinges in your chest, sympathy washing over you at the sight, and you reach out a tentative hand, brushing against his forearm with a featherlight touch, hoping to catch his attention. 

“You okay?” You ask softly, voice barely above a murmur despite the volume of the house around you. Darry glances back towards you briefly, a small smile crossing his lips at the sight of your concerned expression, before he turns back to face the food on the stove.

“I'm fine,” He replies shortly, pulling away from you and moving to gather up enough plates for the group of boys in the living room. “Just tired.” 

But, you don't believe him. Not for one second. It isn't just the exhaustion that keeps him tense, but something else entirely. And as he sets down the last plate on the table and goes to call everyone in to eat, you find yourself moving to stand in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look down at you.

His blue eyes meet yours, unseeing in their focus as he struggles to keep the unbothered façade up. But you’re no stranger to that sort of reaction from him—you’ve seen that same look many times in the last few weeks, though it never lasts. 

“Let me worry about the bills this month.” Your words come out more sternly than you intended them to, but they seem to get through to Darry all the same. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“No. I can take care of it myself. You don’t need to–”

“But I want to,” You reply sharply, cutting him off before he can make any further protest. “I want to help you, Darry. Please?"  He opens his mouth to speak again, before hesitating , seemingly torn between arguing with you over his financial burden and trusting in your ability to handle such a responsibility. Eventually, his face settles into something resembling resignation. 

“Okay,” He mutters, giving in after only a brief bout of silent deliberation. "alright... just this once." 

Your smile grows wider, and you press a light kiss to his lips. you know he probably isn't thrilled at the idea of relying on you in this situation. he never likes relying on others  for anything, let alone this kind of thing, but you're not going anywhere anytime soon and he knows you'll probably help him regardless of what he says. you're both stubborn like that.

[hisaame]

OK kinda a specific request but like- could you do a Scara x fem!reader or gn!reader where he’s like overworking himself due to his studies(probably bc of his mommy issues sjsjks) and reader is like comforting and convincing him to go to sleep w her/them since it was late? Modern au ofc. And basically Scaramouche is being all stingy about it like “no I’m fine” and stuff but eventually goes to bed because of readers sweet words haha

Of m y god this ones adorablw i love soft scara THANK UU!!

╰⪼ “fine, for you." ♡

╰ — scaramoucheˊˊ」

╎『modern au!ˎˎ

[fluff] — 『warnings: workaholic scara, soft scara again (i swear these arent real warnings), cursing, scara mommy issues, readers pronouns arent used, but feminine body type』

It has already been a long week for you and Scaramouche, school was a pain in the ass, as well was studying. You would usually be studying at the schools library with friends, or mainly with your boyfriend, Scaramouche. But even with you being done with everything, he continued studying, alone.

It was late at night, around one in the morning, you had just finished some chores since you didn't have much to do, and you weren't tired then. But now you were, all the chores you did worn you out. You thought your lover jad already gone to sleep or is possibly waiting for you, but once you entered your twos' bedroom with a tired yawn, you saw Scaramouche still at the desk, focused.

'he's still studying?..' you thought to yourself, slowly walking over to your lover who seemed too focused to even notice your there. But with a gentle pat on his shoulder, he flinched slightly, then turned to look at you with tired eyes. "[yn]? Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as his other hand still held a pen between his slender fingers.

"Shouldn't i be asking you the same thing?" you replied with a raised eyebrow, looking at Scaramouches own eyes that seemed to already have eyebags under them, his eyelids drooping as he forced himself to stay awake. "shit," he mumbled "you go, ill join you later. I have to finish this shit." with a groan, he turned back to studying, his eyes trying to soak in every word he reads from the book, and writing the more important things down.

You sighed, a bit frustrated now. "Scaramouche, please, finish it tomorrow, you look like you're barely awake." you pat his head, running your fingers through his dark indigo locks. You just loved him too much to let him overwork himself like this, he needs to be getting enough sleep. "Cant you fucking see i cant? This is important, alright? Do you think i wanna fucking do this either?" he groaned, frustrated with how long he's studied, and barely able to focus with his sleepiness. But seeing how he was a bit too mean to you, he mumbled "... Shit, im sorry. Love, please just go to bed, im fine."

he rubbed his eyes yet again as you replied "not without you. If im going to sleep right now, ill make sure you're right beside me.", you crossed your arms below your chest, glaring at your boyfriend. Why must you be so persistent? He cant even get his studies done with you like this. "I told you im fine, plus ill be in bed soon anyway." he put his hand on your hip, still reading over the words he's trying to memorize. His hand caressed your hip, then went around your thighs to pull you close. "There will be no later, come on." you groaned, too worried about your overworked lover.

"mmh, so soft..." the male mumbled, pressing his head against your stomach, to where he could reach since he was sitting down and you were standing up. He used your stomach as a head rest while reading. His hand still caressed your plush thighs. "Yeah? U can hug me all you want when we're in bed." you smirked, seeing how this was actually working. He narrowed his eyes, very tempted. After all, he could just finish this tomorrow, right? No big deal? Tomorrow he promises himself to study with you.

"fucking fine... Lets go. You better keep your word." he finally gave up, standing up lazily as the both of you walked to bed. He quite literally threw himself on the bed while you followed by doing it the.. safer way. He groaned as soon as he stretched his back, cramped from being in the same position. Now he gets his reward. You.

He lazily wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck, all while you held him in your arms. You did scold him a little for overworking himself, to which he only giggled and said "oops".

And he fell asleep almost immediately...

♡

[sunny-mercya]

Childs Guilt

Shikamaru Nara x Male Reader

Fandom -> Naruto

Masterlist

You hadn't been feeling well these past weeks already—stomach cramps, aching muscles, nagging hammering headaches, nausea, constant fatigue and slight waves of fever—though this week it had gotten visibly worse and once you had coughed out some blood and collapsed right after getting out of bed, Shikamaru had brought you into the hospital right away.

Sakura had checked you over and came to the conclusion, that your already broken seal—with the much heavyweight additional stress of being a parent, which Sakura could relate herself all too well with it—continues, which shouldn't even be happening in the first place, to take more damage and breaking completely down now.

Your body—more like your chakra core and mind, which can't process, without redeeming help of medical jujutsu (with by the current look of your seal, is probably too late to use) or specific sealing techniques—responds with signals of pain, trying to mend this sort of “wound” on its own.

Knowing this, Shikamaru thought he could—albeit it might not be much seen as help—relieve you from some of the stress and do most, if not even all, of the housework chores for the time being till you're feeling remotely better (or finding a way to stop your seal from breaking apart completely).

So here Shikamaru was, sitting at the dining table with his son and waiting—after being forced to do so, albeit grumpy with you about it—for you to serve today's lunch.

Now, don't get him wrong, Shikamaru would have made gladly—without hesitation or shame, most men would feel when being asked to do what their more household staying spouse would do—today's lunch, just so you could stay in bed and getting the needed rest, but you insisted to do lunch yourself (half heartily jokingly threatening him with any of your Oni's—preferably Raikou it would have been).

»I can't just lay in bed all day and do nothing. And no, laundry doesn't count as doing something.« is what you had said to Shikamaru, when he found you—instead of either laying in bed or the couch as you should and how Sakura had advised you to do—standing in the kitchen, hunched over the counters (a visibly tremor in your legs and hands) and preparing lunch.

~~~•~~~

»Here you go, soya sauce chicken katsu!« you announced happily, serving the two plates—your own appetite had significantly gone down in your sick ridden phrase, still is and the few bites you took during the cooking, were more than enough, too much even, for your stomach—to your husband and son.

Shikamaru said his thanks and started to eat, while Shikadai only moved the chicken around on his plate with his chopsticks—looking rather grossed out by it.

»Are you not feeling well Shi?« worry etched across your face as it's one thing if you're sick, but another if your son is—maybe Shikadai had gotten a seasonal cold or a stomach bug is being passed around, perhaps he just feels more tired than usual.

»Don't ask me.« muttered Shikadai, slamming the chopsticks down onto the table.

»Shikadai.« Shikamaru warned his son, giving an admonitory glance.

Shikamaru—in contrast to your knowledge—knows from his friends firsthand, that most of their children (Boruto and Sarada specifically) seemed to be getting more and more into a angry rebellious mood against them—and now Shikadai, for whatever reasons, as well it seems.

»Stop acting as if you're my dad.«

»What do you mean?« your worry turned in confusion, not understanding what exactly Shikadai is trying to say here and why he's getting so heated.

»You're not my papa and neither are you a supposed mother! All you are is a Monster, which shouldn't even exist!«

You remain silent, a crestfallen expression of hurt etched onto your face, because you knew you're a monster—having called yourself that a few times, even with a slight proudness just to provoke and to make Naruto (one of your closest friends) not feel alone anymore—but it's something entirely different when your own son (or any other person you love and hold dear) calls you such as it equals—akin to a heartache—to a stab into the heart.

»Shikadai! That's enough!« Shikamaru raised his voice—never thought he ever needed to with his son—disapproval sternness in it, because such outbursting outrageous behaviour—towards you—was line crossing and not acceptable.

»I hate you! I hate you!«

Shikadai was shouting—the hatred crystal clear to hear in his voice—by now at this point, chair screeching backwards—falling back with a thud onto the floor—when he stood up abruptly, running out of the kitchen and slamming some doors—either the front door itself or the one towards the garden—shut.

Shikamaru, standing up as well—who, even now as a parent, had never been one for strictness or tight enclosed rules—had half a mind to follow his son and reprimanded him that such behaviour wasn't acceptable as it certainly crossed a line—and while there a things, hurtful words, which a Parent should never dared to utter to their child, so are there words a child should never say to their parents.

But Shikamaru didn't go after his son, not when you have called out for him in a hoarse whisper—cup of (f.drink) slipping from your already shaky hands and shattering down onto the ground into million shards.

Turning to you, the once disappointing up-flaring anger vanish right away and morphed into concern upon seeing your pale sweat glistening face and the way how you clutched your stomach—Shikamaru, with a few steps towards you, puts his arms around you in support and walks you into the living room towards the couch.

~~~•~~~

»......something is wrong....« you rasped out in pain, fearing yourself for the worst already—a lingering sense crawling through your mind of what's happening to you and it's one of the few things which sparked pure terrific fear in you.

»Let me have a look.« Shikamaru raised up your shirt—being thankful that you wore much easier clothing nowadays and not the complicated traditional clothes—and coming to an unpleasant sight.

Your stomach, where the seal of the Oni Demons had once been placed—as you're, through all these years and despite the Oni's being long counted as friends and family, still a Vessel—looked bloody raw, skin tearing itself apart and the sealing marks coming off in a purple stream.

»Shika.....I'm scared.....I–I don't want to lose them, not again....Please, Shika, please don't let me lose them.« tears welled up in your eyes, the fear—which pulls Shikamarus heartstrings in an ache—visibly pooling in them, ascending down your cheeks and upcoming sobs—which bubbles up in your throat—threaten to escape over your lips.

Shikamaru as he shushes you gently, telling you in a promise—believing, although with not much faith in it, your husband as he had barley broken a promise before—that everything will be alright again and how he will do everything possible to not let you lose Raikou and the others—rubs his hand, in a careful and comforting manner, over your stomach.

»C'mon, let's get you back to bed, love.« Shikamaru picks you up and carries you into the bedroom—laying you down onto the bed, pulling him down with you as well, having a tight grip on his shirt.

And Shikamaru let you, holding you close while you cried yourself into sleep—squirming in pain and berating yourself, for something you weren't at faults even.

~~~•~~~

It had been days later—when Konoha had been evacuated, after being attacked by some cult Ninjas (close to being a second Akatsuki group) and either leading almost all possible Shinobi's, with a false lead, away from the village or locking them into a Genjujutsu—that Shikadai started to regret.

Seeing you—his Papa—getting purposely stabbed by the enemy, in order to protect him and Inojin—while telling Konohamaru and Mirai (despite them saying you shouldn't fight as you're still not recovered) to stay with them in protection, while you took care (in your words) of that fucker—sparked a flame of crashing guilt in Shikadai.

Shikadai argued with his Uncle—after the enemy had admitted that they're actually after you and your Oni's and seeing how brutal the attacks (which sends you crashing into the ground a few times already) you're receiving are—how he needs to help his papa and starting to cry out in frustration, anger and fear, when Konohamaru holds him back.

They don't understand, they just don't seem to understand the immense guilt and fear Shikadai feels, because this fight could risk your life and Shikadai didn't want to lose his Papa—not when these hateful words he had shouted at you, would be your last memories of him.

What Shikadai had said, wasn't true—you're aren't a monster, but it took the summoning of Raikou and the other three Oni's (who not only grand him sole protection, but also the whole village and Shikadai realise the extent of how strong you really are) and you literally sacrificing yourself—out of loyalty and parental love—to make Shikadai understand.

All Shikadai wants was to apologise and telling you, how much he loves you and how thankful he is to have you as his Papa.

I'm Sorry.

[atarathegreat]

Gentle Moments John Price

It had been rough. Too rough. Finding out Hadir stole the gas, Farah's forces being put on the list, and then the kid at the embassy... Everything was crashing down on John all at once. All the frustration, all the rage, all the helplessness and issues that were left for him to clean up.

John threw his chair across his office, slamming it into the bookshelf and scattering books across the floor.

"Fuck me." John ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for the large sigh that built in his chest. It was troublesome how his anger got the best of him. You had always scolded him lightly about how easily his fuse burnt out, often teasing him to get into a management class. He wouldn't ever do it, but he let you dream. This time his outburst was late in the night, not startling you from chores or reading, but startling you awake just on the other side of the wall.

"John!" The doors to his office burst open with you tying your robe together. John knew that underneath was your silk nightdress, barely covering those legs he loved so much. He hated the worry etched on your face, the dark circles under your eyes, "I'm alright, luv. Just... overwhelmed."

There wasn't anyone he needed to be with you. The captain, the soldier, Special Services. Here, at home, with you, John could just be John Price, a husband and human.

"Oh, my baby." You cooed. It was irritating, but it was your default to baby and comfort. John appreciated your enthusiasm. Despite his ire at your tone, he fell to his knees and hugged into your torso. It's an escape, in a way, for him to press his nose against the stupid fluffy robe you insist on wearing and your dumb stomach that he can't seem to bring himself to fill. A child? In this world? His grip on your robe only tightened as he vented every last frustration.

Emotions were a heavy thing, and while you had no idea what John had seen or been through, you assumed the worst. You only ever wanted the best for your husband, wanted him relaxed and be in his best mind. Sometimes his job made it seem like a fantasy to have mental stability. "How about you go shower and I'll get this mess cleaned up?" You lightly scratched your fingers up the back of his head, gentle scratches that would always ground him to the present.

All of your favorite books had hit the floor in his anger. It had taken you months of his first deployment of the relationship to get his home office set up. You wanted to surprise him when he came home, prove that it wasn't a bad idea to move you in with him. A small pang of sadness struck your chest as you realized there wasn't anything more you could do to help him. You could take care of the house, coddle him, be there and help clean up the messes, even make home stress free. But you could never take away the wars he saw, the trauma he held in.

You needed to face that you couldn't fix everything.

The wheels of his chair scrapped as you rolled it back behind his desk, thinking of anything else you could do to help. Again you came up empty handed.

"Luv, you're still in here?" John smiled from the door, "C'mere. I think I need a night of holding you."

Jesus, that fluffy robe drove him up a wall. "Get this off." His low laugh was enough to ease your guilt over what you couldn't do, "I hate this damn thing." He really did. It kept John from seeing those beautiful legs, the way your waist curved, and how sexy you looked in those thin night gowns, it gave him joy to toss the damn thing across his office. "C'mon," John grunted, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder, "I need a night of you in my lap."

Or, what you knew he meant, "I need you close so I can know that I'm not crazy and you're still here."

It wasn't any easy job that John worked, but he did it for all the right reasons. "I'll protect you, luv, forever." He always whispered. In exchange for his never-ending protection, you could spend as long as he needed in his lap, letting him listen to your heartbeat and stroke all over your legs as much as he wanted. Even if your leg went numb from his touch.

[squiddy-god]

body worship snake

Surprise I love him- I love him so much he's so *dreamy sigh* anyways this is in fact fluffy smut because he deserves it

CW : smut- NSFW, snake is insecure, angst with comfort, body worship (male receiving), oral (male receiving. He's so sweet

Snake often had doubts about your relationship, not because he didn’t love you, no no no he loved you dearly. You were precious to him but… He had lived his whole life being beaten and mocked as a freak show or a disgusting freak of nature and whilst he knew you didn’t see him that way, those awful thoughts still flooded his mind. Did you really want him? He had always shyed away from physical touch, he wanted to touch you, hold you, show you how much he loved you. However the thought of touching you scared him, the thought of you feeling the scales along his body made him shudder but the idea of you pulling away disgusted with him made his heart ache. Deep down he knew you wouldn’t but the terrible thought persisted and clung to his mind desperately.

“Snake? Are you alright? ” You asked. You were worried about the quiet man. You loved him dearly and you could tell something was rong, he had been acting different lately, distant, and you were going to get to the bottom of it. “I’m fine, says Oscar” He said, but you didn’t believe him for a second.

Your hands reached out to cup his cheeks, he tried to pull back but you didn’t let him. You held his face in your hands, thumbs gently caressing the patches of pale silver scales that sat on his cheeks. You frowned at him with your brows knit in a gentle but firm gaze. “Snake, love, please tell me what’s wrong. You can tell me anything you know, I won’t judge you for it. ”

His vivid golden eyes were glossy with tears yet held a look of deep relief. His hands came up to meet yours and he seemed to lean into your touch. It shocked you, he always seemed to pull away but now he leaned into your hands.

“I was so worried you’d find my scales disgusting… Says Emily” He looked at you with downcast eyes. “Snake… I’d never find you disgusting love, I adore every part of you, I love every hair on your head and every scale on your body, and if I have to kiss every one of them to make you believe me? Then I gladly will” You moved your hand from his cheek to kiss it, you then kissed his forehead right on his scales and his nose, the corner of his eyes and finally you planted a finale smooch on his lips. It was quick and sweet but left him oh so flustered.

Bright red blush erupted on his face and even tinged his ears light pink the moment you had begun your miniature speech. Would you really do that? The scaled man before you was so very touched by your words.

“I love you… (Y/n) ” You stared wide eyed at snake. Had he just- had he said that without his snakes? Surely you had hurd him rong yet… You were so happy and proud of him! Not wanting to make him worry you quickly recovered your self. Your arms wrapped around his waste and you hugged him tightly, your head resting on his chest. “I love you to snake, so, so, so much”

Pulling back from the hug you took his hand in yours, “I’m going to show you how much I love you snake, every bit of you. The others are all out and won’t be back for some time, and we’re both done with our chores so that means we have time” His amber eyes widened as you pulled him twords the servants quarters. “Like I said before, I’m going to kiss every scale on your body until I’ve kissed away all of those nasty thoughts. ”

He blushed even more at the thought of your soft lips trailing across his body, fingers traceing along his skin and wrapping around his member. He singled for his snake friends to leave and find a place to wait until the two of you had finished.

He could feel himself grow stiff the more his mind wanderd to the thought of you touching him in such an intimate way. Once you stepped into the room you turned to snake with a loving smile on your lips. You once again cuped his cheeks in your hands but this time you encased his lips in a passionate kiss. He was stiff for a moment before melting into the kiss, his arms snakeing (haha) around your waist and pulling you close to him. Finally breaking the kiss for air you smiled up at him before beginning to remove his clothes. You started with his suite jacket, removeing it and tossing it onto a chair in the corner of the room, they you began unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt.

The crimson blush painted his pale scaled cheeks and only grew with every item of clothing you removed. His hard cock was no longer restricted to the tight confines of his uniform. Trailing kisses from the corner of his mouth to his cheek you peppered his entire face in gentle butterfly kisses before moveing to kiss the scales on the side of his neck.

“I love you so much snake, I love all of you and I always will. Every single scale on your body no matter what. ” Your kisses trailed lower, not letting a single patch of scales go until kissed. The lower you got the more his eyes widened in anticipation. He wanted to feel your lips wrapped around him and see your beautiful (e/c) eyes look up at him as you sucked his cock.

Your kisses trailed to the base of his shaft as you kneeled in front of him. You could feel him snakeing lightly and you had to admit that you were also very nervous. You kissed up his length before giving his tip small kitten licks, tasteing the salty liquid of his precum. Kissing his tip you took him into your mouth, tongue running along the underside of his cock as you bobbed your head up and down takeing as much of him as you could.

His moans were almost silent whispers, the occasional airy groan leaving his lips. You looked so gorgeous with your mouth on his cock and your eyes locked with his. They held so much love in them. Letting out a moan slightly louder the the others his hips jerked forwards. You Increased your pace until you felt his member twitch in your throat. Soon enough hot salty liquid coated and filled your mouth. You did your best to swallow his load before pulling of of his cock.

Snake lifted you up off the floor and began striping you of your uniform as well. He kissed you, it was a deep yet gentle kiss and it made your heart flutter. Once you were as bare as he was he layed you down onto his bed and positioned himself between your legs. His gold eyes me your (e/c) ones, you nodded giveing him the ok to continue. Spreading your legs apart enough for him to be nestled between them he slowly slid his length inside you. Tears pricked your eyes before the pain faded away, once he felt your hips buck against his he began to move in and out of you. His thrusts were deep but gentle, his head burried I the crook of your neck as he listened to you moaning his name.

Airy moans escaped your lungs and snakes cock slid in and out of you, you breathed out praise and traced the scales along his back as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten.

His pace continued as he felt his cock twitch inside your slick walls, speeding up slightly he felt your walls clench tightly around him and your slick coat his cock. Your legs shaked slightly as you moaned out his name. Pulling out quickly his cum coated your inner thighs as his moans were muffled by your neck.

Letting him lay on top of you you ran you fingers through his hair and traced circles along his back and over his scales. “I-i… Love you (y/n)… S-so much” He said, arms squeezing tightly around you like a constrictor but not enough to hurt you.

“I love you to snake, every part of you, forever”

[halfmoth-halfman]

iv. the night was young (and so were we)

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: alcohol, drunken karaoke, medical inaccuracies, wound descriptions Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: i'm so sorry for this being late, things have been kind of exhausting, but good news is i hit some inspiration and have half of the next chapter already written so it should be out much quicker! thank you guys for being patient with me! prev | next

Unable to sleep, you’re up and ready first thing in the morning. You take better care to clean and rewrap your hand, making a small mental note to restock the bandages in your first-aid kit as soon as you can.

You make it to the club an hour early and less than excited to start clean-up from the previous night’s events. You don’t bother walking to the front, heading straight for the back door as you sort through your mental checklist of chores.

You’ll start with the kitchen; it’s the least you can do if you plan on asking Rudy to look at your hand. You hadn’t been paying attention to which racks you’d knocked over during your struggle, but you don’t think it's more than you can handle cleaning.

Warm air hits your face as you swing the door open, walking into the kitchen, ready to work.

A sharp whistle echoes through the kitchen, and you startle, not expecting anyone to be here this early. Your eyes dart up, ready to look for the source of the whistle, but you catch the shine from one of the countertops and realize:

The kitchen is spotless, not a single thing out of place as every surface sparkles and shines.

Valeria leans against one of those shining counters, polishing a set of knives as Rudy and Alejandro loudly sort through the ingredient racks behind her.

They don’t seem to have noticed you as you quietly step further into the kitchen.

You get two steps closer to her when Valeria speaks, “Heard you put on quite the show.” She doesn’t look up from the set of knives, setting the newly polished one aside and plucking another from the unclean pile.

“Wouldn’t call it a show,” you mutter, joining her at the counter.

“No?” She shoots you a quick glance, brow raised, and mouth pulled into a slight smirk. “That’s not what Laswell says.”

“It wasn’t much,” you shrug. “All it took was some creative storytelling and a few tears.”

Valeria scoffs, muttering a quiet, “Of course.” She finishes polishing and sets the knife aside, folding and laying the cloth on top. She turns to face you, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning with her hip against the counter. Her eyes drop down over your clothes, lingering on your bandaged hand for a moment before traveling back up to your face.

“Laswell said she got there late—that they already had you in interrogation when she arrived.” Valeria tilts her head, eyes never leaving yours.

“For a few minutes,” you nod. Valeria hums, nodding along in seeming sympathy, but her eyes convey anything but. A small chill prickles its way up your spine under her intense gaze.

“Sounds like a quick conversation,” Valeria says offhandedly, but you hear the underlying question.

What did they tell you?

What did you tell them?

You take the suspicion in stride, a small huff of laughter escaping your lips. Valeria's brows raise, almost offended at your nerve to laugh at her.

“If you count being talked at with some patronizing spiel about how I need their protection, a conversation, then sure.”

“Their protection,” Valeria scoffs quietly. “From what?”

“My big, bad boss and his apparent gang of ne’er-do-wells,” you huff with a roll of your eyes and add, a bit indignantly, “Like I even need their help. I can protect myself just fine.”

“I can see that.” Valeria glances down at your hand again. She meets your eyes, staring you down for a few seconds longer. You match her gaze with a small smile and tension lining your shoulders.

I’m not a threat. You don’t need to worry.

Valeria looks away first, returning to her knives with a dismissive wave. You feel like you should say more, add something to try and convince her you don’t intend to harm the club.

You take a moment, trying to find the right words, “I—”

“Look who’s here!” Alejandro and Rudy finally spot you, leaving the ingredient racks behind to join you and Valeria at the counter. Alejandro passes her with a quick touch to her back and a small kiss to the top of her head that she clicks her tongue at, walking up to clap you on the back. Rudy hangs back, waiting on the opposite side of Valeria and watching you with a polite smile.

“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Alejandro laughs.

“I thought I’d come in early, y’know? Get a head start on cleaning up the kitchen after what happened,” you smile back at him.

“Don’t worry about that; we’ve got it covered!” Alejandro nods to Rudy, sending him a wink that you almost miss.

“I appreciate it,” you say, and Alejandro gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I should probably start on the bar then—”

“Bar’s already done,” Rudy cuts in. “Couple of the boys took care of it already.”

“Oh.”

You hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, you figured the others might’ve helped a little or found someone to lift the things too heavy for you, but you didn’t think they’d clean the entire place themselves.

“Well—” you turn to Rudy, setting your hands gently atop the counter, ”—I hope you won’t mind if I ask you for a favor, then?” His brows knit together in confusion as you raise your bandaged hand, wiggling your fingers at him in a little wave. “Price said to have you take a look at this?”

His eyes widen in surprise as he nods, “Yeah, come on.” He steps back from the counter as Alejandro disappears into the back and returns with a small bag for Rudy and a metal folding chair for you. You thank him, sitting down as Rudy goes through the bag. He pulls out a small black roll that unravels into a kit of various scalpels, tweezers, needles, and scissors.

“What happened?” Rudy asks, stepping away to wash his hands before putting on a pair of disposable gloves.

“The cops do that to you?” Alejandro questions, stern gaze set on your hand.

“No, I got scraped up when I crawled through the broken glass behind the bar. Then…” You glance over your shoulder to where Valeria polishes the knives, your gaze settling on the silver of the blades.

“You alright, avecita?” Alejandro asks softly.

“Someone grabbed me from behind,” you sigh. “I didn’t see who it was, but they slammed me into the counter, so I grabbed the closest weapon I could find. Didn’t mean to grab it by the blade, but it worked well enough.” You turn back to Rudy, who’s staring at you with something akin to pity.

“You did good,” Rudy mumbles, holding a gloved hand out to you. You set your hand in his, palm up, and he begins unwrapping the bandages. It stings slightly as the gauze pulls at the blood that’s started to scab along the edges, but you keep your hand still for him. Rudy hums as he sees the wound in its entirety; it’s nothing too severe—a good slice across the palm and a few minor cuts around it—but your skin is red and starting to swell.

“Good news is it doesn’t look like any glass is stuck in your skin,” Rudy explains, slightly turning your hand.

“And the bad news?”

“Cleaning it will probably hurt. A lot.”

Your left shoulder pangs in a soft ache.

“Can’t hurt worse than being body slammed onto a counter,” you joke. You get a small laugh from Rudy and even a little huff from Valeria behind you. Rudy momentarily lets go of your hand to get whatever he needs to clean your cuts, so you turn to Alejandro.

“Why would you think the cops did this?” you ask.

“The Chief’s got a hard-on for Price, and he tends to look the other way if his boys get a little too rough,” Alejandro explains, the malice in his voice as apparent as the frown that pulls at his mouth.

You feel Rudy grip your hand again and keep your eyes trained on Alejandro.

“The Chief?” you ask, thinking back to your walk through the station. Your mind immediately travels to the officer in the different uniform—the one who’d yelled at Soap. “The bald guy?”

“Shephard,” Alejandro spits.

Rudy wipes something soft and wet across your palm, and the following sting instantly shoots up your arm. You sink your teeth into your cheek, waiting for the pain to dull to a manageable point.

“What’s he got against Price?” You grind the question out as Rudy continues, fighting the urge to pull your hand away.

“Nothing reasonable,” Valeria scoffs.

“They worked together before the club opened,” Alejandro explains. “Something went down between them, and Shepherd’s had it out for him ever since.”

“Something went—ow, fuck—something went down? Like what?”

“Don’t know,” Alejandro shrugs, “but whatever it was, it was bad.”

You try to think back to your father’s old visitors—his war buddies, business partners, and informants. You don’t remember the name Shepherd, not even as a codename. And none of his seemingly endless stories about Price and the 141 ever mentioned him.

“Alright,” Rudy says, releasing your hand again, “The biggest cut will probably need a few stitches, but everything else should be fine. I’ll rewrap your hand, and you’ll have to keep the area dry for at least 48 hours. After that, water should be fine, just don’t soak it, and we’ll look at how you’re doing in a week or so.”

You nod, hand now numb from the pain of the disinfectant, “Whatever you say, Doc.” Rudy raises a brow at you, and you respond with a teasing smile.

Alejandro leaves Rudy to his work, continuing whatever they had been doing with the ingredient racks while Valeria works silently behind you.

You let your mind wander back to Shepherd, wondering where you could have met him. He didn’t seem familiar to you. You doubt your father would have known him, but you can’t imagine him not wanting to keep tabs on someone who wanted to take down the 141 as much as he did.

Or maybe it wasn’t your father who knew him. It could’ve been—

A shiver travels up your spine.

If he knew Shepherd, you definitely didn’t want to get involved.

-

True to his word, Rudy takes your stitches out a week later, pleased with how well you’ve healed. He wraps your hand again, this time with a cold, medicinal cream slathered over your palm. You ask him for extra bandages, telling him it’s for your own first-aid kit, and he’s kind enough to give you an unopened box with enough rolls of gauze to keep you stocked for months.

The dynamic shifts after that first week.

Kyle remains friendly as ever and always happy to speak with you. Soap and Alex are a little friendlier, inviting you to join their conversations before your shift and letting you play music over the speakers while you work.

On the rare occasions they’re there at the same time as you, Roach and König will join you for lunch, sitting on the edge of the stage with you and sharing snacks. You learn that Roach and König are roommates, living in a large flat with a third bedroom that’s meant for König’s boyfriend, who travels for several months out of the year.

You’re invited to visit during open hours more often, Alex saving you a seat at the bar next to Nik, where you have the perfect view of Farah as she croons into the microphone. Valeria even manages to convince you to join a few poker games; she never lets you win, of course, but she also goes out of her way to make sure you beat everyone else at the table.

Even Ghost doesn’t seem to watch you as much. He still doesn’t speak to you but seems more tolerant of your presence. You’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you take what you can get.

You see Price around the club more after that first week as well. It’s usually in passing, you working your way around the club and him mostly coming and going from his office, but he always goes out of his way to stop and say hi. You try not to overthink it, but it’s hard not to notice his hand lingering a few seconds too long on your shoulder and how those brilliant blue eyes follow you around the room when he doesn’t think you’re looking.

Do not get involved with your boss, you scold yourself.

Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at taking your advice.

Two months after what has been dubbed The Hassan Incident, Kyle, Soap, and Alex catch you at the end of the day, calling you over to the bar just as you’re about to leave.

“We’re going out tonight,” Kyle grins as you walk up the steps.

“And you’re coming with us!” Soap laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side.

“Going out where?” you ask, pulling yourself from under Soap’s arm.

“A couple other clubs,” Alex explains, “Boss says it’s good to get out and survey the competition.”

“And he knows we could all use the night off,” Kyle adds, grin sliding into something more teasing. The other two laugh—a joke you aren't in on.

“I appreciate the invite, but clubs aren’t my thing,” you say, offering an apologetic smile.

“Whaddaya mean? You’re here almost every other night!” Soap asks, nudging you in the side with his elbow.

“That’s not the same—”

“Don’t be a downer, come with us!”

“Everyone’s gonna be there!”

“You’ll have a great time, we promise!”

You groan, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine.” The guys cheer, Soap and Alex high-fiving over the bar. You roll your eyes, no actual malice behind it, giving the three a pointed look, “But you three are paying for my drinks.”

And in unison, they say, “Done.”

-

Surveying the competition turns out to be code for going on a club crawl and getting obscenely drunk.

You lose track after the third or fourth club, trying to manage your alcohol intake and matching every drink you’re given with a glass of water. It works for the most part, leaving you just drunk enough to let loose and have a little fun.

While the rest of your little gang spends their time at the bars, Soap and Kyle wear you out, making it their mission to get you to dance at every club your group visits. You spend the few moments of reprieve with Alex, Farah, and Valeria. You dance with Farah and Valeria a few times, Alex politely declining as he lifts one of his pant legs to show part of an impressive silver prosthetic.

“Wasn’t much of a dancer before, but now it’s like I have two left feet,” he laughs. Instead, he keeps an eye on Farah and your drinks, praising your moves when the three of your return to the table.

By the night's end, Soap and Kyle have succeeded in their mission, and you’re exhausted enough to miss the lumpy mattress of your motel room. You think the others are starting to come down too, but someone suggests karaoke, and all hell breaks loose.

You follow everyone out of the club—was it number seven or eight?—sandwiched between Roach and Alejandro as the group walks toward their next destination.

“Doin’ awrite, Goose?” Soap calls back to you, leaning heavily onto Ghost, who looks unbelievably annoyed but refuses to move his arm from around Soap’s waist.

“Are you?” you laugh, taking in the way the Scot stumbles and struggles to keep pace with Ghost.

“Aye,” Soap slurs, leaning into Ghost’s side. “Ah'm jus’ great.” The others snicker, equally as uncoordinated and intoxicated.

The walk isn’t long, crossing a few streets before things start to look familiar to you. You recognize a street sign, then a shop, and finally, realize where you’re headed when you turn the corner and see the club sitting across the street.

“You guys have karaoke?” you ask no one in particular.

“Sort of,” Kyle says, smiling wide as he slows his stride to loop his arm through yours. “You’ll see, come on.”

The gang enters the club, pushing tables together in front of the stage while Price, Nik, and Alex start grabbing bottles from behind the bar. You help where you can, moving chairs until they’re arranged around the rows of tables all facing the stage and holding a cable for Roach while he sets up a single mic on stage.

“Gaz yer f’rst!” Soap yells, handing Kyle a full shot glass and shoving him towards the stage. Kyle downs it easily, hopping onto the stage, and everyone finds a seat. You reach for yours, but the chair pulls out before you can get it. Price stands behind it with a small smile, gesturing for you to sit down.

You’ll blame the sudden flush of your cheeks on the alcohol.

“Thanks,” you nod, sitting down. Price walks off but returns a moment late, and Kyle checks the mic with two glasses in hand, setting the one full of ice and clear liquid in front of you. “Oh, I’m not—”

“It’s water,” Price laughs, and you sigh in relief. You take a generous sip, savoring the cold as it travels down your throat.

You turn to thank him, but you’re interrupted by the sudden blast of music and a chorus of cheers and shouts from the rest of the club.

Kyle stands center stage, phone in hand so he can read the lyrics to his song, and takes the next three minutes to deliver an unforgettable—and slurred—performance of The Pina Colada song that has you loudly cheering. He receives a standing ovation when he’s done, bowing and jumping down from the stage. He takes the seat next to you, thanking you for your praises as Soap clambers up on stage, Ghost hovering nearby and ready to help at a moment’s notice.

His rendition of I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) is dedicated to Ghost and has the rest of you dying in your seats from laughter and singing clumsily along.

After Soap, an excited Alejandro and less enthusiastic Rudy sing a duet of Me Gustas Tu that is equally sweet and enjoyable.

Soap goes again, pulling Ghost on stage to sing Tequila with him. It’s mostly Soap dancing and holding the mic up to a silent Ghost. It’s funny enough, but during the final chorus, Ghost sighs and reluctantly grumbles a quiet tequila into the mic. Everyone goes wild, but none more so than Soap, who rewards Ghost with a kiss on his masked cheek before taking off back toward the bar. Ghost follows him, eyes trained on the ground to keep anyone from seeing the sudden blossoming of red across his face.

Nik takes Soap’s place with a surprisingly lovely voice that has your full attention until a set of hands slam down onto your shoulders. You jump, nearly knocking your glass over, but Price and Kyle jump into action and catch the glass before it can tip.

“Y’ready t’ sing, Duck?” Soap asks, leaning forward and crushing his cheek against yours.

“I’m not singing,” you laugh, gently trying to guide Soap away from you.

“Sure y’ are!” Soap laughs, louder than necessary. “Came here t’ sing, s’now yer gonna sing! Picked yer song an’ ev’rythin’!” Soap gives you a slightly rough pat on the cheek, walking away before you can argue.

“No,” you say, looking between Price and Kyle for help, “I am not singing.”

“Sounds like you are,” Kyle chuckles.

“You’re the boss,” you whine, nudging Price in the arm. “Tell him I’m not going up there.”

Price leans back in his chair, staring down at you with a smirk that looks too damn good on him. “Consider it your audition.” Kyle chokes down a laugh behind you as your mouth drops open and Nik’s song comes to an end.

“Awrite, get up ‘ere, hen!” Soap shouts into the mic, pointing directly at you. The others cheer and clap, all eyes trained on you.

“I hate both of you,” you mutter to Price and Kyle. You pluck Price’s glass from his hands, downing the rest of the drink and allowing the whiskey to burn down your throat and spread liquid courage through your veins before making your way up to the stage. Soap hands you his phone, a song already paused on the screen, and disappears off the stage.

The sooner this is over, the sooner you can go home.

You hit play, surprised when the first few notes echo across the club.

You know this song.

You’ve played it for him and Alex a few times before, mentioning that it was one of your favorites, but you hadn’t expected either of them to remember that.

You know the words, and you’re already up here, alcohol and adrenaline humming through your bones.

Might as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing out any images of crowds of black suits and too-tight dresses and crescent-shaped scars sitting high on the cheekbone.

You’re safe here.

Go for it.

You sing the first few notes, beginning softly and letting your courage build up. And once it does, you give the performance of a lifetime. You’re a little too drunk to dance, so you stick to the mic belting out each note with everything you’ve got, not even needing to look at the lyrics. It’s somehow the longest and shortest three minutes of your life, and you absolutely kill it, fueled by your nerves and the uproar of applause as you hit the final chorus.

The song ends drowned out by the drunken cheers of your co-workers and, dare you say, friends. You give a short bow, walking to the edge of the stage to return to your seat.

A gentle, warm hand wraps around yours. You look to the sudden grasp and find Price standing in front of the stage, your hand in his as he helps you down the dip of the stage.

“Quite the performance,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He doesn’t pull away, keeping your hand loosely in his.

“The extra drink helped,” you joke, wrapping your hand around his and giving it a soft squeeze.

You pull away, and he lets you go, stepping back to allow you past him so you can return to your table. Kyle, Soap, and Ghost are waiting for you, the former two clapping you on the back and offering you congratulatory drinks. Ghost tips his head in a slight nod that feels far more personal than anything you’ve ever gotten from him.

You accept the drinks, throwing all caution to the wind as König takes the stage.

The rest of the night passes with far more fun than you’ve had in years. You cut yourself off and sober up enough to drive yourself back to the motel after making sure everyone else was taken care of—a gesture Price and Ghost seemed very thankful for.

You collapse onto your bed, only bothering to remove your shoes, and are out the moment you land on the hard mattress.

-

You manage to get to the club early the next morning, splurging on a cheap coffee from the gas station and a pair of novelty sunglasses to keep the blaring sun out of your eyes. The cashier says nothing but gives you a sympathetic smile and tells you to keep your change. You thank her, sliding the too-pink strawberry-shaped shades over your eyes as you return to your car. You drive slowly, being extra cautious with the visor down to keep as much sun out of your eyes as possible.

After parking, you take a few minutes to collect yourself, sipping from your burnt coffee. It takes some effort, and a small pep talk to yourself, to get you out of the car.

“Fuck this,” you hiss as the bright rays of light immediately beat down on your face. You lock your car, heading straight for the back door and into the thankfully dim kitchen. It’s a slow trek to the main room, your mind throbbing with thoughts about which corner you could hide in to take a quick nap.

You don’t think anyone would mind.

Really, you’d be surprised if they showed up for the day; most of them had been in a state far worse than you when you’d left.

You’re halfway across the room when a door clicks open behind you, and you hear, “Canary, come here!”

You groan, holding your head as you slowly turn around. The best you can muster is a frown at whoever’s just shouted and is now laughing very loudly at you as you slog over to the office doors. You slide your sunglasses up, looking at Kyle’s beaming face with pure exhaustion written on your own.

“Rough night?”

“Fuck off.”

Kyle lets out a laugh that has you gripping your head, pushing past him into the office. Any other time you’d welcome the rich smell of Price’s office, but your hangover has fucked over your senses, and it takes everything in you to not vomit on the carpet.

A low whistle echoes through the office and burrows straight through your ears.

“And I thought Soap looked rough,” Price chuckles from behind his desk. You send him your fiercest glare, taking a long sip from your coffee with your middle finger strategically placed along the cup. “Is that how you treat the man who signs your paychecks?”

“You don’t even know how much you’re paying me,” you huff, flopping gracelessly into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“How much is that again?” Kyle laughs, taking the seat next to you.

“Not enough,” you mutter into your coffee cup.

“Good thing we’re here to discuss your pay then, isn’t it?” Price asks. Your gaze shoots up to him, brows raising as a spike of anxiety jolts through you.

“Please don’t fire me while I’m hungover. I might throw up on your desk.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, but you’re too worried to feel embarrassed.

“Least she’s honest, yeah?” Price laughs to Kyle. He leans back in his chair, a broad smile on his face. “Alex and Farah are going on vacation.”

“O…kay?” Your brows knit together, confused as you look between Price and Kyle, who’s doing a poor job at hiding a suspiciously devious grin.

“In the meantime, the club will need a singer.”

You flounder, unable to form words as you’re already off-kilter brain tries to understand what’s happening.

Gaz nudges your arm, “You did say you wanted to sing here.”

“Our new Songbird,” Price adds softly.

“Uh, yeah. Yes! That—that would be…amazing.” You barely get the words out, trying to contain your excitement, fluster, and every other burst of emotion you’re feeling. “When do I start?”

“You’ll rehearse with Farah in the weeks leading up to her leaving and take over after she’s gone,” Price explains, turning to Kyle. “Have Valeria get her fitted. Today, preferably.”

Kyle nods, pulling out his phone and standing from his chair. He holds a hand out to you, not looking up from the screen.

“Better go before Valeria gets too busy,” Price smirks. You take the hint and grab Kyle’s hand as he helps you up. He walks ahead of you, holding the door open for you.

“And Gaz!” Price calls as you pass through his office doors. “Get her a phone!”

“Will do!”

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush, @aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney

[hearthotchner]

— gif credits to the owner

summary: in which aaron comforts the reader who’s mentally exhausted.

— for @my-mummy-dust (who also helped me write this 🫶)

there was no other way to describe it, other than you were off. over the course of the last few days, you began to feel empty on the inside — like you were the shell of the person you used to be.

there was no explanation for it, nor did you know when it started. although, you were sure if you asked spencer, he’d provide you with a lengthy answer, which on any other day, you’d laugh at his absurdity, but not even his ridiculous facts could fix you.

you knew that your team would catch on quicker than you’d want them to, seeing as they were profilers. you knew they would catch onto how distant you’d become, conversation or team meetings. how you weren’t as aware of your surroundings while on the field. but one of the things that all of them noticed the most was how your personality, so bubbly and cheerful it was contagious, was now gone. leaving nothing but a dull, disconnected person in its wake; who just so happened to be their teammate who they loved so deeply.

when you were alone, you’d think about how something like this would cost you your job — they’d see how you were unfit for the role, and take away the only thing that you could keep ahold of. you seemed to have lost interest in all your hobbies, them seeming more like a chore, rather than something you enjoyed.

you snapped out of your head when you heard your name being called for the third time,

“yeah? sorry derek.” you smiled apologetically.

“don’t worry about it, i was just asking if you got anything for the profile.”

you hummed, pulling a chair out for him to sit with you, as you shared your ideas.

just before he got up to leave he said, “hey, you know you can talk to us, right? if anything’s going on, we’re here for you. all of us.”

you felt so guilty. they probably thought they did something wrong, and you were pulling away from them because of it. you wished you could tell him why you were like this, how you weren’t doing it on purpose, it just happened.

“i know, thank you.”

he gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, when he left.

hotch had instructed the team to take a break, and clear your heads for a bit, so you could see the case with a fresh set of eyes.

it was him who worried the most, but the worry was always from afar, too afraid to come close, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pouring his heart out. he didn’t want to put you in a compromised position. what he felt for you, wasn’t right — a boss should never feel like that for his subordinate.

yet, that never stopped him from doing those little things for you: making sure your favourite snacks were stocked in the break room, he always bought the specific brand of pens that you liked, when he went out to buy his own. in the summer months, he’d leave a smoothie and a baked good on your desk, every monday, because he knew you found it hard to sleep with the heat, and were extra grouchy in the morning.

even if you didn’t know who it was, you still left thank you notes for them to find. they warmed aaron’s heart, and never failed to bring a smile to his lips — he kept all of them.

“hey, hotch, could you pass this to (y/n), please?”

he nodded as he took two cups from jj, and made his way over to you.

upon hearing a cup being placed on the table, you looked up at your boss, while muttering a small ‘thanks’ to him. he smiled in return, looking around for others, before taking the seat next to you. “i.. um.. i noticed you’ve been acting a little distant lately.” he started, voice hushed, as he stuttered to find the right words; before he could continue, he was interrupted by you apologising profusely, saying that you didn’t mean for it to affect your work. he quickly reassured you, “no. it’s not about work, your work is fine. i just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“i’m fine, hotch.”

he raised his eyebrows a little, “okay, i just- if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, my door is always open.”

your touch burned a fire in him, that he had no desire of putting out. “thanks, but i’m fine.”

reluctantly, he moved his arm out of your hand and left the room.

—

later that night, you stared blankly up at the dark ceiling, trying to fall asleep for the past hour, but it was like your eyes were glued open — no sign of sleep present.

becoming frustrated with yourself, you sighed. why couldn’t you sleep? you didn’t understand what was wrong, why your body refused to listen.

sitting up, you began to feel the tears brimming in the corners of your eyes — you weren’t upset, so, why were you crying?

—

in his room, aaron was pacing, back and forth. his interaction with you was replaying in the back of his mind, and he cringed at his own words.

my door is always open? he was so out of it.

pinching the bridge of his nose, “what an idiot.” he murmured.

a quick knock on the door, pulled him from his thoughts,

“does the offer still stand?” you asked, the look on your face shifting from a frown to hopeful, when the door was opened.

“yeah, come in,” he moved, “do you need anything? a drink? something to eat? i can order something.”

you shook your head, whilst following him to the couch. “then talk to me,” he spoke, “(y/n). what’s wrong?” he longed to reach over and intertwine your fingers, thinking about how your hands would fit into each other perfectly.

“that’s the thing.. i don’t- i don’t know. i don’t know why i’m like this, aaron.” when your gaze met his, he saw the confusion and the anger that lingered in your eyes. “i’m pulling away, but i don’t mean to. i can’t focus, i can’t do anything, and i don’t know why.” you cried, “there’s something wrong with me.”

somehow, you wound up in his arms, head resting against his chest, as you broke down.

“sometimes, there’s no explanation for the stuff that goes on in your mind. we can’t make sense of why we’re acting the way that we are, and we don’t need to.” he began running his hand up and down your back, “what we need, is to fix it, in whatever way is best for us.”

for a while, you two stayed in the same position, not speaking a word, whilst you settled.

“hotch?” you whispered, eyelids getting heavy.

“hm?”

“where do you get those smoothies from?”

his breathing hitched, and his eyes widened slightly.

“i had a feeling it was you,” he didn’t have to look to know that you were smiling; that thought alone made his cheeks tint a soft pink. “i’m glad it was.” you added on, pulling him down to lay next to you on the couch, your breath tickling his neck.

his back would be killing him the next morning, but he didn’t have it in him to care.

aaron would endure all the pain in the world, if it meant that he had the chance to have you sleep next to him every night.

[yanderemommabean]

Southern yandere being raised on those good morals and Christian values until they meet reader. Being the apple of the towns eye and everyone’s favorite golden boy turned into a savage mess when anyone dares to mess with his darling! Perverted once he see’s reader in revealing clothes for the summer (to beat that southern heat!). Suddenly he has to pray more often since only not so sacred thoughts come to mind when he thinks of you (which is ALL the time). The polite manners being CRANKED UP when they are in ur vicinity. The oh so bold flirting! BEING COURTED by the most desired guy in TOWN. And no one would help u girl, u think THE (his name) would bother stalking YOU? How pretentious. Knows how to court a lady but if you keep on playing hard to get he’ll just have to show you he’s the BEST and ONLY option for you.

“Well hello there August!” You say with a sweet smile, fanning yourself by tugging at your shirt as sweat seeps into the fabric. “What brings you by? Needing more chicken eggs?” you ask, used to the man asking for one or more things he could buy from you or help you out with. Always so courteous and gentlemen like, even when you insist he doesn’t have to be. 

It’s sweet, you’ll admit. He’s been trying his best to be sweet and kind to you, even the town is beginning to think you’re all he worries about anymore. His duties often get neglected when you’re on his mind, which seems to be every hour of the day. 

“No, no, I was just comin by to see why you’re working in heat like this. You could get killed if you aint careful y’know? Jesse nearly had a heat stroke a few days ago ‘cause he thought he could handle the stables all by himself” 

You snort, dusting your hands off on your jeans “Well, I ain’t Jesse. Jesse needs to learn a thing or two about asking for help when he needs it too, I learned that lesson the hard way”. August laughs at that, tipping his hat as he does so. “Yeah, boy aint the brightest. I’ll give you that. You wouldn’t mind taking a break for sweet tea or anything would ya? I’d love to waste your time for a bit”. 

Nodding, you begin to walk into your house, heading to the sink to wash your hands from the dirt and muck covering them from the chores. “I’ll make ya a glass in just a sec, let me get a bit cleaned up. You get your things done today? Pastor told me to yell at you a bit if you lagged behind one more time. Think he meant it too, ‘is face was redder than hell”. 

August comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around you as you stand at the sink. Your face dusts pink as he lays his head on your shoulder, his breath right on your ear as he gruffly says “Don’t worry about what he says. I know what I’m doing, and how I’m gonna do it. Anyone gives you more trouble you come to me alright?” 

The sudden playful mood felt more tense, his arms squeezing you tight against him as your voice struggled to come out. “You’re like a hen, I swear. I'm not some dainty little belle, I can tell a pastor off if I need to. Now sit down, I’ll make you a glass”. 

You two sit and chat for a while, August giving you stares that you couldn’t quite read from time to time as you mention how your life here was going. He was a real sweetheart, a man of manners and good values, it’s no wonder the whole town loves him. But there's something there, stirring and growing, you just don’t know it yet. 

It’s a dark, unleashed beast of a thing for sure. 

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

Six months have passed since you’ve moved down here, and the winter seems awfully brutal. Your house is refusing to stay warm lately, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re terrible with a wood cutting axe. Never could get the aim right. 

As if on cue, the towns most beloved bachelor comes driving into your yard in his truck, practically leaping out as he runs to you with a worried and dare you say frustrated appearance. “What on earth has gotten into you? Put me down!” you hollered, being lifted up over his shoulder with ease as he carries you inside without so much as a hello. 

“Me? What’s gotten into you? It’s below freezing and you’re out there trying to cut wet wood that won’t burn! You’re gonna get frost bite, and momma won’t let me hear the end of it if I let you get hurt!” 

“For your information I was doing just fine!” you scold, being dropped down gently onto your couch as he stands over you, arms crossed over his chest. “...I ain’t moving until you promise me you won’t go back out there in weather like this” 

“Unfair game to me. Seeing as alls I gotta do is tickle you in the right spot to get you out of my way” 

“Dangerous game to play to me, seeing as your touch would do a bit more than tickle me” he says with a seductive tint to his voice, his face coming down to meet yours as you become more flustered “A touch from a sexy thing like you, wouldn’t make me move out of the way. It’d make me pick you up and show you how I wanna touch you too” 

You both stay there for a minute, your eyes becoming playful and your tone more flirty as you lean closer, daring to kiss his lips. “Hmm. And what would your momma think if something happened before marriage?” 

“Who says I can’t make you say my name without breaking that rule?” 

“Oh now you’re just being a mean old flirt. Is this your way of warming me up? Cause as much as I like it, I do need to get work done” 

August doesn’t budge. If anything, he seems determined to tower over you like this, keeping you in place. “I think you’d be better off at my house for a few days. Especially since the holidays are coming up and the weather is only gonna get worse” he says as if he didn’t just act like he would go a few rounds in the bedroom with you. 

“We’ve talked about this-” 

“I know. You’re worried about the animals and such. Never said I wouldn’t let you come by to do your stuff, I just think you need a place with actual heat since this place is clearly in need of more repair than we thought. It ain’t gotta be a month or nothing, just til we get it fixed” 

You worry your lip, unsure and not exactly comfortable with just staying a few nights at his house. “The town will think we’re being a bit-” 

“The town also thinks aunt Susie's pie is the best, but they ain’t right in that regard either” he cuts you off, taking your cold hand and kissing your fingertips softly “I won’t do nothing, I promise. I’ll even let the church and every gossiper in town have a piece of my mind if they start making you upset. Just please, let me keep you warm. It’ll break my heart if I know you’re suffering like this any longer” 

His eyes are so sweet as they plead, and how he holds and warms your hands makes this deal all the more enticing. What can you say? You really have no other choice, and you’re so lucky to have him here for you like this. “A-alright, August. Just until we figure out why my heat aint working. No more than that” 

Oh, just knowing you’d come willingly at all is more than he could’ve asked for. He hates having to force his hand in these situations, but it’s needed! That’s why he had to ruin your heating system, to show you that he’d be the better option in the long run and he could get you out of that shithole house faster. 

But he won’t tell his little secret. The plan is to get you in his home, then in his bed, and in his arms. Town can think whatever they want, but no one would suspect him of sabotage and stalking. He plays his role very well, knows how to manipulate anyone who tries and ruin his chance with you. If they push too hard for you to leave, he might just stage another accident or two. 

Whatever it takes to keep you with him and him only. 

((HI! I hope this didn’t go too off the rails, I really enjoyed it! I hope you did too! -Mommabean))