#he can’t just say ‘it’s cold outside’ no no one needs long sleeves and a ‘puffa’ jacket for later

[spineless-lobster]

I love that ben willbond is like an ancient weather goblin on twitter, he tweets every once in a blue moon to bestow his goblin knowledge upon us all through vague and menacing weather reports

[nickfowlerrr]

it’s a love story, baby, just say yes.

pairing: neighbor!bucky x curvy!reader

warnings: not the conclusion i was hoping for but that just means there’s more of these two to come. this feels like such a tease of a chapter lol i’m sorry. no smut. a lil tinny tiny bit of angst from reader’s perspective. mostly cute idiots in love. if something needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 3.2k

notes: is the title a little on the nose? yes, yes it is. and it took me forever to land on. 💀 there will be more, i promise. sorry for the wait. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy this little update. 🫶🏻 also also! happy birthday again to the anon who messaged me about this next part. hope your day was wonderful ✨💗

series masterlist / character outfit inspo

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Easy.

Just like that.

You can’t stop looking in the mirror.

You look…you look…god. You look terrified. 

Fuck.

This was a bad decision. A really bad decision.

What the hell were you thinking?

What the hell was he thinking?

God, you feel like you can’t breathe again.

Focus.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You smooth your skirt, pulling it once again for no reason. None other than habit, you suppose.

You look over yourself. Not awful, you think. You’re wearing your staple black long sleeve top with your high waisted houndstooth skirt. It’s cold outside, so you’re in your black thigh high boots. The ones that took you ages to find but have been your favorite since coming across them. You swear this pair was made in heaven because it felt like a miracle finding ones that actually fit your legs properly. You’ve accessorized with your trusty belt and your favorite jewelry and your hair somehow looks the best it has in days. Makeup is flawless and though you try to find something to fix…you just can’t. 

And still, there’s that gnawing feeling telling you that you’re doing something wrong - that you are wrong.

You don’t know why you’re being so down on yourself today, but it seems like you’ve poked at each and every insecurity you’ve ever had in the past hour alone.

Maybe some part of your mind thinks it’ll convince you to not go through with this if you feel badly enough. Too bad you don’t really have the option of chickening out.

You sigh and finally look away from the mirror, instead reaching for your bottle of perfume and spraying yourself lightly with the lovely scent.

You smile a bit as you set the bottle back down in its spot.

You remember the first time you wore it. It was the day after your birthday - you had gotten it for yourself as a gift. You went over to Bucky's for your weekly movie watch and when you walked by him as he held his front door open for you, he seemed immediately taken. He was all over you as he followed you in close behind. 

You had jerked away when he leaned in to smell you, giving him a look of incredulity.

“Creep,” you groused.

“Sorry,” he laughed, “but you smell incredible,” he complimented, leaning into you again. “Is that new?”

“It is, yeah. Smells good, right?” you smiled, loving your choice even more.

“Like heaven,” he simpered.

You knew he loved this perfume, but that is not why you are wearing it tonight, you tell yourself. That is simply a coincidence. It may be his favorite, but it was your favorite first. 

You double check your phone, despite it having not gone off at all in the past two hours, just to ensure you weren’t missing any messages…particularly one that would read something along the lines of “Sorry to cancel so last minute but…”.

Of course, you find nothing.

Checking the time, you have fifteen minutes til seven. 

Fifteen was plenty of time to get yourself to finally calm the hell down a bit.

You can do this.

It’ll be…what it is.

And no matter what it is, it’ll be.

You breathe a deep breath.

…Maybe you still have time to cancel…

A knock on your front door startles you and you leave your room to stand in your hallway, eyeing the door as if you’re expecting it to burst open despite the gentleness of the sound.

Nothing.

Then another knock.

You brace yourself, swallowing thickly as you approach the door.

Of course you know who it is.

Impending doom.

No! Stop with the negativity, you chastise yourself.

Of course he’d be early. If you weren’t so caught up in your head, you’d roll your eyes at his punctuality. You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Early is on time, on time is late.” You can hear him saying it now.

You get to the door and unlock the bolts one at a time, as slowly as you can, trying to drag out the inevitable as you focus on your breathing. 

You grab hold of the knob, and once again remind yourself to get your shit together. The door slowly creaks open as you pull on it heavily and when you finally chance at glance at the man at your door, you find Bucky’s eyes on you. His lips part ever so slightly as he takes you in before his gaze comes back up to meet yours. 

He titters, the corner of his lips coming up in a half smirk as he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“You answered,” he says.

“Yeah,” you blink dumbly at his words, “why wouldn’t I have?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been avoiding me all week,” he accuses. “I was honestly a little worried you were gonna cancel on me.”

You look down, a little embarrassed at being called out. But he was right, you had been avoiding him. 

Well not him. It wasn’t him. It was just the nerves. You weren’t sure you’d be able to talk to him, let alone look at him without somehow screwing everything up all too quickly. 

Anytime you caught even just a glimpse of him in the hallway or heard what could have been him coming or going as you were, you would make yourself scarce as soon as possible. Even when you clearly saw one another, eye contact established and everything, you’d be gone before he could get a word out in your direction. The last time you spoke with him face to face was New Year’s Eve. 

The breathy “yes,” that left your lips still shocked you when you thought back on it. Which you had often this past week. Replaying the way Bucky’s face lit up at your answer, how happy he looked… before you quickly turned tail and rushed your “good night”; hurrying back to your apartment and leaving Bucky standing there in a bit of a stupor, huffing a laugh out his nose as he watched you flee, but his half smile never breaking as he called a good night after you.

Bucky has tried to talk to you since then, of course, but you just kept evading him. If he really wanted or needed to get to you, truthfully, he could have - but he didn’t want to overwhelm you. And a part of him was worried about the two very same things you were, just from his side.

Part of you was afraid you’d just flounder and end up outright canceling and the other part was scared you’d lose all self control and end up kissing him again. Not that that sounded like the worst thing in the world…But still, you kept your distance while you could.

“These are for you, gorgeous,” he continues before you can say anything in response. You only then notice the bouquet of flowers he holds in his hand. 

They’re gorgeous. Nicer than the ones he had on Valentine’s day, and even nicer than the bouquet you had been gifted from your coworker that day, too. 

“Wow,” is all you can utter as you take them from him. “Thank you,” your voice is quiet as your surprise at the gesture overwhelms you.

You’ve never been given flowers this nice before. And you definitely weren’t expecting it.

“They’re so pretty,” you say, eyes flitting up to see his enamored gaze on you before you look back down to the flowers.

“Just like you,” he says, stepping closer to you in the doorway. “You look stunning.”

You smile, albeit a bit stiffly, at the compliment, offering another ‘thank you’.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire at his words and you bite your lip as you turn from him to head to the kitchen.

A second passes and you turn back to see him still standing in the doorway, not following you.

You raise a brow, “What are you a vampire?” you ask sarcastically. “Come in,” you instruct with a laugh.

“Didn’t want to be presumptuous,” he says, finally coming inside, closing the door gently behind him.

“Yeah? Since when?”

He smirks again then, following you to the kitchen as you search out your vase. 

“I’m being a gentleman,” he states.

You eye him, scoffing before turning back to readying the bouquet for the water. 

 “What’s funny?” he questions, faux offense in his voice.

“You,” you shake your head, fighting your smile. “...You look nice, by the way,” you compliment after a second of fighting your nerves.

“Thanks, doll.”

You jump as his voice comes from right beside you, his stealth surprising you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughs, admiring your handiwork as you arrange the flowers just right. 

You turn into him, taking a breath as you really look at him again. The blue of his eyes stand out even more with the depth of his black sweater under his dark wool overcoat. The outfit fits him well, you absentmindedly admire. He really does look nice. 

God, he always does. 

You breathe in his dark, woody cologne in your proximity and your knees threaten to go wobbly as you do. 

Is this really real?

“You ready?” he asks. You flit the thoughts away and meet his eye, nodding in response before you look at his arm as he offers it to you. 

You meet his eye once more before taking it and he leads you to the front door, but not before you grab a coat of your own. 

Breathe, you remind yourself.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Easy.

—

Walking up to the doors of the restaurant side by side with Bucky, you feel that contentment you only ever feel when he’s around. 

The cab ride was nice, the sound of the rain falling outside lulling you unthinkingly into Bucky’s side as you looked out the window, street lights and headlights flashing by - people with umbrellas still walking along the city streets. 

You smiled as you felt Bucky’s warmth radiating from him, the slow alternative music flowing through the speakers making everything feel that much more intimate. You’ve spent plenty of time with Bucky, you’ve sat this close to him before, but this still felt different. The date hadn’t even really begun and you could end the night right here and now and still be happy.

Man, was that pathetic?

You started to feel the worry building up inside you again, but then you felt Bucky’s arm come around your shoulders, holding you to him. You instantly relaxed into him, but didn’t turn your head to meet his gaze. 

What had you been so concerned about to begin with? It’s not like you were or ever had been forcing yourself or your presence on the man. Bucky asked you on this date. He kissed you first. And even before the party, he always invited you over to his place, and would somehow always manage to convince you to stay just a little bit longer - no matter how long you’d been there. It was clear he liked being around you. All the signs of reciprocated feelings were there. And yet for some reason, you still found it hard to believe.

You felt like you were in a dream.

Bucky guides you up the short steps leading up to the entrance of the establishment, his hand on your back as you take careful steps in your heeled boots on the slippery steps as the rain continues beating down on and all around you. Your left hand is in his metal one as you hold onto it for balance.

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you to enter before he gives his name to the host at the front of the restaurant. 

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s an honor. Please, follow me this way, your table is all ready,” the young man smiles before he walks you and Bucky to the back, to a closed off area of the restaurant. You look around, a bit confused, but not at all upset at the privacy.

There is a table set for two in the dimmed dining area, a small lit candle on the table along with more flowers. Your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest as you take it all in.

Your seat is pulled out for you by Bucky before he helps you out of your coat, and once you’re sat, he effortlessly pushes your seat back closer to the table before he removes his own coat and takes his seat across from you.

Your host shows you the menus briefly and takes your drink orders before he takes his leave, letting you know your waiter will be by soon to get drinks started.

It’s not a five star restaurant, more like a quaint, family owned eatery, but it feels even more intimate here. And with only you and Bucky back here, you really feel like you’re in your own little world. It’s nice.

It’s more than nice, actually.

It’s damn near perfect.

Bucky smiles at you as he notices you looking at him.

You hadn’t even realized you were, but you don’t look away despite being caught.

“I’m impressed, Barnes,” you offer with a small smile. “I was expecting…well,” you huff a laugh, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is still somehow exceeding all expectations.”

“Good,” he smiles. “I know you hate fancy food so I thought this place would be perfect. Mom and Pop’s kinda dinner.” His voice doesn’t sound it, but from the way he breaks eye contact as he over explains himself, you know he wasn’t entirely sure about his decision to come here over somewhere else.

“I do hate fancy food,” you nod. “This was a good choice.” You pick up your menu and look it over, giving some thought to what sounds appetizing. “What are you getting?” you ask without looking up. You know Bucky isn’t looking at the menu because you can feel his stare on you. 

“Sirloin,” he says without hesitation, “and you?”

“Mmm. I’m thinking burger.”

“Classic,” he supports.

You titter, setting the menu down after deciding on what you’d be ordering.

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and after a second you give him a nervous smile.

“So…” you begin.

“So,” he echos.

Before you can start to speak again, you see your waiter coming into the private area, walking toward the table, a tray in hand.

You thank him as he sets down the glasses and a basket of warm bread on your table before Bucky gives him your orders.

When you’re all alone again, you copy Bucky as he takes and butters a roll, using the other half of his butter packet so you don’t have to open another one. You tear your roll apart, eating it in pieces as opposed to Bucky who squishes it down and bites into it like it’s a biscuit, amusing you. It’s fresh, so warm, and so fluffy. 

“This is so good,” you rave.

“It’s bread and butter, it’s impossible for it not to be,” he smiles.

You point a manicured finger at him as you chew on your next piece, “You got me there.”

He sets his roll down on the plate as he licks his teeth, eyes trained on you as he does. You try to ignore it as he tilts his head while staring at you. It feels like he’s trying to read your mind.

“So…” he repeats your earlier sentiment, “were you going somewhere with that before?”

You kiss your lips, your eyes flicking up to his. You take a breath, measuring your words.

“Yeah. Uhm,” you think a moment longer. “I’ve just been wondering, how long?”

His brows furrow in an unspoken question but he doesn’t get the chance to ask before you elaborate. 

“You said you’ve been wanting to do this for months, I just - I’m curious how long exactly you’ve been waiting.”

He knows his answer, but he also knows you won’t believe him if he tells you. Since the very first month you met, he’s been wanting to do this. But he won’t say that. Not right now, anyway.

“A while,” he settles on. “A very long while.” 

He holds your eye as he answers you and you know he means it. 

You nod, pursing your lips to keep your smile from completely breaking across your face. “A while…” you muse. “What took you so long?”

“I didn’t wanna scare you away,” he says truthfully.

The look in his eye is so intense and earnest, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“...You wouldn’t have,” you tell him, your voice quiet, not far off from a whisper.

He can’t help his smirk, “I don’t think that’s true,” he scrutinizes you.

You make a face, a cross between a scowl and fighting a pout. But you know he’s right. God, he has a habit of calling you out every time you need to be. 

“Yeah, okay,” you begrudgingly agree while he relishes in your pouty acceptance.

It took all of your heart’s strength to agree to a date tonight, even after all the time you’ve spent with him, how real you know your feelings to be - whether or not you wanted to play them off as silly daydreams or not - all of this and you really almost did run away scared without giving him an answer that night. You know you would’ve said no in a heartbeat had it been when you first started getting to know one another. You’ve never been one to risk it, you wouldn’t have then, either. 

But sitting across from Bucky here and now, you’re glad you took the chance.

“I guess it’s true what they say…Timing is everything.”

He nods, “And lucky for us, I’m a very patient man.”

You smile, with a quirked brow, “Lucky indeed.” He laughs, his grin full of nothing but admiration and contentment as he leans closer to you across the table. You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing the same, your elbows on the table as you unconsciously wanted to get closer than you already were. Your knees brush, but neither of you move away. In fact, Bucky scoots his chair in closer. Your tongue slips past your lips so quickly you don’t even register it as you wet your lips. You grab your glass, raising it before you and he does the same with his own. 

“To my luck?” he asks, lips still curved in his perfect smile.

“And to your patience,” you add, your own soft smile gracing your face as you look into his brilliant blue gaze, hoping he can see the thankfulness you feel for him there. 

“To your yes.” 

“To the first first date ever that I haven’t wanted to run out on,” you joke.

You lightly clink your glasses, both of you sipping from your drink.

He shrugs as you take another drink from your glass, “Though, the night is young,” he muses.

You sputter on the liquid as you laugh into your glass, earning a similar laugh from Bucky.

You smile through your cough as you look at him again, wiping at the liquid on your chin. His gaze as warm and mirthful as ever.

Yeah, you think. He’s worth the risk.

[owlcomics101]

”Clever Y/N…” Task force 141 x Velociraptor hybrid!reader Head cannons

Warnings: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, blood, language (cussing), mentions of animal abuse/violence (I do not condone), reader is gender neutral

gif credits: @Deshi Basara

Writers note: If this gets 100 notes I’ll make a series out of this like my fox hybrid one

Context/backstory: Jurassic world AU; The park had been long lost abandoned for over a decade now. What was once a park full of creatures of old was now the ruins to a new world. You were an experiment. A human with the qualities and characteristics of a Raptor. You had the raptor feet, legs, tail. Claws, eyes, and teeth. The task force was sent to Isla Nublar. Back to the old run down park to retrieve a weapon, but little did they know that the weapon was you.

Price: You see Price as your Alpha. The moment you two met you knew who was in control. Price. He’s the only man you will ever willingly take orders to. The only man you’re afraid of. A muzzle was a common occurrence for you. You were notorious for biting and teething anything you could get your jaws upon. Especially the task force members. Price is the most patient with you about this but this is a problem that needs to be fixed. He either muzzles you or distracts you with a bone like you would do for dogs.

“Ay!” Price pulls you away from his arm sleeve.

“What did we say about biting Y/N?” He glares at you. You immediately stop what you were doing and turn your attention to something else. “No biting ya muppet.”

Soap:

Soap was the one to break through to you. He never saw you as a weapon, you were just someone trying to survive. Find your place in the food chain. Soap always kept you calm and grounded even in times of danger or a threat to you and the others. Not even Price could calm you like Soap can. He was pretty laid back with you and let you do about whatever you wanted. He didn’t mind the nipping and teething as long as you were gentle. He was the one to help clean you after missions, including your teeth.

“Oi let’s see those pearly white’s.” Soap says as he gestures for you to open your mouth. You do as asked and he rests his hands on his hip proud of his work.

“Now there’s a smile!”

Gaz: Gaz is your trainer. Price thought it would be good practice for Gaz if he was your trainer. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about teaching and be in Price’s shoes for once. You obeyed, but only when food was involved, otherwise Price would have to come down to motivate you to listen to Gaz. The training did well, you were a massive help on the field, but Gaz can’t help but feel bad about it all. You being a ‘weapon’ of massive destruction that he was in trusted to train. It held quite the pressure on him. He’s afraid he’ll turn you into the monster everyone thought you were.

Gaz watches you tear into one of the punching bags, he couldn’t help but picture the stuffing as intestines and flesh being tore out. He could see the cotton stuck in your teeth as blood dripping down and running off your chins

“Y/N! I think that’s enough for today…”

Ghost: You see Ghost as a beta. You sometimes take orders from him but only if you feel like it. The more irritated he gets with you and more and more you resist his commands and his attempts of control over you. You always snuck up behind him and he didn’t even need to call out to you because you were always there…He wasn’t sure what Gaz has been teaching you but the cold look in your eyes tells him that Gaz wasn’t the first to train you…You wear a head set around your head and neck so he could see out of you and see what your doing. Soap likes to call it Ghost’s “Nanny Cam.”

Price walks into the common room. “Has anyone seen Y/N? I told you all Y/N is not aloud outside unaccompanied!”

Ghost looks over to Price. “Y/N is eating Soap’s cookie stash.”

Soap jumps up wide eyed. “My cookie stash!? Ghost why didn’t you look at your nanny can sooner!?

“ITS NOT A NANNY CAM JONHHY-“

[dracoxmalereader]

Wrapping Paper

Draco x Male Reader

Context: First of a two-parter because Draco deserves more than a one shot (will post the second one tomorrow). My usual Huff!Reader, takes place in third year so before they're together, but they totally have mega-crushes on each other. <3

Summary: Draco has developed a habit of dragging you along with him whenever he sees you. Today is no exception, even as the holiday season comes into full swing.

Word Count: 800

An arm hooking around the bend of your elbow is all you feel before you’re being tugged away.

Frost nips at your nose, snotty and icy when you sniffle and echo a confused goodbye to your friends. Draco’s gloved hand warms your sleeve. He can’t have been outside for long. 

“How come I’m always the one coming to find you?” His voice is playful, confident lilt caked into it. His arm doesn’t leave yours. 

His footsteps crunch against the snow, falling heavy over it, bearing his full weight and pulling him faster than you can keep up with. He turns to side eye you as you fumble and trip. You catch yourself before you can meet the slushy ground.

“At least you’re wearing a coat this time.” He chuckles, a smirk on his face. His eyebrows are high and passive in a way you rarely see. “But really, your little Hufflepuff friends can’t be half as entertaining as I am.”

“My friends are plenty entertaining,” You reply. “You’re just always hanging around Crabbe and Goyle.”

You both remain still, chilly eyelashes blinking at one another. Hot chimneys mark the cold, bleak sky, smoke billowing from them into the air. Red lights glitter in the reflection of Draco’s eye.

“I told you they’re harmless,” He starts. “Dumb lot they are, but harmless. Even if they don’t know when to keep their mouths shut. Or do homework.”

His hand starts to slip from your arm, the flurry of people muddying the streets all too claustrophobic for the contact. You swallow and nod along, not quite convinced. A glimpse of vibrant green catches your eye through an open door. 

You crane your neck to get a better look around him. His passive brows furrow before he spins to see too. “Stitches and Draughts? But they just sell junk.”

“Junk that I want.” Giggling, you take a bouncy step towards the store. Draco grumbles, but follows regardless.

The two of you mosey into the building. It’s a homey thing, warm and quiet. Unpopular, too, if the lack of people is anything to go by. Behind the counter is an old man you don't know the name of. 

You carry yourselves to the shelf that had grabbed your attention. Holiday wrapping paper covers the whole of it, from the dusty floor to the low, wood beams of the ceiling. Your fingers tug at vibrant green, and the roll slips into your palm. Little cartoony Santas smile up at you.

“How adorable,” Draco mocks, his voice filling the insulated space of the store. “Almost worth some little kid’s play money.”

You shoot him a glare, and he looks away, exasperated, trailing his eyes on a table in the corner. It’s covered in tiny wooden statues. 

“It is adorable, thank you very much.” You bite. “Worth all two of the hard-earned galleons it’s going for.”

Your fingers curl firmly around the roll, and your other hand snakes up the inside of Draco’s arm. You tug him to the counter. His throat bobs, awkwardly lingering at your side while you dig into your coat pocket to pull out the money. The old man takes the coins with shaky, wrinkled hands.

“Too expensive for you, eh?” Playfully, you nudge Draco with your elbow. “Here I was thinking money wasn’t a problem for you Malfoys.” The redness that blooms under his skin is lost in the twinkling string-lights strewn about.

You wish the old man a happy holidays on your way out of the store, paper in hand. “You certainly have interesting taste.” He says. 

“It’s cute,” You laugh, pulling the roll open a bit to look at the pattern of Santas continue across. “I needed wrapping paper before break, anyways.”

“The paper we use at the manor is a lot more mature.” Draco teases. “I haven’t seen anything like this since I was a child.” An amused breath blows out of his nose, puff clouding in the cold.

Your brows furrow and you stay. In your peripherals you see Draco open and close his mouth once, twice, then he’s speaking again. 

“But I guess it’s not that bad.” You turn to look at him. He shifts his weight and shoves his hands in his pockets. “For a Hufflepuff.” 

He rolls his eyes. You give yourself a moment just to take in the way he holds himself. You tuck the paper under your arm, and fondness pulls the corners of your mouth up. People had webbed away from the edges of Hogsmeade, the street now mostly populated by the stray adult settling into place at a shop.

You hold your arm out to Draco. 

“Where to next, hm?” You smile, and hope the sun will stay in the winter sky long enough to make just one more memory with him.

Updating later than I promised, again. TT

This time it really wasn't my fault, I was having tummy troubles all day. I'm in no shape to write Draco fic if I can't even leave bed. I felt like a dying widow in a period drama.

"Take me forth to the riverside one last time. When autumn dawns, only my memory will wake to dip its toes." - Me probably if it was like 1412

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @joongbin @esperfraud @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @0-alastair-0

[darkromanceenthusiast]

Gabriel (2014) x reader

I cannot find this characters last name to save my motherfucking life

Contains: Beach scene re-write, reader tries to turn Gabe down because they know they can’t help him but ultimately gives in, might write more idk, cursing, fluff, and brief mentions of a knife, reader is referred to as “wife” but otherwise GN, reader loves him so much, heart hurts.

“What the fuck?Jesus Christ!” You jumped up from the dead sleep and bed as you saw the dark haired man behind you, it took a few seconds for it to click in your mind you knew him.

“Surprise.” He says, an adorable smile on his face, his eyes are bright and happy as he stares up at me.

“Gabe, what the fuck are you doing here? You just can't get into my bed and surprise me?” I say, still freaking out, it had been years since I’ve seen him and now he’s just here.

“Yes, I can. That's what I just did. I just...” he trailed off and I looked over him, he was fidgeting with his hands a bit.

“How did you get here?” I ask, sitting back down on the side of the bed.

“I drove.” He answered simply as if the question was that simple.

“No, I mean, why are you here? How did you find me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, he still had that fucking smile on his face, the one that made me want to hug him but I fought it.

“You look amazing. I missed you so much.” He says as he goes to stroke my face, I take a step back and his face looks as if I just kicked a puppy as he tugs on the sleeves of his sweater.

“Gabe, what the fuck? This is so fucking weird...What are you doing?” I ask

“You know, I thought you'd be a little happier to see me.” He answers, clearly upset that my reaction isn’t jumping for joy.

“You just broke into my house and got into bed with me while I was sleeping. Obviously I'm a little scared.” You explained as you paced a bit, how would you explain this to anyone? Does Gabe’s family know where he is?

“You think I'm scary?” His sad voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. I sigh and look at him, sitting on my bed with his brown curls poking out from under his red beanie, his blue eyes look scared and worried, I notice the way his sweater is baggy on him and wonder if he’s eating well and I can see his bottom lip trembling and I have to look away.

“No. I'm not...I'm not saying you're scary. I'm just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.” I answer and he perks up a bit, he stands and comes closer to me, holding out one of his bruised hands.

“Let's go to the beach.” He says, his smile making my heart melt.

“Gabe… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I said softly. All I knew was Gabe is unpredictable and I hadn’t heard from him in so long. I was scared, this guy tracked me down and who knows what he’s capable of now, we aren’t silly kids anymore.

“I have a plan. I decided on my birthday. There was a bunch of fucking crazy people eating my cake, and a bunch of fat nurses telling me happy birthday as if they gave a shit, and I decided right there that I should be with you. 'Cause that's what families do. You know, normal families, they spend time together and be happy.” He explained with a smile and my heart sank, I wasn’t what this man wanted, I was just what he thought he wanted but I knew I couldn’t actually give him the help or happiness he deserves.

“Gabe, we're not a family. I... I thought you were living at your mom's house.” You said as your mind raced, crazy people eating his cake? Nurses? Then it clicked, Gabe’s family put him in an institution… you remembered his obsessive behavior that started shortly before he disappeared all those years ago.

“No. Shit. I'm getting ahead of myself. We-We gotta go down to the beach.” He said, this time grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door, you fight with him a bit on it and he gets desperate.

“Gabe, it's freezing cold outside. I'm not gonna go to the beach.” You say, hoping to convince him you didn’t need to leave the house as his grasp tightened.

“No, see, you're getting it all confused. I just started thinking, what would they want me to do? Like what would a normal, boring person do in this situation? So I just started showering and washing all my stuff and smiling all the time... All that shit that they think is important, that makes 'em feel safe, you know? I just started acting like everyone else.” He said, you could see tears starting to form in his eyes, his throat tightened as he talked and you realized if this man cries you’re done for… you just can’t do it… seeing tears running down his cheeks will kill you.

“Gabe...” you whispered, hoping to calm him down.

“Like I'm supposed to act. Like-Like... Like an adult.” He said pleadingly

“What are you talking about?” You asked, your guard lowering a bit,

“And I asked them if I could come home f-for the weekend to surprise you, and they said yes. They said yes, so here I am. Come on, I need to ask you something, but it's gotta be on the beach.” He pleaded and you slowly relented, you let him, it was going okay until there was a sound on the other side of the house and pulled out a large kitchen knife, you felt your heart jump into your throat before it settled in your stomach like a sinking pit.

“Gabe, what the fuck is that?” You asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What? It's... It's just in case.” He said as he turned to you, the knife was gripped in his hand and his eyes looked a bit wild as he gave me a small smile.

“Just in case of what?” I ask, keeping my voice soft,

“In case of this. In case of someone coming… trying to keep us apart. Hey, it's self-defense. It's just protection, you know?” He explained softly and I looked at him concerned, why would he feel he needed self-defense to take me to the beach?

“Gabe, you're not going to be hurt.” I say as I reach slowly for the knife.

“Of course they are!” He raised his voice slightly and jerked the knife away from me, I put my hands up and nodded slowly,

“Fine… okay… let's go to the beach.” I say and he immediately calms down grabbing my hand as he leads me down to the beach, we walk in silence for a while before he speaks,

“You okay? You're freezing.” He says as he pulls off his coat and wraps it around me, I smile to myself softly when he does, I loved Gabe but I knew he needed more than I could ever reliably give him.

“Yeah.” I answered quickly.

“I'm-I'm sorry I had to do all that, but it's gonna be okay. I promise.” He said as we stood near the edge of the water.

“What are you doing? You can't act like this, Gabriel. You can't do this. This isn't okay.” I say, a bit worried about the knife in his pocket.

“You know you're the only one that's allowed to call me that? You and Dad. 'Cause you're the only ones that really love me. Do you know that?” He said, a small smile on his face as he squinted against the sun, his nose crinkling in a way I adored,

“Gabe...” I started, unsure of what to say,

“Do you remember when we got married?” He asked suddenly and I thought back to the summer we were kids, we had met on the beach we were now standing on, he was the cutest boy you had ever seen and my first love… until he disappeared.

“Ofcourse I remember… what about it?” I ask as he takes a small step towards me,

“I've just been having these flashbacks, like déjà vu or whatever, of when we got married. Do you remember? You kissed me on the beach, like where everyone could see.And then I said I love you. I whispered in your ear. Do you remember what you did? You grabbed my hand and pulled me into the ocean. And we went under and I proposed, and you said yes. Do you remember that? It was amazing. See? There it is.” He explains and I can feel the smile on my face of remembering those simpler times with him.

“Yeah….Holy shit.” I say softly,

“They've been... telling me that I'm a piece of shit. That I'm worthless.” He says as he looks off to the side, he’s still fidgeting with his hands as he does,

“Who tells you that?” I ask, genuine concern for him,

“But then I've been thinking about that moment when we got married, and-and I realize, you know, I'm...I'm not worthless. I'm pretty... I'm okay.” He says with a crooked smile, he looks at me with wide eyes,

“Of course you are.” I answer, Gabe has always been a soft guy, when his temper is under control.

“I mean, as long as...As long as I have you, I'm okay. As long as you love me, I'm fine. Yeah, I think I knew even then you were gonna be my wife.” He said and it’s my turn to look at him wide-eyed,

“Gabe, what are you talking about?” I ask as I can feel a cold sweat break out despite the cold weather,

“Shit, wait. Wait, hold on.” He says as he starts digging in his pockets and I start to shake a bit, I can’t handle this, I can’t do this, I can’t break his heart like this… I can’t hurt him.

“No, my... Gabe, what are you talking about?Please don't do this.” I pleaded softly, I prayed he wouldn’t do this to me, that he wouldn’t force me to rip my own heart out to hurt him. I watch as he gets excited as he looks down at the rind in his hand.

“This is how you’re supposed to do it, right?” He says as he takes a step back and gets down on one knee and looks up at me, I’m unsure of if his lips or hands are shaking more.

“No, don't...Don't do this, Gabe. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” I beg as I feel my chest tighten, I can’t hurt him but I can’t help him.

“(YFN), will you marry me?” He asks, his voice is shaky but overall confident,

“Oh My God.” I cover my mouth with my hand as I stare down at him,

“Like not kid stuff underwater, but-but for real. Aboveground, in front of God and everyone else. I want to be your husband. P-please? Say something?” He says, he begins getting desperate towards the end and all I can do is stare at him,

“Gabe, you're not... I don’t think… I’m not the same person I was five years ago, I-I’ve changed.” I say gently, hoping to talk some sense into him,

“No. No, no, no. No, I just...I just need you.Just you.” He says as he stands, the ring still held out to me as he stares into my eyes and I look away, I can’t bear it. I can’t bear seeing the pain on his face.

“Gabe, No.” I say as tears begin to stream down my face, not being able to hold it in any longer.

“No, don't. Don't, don't, don't. Don't...Don't be like them. Just... Please.I just need...We can live forever.And be happy.” He begged and I sobbed, burying my face in my hands as hot tears dropped down my red face, one of his hands cupped my cheek, wiping away my tears and I push it away.

“No. I ca...I can't help you. You need...You need real help. You need doctors and you need medicine...and you need people who know how to help you. I don't know how to help you.” I explain and he shakes his head and holds the ring out to me again.

“But...But I love you.” He says and I feel as if I might pass out,

“I love you too that’s why I hate that I can’t help you.” I say and tears begin to stream down his face aswell, he is still clutching the ring tightly,

“I'm just...I'm so full of love.I just... I just need you to love me back.” He says softly and I shake slightly,

“I do love you, Gabe.” I say and he looks back up into my eyes,

“Then p-please… just say you’ll marry me… I’ll be good. I’ll be a good husband.” He pleads and my heart sinks lower.

I can’t.

I can’t

But I have too.

I need too.

Who else would love him as much as I do?

Who else wouldn’t just call the fucking cops?

“Gabe… I… fuck… i-if I agree to marry you. If we do this you have to take your meds… you have to continue getting treatment and help…” I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. Gabe nodded as he stepped closer to me.

“I-I swear… I promise… anything for you.” He says eagerly. I nod slowly and hold my hand out to him, he smiles widely and slips the ring on my finger before pulling me in for a kiss. I couldn’t stop myself from pulling him closer. The fabric of his sweater in a death grip between my fingers as I cry into the crook of his neck. I love him, I’m going to help him. It takes a while before we pull apart.

“See? I knew it… We’re going to be so happy.” He says, my face cupped in his hands and I smile softly up at him. We will need to work things out, we will need to call his family and let them know he’s safe and where he is, I’ll also have to plead for him not to be sent back to the mental hospital, but as of right now I’m here on a cold ass beach with the one man I’ve loved since childhood with his ring weighing down my finger as he embrace each-other, all the other problems can wait.

[zayn-210]

little black dress ~ beelzebub edition

fem!reader x beelzebub ~ fluff, cutesy shit fr, ugh he needs to exist before i lose my mind

You always hated these stupid student body gatherings. Lucifer insisted that you attend them, considering you held pacts with all seven rulers of the Underworld. Most people respected you because you were the first human to forge a pact with Lucifer. Others respected you due to their fear of upsetting the brothers or, worse, Diavolo. 

So, here you were, standing against a wall, a glass of sparkling Demonus in one had while the other smoothed out your dress. You had tried to stick with Levi, but he got swept away by his phone pinging with a dozen messages about some game update. After trying to stick with Mammon and then with Asmo, you gave up and decided to find somewhere semi-quiet to stand. 

“Mc? What are you doing over here alone?” 

You look up and see Beelzebub standing before you. He’s holding a ceramic black plate piled high with desserts. 

“Just trying to keep my sanity. How’s the dessert table?”

Beel starts talking, but you can’t focus on his words due to how enticing he looks. He’s wearing a black button up, a white suit jacket and pants, his signature belts, and white high top Akuverse you had given him for his birthday. There was a bright orange rose pinned on the left side of his chest. 

“Mc?” 

You snap out of your trance, your gaze snapping up to meet his. “I’m sorry, I spaced out. What were you saying?” you ask, smiling sweetly. 

“Do you want to come sit and try these with me? I thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together.”

You can’t help but smile brighter. “I’d love to, Beel.” 

He offers you his free hand, and you take it. Beel swiftly leads you to a round booth that was set back from everything else. He gestures for you to sit first, and you thank him softly as you slide in. 

Beel sits next to you, quickly shedding his suit jacket and rolling his sleeves up. You almost drool at the way his arms flex as he adjust his shirt. “Here, I got this for you. It’s a dark chocolate cherry tart. Diavolo told me Barbatos made them.” 

You thank him and take a bite. “Oh, these are amazing!” you gush happily. Beel sits there with a content smile on his face as you rave about the different flavors and textures overwhelming your tastebuds. 

An hour passes by as you feast upon the sweet treats together. “Hey, want to go out on the balcony? Solomon told me about some small comets we might see,” you tell Beel. 

“Absolutely,” Beel replies. He stands up and offers you his hand. You take it and let him pull you up next to him. He grabs his jacket and leads you towards the large French doors. You snag two glasses of his favorite Demonus from a passing waiter before you step outside. 

The night was warm enough for now, but you knew you’d be cold before long. He leans against the railing beside you, raising the glass you just handed to him. “Here’s to us,” Beel says, smiling. 

“To us!” you reply, tapping your glass against his. The smooth liquid warms your body as it settles. A soft jazz tune floats through the open doors. You watch Beel’s face light up. He stands up straight, offering you his hand once more. 

“Mc, may I have this dance?” You can’t help but giggle and take his hand, setting your glass down gently beside his own. His arms wrap gently around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You let your arms wrap around his neck as your body temperature starts to rise. The solid planes of Beel's body pressing up against you start to make your brain space out a little bit. Being this close to him was like a fever dream for you.

The two of you sway gently to the rhythm of the small quartet playing as it filters out onto the balcony.

"Thanks for hanging out with me tonight," you say as you keep dancing together.

"Of course, Mc. There isn't anyone else I'd rather be with." Beel smiles at you, which makes your heart flutter in your chest.

With a sudden surge of bravery, one of your hands reaches up and cups the back of his head while the other cups the side of his jaw. You pull him down into a kiss, his arms around you tightening significantly.

When you move to pull back, Beel doesn't let you, and he kisses you again.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to do that," he mumbles quietly.

You giggle, a blush spreading across your face. "Let me guess, since I fell from Earth?"

He smiles at you. "Just about," he says as he kisses you again.

back to masterlist! ⇒ 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

[jusst-you-race]

12. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.” Sebmark

even more sebmark!!!! have some soft coffeeshop au sebmark lovely anon <3 prompt list

“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

Mark yet again lets his gaze slide over to Seb while he makes the next coffee. It’s a terrible habit he has, and he’s been telling himself he’ll stop for months now, but he’s never actually put much effort into not watching Seb. It’s not like he’s even doing anything worth watching, he's just… studying. Like he always is. 

The coffee machine makes a screaming sound and Mark startles, quickly turning back to his task and trying to recuse the milk he’s in the middle of frothing. Fernando swears at him. Mark ignores him. 

Mark still isn’t entirely sure why Seb decided to choose their cafe as his study spot, considering he doesn’t even really drink coffee. But the only response he ever gets when he asks is a half shrug and a cheeky little smile that makes Mark feel all sorts of things.

He sighs as he pours milk into the espresso shot, creating a nice little pattern across the top solely through muscle memory. It comes out a little wonky, but it’s far from his worst. Grabbing a muffin out of the cabinet, Mark strides across the shop to deliver the order to one of the tables. He gets a mumbled ‘thanks’ for his troubles, and then has an internal debate with himself about the route he should take back to the counter.

It’s halfhearted, because he knows what the outcome will be before he starts it. 

He makes his way to Seb’s table. Seb doesn’t look up from where he’s staring intently at his laptop. 

“How’s it going?”

Seb looks up, frown disappearing and instead replaced with an amused little smile. 

“Well, these readings are slowly driving me up the wall, but I’m managing.” He runs a hand through his curls and Mark tries very hard not to watch. His own fingers itch anyway. He clears his throat.

“Do you want a refill?” He asks, stiltedly. 

Seb’s smile turns fond, and Mark feels something warm and pleased curling in his gut. It doesn’t last long though as Seb’s eyes flick down to the watch on his wrist. He grimaces apologetically. 

“Actually, Mark, I need to get going.” Seb immediately starts packing up his things and Mark refuses to feel disappointed. He’s about to leave him to it when he notices goosebumps on Seb’s arm. There’s no jacket he can see either as Seb collects his things, and Mark makes a split second decision.

“Wait one second,” he says before turning around and half jogging behind the counter. He quickly grabs his jacket, glaring at Fernando who aggressively rolls his eyes, and makes his way back across the cafe. Seb has finished packing up now, and is watching him with that same amused smile as Mark approaches him again. He thrusts the jacket out in front of him.

“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

Seb giggles.

“Don’t be silly, I’m not taking your jacket.” 

Mark frowns, then shakes the jacket at him.

“Just bring it back next time. Don’t make me hold you down and force it on you.” Mark realises what he’s just said when Seb’s cheeks go bright red, but before he can take it back, Seb snatches the jacket out of his hands. 

“Fine,” he says, pulling it on. “I’ll take your stupid jacket.” The blush on his cheeks grows once the jacket is on and they both realise the sleeves almost cover Seb’s fingers. 

Mark is helplessly, hopelessly endeared. He reaches out on instinct to fix the collar that’s half tucked in and Seb startles, looking up at him with wide eyes. Slowly, deliberately, Mark moves his hands towards Seb, giving him a chance to pull away. He doesn’t. Gently, Mark flips the collar out. He can’t help but linger, smoothing his hand down the front of Seb’s chest for just a second. 

He goes to pull his hand back, but Seb snatches his wrist before he can. Mark freezes, waiting, and for a moment they just stare at each other. 

Eventually, quick as a flash, Seb springs up onto his toes and kisses Mark on the cheek. Mark is left standing there, blinking, stunned, as Seb sweeps out the door without looking back. 

From behind the counter Fernando bursts into laughter.

[boa-h]

【Shabana Gyutaro】 January Snow

*i don’t think they had guns back then but let’s just pretend they do

“I still firmly believe— that you’re out there somewhere in this world, waiting for me, as young as you were, as loving as you were.”

Perhaps not many people would believe this, the fact that Shabana Gyutaro has also experienced love in his teenage years of life. A monster like him, a freak, how could he have possibly fallen in love? It’s ridiculous no matter how he thinks of it.

It was the first snow of the year when he met you. The color white dyed the entire town and the snow produced a satisfying crunching sound whenever he stepped on it with his bare feet, snowflakes fell from the sky and he had almost mistaken it for rain. Sudden footsteps appeared behind him and he spun around, sickle pointing at whoever dared to approach him, only to find a girl a head shorter standing there, panting, with a pink fur coat in her hands. He guessed that it was yours.

“Uhm...” You started, “I saw you walking by just now, I noticed that you didn’t have a coat, so please, take this.” You handed your coat to him, “You must be cold.”

Ignoring his dry skin that cracked and turned red due to the weather, and his fingers and legs that slowly turned stiff, “Don’t need it.” He scowled. Are you trying to pity him? You wealthy little girl who has multiple coats, each a different color.

Maybe you’ve never talked to anyone as ugly as him before, or maybe you’re just cold as well, your hands shook and tears swirled in your pretty eyes, “N-no, I insist, I can’t bear walking back home still with the coat I was supposed to give you. Take it, if it makes you feel better then return it when winter ends, you will not owe me anything.” You shoved the coat into his hands and ran as fast as you could back into your yard, tripped by the thick snow multiple times.

Gyutaro watched as you hurried back home, he looked back at the coat in his hands and he wanted to tear it apart and throw it on the ground and stomp it until it was nothing but pieces of dirty and useless cloth. But gosh, it’s so warm, to the point where he doesn’t even want to let go.

The second time he saw you, you were just passing by the street with your maid when he dragged one of his victims out of the brothel he was in. Gyutaro flung the man onto the hard earth and pointed his weapon at the victim’s throat. Murmurs were heard throughout the street yet they only made Gyutaro’s smile bigger.

“Now, pay up.” He taunted.

When the gold coins clinked in Gyutaro’s hands and when the man hurriedly scrambled away, he turned around, meeting your eyes. One of your hands covered your mouth and the other clung onto your maid’s sleeves, his surprised expression turned into a frown, and then his lips curved upwards again as he walked to you. Your maid tried to block him but one simple shove from him made her lose balance. You took a step back and he giggled. See, even you’re afraid of him, just like everyone else.

“Got something to say to me? Miss.” He was dangerously close to the point you can feel the heat radiating from his slim body. You looked everywhere but his eyes trying to think of something, would he be mad if you just simply shook your head?

Maggot, dimwit, idiot, good-for-nothing, useless, disgrace, freak, monster. He imagined everything you could call him, hitting him with dirt and rocks on the floor, tripping over your own feet, and then begging for mercy when he decides to kill you.

…

Too long.

You were taking too long.

“Come on, come on! Say something, man, you’re taking too damn long!” He raised his voice, scratching his neck in frustration.

“Um!” Startled, you blurted out the first thing in your mind, “You’re not wearing the coat I gave you, please wear it, it’s still very cold outside!” Immediately lowering your head, embarrassed of what just came out of your mouth. Gyutaro stared at you, wide-eyed, mouth agape.

“Don’t give me that crap…” He muttered.

“Eh–?”

“I said don’t give me that crap!!” He shouted, raising his sickle, accidentally slicing across your cheek, blood oozed out of the small yet deep cut instantly, “You say those things like you actually care! I hate people like you, I bet you think you’re the nicest person in this whole world, huh?! I bet it’s nice to have a nice house with maids to look after you, niiiice for you, mannn, niiice for youu… a person like you doesn't have to bring warmth to someone like me, and I don’t need your pity either. Go kill yourself.” His words were like fangs coated with venom, tears flowed down your cheeks and mixed in with the crimson blood that has yet to be stopped. Your hands pressed onto your wound, it hurts. It hurts.

Gyutaro stared at the direction you ran off to, all he could hear was your muffled sobbing and it made him want to tear his ears off. He hates the way you cry, it makes him frustrated and when he’s frustrated he can’t stop scratching himself, until his skin gets stuck under his dirty fingernails, until the tip of his fingers are dyed red.

And then he never saw you again until spring came. Gyutaro always walks back to that place he called home and then pass by your house, and everytime he tries to look through the windows he sees nothing. Not you, not your maids, not your parents, no one. When winter ended, he stood on your front porch, holding your poorly washed pink furry coat in his hands that were red and numb from being in the cold water stream for too long. His hand was raised, ready to knock on the door any second, yet he paused, hesitating like a teenage boy who had just fallen in love. He stayed in his position for at least 15 minutes, his forearm cold like a corpse as his blood struggled to flow in his raised arm. Until the door opened.

You stood there as beautiful as you were a few months ago, the cut he accidentally gave you remained as a scar on your skin. You looked up at him, surprised by his presence, yet remained quiet, waiting patiently for him to say something.

“I… I came back to give back your coat.” He said, dryly, handing over your coat.

“... Thank you for returning it.” You bowed your head as thanks.

Gyutaro watched as your delicate hands reached for the coat that looks like it’s been used everyday for years, and then suddenly he no longer wants to give back your coat. Someone like you touching something that has been used by him seems terrifying, like a drop of ink in a glass of milk. It was a sin— a sin greater than anything else.

He clung onto the coat until he realized that he was clutching onto it, hesitantly, he released his grip. He watched as you passed the coat to your maid, who then took it inside the house.

Gyutaro awkwardly stood in front of you, staring at your peaceful smiling face in silence. Awkwardness took over the air, for him at least.

“Come in and have some tea.” You broke the silence, offering a cup of tea in gratitude for him giving back the coat.

Gyutaro froze in place. Go inside and have tea? What kind of sick joke… You can’t have someone like him dirting your floors, especially after giving you that nasty cut, or what he thought was a nasty cut, on a pretty face like yours. “No- no, I’m good, man. My sister’s waiting for me to go back home. Maybe some other day.” He says.

“Okay.” You said, smiling calmly as always, and Gyutaro’s hand rose up to his nape, scratching it in a kind of frustration he can’t even find.

And there he unintentionally created another chance to see you again. Until the long summer days finally came to an end, and winter passed halfway.

“Hey, Gyutaro-kun! Let’s go to the New Years Festival today! Bring Ume-chan with you, please?” You called his name like you always did, asking him to accompany you wherever you go.

“Sure.” He grumbled, different from when you first knew him, different from denial and rejection.

Colorful fireworks exploded into the night sky, creating a beautiful contrast. It was truly the happiest moment of your life, welcoming the new year with good friends, not worrying about a thing in this world, about your parents who never come back home.

But happiness doesn't last. A sound that sounded like fireworks came from the crowd, a person dropped down onto the floor, a crimson red pooled beneath him, and the people around him screamed.

“Someone’s dead!”

“Help!”

“Who did that!?What’s happening!?”

And then everything else was a blur. People were running in all directions as more gunshots went off, and fires started to spread from all the knocked over food stalls. More and more people ended up dead on the floor, and people stepped over anything and everything to escape.

“We have to go!” Gyutaro called your name while holding onto Ume. As he finally got a grasp on your wrist, someone collapsed onto the hem of your kimono.

No way… Why now!?

You panicked and tried to yank out your kimono but your feet already took their steps. Tripping over, someone stepped directly onto your back, knocking the air out of you, before the wooden support post of a nearby food stall collapsed right on top of your lower body. You cried in pain.

“Hurry! Get up!” Gyutaro screamed, yanking you with his hands before trying to lift up the support post.

“I… I can’t…!” Tears pooled in your eyes, “Don’t worry about me, just go. Go back with Ume. I’ll be okay, someone will come soon, to help, I’ll be fine.” You shoved on his hand, “Come back later when you get Ume home, I’ll be fine.”

Gyutaro opened his mouth as if to protest, but watching all the chaos going on, and your pleading eyes. “Okay, wait for me, I’ll be back soon.” Slowly, he let go of your hand, and that was the last time he ever touched your warm hands.

You muffled your sobs with your kimono sleeves as you watched him disappear into the chaos with Ume.

No, don’t leave. It hurts. Don’t leave me alone. Help me. Don’t leave me.

White snow started falling from the sky and the fires died down. Tears dried on your face and your vision started to blur. The snow fell on your body like a white blanket as if the sky was mourning for you.

When Gyutaro returned, all he could find was your already cold and stiff body, his hands shook with fear as they reached for yours. Your empty eyes that were still opened stared into his, cut and bruises littered over your body yet you were still as beautiful as always. His hand gently covered your eyes and brought your eyelids down.

“Didn’t you say you were going to be alright?”

Gyutaro gritted his teeth and his eyes were bloodshot with anger and sadness. His sickle that he brought with him cut down the wooden support post, and he carried your body out and slowly brought you back home. He watched helplessly as your maids cried over your body, and suddenly he wanted to cry too.

He wasn’t there at your funeral. He was scared, afraid. Afraid of those hollow eyes that stared into his, as if your death was all on him, as if you were blaming him for everything that happened.

“She wouldn’t do that.” Ume immediately opposed his thoughts. “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met! If she didn’t die, she would’ve married you. If you think she hates you, then you’re just speaking ill of her.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she cried to defend you with everything she’s got.

Gyutaro looked down at the tattered and molded tatami he’s sitting on. “I wish I married her.” He simply stated.

Even after becoming a demon and losing all his memories, he always knew that there were once someone in this world who loved him. Even when his head got cut off, he still firmly believes, that you’re still out there somewhere in this world, waiting for him, as young as you were, as loving as you were.

And the next time he opened his eyes, you were right there.

[jjtheresidentbaby]

» spn agere week: day 2, little and their caregiver go on a long car drive - jan 30th

» for @spnagereweek event || on my ao3 | 1.7k+ wrd count

» little!sam & caregiver!dean

» warnings: pre canon, hurt/comfort, swearing

“It’s so cool Dean, c’mon admit it!” Sam swivels in his seat of the mini van Dean’s driving. They rented it for a bit while the Impala is in the shop, much to Dean’s dismay, and John’s out on a hunt a few states over so the trucks gone too.

“Okay you’re right, it’s kind of cool. Not as cool as Baby though.” Dean caves and smiles when Sam beams with a mutter about him being right like always. He sounds so happy, it’s a little strange for Dean if he’s honest, ever since Sam hit age sixteen he’s been a ball of angst and anger, but not today.

He’s acting like he would when he was younger- still in his fleece pajama pants because no matter what Dean said he wouldn’t change, giggling at Dean’s cheesy jokes, sitting cross legged in his seat, flipping through the cds that the car rental place left like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, pointing out different colored houses or animals they see as they drive- it’s like he’s eleven again. Dean has no idea why or what’s even going on but he likes seeing Sammy happy so he won’t bring it up.

“Hey they have Metallica!” The cd gets pulled out of the plastic sleeve in seconds and Sam leans to slide it into the radio.

“You don’t wanna listen to something else?” The look he gets in response is somewhere along the line of ‘why in the world would you ask that’ and ‘how dare you offend me like that’ which makes Dean snort. Usually Sam’s complaining left and right about only being able to listen to the tapes Dean and John have stockpiled in the Impala and truck.

“Can’t believe you just said that, who are you and what have you done with my big brother?” Sam teases and blushes with a laugh when Dean pushing his hand at the top of Sam’s head.

“Haha, okay smart guy what do you want for lunch?” Please don’t say salad, please don’t say salad. One more salad this week and Dean may lose his mind.

“Slushies!” Dean blinks once, twice, pulls up to a red light and turns to see if his brother is being serious. He is.

“Sammy that’s not lunch.” A frankly pitiful pout forms on Sam’s lips in seconds, big eyes blinking at Dean like he just told him his dog died.

“We can get them but we need real food too.” That thankfully seems to fix the issue as Dean knows from years of raising Sam that the expression he just had would eventually turn to tears if he’s not careful.

“Can we get mac and cheese?” God he really is like a little kid again. Something sour appears in the back of Dean’s throat, partly worried his brother might’ve gotten cursed or something, but more so concerned that something might’ve triggered this. They’ve been nonstop hunting for a while now and Sam’s even had to skip school which Dean knows he hates. Maybe the drastic change in routine has been messing with him more than he says? Maybe the horror of what they see is finally setting in and this is Sam’s way of getting away from it?

“Course bud.” He smiles and lets his hand rest in Sam’s hair when he pushes into Dean’s touch. He was reaching to ruffle his brother’s hair like when they were younger but Sam’s almost laid across the center of the van to stay touching Dean.

“Thanks De’.” And fuck- that nickname strikes something deep in Dean’s chest.

It’s been years since Sam’s used it, he was still shorter than Dean back then, still got excited when John would come home, still asked Dean a million lore questions he was too young to be asking, still wanted to sleep in Dean’s bed with excuses of it being cold but in reality the monsters outside scared him and he needed his big brother to protect him. He was so innocent back then, short years ago that feels like a lifetime.

-

“The drive through is too long so I’m just going to go in and grab the food.” Dean says as he pulls into the parking lot of the Wendy’s restaurant- it’s the only fast food place Dean knows has mac and cheese and isn’t a two hour drive outside of where they’re going.

“Wait you’re leaving?” A hand quickly wraps around Dean’s forearm before he can turn to climb out of the van. His brow furrows when he sees how upset Sam looks, bordering on looking- scared? What the hells he scared of? He was smiling five seconds ago, humming along to the radio louder than normal and bouncing in his seat a bit like he used to.

“Just to get some food, I’ll be back fifteen minutes tops.” None of it soothes Sam.

“You wanna come with me?” He gets a nod, though it’s hesitant.

Almost the second they step into the restaurant Sam’s hand reaches to grip Dean’s tight like a vice. He’s glued to his brothers side and would be hidden behind Dean’s frame if not for the added height Sam has, height he’s trying to hide in this moment as he shrinks down and curls up against Dean. It’s breaking Dean’s heart a little- there’s maybe five people in the restaurant and yet Sam seems terrified.

“You okay Sammy?” The few people in the place are eyeing them more obviously than appreciated- Dean isn’t sure if it’s the pajamas with the Iron Maiden shirt and converse Sam’s in, the way he’s tucked into Dean’s side, or just the fact that they look out of place in this small town in the middle of nowhere Maine.

“Mm.” Well that’s not good. Sam always got quiet when he was upset as a kid, only giving a hum or nod to questions asked, not caring if John had been pleading with him for an hour to talk or if Dean promised a trip to the movies to see whatever Sam wanted or even if Bobby gave him free range over his entire library. The kids a master at the silent game.

“What can I get for you two?” The voice of the woman behind the register startles Dean which in turn startles Sam twice as bad, he clings his free hand to the loose material of Dean’s t-shirt and stuffs his face into Dean’s shoulder.

All Dean can do is relay their order back to the woman- pointedly ignoring her concerned looks at Sam- and wrap an arm around Sam’s shoulders so he has an easier time tucking himself as small as he can into Dean’s chest. The food takes no time at all to be done and Dean gets Sam ushered out of there as quick as humanly possible without someone thinking he’s kidnapping him. The sigh of relief both boys let out once in the van again makes Dean feel uneasy- they shouldn’t be sighing like this over ordering fast food.

“You wanna go get those slushies now Sammy?” He reaches to place his hand in Sam’s hair again, rubbing his thumb at his brother’s forehead and watching with a slightly furrowed brow as Sam’s eyes flutter shut before back open again. It’s only one pm, they left at seven this morning which isn’t all that early on Winchester time, but maybe Sam’s been acting weird because he’s tired?

“Or maybe stop at a motel and sleep?” The plan was to drive for at least another eight or so hours before stopping to sleep, but the last thing Dean wants is for whatever’s going on with Sam to get worse. He could be feeling sick, it is freezing out and it’s not like they’re exactly up to date with their flu shots.

“Thought we had to meet dad?” Sam asks with a clumsy rub of his eyes that makes Dean give a faint smile. He’s the same little kid he’s always been.

“We’d have to drive back here for Baby anyways, we’re just saving a trip.” Assuming the Impala will be done by tomorrow morning when they go to leave again, Dean can hope, and hope that John doesn’t ask too many details on why Dean and Sam won’t be meeting him as early as they said they would. The hunt he’s on seems pretty nasty so Dean doubts he’ll be paying much to mind to what day the boys get there.

“M’kay.”

It takes all of twenty minutes for Dean to find and book a room at the nearest motel- years of hunting for them in the pitch black makes them pretty easy to spot in the daytime. Sam stays in the car as Dean gets the key and pays for the room- though Dean can feel how hard Sam’s staring at him through the window, he swears the nervous energy radiates far enough that it makes Dean’s spine shiver.

“You okay bud?” Dean says with half a laugh when Sam collapses onto his bed and instantly curls his arms around Dean’s middle with his head on Dean’s chest. There’s an empty queen bed two feet away- it was the same price as getting a single so he figured Sam would appreciate the bed to himself. Apparently he was wrong.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere right?” His face falls hearing Sam’s voice come out so small, nearly whispering as he tightens his hold around Dean.

“Course not. I’m always right here Sammy.” That’s all it takes for Sam to let his eyes slip shut.

Dean can’t even think about going to sleep- too overwhelmed with worry- so he does what he did when Sam was little and starts to rub his hand up and down Sam’s back, counting the breaths he takes with each stroke of his fingers against Sam’s spine. He really hopes Sam’s acting a little more normal when he wakes up but just incase Dean makes a plan for if he’s not, going over the basic steps he used to do to make sure Sam stayed happy when he was a little kid, reminding himself of the habits Sam hasn’t shown in years but may revert back to. If Sam needs him to take care of him like he used to then Dean is going to make sure he does it right.

[four-dogteeth]

After killing his father, Toby didn’t know where to go. He didn’t think he was going to do it. One of those spur of the moment things, always egged on by his friends in his head, the damn things never shut up. He couldn’t stay. The fire was spreading, and he couldn’t help but worry for a moment about his mother. His poor, sweet mother, who didn’t leave him when she should have. She was hurting, but Toby, he felt he hurt worse.

He ran. Down the hill and farther then, until he could barely breathe. Blood coated the front of his jacket with the weird striped sleeves his sister had got him. Blood on his jeans. Even his shoes. He found the nearest library and took his jacket off and cleaned up in the bathroom. Enough that you could barely tell that he was running from a murder. His fathers murder.

In the mirror, he noticed the small slit in his cheek from the car crash. Reconstructive surgery was supposed to be performed when he healed a little more due to the nature of the injury. Now he could see his teeth, also chipped, and his tongue when he opened his mouth. It was gnarly, and it made him recognizable. So would the heavy bandaging on his arms, making his hands lije clubs. They felt heavy.

On the bus, Toby naps most of the time. He rides to the other end of town and walks even further in the dark. He can’t feel the cold but he can feel the tightness building in his ankles from the long walk. Adrenaline long worn off, he’s so tired he can barely keep upright. He finds a motel and approaches the front desk, where a man with dark eyes and a tired voice asks,

“Can I help you?”

Toby freezes. He doesn’t have any money and he doesn’t know why he stopped here. His wallet was in his room and he hadn’t been thinking clearly in his escape.

The man huffs. “Do you need a room or not?”

Toby blinks, again, and tucks his hands behind his back. “I don’t have any money,” he blurts, neck twitching, and he watches the awkward way the man stares too long.

“Well, if you don’t have money, I can’t help you, bud.”

Toby doesn’t say anything right away. He knows this man can’t just give away a free room. But he’s terrified of being caught. Going to jail. He couldn’t help it, he needed it. He needed to teach his father what pain meant, real pain. His pain.

He nodded, slowly, and stepped back outside. He noticed a man standing outside, not too far away, smoking. Toby didn’t smoke often, but he did from time to time and the stress inside of him was too much to stand.

“Think you could spare a cigarette?”, he asked once he was close enough. Blunt. To the point. The man was bathed in shadows, but he has sloppy black hair that hung in uneven chunks around his head and a pale hoodie on. It looked like there sas something on his face, but he wasn’t certain. The lighting was just too poor.

He twitched, but the man didn’t pause in his movements to flick the box open and hand one over. He lit it, too, barely looking over at Toby, just staring right ahead. Toby inhaled, and the man finally spoke.

“You’re running from something.” He stated it. It wasn’t a question. Toby opened his mouth to speak, but the man interrupted him. “It’s obvious. There’s stains on the knee of your jeans, I can see the bandages on your arms, and you look exhausted. There’s something you’re running from.”

Toby didn’t say anything. He just puffed his cigarette, wondering who this guy thought he was and why he was saying that. Even if he knew, why make Toby squirm? He didn’t seem bothered. It didn’t seem like he was going to turn Toby in, at the very least, so he didn’t understand why he was messing with him. He let the silence stew.

Eventually, the strange man stomped the cigarette out as it reached the but. He sighed. “You’re an idiot to not change your clothes, you know. You’re making it so obvious.”

So he knew it. Toby was a murderer.

[serene-starss]

𝕾𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌

Paring: Tobias Forge & Reader

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/intentions, mention of death

“I eh, I understand these emotions and thoughts are hard to have.” He said, a comforting hand on the small of my back as he sat down on the wet concrete curb of the road.

I sniffle, trying not to cry at the kind gesture, “It’s ok, you don’t have to stay out here and convince me everything is sunshine and rainbows.” Three or four tears run down my raw cheeks as I simply blink

“Nothing is sunshine and rainbows,” he says as he gently starts moving his hand in a circular motion, his presence alone is soothing. Maybe being a family guy is why he’s so kind, and being the ‘Big Boss’ so firm and honest. It’s a good mix for a guy like him.

I look at the cigarette in my hand as the burning ember falls off and goes cold as it lands on the cool pavement that’s just barely wet from whatever rain or sewer leaked from outside the hotel at this time.

The street light highlighted our faces like we wore clown makeup, but to think about it, it is silly that such a sophisticated man would sit outside in the cold just to comfort a hired musician.

Laughs echo from inside the building, and warm light pools out of the windows decorated for whatever season it was supposed to be

I cry softly, putting a hand on my forehead. I want him to go inside because I don’t want him to spoil and rot like every other gram of happiness or joy that has been near me. “A black hole is what I am, I don’t want to swallow anyone who already hasn’t been.” I crow as the continued sound of joy hurts my heart.

“I’m not a scientist but black holes create new matter like planets do they not? So maybe we’re all just the aftermath of someone like you.” He says softly, I hear the exhaustion of the day in his sweet voice as he tries to cheer me up.

“I can’t do it.” I simply say as I hide my face in my knees as my cheeks fill with air and I stop myself from letting out a loud cry.

“Yes you can,” he says as he scoots closer to me, I know he’s not a therapy friend but just like before his fatherly and leading nature makes him simply incredible to be around. “You can because I did, and I know nobody wants to be compared to others but we are constantly changing”

I sigh heavily, “Except you mean something, your are worth something, and you have millions of fans and undying love from people. You’ve saved people's lives.” I say

“Yes but..” he thinks for a moment, “I mean it wasn’t too long ago I was just picking up a phone for money and doodling logos on napkins.”

I look up at him with puffy red eyes.

“I was In the same position when I felt all alone and helpless when someone very close to me passed away suddenly. I know how it feels to be at the bottomless pit of nothing” he said as he rested his elbows on his knees.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve, “I just…”

“You just need something or someone to keep you going,” He looks at me and flashes a smile.

“I already have one, thank you, I guess I should’ve said,” I say as more tears roll down my cheeks.

“For what? I told you I don’t mind coming out here, it’s because your my friend, band mate and I ca-“ he tries to finish before I cut him off, “for saving me, your truly the nicest and most understanding person ever.” I start to sob.

His face softens and he wraps me in a tight yet delicate hug, “I’m sorry you needed saving.”

I try not to get snot or tears on the back of his jacket as I melt into it, “thank you”

[nirikeehan]

Gonna wambo combo you from the Sexual Tension Prompt list for Thalia/Blackwall for "[ BRUSH ] : Character A reaches forward to brush a strand of Character B’s hair from their eyes." and "[ WET ] : The characters find one another in a torrential downpour of rain, both soaking wet." >:]

ALL RIGHT OKAY IT'S THACKWALL HORNY HOURS TONIGHT

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1525

Strap in, I also managed to shove in the following prompts:

sleeve rolling (thanks @theluckywizard)

public touching and pretending to be a couple (thanks @oxygenforthewicked)

pushing against a wall and kissing without warning (thanks @oxygenforthewicked AND @about2dance)

---

She sits beside him on the table he’s set up for woodworking. They talk late into the evening, the air in the stables going cold when the sun goes down. Thalia’s face stays warm, watching the way Blackwall works with his hands. He’s deft and sure in everything he does, each stroke and every nail. She watches his fingers, large and calloused as they are, and wonders. Her stomach flips, not unpleasantly. 

At one point, he rolls his sleeves to the elbow and catches her looking at the naked flesh. 

“Like what you see, my lady?” 

She thinks he might be smirking. She slides off the table, onto her feet. She tries to bring herself back to earth. 

“I’m terribly late for dinner.” She’s stuttering over her words, like a damned schoolgirl. 

She can feel his eyes on her back with every stride through the courtyard she takes. 

—

At a tavern in an unfriendly village, they need information. The commonfolk are hostile toward Grey Wardens, it seems; they feel abandoned by those who came through before, then left in the name of the False Calling. 

“Why do you ask?” says the barkeep, eyes narrowed across the counter. “You one of ‘em?” 

“Me? Never.” Blackwall laughs long and hard, terribly convincing. “It’s just that me and the missus are mighty curious about where they’ve gone. Her brother, you see, joined up a few years ago. She pines for him something fierce, don’t you, love?”

His gaze is upon her, expectant. Thalia hunches over in her barstool, hoping her blush isn’t visible in the dim torchlight. “That’s right,” she says softly. “If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.” 

She can’t conceive of this world, where she would care enough to pursue a lost brother. But then, she can’t fathom being married to Blackwall, either. He reaches over and places a hand on the nape of her neck, laying it on thick for the barkeep, and her heart thumps and thumps. Grey Wardens have relationships sometimes, right? The Hero of Ferelden would have married Good King Alistair, if he hadn’t sacrificed himself ending the last Blight. It’s been known to happen.

She rests her hand on the wrist Blackwall uses to cup his stein of ale. Her fingers tingle. This is an act, of course. Isn’t it? 

The barkeep watches them long and hard. Then he breaks into a toothless smile, accompanied by a salty laugh. “This’s your wife? How’d you manage that, you old dog?” 

“Ah, well, you know. She keeps me young.” Blackwall winks. 

“I bet she does.” The barkeep’s gaze lingers on them a touch too long, and Thalia doesn’t know whether she’s mortified or pleased. Maybe a little of both.

Outside the tavern, after mulling over the leads they’ve been given, Thalia glances upward at Warden Blackwall’s face, so unreadable in the gathering dark. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

“What? You n’ me, my lady?” 

She feels his eyes upon her; it is not, strictly speaking, the look an honorable knight gives a lady. She knows this, and she likes it, to some degree. He is a bit older than her — so what? Girls her age — and below — married men of advanced age all the time. 

“I could—” She grasps for something clever and witty to say. “—Keep you young. Like you said.” 

Blackwall lets out a hearty laugh. “Begging your pardon, but you speak like you don’t know what that means.”

���I know what it means!” Thalia huffs. 

Blackwall stands over her, close enough to touch. “But you’ve never…?”

Now she’s mortified for sure. “That’s not an appropriate question to ask a lady.” She storms past him, toward their camp, before this gets out of hand. 

She thinks she hears him chuckling in the dark behind her. 

—

Thalia never knew it could rain so hard in the desert. The Western Approach’s sky, she thought, would forever be an endless, scorching blue. But the clouds roll in without warning, a dark purplish grey. The rain falls in torrents, turning the sands to mud and drenching her in seconds. She runs for shelter in the awning of an ancient fortress, tumbledown stones persisting for hundreds of years. 

She lets her hair down, pulling fingers through the long, tangled strands, wringing it out like a cloth. There is satisfaction to the lightness that ensues. The air, likewise, possesses a strange, clean scent, as if the landscape itself has been wiped clean by the downpour. 

She hears a throat clearing behind her. Thalia snaps her head up; Blackwall stands in the dark of the archway, similarly soaked. His grey eyes almost seem to glow as their gazes meet. 

Thalia gasps and turns away, her hair long and limp over her shoulders, hanging heavy to her waist. He saw! He isn’t supposed to see! She trembles, suddenly freezing as the wind picks up and hits her clammy skin. 

“F-forgive me, Warden Blackwall,” she says through chattering teeth. “In Ostwick, highborn girls are not to let men — unmarried men — see them with their hair down. It’s beyond scandalous.” 

She feels silly saying this out loud, but it’s true — despite knowing, intellectually, other women do this all the time, she feels as though he caught her with her trousers down and can’t bear to look at him. She scrambles for the rock wall, trying to get out of sight so she can plait her hair again and pin it back up and at last be able to face him. 

His hand grasps her shoulder. Thalia freezes, her heart pounding. Water drips off her nose and chin, and her breath stutters. 

“Strange customs they’ve got in Ostwick,” Blackwall mumbles low in her ear. His fingers trace their way to the nape of her neck. He draws the hair away from her skin, tantalizingly slow. A warm tingling shoots down Thalia’s spine to her toes. “I thought the cheese wheel chase was the height of it.” 

Thalia forces herself to face him. He’s so handsome, painfully so, with hair that shines black and the mighty beard and the distinguished lines of his face. She’s no doubt he’s known many women — she can sense this in his confidence, which comes out when she least expects it. Like now. She swallows hard and tentatively puts her hand on the damp sleeves of his gambeson. 

“I like the cheese wheel chase,” is all she can think to say, like an idiot. 

Blackwall lets out a laugh. “Never said I didn’t like it.” His hand cups her face, and Thalia thinks she might perish. Is she dreaming this? It wouldn’t be the first time. “Tell me, my lady — what happens when an unmarried man spies an Ostwick maid with her hair down?” 

“There’s, ah, varying stories.” 

“Of course there are.”

“In some of them, the girl and offending voyeur must get married on the spot.” 

Blackwall chuckles. “Shame there’s no Chantry mother in this forsaken desert. Makes it difficult to say vows.” 

“In others, the girl is branded a harlot and cast out from her household.” 

Blackwall’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Bit harsh, isn’t it?”

Thalia swallows hard. “I didn’t come up with these tales!” 

“What if there’s no one to see their transgression?” His hands have moved, one to the small of her back, the other to her collarbone, just above her left breast. “What if it’s just him and her, and they can do whatever they like, and no one will be the wiser?” 

Thalia’s heart races. “I— ah, it’s hard — to say—”

He pushes her against the stone wall and kisses her. He tastes of rainwater and smells, faintly, of the woodsmoke that wafted off that morning’s campfire. The weight of him against her through damp fabric feels both exciting and dangerous. She worries he can tell she’s never done this before, but with a groan he deepens the kiss, the hand squeezing her breast, and she realizes that perhaps he doesn’t care. She’s not sure she does either. 

She tangles her fingers in the wet hair at the nape of his neck and tests out leaning into him as they kiss. She feels him respond immediately, and knows with a thrill of trepidation they really could do anything they wanted — who would bear witness? The desolate sand? 

“—Bloody fuck.” Blackwall tears himself away with a violent wrench, leaving Thalia grasping for the wall behind her, dizzy.

“I’m sorry— did I— do something wrong?” She rakes the hair from her eyes, her desire curdling in her belly. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Blackwall growls. 

“That is, I think, what I was trying to say earlier.” Is this a joke? Thalia feels a strange desire to laugh. “But you were going on about cheese wheels…”

“You’ve no idea how enticing you are, do you?” His voice sounds, somehow, both reverent and repulsed. “How bloody enchanting?” 

Thalia does not know how to answer that. 

He cackles again, though the mirth is gone, and turns away, scrubbing the water from his face with his palm. Thalia reaches forward, taking his elbow, and tries to think of what to say that won’t wreck everything. 

[rabbitenn]

TEARS OVER.

@highcollargirl requested: can you write sogo x fem reader where mc falls ill and sogo takes care of her and they kiss at the end.

ft. Osaka Sogo x fem! reader.

cw/genre: comfort/fluff.

Thank you for requesting, this is a very soft and sweet idea ! I hope it’s to your liking <3 I’m deeply sorry it took me so long to post it…

Everything seems blurry.

With weakening steps, you try to make it to the kitchen, perhaps you’re just dehydrated.

But no, this is wrong.

Why is it so hot? And what’s this coat of cold sweat drenching your clothes?

Just a little more…

Leaning against the wall, you finally make it to the kitchen, parched lips finally tasting the insipid sweetness of cool water.

And yet, the awful sensation doesn’t dissipate.

Your breathing grows heavier, it might be best to go back to bed.

Was the room always spinning, though?

This is bad, your legs can’t hold you anymore.

The last thing you remember before blackness engulfs you is the hard wooden floor hitting your knees and a subtle lavender fragrance, wrapping itself around you in balmy waves of softness.

—

You come to in a warm lit room.

Your room.

You remember exiting it this morning, but the way back to it… it’s all blurry.

Perhaps you dreamt it in your feverish state; however, you think you remember someone holding your body, a steady heartbeat lulling you into the peaceful sleep you hadn’t known for days.

Your lashes flutter open, the purple skies outside sending in dusk light into the space.

“You are finally awake, dear.” A soothing voice greets you.

Then, you register the pleasing sensation of someone caressing your hair, their movements soothing the heat and sweat.

And when you turn towards the voice you always loved to hear sing, your gaze meets one that matches the violet clouds of the crepuscular skies.

“So…” You call him, voice still hoarse from sleep and fever.

He brushes a few unruly strands away from your eyes, his touch so delicate; a barely there brush of butterfly wings against your flushed skin.

“How are you feeling?” Your lover asks, already knowing the answer can’t really be all that good, just by seeing your lidded eyes.

You stretch a little, sitting up in bed.

“Not great, honestly.” You mumble, bringing a hand to your forehead. Your thoughts are still fuzzy, a sharp pain piercing through them in chaotic disarray.

“I expected that much.” Sogo says, a concerned smile reaching his lips.

And it must be your jumbled mind, but you think a kiss from him would make all your pain disappear.

Before you can tell your boyfriend that, though, he adds:

“You should probably lie down for now, dearest. I’ll bring you some snacks, okay?”

Truth is, the prospect of eating your favorite treats sounds very tempting right now, but you don’t want Sogo to leave.

And you are aware you’re probably being childish and whiny, but you don’t care about that right now.

Before he can get up from the bed, the idol feels a slight tug on his sweater’s sleeve.

“Stay here…” You ask, as you look up at him.

And something in the way you ask, something about your tired tone, and your eyes that you’re struggling to keep focused, tugs at your partner’s heartstrings.

He could never say no to you, after all, could he?

Lashes of moonlit hyacinth brush against his cheekbones as he graces you with one of his tender expressions.

Under warm ironed covers, he joins you, the softness of his embrace a thousand times more comforting than any blanket. To be with him is to stand beneath demure lilac skies, a spring breeze gently touching every blossom, their fragrance wafting around and towards aster hued clouds.

You nuzzle against Sogo’s chest, as his lips tenderly place a kiss to your temples.

From between fluffy blankets, you look up at him.

His lips are too tempting for your dry lips.

You need him.

But at the same time, you don’t want him getting sick too… He has important work, both for IDOLiSH7 and MEZZO.

If he couldn’t perform because of you…

Your line of thought shatters at the call of your name, his voice barely above a whisper.

So’s face is millimeters away from yours, warm breaths mingling together.

And against yours, and his, better judgment, you both lean in.

Starlight and an horizon lined in shades of amethyst collide when his lips touch yours, a starry nebula, opening the gateway into a shared parenthesis in time, dyed in morning glories.

—

The next time you open your eyes, you are in a dim lit room.

You know this room.

Its walls have witnessed the affection shared between you and the man holding you close to his chest right now, after all.

“Good morning, So.” You whisper, planting a delicate kiss to his jawline. “I love you.” Are your words, before you cuddle against him, for a few more minutes of sweet dreamy indulgence.

Your boyfriend’s kisses were certainly the best medicine.

[brienneoftarth1989]

hi, how are you? can i request a fluff with a little hint of hurt/comfort brienne x reader? The reader is like training for a war or smth (maybe for the war in the long night episode) and the reader fainted while training. Brienne sees the reader full of cuts and she takes care of her (reader). If you can't write it, it's fine! And no pressure, take your time! 😚✨️

(sorry about my sh***y grammar btw 😅)

- 🦢

Thanks for the request. Hope this is ok!

The Long Night

Brienne of Tarth x fem reader

Summary: read request

Warnings: fighting

Requests open

———————————

The White Walkers are fast approaching. You have been at Winterfell for the last couple of months after travelling down from the wall. You were the only female at the wall so you were glad you were now surrounded by some other women. There was one woman who could fight better than most men here. Her name is Brienne and you were making it your mission to get as good as her in the time you had.

You have been training every day since you arrived and you still seemed to be struggling. Even the weakest of men seem to be defeating you. You stood no chance against the White Walkers when they eventually arrive. There was also no saying when they would turn up. They could show up tomorrow or they could show up in the next couple of months.

That's why you needed to make sure your training was the best it could be because who knew when the war would start. Your day started like most others waking up in a freezing cold room. The only downside to fires is that if you don’t keep feeding them they eventually die out.

Reluctantly you pulled yourself out of your bed and plodded over to the fireplace placing some more wood and restarting the fire. At least if you started a fire now your room would be warmer when you returned to it later. You got dressed into some more suitable clothing. A basic long sleeve top and trousers were fine in your room but out there in the cold you would likely get frostbite.

Once you were dressed in a couple layers of trousers and tops plus your winter coat you were ready to venture outside so you could head to the great hall to have breakfast. Breakfast was the same everyday. A chunk of bread and a mug of watered down wine. It wasn’t exactly filling but it was better than nothing.

You sat by yourself quite happy munching on your bread and drinking your wine just watching everything that was going on around you. Then you heard a chair next to you move. You looked up to see it was one of your only friends Yorick. “Hey Yorick, how are you this morning?” you asked him as he sat down with his bread and wine.

“I’m doing good. Looking forward to training later?” he asked you. “Absolutely not. I just can’t seem to get the hang of it. I’ve been training for months and I just don’t seem to be getting much better. I can tell you I’m going to be one of the first to die” you laughed to yourself but deep down you were petrified. “Oh don’t be so hard on yourself y/n. We have time to get your training up to speed. Come on, the sooner we finish eating the sooner we can start training again” Yorick said to you.

“Thanks Yorick you always know how to make me feel better” you smiled at him as you finished eating your food. Once you had finished eating you made your way back to your room so you could get changed into your armour so you could safely train. The room was much warmer when you arrived which made your whole body relax.

Once you were changed into something more suitable you headed outside where everyone was currently waiting for training to begin. You sighed to yourself because deep down you knew how today would end up, being humiliated by everyone else.

When you did finally make it down with everyone else you just stood with Yorick waiting for the better trained men to come down and teach you the basics. “I really don’t know why you bother showing up y/n, you never seem to pick anything up from training” one of the men said while laughing at you.

“Well at least she is trying,” Yorick said, piping up coming to your defence. “Yeah but we all know that she won’t last five minutes on that battlefield, the White Walkers are coming and we need good men and women to fight in this army. If she doesn’t buck her ideas up she may as well not fight” another man laughed.

Yorick was about to say something but you grabbed his hand and pulled him away. “Hey, what's up?” he asked. “They’re right, if I don’t get better at this training then there is a high chance I’m going to die when this war officially begins.” you sighed “Come on let's start training” you said, picking up a wooden sword and carrying it over to where everyone was practising.

You are Yorick trained for a couple of hours before having a rest to have something to eat. Lunch was rabbit pottage mixed with vegetables. This you could eat every day. It was nice and filled you up. After having something to eat you, Yorick and the rest of the men and women who had been training went back outside to continue.

However when you went out you noticed a tall armoured woman standing on one of the balconies. Oh please don’t say she is going to be in charge of training this afternoon. Don’t get me wrong you like Brienne but you always managed to make yourself look like a fool in front of her and she knows it too.

“Y/n a moment of your time” Brienne called down to you. Sighing you made your way up to Brienne to listen to what she had to say. “I’m going to be observing you in training today. If I don’t see any kind of improvement we are going to have to remove you from training and assign you some place else. You have a place in this war, fighting it upfront just may not be it” she said with a gentle look on her face.

“I won’t disappoint you Brienne” you said to her making eye contact the whole time. “I hope you’re not wrong. Now off you go” she said as you then turned on your feet making your way back down to where everyone was training. Knowing that Brienne was watching makes you really put in more effort not to mess up.

All was going smoothly until they asked you to switch sparring partners. You got partnered with one of the men that was making fun of you earlier. This was just typical but you sucked it up and got on with it. You were both fighting and for once you managed to disarm your sparring partner. You smiled to yourself before looking up to Brienne who was now smiling back at you.

However with your back turned you didn’t see how annoyed your sparring partner was and he managed to grab hold of a sword that would actually do some damage to you but you didn’t notice. You started sparing again but Brienne noticed something different about your partner's sword. Just as she was about to call everyone to a halt the worst happened.

“You don’t belong here” your partner yelled before taking his sword and running the blade along your face. You don’t remember much from then on. Everything became a blur really quickly. You could feel the blood running down your face, before seeing Brienne running towards you. You felt your body become off balance and before your body even hit the floor everything had gone black.

When you finally awoke all you could feel was pain. Your hand immediately went to your face hoping it was all a dream however when you felt the gash and immediate pain following you realised this was no dream. You naturally let out a groan due to the pain and that’s when you heard someone move in the corner.

You watched as the person stood tall and you immediately knew it was Brienne. “What happened?” you groaned. “The man you were training for whatever reason decided to attack you. I thought his sword looked different but just as I was about to call everyone to a stop it was too late” she sighed looking at the nasty gash you now had over your face.

“Is it bad?” you asked Brienne sitting up slightly in your bed. “Yes y/n it is. When you passed out I took you straight to your room. I stopped the bleeding, cleaned out your wound, stitched it up and covered it the best I could to stop it from getting infected. I’ve given you milk of the poppy as well to help with the pain so if you feel sleepy that's why” she said to you standing up to leave.

“I also noticed you have quite a lot of small cuts on your body from training. I would really like you to take care of yourself. Those other cuts may be small but they too can lead to infection. Now I’m going to let you rest. I will see you tomorrow” she said but just as she was about to open the door to leave you grabbed her attention.

“Wait! I don’t want to be alone, Brienne. Can you please stay with me tonight? I’m scared that guy is going to come back and finish me off” you said, starting to sob quietly. “Oh y/n, I wouldn’t normally but considering your hurt I will tonight. As for that so-called man he is being punished for what he did to you. We need all the men and women we need right now so fuck knows why he was trying to kill you” she sighed getting fustrated.

You watched as Brienne took off her armour making herself more comfortable but still kept, oathkeeper nearby just in case anything were to happen. “I’m going to train you” Brienne blurted out. You looked up shocked.

“Really! You’re going to train me?” you asked, getting all excited. “Yes but once you have healed enough. We are limited on time but we will train one on one every morning and evening and I expect you to attend mandatory training as well” Brienne said sitting on the bed next to you.

You couldn’t help but smile “Thank you Brienne” you said as you finally felt the effects of the medication that Brienne had given you. Once Brienne knew you were asleep she tucked you in making sure you were comfortable.

But she didn’t leave. She stayed the whole night making sure the fire had wood on it and that you and your wounds were ok. She truly did care for you.

[mxstellatayte]

metal, nuts, bolts, and a hell of a lot of blaster residue (chapter 6.)

din djarin x female mechanic reader.

chapter 6 word count: 4.7k

warnings/tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader is a mechanic, found family, din djarin speaks mando'a, din and reader are both very touch starved, i don't know how fictional money works, din djarin is a bottom, smut written and proofread by an asexual, din and reader have ptsd, canon is dead and i killed it, no use of y/n

It was a quiet night, one spent on Sorgan laying low from Imperial and hunters’ ships alike. Your emotions had gotten the better of you, and you’d started an argument about a stupid topic. You’d tried to keep it from escalating, but he’d pressed, and it threw you off your rocker, unaccustomed to having someone care this deeply about you. You stormed out of the Crest, plopping yourself down on a blanket Mando had set out next to the fire and zipping your jacket up to somewhat protect you from the biting cold. Tears stream down your face silently as you watch the flames dance in the night, flowing along the dried wood and slowly using all of its fuel until it eventually dies. You aren’t sure just how long you sit outside, but it’s enough that you have to add more wood to the fire from the small pile next to you. You hear him approaching you from behind, his heavy steps on the ramp echoing throughout the small clearing, and you hastily wipe what’s left of your tears from your cheeks. It’s so late that Grogu is likely asleep at this point, and he sits down to your right. He’s changed out of his armor, but keeps a blaster on his hip and that damned helmet on his head. You refuse to look at him, to acknowledge his presence, but when he looks over at you, you can’t help but glance over. His visor, looking at you, seems inhuman, impersonal. But you know the man underneath it and trust him. At least, you think you trust him. You know you want to trust him. 

“I’m going to be okay, you know,” you mutter, hoping to get the point across with as little talking as possible to hide the cry-induced quiver in your voice. “I’m not some damsel in emotional distress that you need to swoop in and save. I’ll recover from a stupid argument over a stupid topic.”

“I know you will, but I want to make sure that you’re safe out here. Sorgan has some sketchy people.” His voice is deep and rich, crackling through the modulator in his helmet. You can’t tell if the waver in his voice is because he’s been crying or because his modulator needs repairs. Either way, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever find out. “Don’t want you getting jumped or anything.”

“I have a blaster, and you know damn well I can protect myself,” you spit out, slightly bitter he hasn’t come out to check on you after the argument. Your voice shakes slightly and you can feel tears welling rapidly, threatening to spill over with any second. You try to wipe them away with the sleeve of your shirt, but more fall, and you give up. 

“I also came out here…” Mando says, hesitating before continuing. You turn slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “I came out here to tell you that an argument like that won't matter in two weeks. We'll have a bonding experience, probably not unlike our many before…” He pauses, and you laugh lightly, knowing damn well what “bonding experiences” he's talking about- the many near-death moments the two of you have had together, moments with lots of screaming involved and quickly followed with breathless laughter with both of you either flat on the floor of the hull or staring through the window of the cockpit in shock. Those were some of your favorite moments- they were raw, personal, honest moments of unfiltered Mando that you rarely saw, and, if you were being true to yourself, moments you let your put-together, professional façade falter and let yourself remove your mask even if for just a moment. “And we'll get over it. I'll get over it. I let my ego get ahead of me today, and if it ever happens again, you have full permission to whack my helmet with a beskar hammer to knock some sense into me.” You're really laughing now, the last few tears squeaking their way out of your eyes. 

“Thank you, Mando. And I'm sorry, too. This week every year is always rough for me. It's around when my family…” you trail off, not needing to explain any further. You'd told him one night, both of you drunk six ways from Sunday on some shitty back alley moonshine you’d haggled down twenty credits from a street vendor on Tatooine, how your town had been taken by the Empire just weeks before your eighteenth name day, your mother and father massacred like every other adult unwilling to submit to the Empire. How your younger brother, barely fourteen, was ripped from your arms, kicking and screaming against the Stormtroopers pulling him away from you as you were dragged in the opposite direction. How the last words you'd told him were a promise to find him: “Look for the flowers.” How so far, in the past ten years, you’d failed at that promise, although you'd never stopped looking for the small drawings the two of you would leave each other inside of your lunch packs each day before school. A small drawing of a flower, one native to your planet before all nature had been obliterated and replaced with inorganic and geometric Empire bases, with your initials on one of the petals drawn on whatever paper you could find- napkins, notebook paper, business cards, even carved into desks at school if you could. You'd only found the ones you'd drawn so far, the occasional one carved into a dashboard in a ship or, in your last few days before defection, keyed into the fuel tank of some TIE fighters or interceptors sent to your bay for repairs. The two of you sit in silence again, time stretching as you watch the flames flicker, slowly diminishing into embers before Mando adds another log, the flames licking into the bark and catching the dry wood in its flames rapidly. You occasionally poke at it with the stick in your hands, boredom and awkwardness eating at you. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. I was dumb and started a stupid argument over nothing. I'm sorry about that.”

“Hey, I just told you it'll be okay. And I'm sorry I pressed. I didn't know it was around now that it had all happened.” You're looking at him fully, your shoulders turned slightly towards him. Something about him seems different, and he rubs the pads of his fingers against the heel of his hand. He seems tense, anxious, even. “We've had too many near death experiences to hate each other over one argument.” 

“You can say that again.”

He looks at you again, the sharp angles of his helmet and visor a striking contrast to the softness of his body beneath it- it makes him seem less of a menacing figure, something to be feared, and more… human. More real. A warm feeling floods your cheeks and the hairs on the back of your arms and neck stand on end, and you hope he can't tell that he's the cause of it. He breathes deeply, a heavy inhale and exhale flooding his body. “I've been wanting to tell you this for a long time, and frankly, I don't really know how to say it. And I could be wrong about what I think it is, but I'm pretty sure it's just… I think I might be acting the way I am because I might love you?”

The sudden confession strikes you like a ton of scrap metal, and you realize how bare the situation is. How pure. How vulnerable. You’re sitting in front of the fire on a forested planet in the middle of the Outer Rim, your guard down, and the Mandalorian sitting next to you is declaring his love for you. “Come again?”

“You're so easy to love,” he continues, and you’re suddenly struck by the juxtaposition of the Mandalorian, unleashing every raw emotion in his body yet keeping the helmet on as a sense of security rather than to keep his Creed. “The way your eyes light up whenever I ask you about anything relating in the slightest to weapons or mechanics, the way you act around the kid, the way you run off on Nevarro to go get that tea that, without fail, you make the same way every damned night, and bother everyone you know, the way you're so unafraid to be yourself… It's so easy to love you. And I don't know why I haven't told you sooner, why I've kept it bottled up for so long, but Maker, please don't hate me.”

You're, quite frankly, stunned. The fact that this tall, brooding, put-together, touch-me-and-you-die Mandalorian could love someone as chaotic, bouncing-off-the-walls unhinged as you is shocking. And you have to admit it, you're glad he mustered up the courage to tell you first because otherwise you wouldn't ever have been able to tell him. So, like any sensible person would do, you start laughing. Sure, it probably isn't the nicest thing to do being that he just gave you a whole speech about the reasons why he loves you, but it's the only response your body can come up with at the moment. 

“Shit,” you hear him mutter, and he begins to stand up before you grab his wrist in your hand and pull him back down to the blanket, incessant giggles still wracking your body. 

“Fuck, Mando, you're going to make me insane. And Maker almighty am I glad you told me first because otherwise I never would've been able to tell you that I love you, too.” You've calmed down, wiping the tears of laughter away from the corners of your eyes. “I've loved you since you saved my life on Nevarro. The first time,” you clarify, the first time being the explosion in your hangar and the second being the time the volcanic planet had unexpected seismic activity leading to a lot of ash and smoke in your lungs around two months later.

Mando laughs, full and real. You smile, resisting the urge to throw yourself into his arms and squeeze him like he’s a childhood friend that you hadn't seen in years. “So we've been pining after each other for, what? Three months?”

“Sounds like it,” you laugh, tears brimming your eyes once more. “We really are idiots, huh?”

“A couple of complete morons,” he agrees. “And it's about time I tell you my name. My given name. Not Mando, not Mand’alor. The name my parents gave me.” You wait with bated breath as he pauses, and you feel him take a deep breath before he speaks again. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Din. The name stirs butterflies in your stomach, and this time you can't help but throw yourself across the blanket with your arms flinging themselves around his annoyingly small waist. He falls backward with a laugh, letting your weight settle atop him like a human weighted blanket. His hands come to rest at your hips, holding you close, and your arms stay around his middle, your hands squished slightly under his back. “Well then, Din, I love you. And I won't stop loving you for a long, long time. And by a long, long time, I mean forever.” 

Mando- no, Din- laughs beneath you, his chest shaking your whole body and large hands resting on your hips. “I love you, too. And I would burn down the galaxy for you, cyare.” There it was, that word- cyare. What it meant, you'd never asked. But now, the moment so intimate, so personal, you can't help but ask the question digging at you. 

“What does that mean? Cyare? You've been saying it for a while and I never asked.” You weave your fingers together and rest them on Din’s chest, resting your chin atop your knuckles. 

Din stares up at the starry sky through his visor as he talks. “It's Mando’a for… beloved? Beloved or darling. It's a term of endearment. And cyar’ika means my beloved or my sweetheart.” You can't help but think back to every time he's called you those names, unknowing that every time he did, it was a little declaration of his love that only he understood. And every time he called you cyar’ika, he was calling you his. His and no one else's. The thought alone makes something stir deep inside you, something hungry and primal. You watch the expanse of skin you can see, albeit small, stirring up the courage to shift up, ever so slightly, and press a kiss to the small amount of olive skin you can see, just below his jaw. Your face is angled in just the right way so that the bridge of your nose bumps slightly against the Beskar of his helmet, making you both giggle like a pair of teenagers holding hands, running to someone’s car after sneaking out, hoping your parents don’t catch you. 

“So every time you called me cyare, it was your way of saying you loved me without saying it explicitly?”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess it was.” 

“I guess I should’ve brushed up on my Mando’a sooner, then, huh.” Your comment makes both of you laugh, and you move your arms down to wrap around his ribcage and rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You aren’t sure how long you lay there, but you might be drifting off to sleep before you feel that Din’s hands are moving from your hips up, ghosting along your waist before you hear the quiet hissing of his helmet that you’ve learned to associate with averting your eyes purely out of respect for his Creed. 

“Din, don't. Don't abandon your Creed. I know how much it matters to you.” You hold his wrists in your hands, preventing him from pulling the helmet up any further. You battle internally, part of you so strongly wanting to see his face and another part of you wishing for him to keep his creed, the very thing he's sworn to for Maker knows how long. 

“You matter more to me than any creed I could ever take.” With that, his wrists pull free from your grip, and his helmet is sliding up, revealing inch by inch of his face. A scruffy beard, soft lips, an angular yet gentle nose, and the darkest, most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen. The color reminds you of something familiar, something from your homeworld, but you can’t put your finger on it. Din’s barely fully removed his helmet before you're kissing him, your hands cupping the sides of his face and feeling the soft yet prickly scruff that dots his chin and upper lip. His lips are soft, warm, and inviting, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer, and when your hips grind against his, you gasp from the sudden and unexpected stimulation. “Fuck, cyare. You feel so good, taste so good.” Hearing his voice, his real, unmodulated voice, makes you whimper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck in embarrassment. He laughs, something whole and rich, a laugh unlike any you've heard before. Forget the small feeling you felt when he called you his, you're fully turned on now. 

“You can’t say shit like that, Din,” you whine, your voice slightly muffled by his shoulder. “You know what it does to me.”

“I guess we should remedy that, then, huh?” If you had thought your face couldn’t get any hotter before, you might as well be on fire now. You can feel the slick gathering between your folds, and you try to shift your hips slightly so that you can straddle one of Din’s thick thighs in search of the smallest modicum of friction. While you think you’re being subtle, you’re most definitely doing all but that. He picks up on what you’re trying to do and lifts his leg, throwing you forward and forcing you to catch yourself, your hands on either side of his head as your hair falls in front of your face.

“Yeah,” you pant. “Yeah, we probably should.” You lift your arm up and hold it above his face, following his eyeline as he sees your hair elastic around your wrist and immediately understands the unspoken instruction. He pulls the elastic off of your wrist and places it between his teeth as he pulls your hair back into the messiest ponytail known to the entire universe, tying it together at the base of your skull. As you lean back down to kiss Din with more fire and fervor than you’ve ever kissed anyone before, your cunt rubs in the most perfect way it possibly could against his crotch, and you realize that he’s just as turned on as you are. The pressure causes both of you to groan, your lips separating just barely, the air between you mixing with your ragged breaths. Din trembling ever so slightly under you. You grin wildly at the sound he makes when you rub yourself back down on him, the whine that pulls itself out of his throat blessing your ears more than any religious deity ever could.

“Please- nghh- need you so bad.” You look down at him as you continue to grind against him, and, if the light were better, you would see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes before they fall. “Feels so good. Jus’- jus’ need- agh- need you.”

“I knew you were a good boy,” you coo, and your words only further deteriorate Din’s current state. An open-mouthed kiss placed on his pulse point quickly turns into a hickey, and, paired with a particularly perfect grind down onto his clothed cock, he grips onto your shirt and he cums into his pants with a broken moan, the excess warmth seeping through his pants and your own. You smile against his neck, now satisfied with your work, and placing a gentle peck on the red spot where you’re sure a small bruise will be visible tomorrow. You wait a few moments for Din to return to his body and gently wipe away the tear tracks that have paved their way down his cheeks, looking at how absolutely beautiful he looks in his post-orgasmic mental haze and murmuring quiet praises as his breathing slows and the grip on your shirt loosens. “You okay there?”

“You…” Din breathes, his eyes still slightly foggy, “are a goddess.” You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your legs tighten slightly around his own, dropping down and hugging him tightly. Your cunt meets his softening dick and he cries out, a delicious sound that's a mixture of painful and pleasurable overstimulation. With the sounds he’s been making and the friction between your two bodies, though, you’re way too turned on to up and leave to your bed, so you pull back after a moment, a glint in your eye that Din identifies as the one that typically makes its appearances right before you were about to cause potentially illegal levels of mayhem. There’s something slightly different to this one, though- he can’t pinpoint quite what it is, but before he can think about it too much, you’re reaching down to unbutton your black jeans and unzip the fly, shoving them down your legs and off of your ankles with a practiced precision. “Oh, so you want me to return the favor?” He quirks an eyebrow playfully and you smirk, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, no, baby, you’re going to do so much more than that,” you purr, and suddenly, Din can identify that glint in your eyes that he saw: what else could it be besides lust? He’s fumbling at the button and fly on his own pants, the material nearly soaked through with cum at the front, kicking them down his legs and off his feet as fast as his post-nut clarity will allow. 

“Jus’ wanna be inside you,” he pants, his face flushed and dick already half-hard purely from the thought of finally, finally getting to fuck you properly. “‘Ve wanted to be inside you since I first saw you.”

“What, when Karga introduced us?” You watch his facial expressions contort as he wraps a hand around his dick, stroking himself as much as he can without crying out of sensitivity. 

“‘Fore that. A long time before that, cyare. I’d seen you at the tavern with your friend- ah- a few months before I needed your help.” His eyebrows knit together, his head thrown back onto the blanket, and you take a fistful of his hair and force him to look at you, eliciting a loud groan from the back of his throat. 

“You’d been looking at me for that long?” Your voice is so low it might just qualify as a growl, a dark look in your eyes that makes the breath in his lungs catch, the hand on his dick freeze, and his mouth hang open mid-moan. Without a second thought, you spit between his open lips, and you could swear you feel his dick twitch where it rests against your inner thigh. “Now’s your chance to fuck me. If I were you, I’d take advantage.” The cogs are turning in Din’s mind, and, with a wiggle of your hips, your slick smearing on the underside of his dick, you realize a plan has formed in his mind.

“Up, please,” he whimpers, his left hand pushing your hips up slightly so that he can align his tip with your entrance, and, as you slowly sink down, your hot cunt finally, finally surrounding him, any and all coherent thoughts he may have had fly from his brain. The only thing he knows and understands in the whole galaxy is you, you, you; your smell, the feeling of you on top of him, your thighs around his hips and your calves caging in his thighs, your nails digging into his chest, balancing perfectly between pain and pleasure- it’s the most overwhelming thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to get enough of it. You, on the other hand, are no better off, your chest heaving and your quads burning as you slowly lower yourself down onto him as you get accustomed to the stretch. When his tip brushes past your g-spot, you moan high and long, your head falling onto your right shoulder. The feeling of your thighs finally settling onto his, though, is what makes both of you moan in unison, your clit brushing ever-so-slightly against his twitching ab muscles as you finally rest your weight on him. 

“Oh… my gods,” you sigh, and you can feel the sweat beading along your hairline and on the back of your neck, a combination of your racing heart and the dying fire next to you. An experimental shift of your weight pulls a groan that quickly turns into a moan from Din, the feeling of you around him being nearly enough to make him cum. He’s waited for this for so, so long, and there’s no way he’s going to let himself cum that fast the first time he fucks you properly. He looks down to where you’re straddling his hips, and, when you shift again, his eyes roll back into his head but not before he sees the bulge on your tummy caused by… him. His eyes trace back up your body, along your waist, your heaving chest, the arms that lead to the hands that rest on his chest, and your face, hair everywhere but the hair tie and cheeks flushed as you roll your hips again, relishing in the feeling of your clit rubbing against his happy trail with every rock of your weight. “Oh, fuck, Din-”

A moan, high and pitchy, of your name sends a tsunami of tingles down, down, straight down to the bottom of your stomach, and you could swear that the noise he made sent you light years closer to your orgasm. “Please. Please just let me fuck you. Please let me make you feel good- ah- ‘n return the favor.”

You want to be coy, sassy, and essentially just a little shit, but the haze of pure horniness and pleasure fogging your mind robs you of that ability. Instead, all you can do is look down at him, and fuck does he look gorgeous. His face is half-lit by the flames, his mouth hangs open, his eyes are half-lidded and the coffee-brown pupils blend perfectly into his irises in the limited light. All you can croak out is a pitiful “please do” before he’s flipping you over, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and wrapping his arms around your torso.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good you won’t even know your name by the end,” he says, his voice deep and rich in your ear. You can only gasp in response as his hips start fucking into you and quickly finds what makes you moan and writhe the most. His thrusts focus on depth more than speed, but when he reaches an arm down and finds your clit as you twitch against him and moan, that’s exactly what he goes for. Timing the circles around your clit with his hips, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his absurdly small waist, pulling him down, closer to you.

“Din- s’ good. Please, please, just don’t stop- ngh- don’t fucking stop.” Pulling him closer somehow made his thrusts even more perfect, and your mouth hangs open over his shoulder, your eyes wide as you keen out a high-pitched moan. Your orgasm is so close, and your fingers tightening in his curls makes him understand that. Against your expectations (not like your brain could come up with any coherent thoughts, much less expectations about sex,) Din doesn’t speed up, instead focusing on depth and angling his hips just so that his entire cock runs against your g-spot, and his fingers on your clit work double time. “Oh my fuck, mi amor, ‘m cumming, oh gods-” He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, and your eyes squeeze shut as your back contracts, arching up into him and maintaining as much contact with his body as you possibly can. Your cunt tightening and twitching around him is almost what sends Din over the edge, but he’s somehow able to muster up one thought.

“Where?”

It’s a simple question, but it’s one you understand without any further elaboration. “Inside, baby. Inside.” The tail end of your orgasm is wearing off, and Din’s hips stutter through two final thrusts before you’re feeling the warmth of his cum mixing with yours. He croaks out a cracked, stuttered moan before his hips jerk erratically and when he catches his breath, you fall backwards onto the blanket, every single muscle in your body going limp. The post-orgasmic haze settles over the two of you comfortably, and he rests his head in the crook of your shoulder as his dick softens inside of you. 

You aren’t sure how long you lay there while the two of you rearrange your brain cells inside of your heads and lower your heart rates to something somewhat normal, and you don’t even feel yourself drifting off to sleep, but Din notices your breathing shift and the circles you’ve been tracing on his shoulder blade slow, and pulls out of you gently, untangling his limbs from yours as carefully as he can. He silently picks up your clothes, places them all on the blanket next to you, and kicks the fire out. You’re somewhere between being awake and falling asleep, so you aren’t sure if it’s entirely real when a pair of arms gently pick you up, carry you up a ramp, and set you in a warm bed. You are asleep, however, when Din returns with a washcloth, damp with warm water, and cleans your upper thighs and folds as best as he can without waking you, then tucks the covers up to your shoulders just the way you normally do, making sure there’s enough room around your neck so that you can breathe but still feel enclosed by the blankets. You are asleep when he places a kiss to your forehead and says, so quietly he’s not even sure the Maker heard it, a set of words unfamiliar to his tongue.

“Kar’taylir darasuum gar, cyare.”

[slippinmickeys]

Madam Scully’s Spiritual Services, Inc. (5/?)

He still wasn’t certain why he’d walked into the fortune teller’s shop. He was sure however, about why he’d stayed long enough for a reading.

It had been a blisteringly hot day at Quantico, one in which they were running outside, and one of the few nights the cadets had off, allowed to leave the Marine Base where they were housed and trained. Everyone had been close to heat stroke when they finished their five miles, Mulder included, but to him, a night out drinking with his classmates held little appeal. His plan, such as it had been, was to grab something to eat and study for the upcoming Legal II exam — a test even seasoned attorneys sometimes failed — but every restaurant he passed looked less appealing than the one before it. Until he saw the sign for El Compadre. A few tacos and a cold coke were just the thing.

But when he got out of his old Land Rover to head into the taqueria, he’d glanced into the window of the fortune teller’s shop next door and had seen the woman sitting behind the counter, her head bent low as though she were reading. Even through the grimy window, her hair shone like polished copper, and her skin was dewy with sweat. He was intrigued by her rather than struck dumb and had paused outside, reading the smattering of signs in the window. “Heal your past, learn your future” said one. “Walk-ins welcome,” said another. Well, he was a walk-in. And he did just that.

The inside was fusty and warm, an oscillating fan in the corner moving around a thick, stolid breeze. The decor inside was all kitsch, its shelves filled with new age crap; crystals and geodes, and lots of purple and black velvet. And when the woman looked up? The ice cave blue of her eyes fixing on him, well…

She led him through the door now, the night not nearly as uncomfortably hot as it had been the first time, and they were met by a taller, willowy woman who Mulder assumed was the “real” Madam Scully. She was a couple of years older than Dana, her hair a darker auburn. She wore bangles on her wrists, and a flowy, flower print dress over a white capped-sleeve tee shirt.

Dana inclined her head. “My sister,” she said.

The woman gave him a frank, penetrating look.

“Madam Scully, I presume?” Mulder said, holding out a hand.

“Melissa,” she said, putting a limp four fingers in his grasp, which he shook clumsily.

“This is Fox Mulder,” said Scully, looking between them a little awkwardly.

“Ah,” Melissa said. “So you’re the guy who brought the spirits into my shop and then left without paying.”

Mulder gave her a chagrined look. “I have rectified the latter,” he said. “But hoping you could help me with the former.”

Melissa stared hard at her sister before turning back to him.

“No,” she said firmly.

He and Scully both said “What?” at the same time.

Melissa sighed. “I’m happy to act as an advisor,” she said. “To both of you. But this spirit didn’t come to me. She came to you.” She turned to Scully. “And you . I am not a part of this triad.”

“But-“ Scully started, but Melissa held up a hand, and turned back to Mulder.

“Someone wants to communicate with you. You need to decide if you’re ready and willing to hear what they have to say. You may not like it.”

“And you,” she said, turning back to her sister and letting what Mulder assumed to be frustration leach into her voice. “You can’t dabble in this world while looking down your nose at it. You may not believe in these spirits, Dana, but one of them certainly believes in you.”

Scully paled and Melissa’s tone took on a more sympathetic bent. “We’ve been through so much.” She reached forward and put a delicate hand on Scully’s cheek. “You tried to pass through this door when Mom and Dad died, and now it’s standing wide open. Are you able to walk through it now?”

Melissa looked steadily at both of them and then turned and walked into the back of the shop, leaving them standing awkwardly in the small lobby. Scully looked shaken, stiff, and Mulder wanted to reach out to touch her, but didn’t dare.

He was about to open his mouth to say something but Scully’s quiet voice came first.

“She’s right,” she said, finally looking up at him. “I did try to talk to them. Our parents. I wanted to know if they… I wanted to know what happened to them. I wanted justice.”

He nodded at her.

“All I got was silence.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the shop.

He gave her a moment and then followed. She had walked back out to the picnic table, and was sitting at it, looking small and dejected.

Mulder gingerly slid in next to her.

“That must have been hard,” he said. He could picture her in the little back room, desperate to reconnect just one more time. He was certainly familiar with the impulse. It was why he was here in the first place.

“It was,” she said. “But I know you’ve been through something similar.” She leaned her shoulder into his. “When you think about it,” she went on. “We both just want answers.”

Mulder nodded, sighed. “Yeah,” he said, the wheels in his head turning.

He turned to her after a moment.

“I don’t know what to make of all this,” he said. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen. But what if…”

When he trailed off, she looked up. Her eyes were watery, but wide and bright. It took him a moment to remember what he was going to say.

“I’ve been assigned to work in VICAP,” he said. “When I graduate in a couple of weeks. That’s the violent crimes unit at the Bureau. And I was thinking… Maybe we could get answers for each other.”

“How?” She wanted to know.

A frog in the knot of trees across the street began to make its nighttime noises. He took in her profile; her delicate chin, her Roman nose, and inhaled deeply, the smell of hot tar and cumin thick in the air.

“If you’re willing to help me talk to my sister…” She gave him a dubious look, but didn’t stop him. “I’m willing to bet I can get my hands on the casefile from your parents' deaths. Maybe there’s something in there the police missed.”

Her eyebrows rose slowly.

“So you want to make a deal, is that it?”

For a brief moment he was thinking yes, if that means I can see you again. But instead, he said:

“A mutually beneficial arrangement.” He smiled at her. “I have the resources and expertise to help you, and… Well, you have the same for me.”

“So it’s a business arrangement?” she asked. Did he detect a hint of disappointment in her voice?

“If you like,” he said.

She thought about it for a moment, licked her lips, then stuck out her hand for a handshake.

“Okay,” she said. Her grip was strong, firm, the opposite of her sister’s. “You have a deal, Mulder.”