#I love how his posture is so polite but his resting face is just

[timethehobo]

Thinking about his intense resting face.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 piña colada

synopsis: some women just can't take a hint... good thing Zoro's only got eyes for one girl.

cw: nsfw (oral: female receiving), this woman is really shameless, surprisingly tender Zoro, you two are so in love, kinda magical ngl, etc.

"Hey, there," a woman—who was in the tiniest bikini known to man—hummed, tone low as she approached the lounge chair. "I don't think I've seen you on this island before."

'For fuck's sake...'

Annoyed, Zoro let a heavy sigh out from his nose, not even bothering to glance in the girl's direction as his sunglasses shaded his harsh side eye.

You'd think after seeing eight other women walk dejectedly away from his umbrella, the others would catch the hint?

"Not interested," he stated, curtly, hands firmly tucked behind his head as he looked out to sea.

The woman chuckled, softly, completely ignoring his comment and taking a seat in the sand.

She sat criss-crossed, dropping her hands in her lap and using her arms to slightly push her tits together, attempting to endearingly lean closer to your swordsman.

"Don't be so hasty," she sweetly smiled, taking his rudeness in stride. "Haven't even given me the chance to speak."

"Well, that's 'cause I really don't give a shit what you say otherwise," he sighed, shutting his eyes.

"I can name ten other men off the top of my head that would beg to differ," she countered, slyly.

"I'm not other men."

"You certainly aren't..."

'Walked right into that one.'

His brows flattened, and for a moment he wondered if this was a real person talking, slightly glancing around to see if he could find a camera crew of some sort.

Yet, to his surprise, there was none.

"I have a girlfriend," he dealt the finishing blow, delivering the final line that scared away all the other women from before.

He could finally get some peace and quiet.

"I don't see her here," the woman shrugged, simply, as if what he just said made no difference to her.

Zoro threw his head back with an irritated groan, wanting nothing more than to drop kick the woman away and go back to napping.

This was all Luffy and Usopp's fault.

The crew had been docked on a tropical summer island for a few days, and for all of them, you and Zoro had gone down to the beach together and lounged in the sun—tanning, napping, eating, and drinking in rotation.

But on that particular day, the boys had whisked you away to go explore some cove they found on the beach's edge, leaving your swordsman to fend off the wolves by himself.

And at first, it wasn't that bad.

The girls that approached were polite and had pure intentions, and actually respected his wishes when he said he was uninterested.

But numbers four through eight?

Hell, the woman sitting next to him?

Less so.

"Are you deaf or somethin'?" he asked, brows furrowed as he sat up, not appreciating her comment at all. "I already told you, I'm not interested. So get lost."

"Oh, c'mon," she rolled her eyes with a laugh. "There's no way you actually have a girlfriend. No girl in her right mind would leave her man alone on a beach like this, especially if he was as handsome as you."

"Maybe that's why she's my girlfriend and you're not," he scoffed, sarcastically.

Her brow twitched, the remark clearly striking a nerve as her posture suddenly straightened, her sickeningly sweet tone turning sour in a second.

"Well then, maybe your girlfriend can step up and we can see who's really the shit," she spat, standing from her spot in the sand. "Since she's so fuckin' great, let's see how she fares in a fight."

A smirk rose to the woman's lips, her hand coming to rest cockily on her hip.

"I might not look it, but I'm this island's martial arts champion... And I've yet to lose a fight. So let's see how she does with her face in the sand."

Zoro paused a moment, almost disbelieving, lifting up his sunglasses and taking a breath to see if the woman was serious.

She was.

Deadly serious, actually.

'HA!'

The man threw his head back in a burst of uproarious laughter, the sound causing the woman to jolt with surprise, and slight fear.

She'd never seen his expressions range anything past annoyance, so seeing him so amused seemed almost uncanny, especially since he was nearly howling with hilarity.

But he couldn't help himself.

You, the woman with a bounty over one billion?

You, the woman with the devil fruit of the personified spirit of death?

You, the woman who has fought literal monsters with her bare hands?

Lose to a random martial arts lady on a peaceful summer island?

It was almost too much.

The woman's brows furrowed, face warming at the mockery.

"The hell's so funny?!" she huffed with a childish pout.

Attempting to regain his composure, he wiped a tear from his eye, slightly clutching his stomach as his laughs died down.

"She'd fuckin' kill you," he chuckled, shoulders bobbing. "Like actually."

Furious, the woman broke into a long-winded tirade about why she would win... or how badly you would lose... or something along those lines.

If he was being honest, he zoned out the moment she started talking, something more interesting seeming to catch his eye.

You.

Like a dog with a bone, he watched, mesmerized, as you made your way over, hips looking ripe and tender for the grabbing.

'Goddamn...'

After days in the sun, you'd developed a delectably smooth tan, the sunscreen you had him apply earlier giving your skin an alluring shine.

Eyes scanning over your body, he took in the light (f/c) of your bikini, which had a few complimentary, (o/c) flowers decorating its corners, along with the waist beads resting lazily over your stomach, not to mention the gold anklets and bracelets that littered your ankles and wrists.

You looked good enough to eat—a thought he didn't mind indulging in later.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" the woman continued pestering him, her hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

Huge mistake.

Faster than she could even see, Zoro grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand off and staring her down with a deadly glare, his patience long since run thin.

The woman froze, fear slowly creeping into her chest at the sharpness of his eyes.

He looked like he had half the mind to slit her throat right there.

"I'm only gonna tell you this one last time..." he warned, tone leaving no room for argument. "Get. Lost."

Roughly, he let go of her, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, scurrying back over to the safety of her friend's towel just as you arrived.

"Hey, Zo'!" you chirped, taking a seat on your swordsman's lap as you took a sip of your cocktail, which was in a cut-off coconut.

"Hey, pretty," he greeted with a smirk, placing a kiss on your neck. "Whatchu got there?"

"Some kinda coconut-rum drink," you answered, plucking the pineapple off the rim and taking a bite out of it. "The guy at the bar called it a Piña Colada."

Zoro nodded, "S'it any good?"

"Might be a bit too sweet for you," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But try it."

Leaning forward, he sipped a bit from the straw, his nose scrunching slightly.

It was incredibly sweet.

"Yeah, I figured as much," you giggled, amused by his expression as you took it back. "By the way, who was that girl that went running away from here? She looked scared."

Slightly, you leaned over to glance at her, who was sitting not too far away, and raised a brow as she quickly turned around, terrified by your gaze. 

'The hell?'

"Was she in trouble or somethin'?"

Zoro chuckled, knowingly, his hand sliding up your side to give your hip a lackadaisical squeeze. 

"Nah," he shook his head, finally leaning back and allowing himself to relax in the chair. "Just needed help takin' a hint."

"So... I miss anything while you were on your trip with Luffy?" Zoro asked with a smile, slowly gliding his oar through the sparkling ocean.

You lit up with excitement, suddenly reminded of the events of the day.

"I wish I dragged you along! You woulda loved it," you sighed, leaning back in your spot in the canoe. "Turns out this island isn't as peaceful as we thought. When we went to the edge of the beach, we found tons of monster-sized crabs and lobsters, all of them strong as hell."

You smirked, holding up your fist.

"Me an' Luffy made a game over who could beat the most, while Usopp kept count. And we ended up in a draw."

'Damn.'

That blew his day fighting off women right out the water.

He should've gone with you.

"What about you? Anything interesting happen while I was away?" you asked.

"Eh," he shrugged, moving his oar to the other side. "Nothin' worth mentioning. My day was honestly pretty boring."

But he was hoping to change that.

While you were gone, he found Nami and Robin on the beach, and managed to weave through theirs sea of admirers in order to ask some advice.

Things had been going really great between the two of you, and since you were always so good with surprising him with gifts and gestures, he wanted to try his hand at it.

Of course, he had no idea where to begin.

And while Nami was little to no help, spending most of the time talking his ear off about how brutish and hopeless he was, Robin recommended taking you out to the nearby cove for a romantic night.

So, after scrounging up his island allowance and buying some booze and a canoe, he swept you away, all of the day's tribulations fading to the back of his mind as he watched you sit down in his lap.

"Y'know, this is really sweet of you, Zoro," you smiled, your fingers carefully tracing the scar across his chest. "Makin' me feel all special..."

He nodded, eyes raking over your face with an almost analytical look.

God, you were so fuckin' pretty.

It was almost baffling.

If he wasn't in this canoe—

"Figured you deserved something nice," he cleared his throat, warding off the less than decent thoughts creeping into his head.

He couldn't keep the romance up if he was too busy thinking about jumping your bones.

But little did he know... you were thinking the same thing.

Shifting your position, you rested your knees on either side of him, smoothly moving to bury your face in his neck, placing firm, meaningful kisses on his flesh. 

Instinctively, the man leaned into your touch, one of his hands coming up to steady you at the small of your back, while the other continued to paddle.

Gliding your manicured hands up his body, you rested them on his strong shoulders, using them for purchase as you continued to nip at him.

His chest rumbled with a deep hum at the feeling, relishing in the way your lips felt against his pulse point, sucking a hickey onto his skin.

Yet, just as it was getting good, you pulled away with a soft pop, moving to obscure his view of the water.

"I'm blockin' you. You can't see. What're we gonna do?" you grinned, cheekily, continuing to move in front of him as he tried to peer around you. "Oh, my Gods, we're gonna crash."

He looked up at you with a small smirk and a raised brow, amused, as you continued your antics.

"Oh, no. What's gonna happen?"

Suddenly, his hand roughly pulled you into his side, a soft squeal leaving your lips as he chuckled, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and continue your kissing assault while his two hands returned to the oar.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you peppered lazy kisses on his skin, your hand coming up to card through the hairs at the base of his neck.

Tenderly, Zoro placed a few kisses of his own on your shoulder, his eye perking at the sight of your destination.

Robin had given him impossibly thorough instructions on how to get there, which is the only reason why you two hadn't miraculously made it to the next island.

"Hey..." he lightly nudged you as the boat approached the shore. "We're here."

Lifting your head, you carefully flew out his lap, touching down on the dry sand as he hopped into the shallow water, walking around to the back and pushing the canoe onto the shore.

"Oh, wow," you gasped, in awe at the beauty laid before you. "This is beautiful! Look at the view"

The moon hovered over the water, making the waves crystallize like diamonds below, just as the stars in the ink-black sky.

The sea breeze wafted your hair and cooled the sweat on your body from the heat of the day.

It felt good to get away from people, the serenity too nice to put off.

Suddenly, Zoro scooped you up, you in one arm and the case of booze in the other as he began walking toward the cove.

"It gets better," he smirked, leading you over to where the tall rocks flattened out and arched upward, turning themselves into a natural cabana.

Placing you down, he quickly gathered some sticks from nearby, before bringing them back and starting a fire.

And as he did so, you couldn't help but marvel at his body, thick, corded muscle flexing and extending under his skin at each minute movement, looking delicious enough to bite.

And that wasn't the blood-sucker in you talking.

You sighed in contentment as you tipped your head up towards the sky, admiring the stars twinkling above

Finishing up, Zoro plopped down beside you and threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side with a proud smile.

"Nice, right?" he chuckled.

You lazily nodded, wanting to stay there forever—among the water, stars, and him.

You peered up at him through your lashes, hesitant to speak in fear of ruining the moment.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in them. And you let yourself be pulled into him, sighing when your head met the crook of his shoulder.

You embraced him back, crushing your breasts against his hard chest. 

There, you two stayed, holding each other, linked together like magnets.

"You smell nice," he murmured into your skin, taking a deep inhale of you. "Like coconut."

You smiled, shyly, warmth rising to your cheeks at the compliment.

And after a few silent seconds, he pulled away from you, his eyes dark as the night sky.

"I'm gonna kiss you," he stated, curtly, his gaze alight with enamor.

You didn't get to say a reply, too preoccupied with the lips pressing against yours.

The kiss was hungry, your lips moving against each other's like you both were starving for one another.

And you were.

You could tell Zoro wanted the same thing you did when his hands moved below your waist to squeeze your ass, the feeling making you moan into his mouth.

He replied with his own grunt and pulled away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"I wanna see you," he stated, his voice a deep rumble.

There was a molten tenderness in his gaze that had you shivering in pleasure and anticipation, wondering what else he had in store for you.

So you stripped.

Catching the hint, your hands glided up your back, pulling the string of your bikini top and letting your breasts fall out of the cups, along with the strings to your bottoms.

Zoro's eyes raked over the sight of you as if you were a piece of art he was admiring in a museum.

"Shit," he softly hissed to himself, amazed at the sight of your brown, hardened nipples.

You softly whimpered at his calloused hands caressing your sensitive breasts, causing him to move on to other matters.

He leaned in and latched his lips onto one of your nipples, where he began to suckle on.

You threw your head back to stare at the endless sky, your mouth open in an O as pleasured moans fell from your lips.

You couldn't help yourself, especially when Zoro began to suckle and flick his tongue along the sensitive bud of your nipple, his hand kneading your other breast in the process.

Then he switched, giving your other breast the same treatment.

Your hands found his hair, your fingers aimlessly wandering through the green strands.

You were ruining its somewhat even style, but he didn't seem to care.

He was more concerned with nibbling along your nipple, making you sharply inhale before your voice choked on a broken moan.

You couldn't take it.

All of this was going straight to your core, which was now throbbing and begging for attention between your thighs. 

"Please, Zo'..." you whined, gripping his hair. "I need you to touch me."

With a cocky smile, the man nodded, slowly leaning forward to lay you down in the sand.

Your eyes flitted up to the torch lit beach across the water, realizing any eagle-eyed person could come out and see you naked.

"Wait... what if someone sees us?" you asked, uncharacteristically timid.

A devious smirk rose to his lips, and he pressed a reassuring kiss on your lips.

"Let 'em... They'll be in for a show."

Gently, he pried your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet core.

You watched his face change from playful to downright feral as he stared at your cunt.

You flushed at his expression.

'Gods, give me strength...'

"Zoro, I'm serious—"

He shushed you, leaning forward to press wet kisses along your inner thighs.

"No more talkin', pretty," he growled against them. "All I wanna hear is my name on your lips."

He continued to pepper you thighs in kisses while his hands pinned your legs apart, his hold on you firm.

He didn't want you hiding from him.

And it felt good.

You didn't stop him when he dove right into your pussy, first peppering your lips and clit in open-mouthed kisses as if he was making out with them.

It had been so long since the two of you'd gotten intimate like this, you nearly forgot the way the man worked his mouth.

Especially when he started to flick his tongue against your clit.

His tongue swirled around it and flicked it gently based on your responses.

And shit, you were responding well.

Your body couldn't help but react pleasantly to the sensations—your toes curling; your back arching; your eyes fluttering shut; your mouth falling open into an O as moans and gasps fell from your lips.

Zoro was not only good with his tongue, but good with his hands.

He reached up and played with your titties, tweaking and pinching your nipples according to your verbal cues.

"H-Harder, please!" you begged, to which he pinched the hard, brown peaks a little harder, the burst of pain making you gush all over his lips.

"Fuck, Zo'," you moaned. "That feels so good..."

Zoro hummed approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably.

"Keep feelin' good for me, pretty," he said between the wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. "Lean back and wrap your thighs around my head f'me."

Before you could even say anything, he was already tugging you closer by your ankle, earning a squeal from you.

He stood on his knees for a moment, taking you in.

His lust-blown eyes trailed up and down your naked form, drinking in every part of you.

Then he inhaled deeply, as if struggling to process the sight in front of him.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' gorgeous," he huskily said.

You had no idea what to say to that.

All you could do was shyly smile up at him as he stared down at you, both of you enchanted with each other.

Then he was ducking back down and throwing your thighs across his shoulders with ease, wrapping your legs around his head.

This gave him better access to your pussy so he could easily tongue-fuck you.

As soon as you felt the wet muscle entering your wet folds and his nose brush against your clit you were in heaven.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands found his hair, gripping the blonde strands as your hips began to grind shamelessly into his face.

"Mmm-hmmm," he hummed approvingly, keeping up the pace.

He didn't pause or slow down.

He continued to work your pussy just how you wanted, making you see stars behind your eyelids and cry to the moon above.

It didn't take long for that feeling of release to dawn on you.

You couldn't help it.

His tongue just felt too good.

Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risque position turned you on more than you'd like to admit.

Zoro must've realized you were close because his jaw started to move fast, accompanying his tongue-fucking with porn-worthy grunts of his own that nearly threw you over the edge.

"Fuck, Zoro!" you whined. "M'gonna come!"

Eagerly, he hummed into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of your hole and proceeding to suck on your clit while his finger began to stroke the outside of your slit, barely touching your insides.

But it was enough to push you further and further down that road to releasing all over him.

His darkened eyes flicked up to yours, staring you down between your thighs.

"Come for me," he demanded. "Come for me, baby. Don't fuckin' hold back."

He grinned up at you, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

He attached his mouth to your pussy again, and ran it until you couldn't help but fall over the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned into your cunt, becoming gradually louder as your moans reached higher pitches. "Come for me. Come for me. Come for me."

And you finally did.

That tight knot in your core finally snapped and a wave of euphoria washed over you as you came all over Zoro's face and eager lips with a loud moan.

You saw the entire galaxy and beyond as your pussy gushed, your body shivering and shuddering.

Your back arched and your hips widened into Zoro's face, trying to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally faded, you were left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good.

Zoro lazily cleaned you up, taking care to not overstimulate you as he ran his tongue over your sensitive, twitching core.

Then he lifted his head up away from your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth shining in your juices.

With the moon in his glazed eyes, he hummed to himself.

"You taste better than the rum."

[multific]

The Crown’s Weight

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Your marriage was for politics. But he couldn't ignore your presence, especially your kindness.

The Emperor's chambers were filled with ornate details that spoke of duty and power. 

At first, that’s all your marriage to Lucius had been, a strategic arrangement, nothing more. 

Yet, over time, the lines of duty began to blur.

Lucius carried the Empire with unwavering strength, much like how he won in the Gladiator games, but you began to notice something else underneath his facade. 

At first, your moments together were brief, a quiet exchange during a meal or a passing glance. He barely looked at you. 

Slowly, something deeper began to form. Something, you didn't notice at first.

One evening, you found him on the balcony, the moonlight glowing on his handsome face. 

You hesitated before stepping closer.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His head turned slightly, and he gave a small nod. 

“Not tonight. The weight of the Empire doesn’t lift at night.”

“It’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

For the first time, you reached out and touched his arm, a simple gesture that seemed to break through the walls he built around him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words quiet but genuine.

From that moment, the nature of your relationship shifted. 

Another time, you had found him alone in the library, the strain of his duties evident in his posture. 

You placed a cup of tea beside him, and his fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you," he would say. No other words were exchanged that day.

Another time, you walked through the gardens together.

A simple walk, which he invited you on.

“Which flower do you like best?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual but not unnatural.

“That one.” you pointed at the lilies. "I like their colour." 

The next day, you found a vase with the same flower on your desk. He didn’t leave a note, but he didn’t need to, you it was Lucius who sent them.

These small moments developed into something deeper, even if neither of you had said the words. 

But the Empire often found its way between you, sparking tension.

After one particularly heated argument about a decision for the provinces, you paced your chambers, your frustration palpable. 

Lucius entered, his expression was wild.

“I’m trying to protect the future of this Empire!” he snapped but didn't yell.

“And I’m trying to protect you!” you shot back. “You can’t do this alone, Lucius. You don’t have to.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Then, his features softened, and he stepped closer.

“This marriage was supposed to be for the Empire,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But somewhere along the way, it became something more.”

“What do you mean?” Your heart raced as you processed his words. 

“I mean,” he said, his hands gently cupping your face, “I love you. Not just as my Empress, but as the one person who truly knows me. The real me.”

“I love you too, Lucius. It is why I worry so much." you admitted and it felt so good to say those words aloud. Because you did love him.

He pulled you closer, his hand resting on your hip as the other held your face.

The kiss he gave you was tender yet full of emotion, a promise that you weren’t just a partner in duty but in love.

When he finally pulled away, he didn't move back and looked into your eyes. 

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” you echoed his words. "I have to ask you to share your worries with me. It is too much burden for you to carry. I understand you are... strong, but I'm your wife. I want to help."

"I will if you promise we will share sleeping chambers from now. We are no longer how we were when we met. I wish to sleep with my wife."

"I thought you would never ask." you smiled at this.

You always loved his strong he was. You used to watch him fight, his body was impressive. Little did you know that his mind was also like that.

But here he was now, an Emperor.

Gladiator II Collection

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/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[donatellawritings]

🎀 ྀིྀི

౨ৎ introducing babydoll!reader and dealer!rafe

loud trap music boomed through the speakers, bass echoing through the air of tannyhill as rafe adjusted his hips, throwing his head back with a shit-eating grin, his nostril dusted with a remanence of the finely cut coke that once laid neatly lined up on the coffee table beside his titanium amex card. running a hand through his stringy strands, rafe lets out a relaxed huff as he straightens himself out, bringing his intoxicated gaze to the flimsy wad of cash that rested in his free hand.

you were a bit skittish about trying coke for the first time, let alone purchasing it on your own, so having to do it in the midst of a party left you all shy and timid.

everything about you screamed fabulosity — you always wore the finest of vintage designer clothes, your shiny hair remained in a bouncy bombshell blowout — perfectly trimmed layers framing your face just right, your acrylic nails remained long, the tapered edges sharp and glazed with a glittery polish. you weren’t all that spunky, as some would say, but you packed quite the attitude, if you didn’t get your way. you were doused in the shiniest of jewelry, your fingers covered in dainty diamond bands. and every accessory you owned, just so happened to be a variation of a soft powder pink! i mean, you absolutely loved pink! to the point where even the reusable straw that sat at the bottom of your birkin had to be pink. your volume set of lash extensions always remained filled in and perfectly curled, your filled lips always swelled from the shimmery plumping gloss that you smeared on them every fifteen minutes or so.

so, seeing a dainty little thing like you approaching the coffee table left rafe a bit taken aback, “um, excuse me,” you called out, suddenly too aware of just how high the slits of your baby pink ruffle tube dress sat. forcing a smile, you squirm just a bit at the strong gaze of the young man who sat before you, a joint sat behind his ear as he cocks his head to the side, “i, uh — can i buy some c—” you began, immediately silenced as he looks up at you through lowly hung eyes and a slightly opened mouth.

“y’even old enough to be here, kid?” rafe questions smugly, stealing a quick glance at your nipples that poked through the thing fabric of your dress, money still in-hand as he flicks his eyes back up to meet your shy gaze, “can’t talk now, huh? well, i don’t sell to little girls,” he adds, his pink lips remaining parted as he continues to silently sift through the countless wrinkled dollar bills that sat in his hold.

pursing your sticky swollen lips into a pout, you lightly stomp your miu miu kitten heel into the flooring of the patio, your doe eyes silently pleading with your godbrother who stood leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes knowingly, “yo, country club she’s a’ight — only a line though — s’my godsister,” your godbrother barry tuts at the young man, motioning towards you with a nod.

now still, you watch as the blue eyed man quickly flits a glance between you and barry, a chuckle of disbelief leaving his mouth as he tongues the inside of his cheek, before straightening his posture, “shit — yeah man, let me cut one up for her,” he smiles, carelessly leaving the stack of wilted bills to his side as barry motions for you to take a seat.

“eek! thank you barry, thank you, thank you, thank you!” you shriek excitedly, rushing to swing your arms around your unamused godbrother’s neck as he stiffly pats your back with pursed lips.

“yeah, yeah — one line, don’t get used to this shit either, a’ight?” barry pulls away, pointing a scolding finger at you.

feverishly nodding, you sink your top teeth into your bottom lip, all peppy and anxious as you politely take a seat beside rafe, “this is my first time,” you breathe out with a coy laugh as rafe nods wordlessly, carefully pouring a small pile of coke on the glass table.

carefully slicing into the white mound with his credit card, rafe glances over at you, “yeah? m’surprised barry even allowed you to come here, pretty girls like you shouldn’t be around this, hm?” he questions, sliding his tongue over his lips and he meticulously cuts the coke into three tight lines.

“i just — i wanted to try it, just one time—” you began.

“in your pretty mouth or up your nose?” rafe sighs, leaving you wide eyed and dumbfounded. you were entirely new to this kind of thing — you were always taught that drugs were icky.

parting your lips, you shrug, your glassy eyes darting all around for your godbrother who was nowhere to be found. nervously flipping your hair over your shoulder, you watch as rafe snorts a line clean off of the glass surface, rolling his shoulders back as he swipes his nostril clean of any residue.

“i don’t kn—”

bringing a strong hand to clamp around the back of your neck, rafe smiles, his pupils blown to hell as he carefully looks you over — he could ruin you so easily, but he wouldn’t … not yet, at least.

“open your mouth, kid,” he speaks sternly, stringy strands of fringe covering his eyes as you nod obediently, parting your swollen lips, “atta girl, now this s’gonna be the first and last time y’do this shit, so enjoy it, yeah?” he decides, bringing his hand to lightly grin your chin as two fingers on his free hand gather some of the coke that rested on the table.

forcing your eyes shut, you whimper as rafe’s thick fingers slide underneath your top lip, gently smearing the powder across your gums, “gross,” you whine, your small hand latching on to rafe’s wrist as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, his eyes carefully watching the way your pupils slowly expand.

privy to the way your eyes glaze over, rafe nudges your jaw with a rough knuckle, “gotta keep those pretty eyes open, kid — s’alot the first time but y’can take it,” he tuts, earning a slow nod from you as he makes the bold decision cup a hand under your chin, lightly squeezing your cheeks and ever so gently kneading into the soft skin with his fingers, “better not catch y’doin this shit after today, either — y’got that?” he questions, his bright blue eyes narrowed as you lick over your suddenly dry lips.

“i won’t!” you squeak.

“good, because now y—”

“country club, y’better back the fuck up off my godsister, before i knock y’rich boy ass out,” barry warns, causing rafe to flinch slightly as you gaze up at barry with wet eyes, your heart racing in your chest, “c’mon babydoll, m’takin you home,” barry whistles, your eyes quickly darting to rafe with parted swollen lips as you sent him an apologetic pout.

jumping to stand on your mule-clad feet, you take a steadying breath before sending a perky wave towards rafe, “bye!” you chirp, spinning to follow barry, your dress blowing up to give rafe the quickest peek at the hot pink thong that clung to your plump ass.

rafe was going to get himself killed messing around with you, but fuck, it would be so worth it.

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , JUST SO YOU KNOW , Y.JW !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! jungwon × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: when you can't help but want everyone else to know that he's yours. GENRE: jealous girlfriend trope, drabble. WARNING(S): hickey (mentioned), jealous reader, not proofread. WORD COUNT: 587. [ARCHIVE]

Jungwon sits stiffly in his chair, trying to maintain a polite smile while the female idol leans a little too close for comfort. Her hand casually brushes his arm, and he shifts slightly, hoping to create some distance. His discomfort is evident in the way his fingers twitch nervously at his sides. The crew around them laughs, some whispering that the two of them look "so cute together."

“You two should date, honestly,” one of the stylists says with a playful nudge, completely unaware of how uncomfortable Jungwon feels.

The female idol, catching on, giggles and leans in closer, batting her eyelashes. “Should we?” she asks, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. She knows about you, but she’s choosing to ignore it. Her hand lingers on Jungwon’s shoulder, her fingers playing with the fabric of his jacket, as if testing his boundaries.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, but he forces a polite smile, swallowing down his frustration. “I’m already datin—” he starts, trying to assert his relationship, but before he can finish, the door to the room swings open.

You step in, your smile so sweet it could melt ice, but the fire in your eyes tells a different story. Without missing a beat, you stride over to Jungwon, effortlessly slipping your arm through his, your body pressing gently against his side. The tension in the room shifts immediately, and Jungwon’s entire posture relaxes at the sight of you.

“Oh? What were you saying?” you ask, your voice dripping with playful curiosity, eyes locking onto the stylist who had just suggested the ridiculous idea. You look so serene, like you hadn’t heard a word of what was said, but Jungwon knows better. Beneath your calm exterior is a storm.

The room falls silent. The stylists and crew exchange awkward glances, the female idol's face paling slightly as you shoot her a glance—sharp, protective.

“Ah... nothing... uh, are you Jungwon’s…” The stylist trails off, unsure of how to proceed under your intense gaze.

You turn to Jungwon, urging him with a tilt of your head to clear things up once and for all. His throat goes dry for a second, but then he nods, stepping up. “Yes,” he says, voice firm but slightly nervous under your watchful eye. “We're dating.”

You hum in approval, but your eyes glitter mischievously. “Oh, really? You didn’t tell them about this?” You feign innocence as your finger softly grazes the side of his neck, pulling down the collar just enough to reveal the faint purplish mark you’d left there earlier that day.

Jungwon’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes dart between you and the now-silent crew, utterly embarrassed but also relieved to have you there. The rest of the room goes wide-eyed, a mix of shock and sudden realization flooding their expressions.

The female idol visibly stiffens, retracting her hand from Jungwon’s shoulder, now clearly outmatched. She clears her throat and forces a smile, taking a step back. “Oh… I see,” she mutters under her breath, trying to play it off coolly, but the damage is done.

You smirk slightly, giving her one last glance before turning back to Jungwon. Your hand squeezes his arm a bit tighter, possessive but loving. Jungwon finally breaks into a small, relieved smile, the tension from before melting away as he looks at you with gratitude.

Leaning closer to him, you murmur teasingly, “Next time, don’t make me have to do this, okay?”

© senascoop | tumblr

[allieslittlewritings]

Smiley Hotchner

Aaron Hotchner + toddler!daughter!reader

Summary: Toddler!reader spends a day at the BAU

Warnings: None, vague UnSub things

Word Count: 750

‎Aaron bringing you to the bureau was a rare occasion. He had always preferred to keep you away from his work as much as humanly possible. However, when their most recent case involved a local UnSub whose victims all bared an eery resemblance to you, he couldn't ignore the nagging voice in his head telling him you would be safer with him.

Though it leaned towards unprofessionalism, he couldn't help himself. He called your babysitter and she brought you to the bureau shortly after.

The other team members diverted their attention from the evidence board to the small footsteps sounding through the bureau.

Blissfully unaware of the real reason you were there, you immediately ran to your dad with a bright smile on your face. Aaron felt the tension in his posture ease when he saw you.

"Hi, Daddy." Your loving smile remained on your face.

"Hi, honey." The smile on his face was smaller but no less full of love and warmth. He started carrying you to his office, pointedly staring at the rest of the team so they would get back to working on their profile.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" Aaron asked, putting you down on the couch in his office.

"It was good!" You reached into your little backpack and pulled out a piece of slightly folded paper. "My teacher told us to draw something we love, so I drew you." You held the piece of paper out to your dad, expectedly waiting for him to take it.

He gratefully took it and felt his heart melt in his chest. The scribbles you had drawn would by no means be hung in a museum (unless it was owned by Aaron in which case it would be the number one display), but it was surely one his favorites pieces of art to ever be created.

A line of red as his tie, messy brown dots for his eyes, and a wonky line on his face to represent a grin.

"Do you like it?" you asked hopefully.

He bent down to be closer to you. "I love it." He gently kissed your head and handed the drawing back to you.

For the next few hours, you stayed in his office, drawing more scribbles and playing with the toys he kept in his office for you.

Most of the team went to apprehend the UnSub. Their profile indicated that the UnSub would comply relatively easy when arrested so a few of the team stayed behind.

Aaron being the Unit Chief meant he had to go along. Before he left he asked the ones staying behind to keep an eye on you.

Reaching up to open his office door, you curiously exited his office. Spencer and JJ were in the bullpen, removing things from the evidence board and putting files away, while Penelope sat on Spencer's desk and told them about the reality TV show she was currently watching.

You ran, carefully so you wouldn't trip, to where they were and waited for them to acknowledge your presence.

"Hi, Y/N!" Penelope happily greeted you, holding her arms open for a hug.

You practically crashed into her and hugged her back before doing the same to JJ, and Spencer. You opted for staying by him, holding onto one of his legs and admiring his shoes. You wondered how he kept them so clean when he wore them just about every time you saw him.

He wasn't sure whether he should politely tell you to let go of him, so he could remove a somewhat graphic photo from the board before you saw it, or let you stay there.

He looked at JJ and Penelope, visibly conflicted and in need of help.

Penelope smiled amusedly and gently poked your arm, getting you to look up at her with one eye, the other being lightly squished against Spencer's leg. "Hey, baby Hotch, why don't we go to my lair and I can show you the new game I made?"

"Ooh, okay!" You let go of Spencer and held out your hand for Penelope to take.

She grabbed your hand and started leading you to her office. You looked back at JJ and Spencer, who very quickly covered the photo he'd wanted to remove, and waved at them. Spencer wasn't thinking very well when he removed his hand from the board to wave back to you. Realization only hit him when he saw your gleeful expression morph into one of shock.

Aaron happened to walk back into the bureau at that exact moment and saw the surprise on your face. Spencer gulped nervously at the hard stare Aaron gave him.

Before he could go over to scold him for not being more careful, you tugged at his pant leg and looked up at him, gaining his attention. He leaned down, thinking you were upset. "What is it, honey?"

"Daddy, I desperately need shoes like Uncle Spencer's."

[brunchable]

𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

Part Five | Seven Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 7.5K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky finds out from Steve that Y/N is taken. Meanwhile, with her symptoms becoming a hindrance in her life, Y/N decides to visit her Doctor.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strepsils123

Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the bouquet of lilies in her lap. The flowers felt like a formality—something to soften the evening she wasn’t looking forward to.

Ethan sat beside her, his jaw clenched, hands resting on his thighs, his posture as stiff as ever. For all his calmness, she could sense he was bracing himself.

“Y/N,” Ethan’s voice broke the silence.

She blinked, her thoughts momentarily scattered, her gaze still fixed on the lilies. It took a second longer than usual to process what he had said. “Yeah?”

Ethan frowned, but he continued. “We need to talk before we go in,” he said, his tone more serious than usual. “I’ve been working on something—a real way out of this. But you need to hear me out.”

Y/N shifted slightly, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the edge of her thoughts. Had she already asked him something about this earlier? Her mind had been playing tricks on her lately, short gaps in memory that made conversations blur.

“Well?” she asked, trying to push through the fog.

Ethan exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. “You already know we can’t just break it off out of nowhere. You know how your father is. This isn’t just about us—it’s about public perception, about politics. The media is already watching his every move, and if we do this wrong, it’s going to backfire. For both of us.”

Y/N frowned, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon on the bouquet. She tried to focus on his words, but her thoughts slipped away like they were caught in some strange, sticky haze. She blinked hard, as if clearing her vision would clear her mind.

“You keep saying that. But what’s your actual plan, Ethan?”

“Okay, here’s what I’ve mapped out,” Ethan said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. “We can’t break it off right now—not with the event coming up. Your father is going to introduce you to the public for the first time, and we need to maintain a united front for that. There will be too many eyes on him, on us—actually. . . this plan might be crossing some dangerous territory but trust me.”

Y/N’s frustration simmered, but she let him continue.

Ethan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “After the event, we create a slow, controlled narrative. We start appearing together less in public. Gradually, we let it slip to key people that we’re focusing on our careers, that we’re ‘growing apart.’ It won’t be sudden. It’ll be gradual, subtle. The public will buy it because we’ll be feeding them a story that makes sense.”

He paused, gauging her reaction, but Y/N’s expression remained unreadable.

“So after the event,” she said slowly, “we pretend like everything’s fine for a little while longer? And what dangerous territory are you talking about?”

“Huh? Did I say that? Ignore that and just trust me,” Ethan replied, his tone firm but calculated. “It’s all going to work out, I'll tell you more during the event.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And what about the engagement itself? What do we say about that?”

“We make it seem amicable,” Ethan continued. “We’ll say it was a mutual decision to step back.”

Y/N sat back, her mind racing as she considered his words. “And what about my father?”

Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the tricky part. Your father won’t like it—at all. But his is where the dangerous part comes in.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened on the bouquet as she considered his plan. “What dangerous part? You said it won’t be scandalous.”

“It won’t be on our part but this is necessary. If we’re strategic, we control the narrative. So what do you say?”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her mind spinning. Ethan’s plan was cold, calculated, but it made sense. He wasn’t asking her to be patient for nothing. He had thought it through—every angle, every move. Still, the idea of keeping up the façade for a while longer felt suffocating.

“We’re running out of time,” Ethan added quietly, as the car slowed in front of the White House gates.

Y/N stared out the window at the imposing building, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to keep playing this game. But Ethan was right—this was bigger than them now.

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

Ethan gave her a tight smile. “I promise. Just a little longer.”

As the car pulled up to the entrance, Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her composure. Ethan offered his arm as they stepped out, the bouquet still clutched in her hands like a shield. She glanced at him, knowing they were about to walk into another performance. 

× × × × 

The Avengers were gathered on the terrace, enjoying a rare evening of relaxation. Tony manned the grill with exaggerated flair, flipping steaks while bantering with Clint, who was attempting to sneak food from the grill.

“Clint, if you steal one more piece of steak, I’m revoking your Avengers membership,” Tony warned, eyeing him as he flipped another steak on the grill.

Clint smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But if you burn that one, I’m taking it.”

Clint grinned, pretending to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m just quality-checking for you, Stark, in case you burn one. Consider it a service.”

“Please,” Tony said, waving his spatula, “I don’t burn anything. Ask anyone.”

Happy, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold statement, considering what happened with the burgers last summer.”

Natasha chuckled from her seat at the table. “Yeah, Tony, we all remember the ‘crispy’ burgers.”

Pepper walked out of the house, smiling as she set a basket of bread on the table. “I’m surprised you all still let him near a grill.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, “My grilling is top-notch.”

Peter, who was seated between Clint and Sam, leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I mean, if this doesn’t go well, there’s always takeout, right?”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Tony said with a wink. “Now, everyone, prepare to be amazed.”

As the group continued to banter, passing around plates of appetizers, Thor raised his goblet of mead. “I must say, this meal is already fit for a king!” He took a long drink and slammed the goblet on the table, making Peter jump.

Bruce looked amused as he sipped his drink. “Thor, you’ve had three goblets already. Maybe slow down?”

“Slow down?” Thor laughed heartily. “Nonsense, Banner! This is a night for celebration!”

“Celebration for what, exactly?” Natasha asked, her eyebrow raised.

“Does a man need a reason to celebrate among friends?” Thor replied, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “You’re always celebrating, Thor.”

As the steaks were finally placed on the table, everyone dug in. Clint immediately went for the biggest piece, earning a glare from Tony.

“Steak thief,” Tony muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Clint smirked, cutting into his steak. “What? It’s a gift.”

Peter was devouring his food with enthusiasm, looking between the adults. “This is awesome! I mean, I usually just have pizza nights with May, so this is... cool.”

Happy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’ve gotta try the Stark steak, kid. Just don’t expect it to beat New York pizza.”

Tony shot Happy a look. “Hey, nothing beats Stark steak.”

“Not even pizza?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

“Not even pizza,” Tony said with a smirk, winking at the kid.

As the group dug into the meal, Tony took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So, speaking of dinners... anyone get an invite to the Thaddeus Ross Spectacular coming up in a few weeks?”

Pepper rolled her eyes, giving Tony a light slap on the shoulder. “Tony...”

“What?” Tony shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s not every day a guy like Ross throws a party to show off his ‘secret family.’ You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty intriguing.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Let me guess—you’re more interested in the political gossip than the actual event?”

“Oh, come on, Nat. You know me too well.” Tony winked before turning his attention to the rest of the table. “So? Who’s going? Everyone get an invite?”

Clint leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, got one. Not sure if I’m showing up, though.”

Sam snorted. “You? Miss a chance to rub shoulders with the political elite? Shocking.”

“Apparently, he’s been keeping his daughter hidden away, and now he’s ready for the grand reveal.” Tony chuckles.

“Why now?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Politics, probably,” Sam said, taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s about appearances.”

Happy chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past Ross to use his family for a political boost.”

Pepper sighed, giving Tony a nudge. “Can we not gossip, please?”

“Just saying,” Tony grinned. “It’s not every day you get an invite to something like that. So, who’s going?”

Clint nodded. “Now that I know the context, I might.”

“Same,” Sam added. “Seems like a bit of a spectacle.”

Bruce shrugged. “I got one too. I don’t know if I want to go.”

Thor, who was already pouring himself another drink, chuckled. “I shall attend, if only to witness the drama.”

Peter looked confused. “Wait, Ross? Isn’t he the guy who—?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, cutting him off with a smile. “Same guy.”

“Okay, just making sure I’m keeping up.” Peter raised his hands. 

Bucky, who had been quietly eating, finally chimed in. “I got one. Haven’t decided either.”

Tony gave him a teasing look. “Oh, come on, Barnes. What’s not to like? A stuffy political event, full of pomp and circumstance. Your kind of crowd.”

“Yeah, sounds like a blast.” Bucky smirked, shaking his head.

Pepper turned to Steve, who had been unusually quiet. “What about you, Steve? Are you planning on going?”

Steve shrugged, pushing a piece of steak around his plate. “I got an invite... I just haven’t decided.”

Tony chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Rogers. You can’t pass this up. You’re curious, I can tell.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Steve chuckles, “We'll see.”

The evening had grown quieter at Tony’s, the Avengers scattered around, finishing their drinks and chatting in smaller groups. Steve and Bucky stood near the terrace, leaning against the railing, a comfortable silence between them.

Steve glanced at his beer, swirling the liquid around. "I saw Y/N the other day... Thought I should try therapy too."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle. “For what?”

Steve shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know, now that I’ve carried on my legacy to Sam. Not Captain America anymore. Gotta figure out what’s next.”

Bucky nodded, though his thoughts were already starting to drift. “Huh. I see.”

There was a pause before Steve added, almost too casually, “I didn’t know Y/N has a boyfriend.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward Steve, his stomach tightening at the mention of Y/N. He caught himself quickly, casually retreating into a more neutral posture, but the surprise had already flashed through him. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was taken.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his curiosity piqued. “Really? You think so?”

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his voice light, even though his thoughts were racing. Taken? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Y/N could be with someone, and now the idea of her with another man—after she kissed him, twice—bothered him. What the hell was she doing kissing me if she had a boyfriend?

“She’s smart, successful,” Bucky said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “And let’s be honest, she’s pretty damn attractive. So, why would she be single?”

The words came out easily enough, but Bucky could feel the simmering frustration building in his chest. He had let himself get caught up in her—let her get under his skin—and now he was finding out she might have been playing him all along. Was I just a moment of curiosity for her? Some game to figure out who she kissed at that party?

Then it hit him—he once saw Y/N with a man in the café during one of their run-ins. Idiot!

Steve tilted his head, watching Bucky a bit too closely. “You say that like you know something.”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, his face a mask of indifference, even though his insides were twisting in knots. “I don’t know anything. I just wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve nodded slowly, “Huh. Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Bucky stared out into the darkened sky, trying to push the thoughts away, but the bitterness clung to him. The realization settled like a stone in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the anger flared again. Why the hell didn’t she just say something?

They stood in silence for a few moments, Steve sipping his drink, still turning over what Bucky had said. But for Bucky, the silence was filled with the echoes of those moments with Y/N—the kisses. Now, it all felt like it had been a game. And the worst part was, he couldn’t shake how much it bothered him.

× × × × 

Session 4

The room was quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound cutting through Y/N's voice. Y/N sat across from him, clipboard in hand, her professional mask perfectly in place as she glanced down at her notes. 

She had been talking about progress, about making amends, but her words barely registered with Bucky. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in frustration and confusion. 

He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N with another man. Taken—that was the word that kept replaying in his mind. She was taken. He wasn’t mad that she had someone; he was mad that she kissed him like it meant something, only for him to find out she was with someone all along.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, simmering in silence, when Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Bucky, you seem very closed off today. Is there something on your mind?”

He blinked, refocusing on her. “No.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to him from her notes. “Are you sure? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Bucky let out a small, frustrated breath. Of course I’m quiet. How was he supposed to talk to her when she was hiding so much? When she had kissed him but still had another man? His fingers curled into his bicep a bit tighter, but he kept his voice leveled. 

“I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t press, but the silence that followed felt suffocating. She looked down at her clipboard again, jotting something down, and the sight of it—her calm professionalism—only made his frustration boil higher.

He shifted in his seat, his body tense. He didn’t understand how she could sit there so collected, while his mind was racing. 

Y/N glanced up again, her tone gentle but probing. “Bucky, if there’s something bothering you, this is a safe space to talk about it.”

His jaw tightened. A safe space? That felt like a joke. He could spill his guts to her, tell her everything about his past, his pain, his guilt. But what about her? What was she hiding? What was she not telling him? The frustration simmered hotter.

He shifted in his seat again, trying to tamp down the anger rising in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. The silence, the tension—it was suffocating him. Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice sharper than he intended, “it’s funny.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. She set down her clipboard, giving him her full attention. 

“What do you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a breath, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You know everything about me. All my baggage, all the crap I’ve done. But I don’t know one damn thing about you.”

Y/N straightened, her professional mask slipping just slightly. “Bucky, this is a therapeutic setting. The focus is on you—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky snapped, his frustration boiling over. “But how’s that fair? You’ve heard everything about me. You’ve seen every scar, every mistake I’ve made. And I don’t know anything about you. Not even something as basic as... if you’re—” He stopped short, biting down on the words he almost let slip, but it was too late.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her voice still calm, though there was a crack in her usual detachment. “This is about helping you process what you’ve been through. It’s not about me.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Of course it’s not. Because why would it be? Why would I get to know the person who knows all my deepest, darkest secrets?”

Y/N held his gaze, her expression softening slightly, but she still kept that professional distance. “Bucky, if I’ve crossed a line—”

Bucky leaned forward, cutting her off, his voice low and sharp. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly, her mind clouded, the words slipping from her grasp. It was like she was reaching for a thought, but it stayed just out of reach, teasing her from the edges of her awareness. Her heart raced in frustration, not just at the argument but at this unsettling feeling that had been plaguing her for days.

“I... I wasn’t—” she stammered, blinking as she tried to focus on Bucky’s angry face, the lines of it somehow blurring together. It felt like the room tilted for a brief moment, but she quickly grounded herself, inhaling deeply to stay composed.

“You kissed me,” Bucky’s expression hardened, mistaking her hesitation for guilt. “Not once, but twice. And now, I found out you’ve been with someone this whole time?”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t respond right away.

Bucky shook his head, his tone bitter. “What was that? Some kind of test? You trying to figure out if I was the guy from that party? Well, guess what? I wasn’t. But you didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you tried again.”

Y/N’s face softened, and she started to speak, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You know everything about me. Everything. But I don’t know anything about you. You sit there with that clipboard, all calm and collected, while I lay my soul bare. But what about you? What are you hiding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but the words seemed to falter. Bucky could see the cracks forming in her usually unshakable demeanor. She wasn’t used to being the one under the spotlight.

“It’s not fair, Y/N,” Bucky continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve got this wall up, and I’m supposed to just keep spilling my guts to you while you stand there behind it, safe and protected.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Bucky...”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve told you everything. Every mistake, every regret, every damn thing that haunts me. And you? I don’t even know who you really are.”

Y/N’s hands tightened around the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the leather as she fought to stay present. His words cut through her, but the fog in her mind made it difficult to piece together a response. Why couldn’t she just think straight? The frustration bubbled up inside her, and her head throbbed as if under the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

Bucky watched her, waiting for something, anything, but the room remained heavy with unspoken words.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, but she paused again, a sudden confusion taking over. Had she told him that already? Was she repeating herself? Bucky’s words echoed in her ears, and for a moment, everything felt disjointed, like pieces of a conversation out of sync. 

“You’ve never asked.” she added, her voice barely audible.

Bucky blinked, then let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound catching even him off guard. He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s your answer? I never asked?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the clock, clearly trying to buy time. “It’s not what you think—”

Bucky scoffed, his laugh harder this time, sharper. “Oh, that’s rich. ‘It’s not what you think.’ What, you think this is just some misunderstanding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You’ve got a guy, right? And yet, you've kissed me. Twice. What am I supposed to think, Y/N? You make me feel like I’m the guy on the side, like I’m stealing someone else’s girl. I don’t do that.”

Y/N’s face flushed, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond, but she stayed silent, her eyes downcast.

The frustration had been simmering for days, ever since he’d found out she wasn’t single. And now, sitting here, watching her keep up that perfect, composed therapist façade, it was too much. 

He wasn’t just angry—he was insulted. He wasn’t the kind of man to step into someone else’s relationship, and the fact that he had kissed her without knowing she had someone was eating him up inside.

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky said, his voice lower now, filled with barely restrained anger. “You didn’t tell me anything. And now, what? I’m supposed to just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bucky, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” Bucky cut her off, his tone harsh. “What were you trying to do? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you were playing games. And I’m not the kind of guy who does that. You put me in a position I didn’t ask for. You made me...”

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. He felt trapped, like he’d been dragged into something he had no control over. The last thing he wanted was to be tangled up in someone else’s drama, especially when it came to relationships. He wasn’t the guy who crossed those lines.

Y/N looked up at him, her expression softer, but she still didn’t speak.

“You’ve got your life, your man. Fine. But don’t pull me into it.”

The sharp sound of the alarm ringing broke the tension, signaling the end of their session. Bucky glanced at the clock, then back at Y/N, the frustration still etched across his face. 

He let out a long, heavy sigh, standing up slowly. Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the door, his movements stiff, controlled. He paused for the briefest of moments, his hand resting on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back.

“You take care, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no warmth in his voice. 

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Y/N remained where she was, her eyes still fixed on the spot where he’d been sitting just moments before. Her throat tightened, and her vision blurred, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. She was stubborn, always had been, and she wasn’t about to break down now. Not after that.

× × × ×

Y/N’s heart raced as she navigated the city streets, her thoughts a whirlwind of worry and confusion. The familiar sounds of the bustling city seemed distant as she pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through the evening traffic. The day had dragged on longer than usual, her symptoms clouding her focus as she worked through meetings and paperwork. But now, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her, she needed answers.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned off the ignition. Inhaling deeply, Y/N gathered her things and stepped out of the car, moving quickly through the entrance. The sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the private clinic always made her uneasy, but today, her unease stemmed from something far deeper.

The receptionist glanced up as she entered. “Miss Y/N,” she greeted with a soft smile. “Dr. Kim is expecting you. Please, go right in.”

Y/N nodded, unable to muster more than a polite smile as she made her way down the hall. Her chest tightened with each step until she finally reached the familiar door. Pausing for a moment, she exhaled slowly and knocked softly before opening it.

Dr. Kim looked up from his desk, his expression immediately softening as he saw her. 

“Y/N,” he greeted warmly, standing to meet her. “Come in, have a seat. What’s going on? You sounded urgent on the phone.”

Y/N sat down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The overwhelming need to explain everything spilled out of her, the words tumbling over one another as she tried to make sense of the chaos in her mind. 

“Dr. Kim, I—something’s wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s been happening for weeks now. I keep getting these... these daydreams that feel so real. I’ll lose track of time, or I’ll end up in places and not remember how I got there. And my head... it’s like there’s this constant fog, like I can’t think clearly. I’ll forget things in the middle of a conversation. It’s—it’s scaring me.”

Dr. Kim’s brow furrowed as he listened, concern flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his desk. “When did these symptoms start?”

“A few weeks ago,” Y/N admitted, her voice shaky. “I thought it was just stress at first—work, everything with my father, the engagement. But it’s getting worse. It’s like... like I’m losing control of my own mind.”

He nodded, his face calm but serious. “Have you experienced any physical symptoms? Headaches? Nausea?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. The headaches are getting more frequent, and they’re... different. Not like any I’ve had before. And I get this dizziness, like the room is spinning, but it’s only for a few seconds at a time.”

Dr. Kim sat back in his chair, deep in thought. “Y/N, I’m going to schedule an emergency scans for you—right now. I don’t want to wait on this. Your symptoms... we need to rule out any serious issues.”

Her stomach twisted at the word "serious," but she nodded, grateful that he was taking action.

“What scans?” You shook your, trying to blink off the incoming headache.

“CT, MRI, PET. I'll add a Blood analysis as well—you might want to cancel plans, if you've got one tonight or you can go home and we can arrange a time tomorrow for the results.” He gave her a choice.

“I can stay. I need to know what's going on.”

Dr. Kim stood up, motioning for her to follow him. The minutes that followed were a blur—hushed conversations with nurses, the hum of machines, and the cold, sterile air of each scanning room.

She lay still as the machine whirred around her, her mind racing despite the calm instructions from the technician. It felt like hours and hours had passed by the time she was finally back in Dr. Kim’s office, waiting for the results.

When Dr. Kim returned, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. He carried a file in his hands, his face somber.

“Y/N,” he began quietly, taking a seat across from her. “I need you to listen carefully.”

Her pulse quickened, her intertwined fingers tightening on eachother. “What is it?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the file before meeting her gaze. “The scans show something... concerning. You have a rare form of cancer called Cloud Cytoma.”

Y/N blinked, her mind reeling as the words hit her like a wave. 

“Cancer?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Kim’s expression was gentle but unflinching. “Cloud Cytoma is an extremely rare type of cancer that affects the cranial nerves. It explains the symptoms you’ve been experiencing—memory loss, disorientation, even the vivid daydreams. The tumor is in the area of your brain that controls memory and perception.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. "How… How long?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Kim weighed his words carefully but there was no easy way to break out bad news. “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. With treatment, we may be able to manage the symptoms for a little while, but... you likely have about six months, give or take.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the world around her began to blur. 

“I can contact specialists around the globe, who study this form of cancer. I will do my utmost best to find another way. . . . .”

For a second, she wasn’t sure if she was still in the room. It felt like she was slipping into one of those disorienting daydreams again, the ones that felt too real but weren’t. Her vision wavered, and she instinctively pressed her hands against her temples, trying to anchor herself.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through the fog, concern deepening in his tone.

Y/N opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the sensation that everything around her was crumbling. She took a deep breath, but the words "six months" echoed in her mind like a broken record, looping endlessly.

Six months. It was absurd. How could someone just say that so calmly? She had just come in here expecting to hear she needed rest, maybe a break from work, and instead, her entire world had been ripped out from under her in a matter of minutes.

She stared at Dr. Kim, trying to wrap her head around it, but the room still felt tilted. 

"Six months..." she whispered, shaking her head. "That’s... not enough time to even figure out how to respond to something like this."

Dr. Kim nodded sympathetically, his eyes steady on her. "I know it’s overwhelming. But we’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible and explore every option available."

Y/N bit her lip, staring down at her hands, her mind spinning. This was her life now—six months left to live. Six months to figure out how to say goodbye to everything and everyone. The absurdity of it all clawed at her chest. It was so ridiculous, so horrifyingly unfair. Six months. The more she thought about it, the more surreal it felt.

And then, out of nowhere, a small, unexpected sound escaped her lips. A laugh. It was quiet at first, almost like a hiccup, but it bubbled up before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook with it, and before long, she was laughing—softly, incredulously, like she couldn’t quite believe the situation she was in.

Dr. Kim blinked in surprise. "Y/N?" he asked cautiously.

But Y/N couldn’t stop. The sheer insanity of being told she had six months to live, just like that, felt like some sort of twisted joke. She wiped at her eyes, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound mixing into something she didn’t even understand.

"Six months..." she gasped between laughs, shaking her head. "I barely know what I’m having for dinner tonight, and now I have to figure out how to live with six months left?"

Dr. Kim watched her with a mixture of sympathy and confusion, clearly not expecting this reaction.

She took a few deep breaths, her laughter finally subsiding, though the absurdity of it all still hung in the air. 

"Sorry," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It’s just... It’s kind of funny when you think about it. I mean, how does anyone process that? It’s so... random."

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and after a moment, he allowed a small, understanding smile. "Everyone processes this kind of news differently," he said gently. "Sometimes, a little laughter helps. It’s your body’s way of coping with the shock."

Y/N nodded, still smiling through the haze of disbelief. “Yeah... maybe. But I can tell you one thing—this isn’t how I imagined my day ending.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, trying to drown out the noise in her head. Probably not the best decision but with six months left? Why should she even care anymore?

When she took another sip of her drink, a sudden, sharp pain pierced through her temples. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off, but the disorienting fog that had plagued her for weeks started to settle in again. The world around her seemed to tilt for a moment, her breath catching as she tried to refocus.

She blinked hard, forcing herself to concentrate on the glass in her hand. Everything felt too bright, too loud, like the whole bar was closing in on her. 

A presence beside her jolted her out of the fog. A man she hadn’t seen before, clearly drunk, sidled up next to her with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning closer than necessary. Y/N tensed immediately, her skin crawling at the intrusion.

“Why’s a pretty thing like you sitting here all alone?”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she pushed down the panic, trying to stay present. She had to. “Not interested,” she said flatly, her voice sharper than intended. She lifted her glass, hoping he’d take the hint.

But he didn’t. The grin on his face widened, and he leaned even closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Her grip on the glass tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The fog was still there, lurking at the edges of her awareness, but she forced herself to focus, forced herself to stay grounded. She wouldn’t let this escalate.

“I said, not interested,” she repeated, her voice icy.

The man’s smile faded slightly, his hand reaching out to brush over her arm. “Feisty, huh? I like a girl with some fire.”

Y/N jerked her arm away, her heart pounding in her chest. “Back off,” she snapped, louder this time, but the man’s hand moved to her thigh, his grip tightening just enough to send a wave of nausea through her.

Before she could react, a strong hand clamped down on the guy’s shoulder, yanking him backward with force.

“Let go of her,” a firm voice said, filled with authority.

Y/N’s eyes darted up to see Steve Rogers standing beside her, his expression hard as he pulled the man off her. The drunk stumbled backward, a look of anger flashing across his face.

“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, trying to stand up straighter.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his posture straight and unmistakably threatening. “Walk away.”

The man scoffed, rubbing his shoulder, clearly too drunk to realize who he was messing with.

“Nah, I’m good right here.” His eyes flicked back to Y/N, a disgusting smirk crossing his face. “She and I were just getting acquainted.”

Before he could say another word, Steve’s fist shot out, connecting with the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man staggered back, crashing into the barstools before crumpling to the floor, clutching his jaw in pain.

The entire bar went silent, everyone turning to see what had just happened.

Steve stood tall, glaring down at the man on the floor. “I told you to walk away.”

The drunk groaned, still clutching his jaw as he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Steve but clearly outmatched.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, stumbling toward the door, muttering curses under his breath as he left the bar.

Y/N sat there, still frozen in place, her heart racing. The sudden flare of pain in her head had passed, but the fog lingered, making everything feel slightly off-kilter. She had been ready to scream, to fight back, but Steve’s intervention had caught her off guard. Slowly, she released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Steve turned to her, his expression softening as their eyes met. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, though her voice was shaky. “Yeah. I’m... fine.”

Steve studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face, as if checking to make sure she was really okay. “You sure?”

Y/N let out a breath, finally allowing herself to relax. “Yeah. Thanks for... you know.”

“It’s nothing.” Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile. He motioned to the empty stool next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

Y/N hesitated, still shaken, but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

As Steve sat down beside her, the tension in the air began to dissipate, though Y/N’s thoughts were still a mess.

Steve glanced at her drink, then back at her. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.” Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head. 

Steve’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”

Y/N stared at her drink, debating whether to unload everything or to keep it all bottled up, like she always did. She sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Steve smiled faintly. 

Y/N took another sip of her drink, her thoughts still swirling, when Steve’s voice broke through the heavy silence again.

“You know,” Steve said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “it’s kind of funny.”

“What’s funny?” Y/N glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m sitting here, offering to listen to you, and you’re supposed to be my therapist.” Steve leaned against the counter, he gave her a playful look. 

“You know, therapists need therapists too?” Y/N couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying the lightening of the mood. “I guess I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a two-way session.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m off the clock, Steve. If you want therapy, you’ll have to book another session.”

Steve let out a low laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But it feels like I’m earning some points here. First catching you before you fell, now the bar rescue, and now some free therapy advice? You’re really getting the full Captain America experience tonight.”

“Is that what this is? The Captain America experience?” Y/N shook her head, her smile widening.

“Saving lives and giving pep talks, all in a day’s work.” Steve raised his glass in a mock toast.

Y/N’s laughter came more freely this time, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had been pressing down on her lifted just a little. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a moment like this—something light, something simple. No complications, no lies. Just a small break from the storm that was her life.

She glanced over at Steve, who was watching her with that same warm, gaze he always had. There was something about him—his presence, his calmness—that made her feel at ease. For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought quickly passed. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.

“Thanks, Steve,” Y/N said softly, her voice sincere.

Steve shrugged, still smiling. “Anytime. I’m not just good at punching guys, you know.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re also good at therapy.” Y/N smirked, giving him a playful look.

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over to her empty glass. “Well, if you ever need more... Captain America therapy sessions, you know where to find me.”

Y/N nodded, her smile fading slightly as reality began to creep back in. The joke was lighthearted, but the weight of everything she was carrying started to settle in again. She felt the heaviness pressing down again, but before she could sink too deep into it, Steve leaned forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You know,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “there’s one thing I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Steve took a dramatic pause, glancing around the bar like he was about to share a state secret. Then, in a completely serious voice, he asked, “Do therapists actually read all those self-help books, or is that just for show?”

Y/N snorted, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question. She covered her mouth, trying to keep from laughing too loudly. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wondering?”

“Hey, it’s an important question. I mean, there are a lot of those books out there. The Art of Not Giving a Damn, How to Be Your Best You, 10 Steps to Inner Peace... Do you just have a whole library of them stashed somewhere?” Steve grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“Well, some of us don’t need a self-help book to be as annoyingly well-adjusted as you, Captain.” Y/N couldn’t hold back the laughter this time.

Steve held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Annoyingly well-adjusted? I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. To answer your question—no, I don’t have a secret stash of self-help books. But now I feel like I should start collecting them, just to mess with people.”

“You should. Imagine the look on people’s faces when you recommend something like Finding Inner Zen for Dummies.”

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “Yeah, that would go over real well with my clients.”

Steve leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “I bet Bucky would love that.”

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light and genuine. “Oh god, can you imagine? He’d walk out immediately.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “Absolutely. The moment you pulled out a book like that, he’d be gone. You’d have to chase him down with a copy of Anger Management 101.”

Y/N was laughing so hard now, her sides hurt. “Stop! I can’t breathe!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But only because I don’t want to be responsible for making my therapist pass out from laughing.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, remember?”

Steve gave her a playful shrug. “Hey, you help me, I help you. That’s how this works, right?”

“I guess so. I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a comedy show, though.”

Steve crossed his arms, looking mock-offended. “Comedy show? I’ll have you know I’m much more than that. I’m also very good at giving bad advice and quoting old movies no one’s seen.”

“Oh, really? Now I’m intrigued. What’s the worst advice you’ve ever given?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm... worst advice? Oh, I know. I once told Tony that it was a good idea to let Peter drive the Quinjet.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “You did not!”

Steve grinned. “I’m kidding. I’d never let that happen. But Tony would.”

Y/N let out a relieved breath, still smiling. “I was about to say...”

The tension that had weighed her down all night seemed to disappear, replaced by the warmth of Steve’s humor. She wasn’t sure how he did it—how he could make her laugh so easily, even when her world felt like it was spinning out of control—but she was grateful.

Steve caught her eye again, his smile softening just a little. “Feeling better?”

Y/N nodded, the smile lingering on her lips. “Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good,” Steve said, his tone gentle now. “You deserve to feel better.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at his words, but before she could dwell on the emotion behind them, Steve leaned back and gave her a cheeky grin.

“Now, do I get a discount on my next therapy session for all the laughs I just provided?”

Y/N burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. You’ll pay double for that, Captain.”

Steve raised his glass in mock surrender. “Fair enough. It was worth a shot.”

As Y/N's laughter filled the space between them, Steve's smile faltered for just a second. He caught himself watching her more closely than he should, noticing the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the small crinkles at the corners of her mouth. His heart ached—just a little—as he realized how much he wanted to be the one to make her feel like this all the time.

But he pushed the thought aside, burying it beneath the camaraderie and lightheartedness of the moment. He wasn’t sure when it had started—this subtle pull toward her—but he felt it more and more with each passing day. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not when her world was already complicated enough. Not when his own feelings were supposed to be under control.

Still, sitting beside her, hearing her laugh, he couldn't help the quiet longing that settled in his chest.

[himasgod]

ANGST Kamisato Ayato x Reader II

Where you will never be his priority, and you will continue to not be.

PART I

The sound of cherry blossoms swaying in the wind filled the stillness of the garden. Ayato sat on the tatami mat in his office, surrounded by scrolls and letters that demanded his attention. His posture, always impeccable. But you knew that behind that facade was a man trapped in his own dilemmas.

You had arrived early that morning, as you always did when Ayato's absence in your days became too heavy. You had grown accustomed to waiting patiently while he attended to matters that would never end. You loved him, but that love was like a flower growing in the shade of an imposing tree: beautiful, but doomed to lack of light.

When he finally looked up, his eyes found you. The soft curve of his lips when he saw you was one of the few signs that you were not invisible to him.

"I'm sorry for the delay," he said in that calm voice he always used with you, as if he could dispel frustration with words.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, though you both knew it did.

The time you spent with him was fleeting, stolen between meetings, letters, and political strategies. Every moment with you seemed to be one more commitment on his endless list of duties. And yet, you never dared to complain. Not to him.

“How have you been?” he asked as he poured tea for the both of you.

The question was simple, but loaded with a politeness that hurt. As if you were just another guest in his life. You sat down in front of him, taking the cup with trembling hands.

“I’m fine. And you… have you rested?”

Ayato let out a soft laugh, as if the idea of ​​rest was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“I’ve done what I can. There are many things to take care of before the next meeting with the allied clans. And then there’s the Crane Festival ceremony, where Ayaka must be as elegant as always, in this way, we will strengthen the relationship of trust with the people and we will benefit from good public opinion.…”

His words trailed off as he listed more responsibilities, each one a chain that kept him bound. You watched him intently, studying the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes. That mole under his pink lips that you once liked to kiss. When he had time for you. You loved his dedication, his intelligence, his tireless commitment to Inazuma. But at the same time, you hated him for how those same virtues relegated you to the background.

“Ayato,” you interrupted, your voice barely a whisper.

He looked up, surprised by the interruption. You weren’t one to talk much when you were with him; you had grown accustomed to keeping quiet so as not to be another burden. But this time you couldn’t help yourself.

“Will this ever change?” you asked.

The silence that followed was worse than any answer. Ayato carefully placed the cup on the table, as if he were afraid of breaking it. His normally serene eyes held a glint of something you couldn’t identify.

“You know how much you mean to me,” he finally said.

But he didn’t answer your question.

The pain settled in your chest like a thorn in your side. You didn’t want him to tell you how much he loved you. You wanted him to show it. You wanted to be more than just a break in his busy schedule, more than just company he enjoyed between responsibilities.

“I know, but… sometimes I feel like I’ll always be waiting. I am waiting. I've been waiting. Waiting for you to finish your duties, waiting for you to see me as more than just a respite between your obligations.”

Your words hung in the air, fragile but forceful. Ayato leaned forward, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, comforting, but it wasn’t enough to fill the void.

“My duty to the Kamisato Clan is something I can’t ignore. If I fail, everything we’ve built could crumble. You understand that, right?”

You understood.

You always had.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

“What about us?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

Ayato squeezed your hands lightly before letting go. It was as if that action summed up everything: he had you, but never completely.

“We… are here, now. That’s what matters.”

The “now” was a lie you both pretended to believe. Because you knew that when you left, he would return to his desk, to his scrolls, to his endless duty. And you would return to waiting.

The tea grew cold between you, but neither of you made a move to get up. Outside, the leaves continued to fall, carried by a wind that could not be stopped,

like the fate that ruled Kamisato Ayato’s life.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[hyewka]

Because I’m currently pissed off ive decided to manifest it into positive energy 🙂!!! I present to you a scenario of very loud and annoying neighbour Yeonjun, like just criminally loud neighbour throughout every. single. night. Absolutely no rest ever since he moved in.

warnings: sub!yeonjun, grinding, slapping lol, dacryphilia, noona kink sorta

On good days, it’d be what you think is him producing music because at least your walls aren’t vibrating. Worst days? It would hands down be the ragers he throws practically every week as if he was still in college. Sex being a close second—to give credit, he has toned it down the past couple of weeks.

“We take your complaints very seriously, but please cut him some slack Miss. He’s still in college you know how…they get,” So…he is still in college. And to the newfound information, you guess he’s also under twenty three. It explains… a lot. “Between you and me, he’s practically scraping to get money for rent enough as it is.”

You hold back a scoff and instead try to be empathetic so you give your best attempt at a smile to the office worker. You could handle a few months of sleepless nights before he’s eventually evicted, can’t you?

So, just like that, you give up the weekly complaints you send to the landlord.

…Is what you chose to believe as you try your hardest to drown out the noise next door, pillow pressed against your ear with sheer strength before you finally give out, groaning with agony. If you can’t get anybody to listen to your complaints, then who will?

Communication.

Like a light bulb lit above your head you scramble out of your bed, not in the mood to change out of your nightgown, slipped on your slides, and you were now prepared to pay a visit to your more than lovely neighbour, Choi Yeonjun.

You knock a few times. No response.

Before you could get your tenth knock the door swings open to reveal the monster who has been tormenting you for the last few months. You hold up a polite smile, though your eyes unintentionally trail down to his exposed collarbones. A white tank top, a white tank top, a white— “Hey?”

Your eyes widen, getting flustered as you clear your throat, straightening your posture. “Um, so, hi! As you know I’m—"

“Y/N, neighbour 331.” Your brows raise impressed that he actually knew. “The one who’s been submitting complaints on me every Friday, right?”

Oh. He does not like you. Your smile falters for a second before you compose yourself and nod. “I just wanted to come to you instead of going to the landlord tomorrow morning, think it’s better if we communicate.”

He contemplates for a second before nodding, arms crossed lazily, eyes urging you to continue. “…I want to communicate that I am not very…appreciative of the noise every night. Well, I’m sure you already know—and I wish for you to turn it down a notch.”

Yeonjun gives you a tight smile, eyes turning into crescents, with his hand placed behind his door. “Sure.” —is all he says before the door’s slammed shut in your face.

Not taking into account the rudeness of what he just did, you think that was a success. So you take a second to commend yourself and pat yourself on the back, heading to your flat.

To your luck, he goes through with his word and actually keeps it down.

For one night.

You think maybe if you go knocking enough times, he'd follow through each time (which he does) and eventually learn to turn it down without you telling him to (which he doesn't).

You're faced with him again, patience holding by a thread, "Keep. It. Down." you grit out the moment his door opens, eyes with intention to kill.

"Damn. Okay. You can chill out."

And then again.

"Turn your TV down."

And...again.

"I would appreciate it if you turned it down a bit."

It was a daily thing to get up from the comfort of your bed and storm up to his door, your knuckles bruising from the abundance of times you banged on his door.

"At this point, might start thinking you're really into me." You stare at him in disbelief, mouth hung open not able to process the absolute audacity. You're even more pissed when he cheekily points out: "You're drooling."

You immediately shut your mouth before rolling your eyes to absolute oblivion. You hate his guts. Even more when you wipe at your mouth experimentally and do in fact find that he wasn't lying. "Just—just turn it down!"

You truly did not like him, nothing more nothing less. You couldn't even find him more than averagely attractive so there definitely weren't any underlying feelings. You just thought he was way too incredibly cocky for your taste, too unbothered of his surroundings; to you it looked like all that mattered to Yeonjun was himself. Which is a big turn off.

You were definitely all too aware of the numerous times his eyes would, with absolutely no shame, look you up and down, not caring to be discreet about checking you out. Each time you'd scoff, because god, does he remind you of all the reasons you hated college.

You didn't think he was at peak of childishness until the one time you saw Yeonjun arriving at his door as you struggled to key your door open with your sort-of-boyfriend slash co-worker Doyoung (which was another issue you had to deal with all around) beside you, waiting to finally finish off what you started back at his car.

"Hey, hey let me try." Doyoung offers and you let him, awkwardly making way for him to attempt to open your jammed door.

It wasn't hard to feel Yeonjun's quick glances over at you before he says nothing and disappears into the black hole that was his flat. When you came over to his door the next day, the daily reminder to keep it quiet, he does one of his cheesy fuck boy lines from a 2000s movie without fail. Except he doesn't end it there.

He asks you a question you would've snorted at if it wasn't for the fact that it wasn't very humorous to have an annoying neighbor busying themselves with your personal life.

"Was that your boyfriend? Yesterday?" His very weird attempt at keeping his voice monotone and almost nonchalant has you puzzled...not in a good way.

You resort to not answering his question. You didn't have to. "From a scale of one to ten, how valuable is that information to you? It's supposed to be zero lovely neighbour."

"Well, you—you should keep it down next time," he starts, and you're confused. No way. "Couldn't sleep with all the bed creaking."

You could've even retort back and say something like 'oh, now you know how I feel', too embarrassed to say anything before just storming to your door. You did not like Choi Yeonjun.

At all.

All of that was before being stuck in an elevator with a more than a nervous wreck plus one.

"Can you calm down? They'll be here in like, less than a few minutes." You aren't too great at comforting, clearly, as he gets a lot more jittery. "Fuck! It's been five entire minutes!” —Not true. “What if—what if we just die in here, holy shit holy shit." Yeonjun was spiraling as he tries to pace in the confined space, eyes wide with panic, biting down on his bottom lip practically breaking down right in front of your eyes.

"Hey, hey look, just sit. On the floor. Calm down, and collect yourself."

To your surprise, he stops pacing, for a second looks at you before taking a breath and slumping down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. You decide to also sit down, albeit, the awkward distance between the two of you making it less than comfortable. It feels like a few minutes before your ears pick up little sniffles.

Oh well, shit. He was crying. You attempt to not look at him, he was clearly more than vulnerable but your eyes can't help but slowly trail to your side. The confident, cocky neighbor you've had to deal with for the past five months was indeed crying.

Your perception of Yeonjun changes in an elevator that day, just a tiny bit. When he starts to apologize through his sobs, that had quickly picked up sound, you feel something. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just—fuck—"

"What happened?" You don't care, you think you don't, but you still end up asking. And listening.

"Don't judge." he says with that slight break of his voice and you nod.

Your eyes dart back and forth, hyper focused on every feature of his face as he turns to you, venting all of his worries to someone he most likely finds annoying the same way you find him—red runny nose, fox-like eyes already turning bloodshot, the way his perfectly trimmed brows furrow every few sentences like he was thinking over what he should reveal to a stranger that hates him, or his quivering bottom lip whenever he'd take a second to take a breath—your perception of him had definitely changed. Just a tiny bit.

You have no idea what possessed you to reach your thumb out for under his eyes—to wipe. Like you knew him at all. As if he wasn't the neighbor who had been the cause of all the sleepless nights you experienced. It was something about his pouty lips, pinkish tone from all the crying, making you behave so oddly. “Thanks…” Yeonjun’s strained whisper combined with his tears bordering his waterline had got you even more entranced and holy shit— you quickly retract your hand from his face, instead focusing on bright yellow light on your floor number.

“Mhm.” It was a panic hum, like any minute now you would do a very impulsive and frankly out of character thing.

But thankfully his paranoia was proven to not be true as just a few minutes go by before the elevator doors open to reveal someone from what you assume to be the rescue service.

When you get out, Yeonjun is rather quick to go to his flat, avoiding all small talk and shutting his door behind him almost as quick as he ran to it. And as for you, all night is spent sleepless once more. And the cause being once again, Yeonjun. Except it's not his music, his movies, or sex. He keeps oddly quiet that day. No, it's the short dream you have that scares you awake.

Yeonjun. Crying. And a sex dream. Oh you were fucked up.

Not only does that dream scare you wide awake for an entire night, it also scares you from ever approaching his door again. Or when you see him down at the laundry room, or at the elevator, or—

At your door?

When you open to the persistently annoying knock, you don't expect it to be your neighbor. In his signature frat look, a backward cap hanging on his head. "Hey—"

"What do you want?" You cut him off.

"Oh, well, straight to the point, um—Was here to tell you that I'll be throwing a party in just a few hours. So it'll get loud. And I won't be able to turn it down. Sorry."

"Okay." you simply say before adding, "Thanks for giving me a heads up I guess." You attempt to give a smile before shutting your door but Yeonjun stops you with the intervention of his foot between the door and the frame.

"Also. Question.” You quirk a brow. “This is probably really weird to ask because we don't even know each other, but, are you avoiding me? I feel like you are. Was it because of my …crying?" He whispers the last part like its some sacred omen.

"Huh?"

"What happened at the elevator. Can’t you—can’t you just forget about that? I mean I have no idea if you’re avoiding me because of it, but I feel like you are and I don’t know, I just need a confirmation. It’s driving me fucking insane and, and as a man—”

God, you’d do anything to not be the victim of a macho man attempting to explain how weak it is to shed a few tears. So you reveal the reality that you are currently living in. A reality where you dreamed about fucking Choi Yeonjun, A.K.A someone you would consider a mortal enemy by this point.

“I had a sex dream.” It’s the first time you see him taken aback, blinking rapidly, clueless of what you just said. “About you.” you confirm, pursing your lips at the few seconds of silence that followed after. Presuming he has nothing to say to you look down at his foot that was the sole reason you hadn’t shut the door yet.

He scrambles, flustered when he realizes, moving his feet, an incredulous chuckle leaving his lips right after, “Um, yeah, sorry— a sex dream? About me? Huh. I always knew—” With dread, you slam the door shut before he could get another word in, the last thing you see being a smug grin on his face with the newly found information settling in and god you just want to rip your hair out— the absolute last thing you wanted to do was feed his ego. Which you had clearly served to have done.

You choose to huddle up on your couch, watching a random Netflix show to pass time on your vacation day but the show’s too uninteresting so you inevitably end up spacing out.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve been particularly childish about the dream. Especially since you’ve had awkward sex dreams before, the one about your fuck-ass boss taking the number one spot for most traumatizing. But you’ve never actively ignored anyone or even gave it a second thought other than “Holy shit that was weird.”

So, your subconscious leads you to believe you resorted to avoidance due to the contents of your dream. Said contents being you… dominating a man. Roped up cocky Yeonjun at mercy of every feather touch, squirming in his restraints, face a teary mess with his hair plastered onto his forehead from all the sweat, a ballgag drenched with his spit just to keep him shut, salivating dumbly down under his chin, the prettiest fucked out look, putting the little shit in his place and holy shit are you touching yourself?

Like some prude, you retract your hand out from under your pants and curse yourself at seeing your fingers stick because of your substance—Yeonjun was driving you crazy. And you hated it, he was at most five years younger than you and throughout your life span, you have never felt anything for a younger man—its always been a turn off. Especially when it shows. And with Yeonjun, oh it showed.

Even now as your reverie gets broken by an unrythmic knock similar to before, leading you to be faced by Yeonjun. For the second time today.

His stance is a lot different than an hour ago, almost like that one time on the elevator. “…Hey?” You start out with raised eyebrows.

Confused by his silence you assume what this was about, “I seriously don’t mind the party, I’ll be—”

Your eyes widen in surprise when Yeonjun’s lips crash on yours, roughly taking you up a wind before the realizations sets in the moment his hand start going places it should not be going. You bite down on his lip and he pulls away instantly, groaning, wide eyed, tears already springing on his waterline from the pain. He has the audacity to look offended as he yells with childish shriek of his voice, “What the hell?!”

“Are you insane? Who gave you the right to kiss me you fucking pervert?” You yell back, still shocked at his sudden advancement, finger lingering on your lips.

He visibly deflates with a knit of his eyebrows, eyes wide, "Um? You...you just told me you had a sex dream...of me."

"So?" you whisper-shout exasperated.

"I thought—"

You cut him off. "You thought what? I'd let you barge in here like some lead in a porno and...fuck me?"

He seems to think for a few seconds before literally...nodding, making you nearly gasp. "Well, sort of...yeah? I mean, women don't tell you that they've had a wet dream about you without trying to say something non-verbally." He seems almost proud when he says that, as if he has hundreds of experience in women psych.

Holy fuck. You dreamed about fucking this kid. A dumb frat whose probably got everything handed to him just because he was moderately pretty.

But maybe he wasn't too far off, because you find yourself stupidly attracted to his slightly bruised lip from your bite earlier, his eyes still glossy, iris looking up waiting for you to say something. Holy shit.

"How old are you?" If the age gap was bigger than three years—

"Turned twenty-three last September. Why?"

Two years. Oh fuck, to hell with it all.

You ignore his question and jump straight in the cold, freezing water. "How...much are you willing to do to...fuck me?" The question came out a lot more awkward than you intended.

He huffs out a laugh incredulously waiting for you to say that was a joke, but too much time has passed and now he's seriously thinking it over for a second. "Um...a lot? I don't know. I'm just super horny right now."

If you were in your right mind, you would've rejected him. Out the door he would've been because the way he drawled super had to have been the biggest turn off. But you were also a woman at mercy to her sexual desires. And right now, your sexual desire was Yeonjun.

"Okay," you exhale. "Sure. Let's fuck. But we're doing this my way."

-----

You surprisingly don't possess any toys...other than an unused dildo. You're not sure if he'd be too into that, or if you know him enough to even propose such an idea. So... you’re left empty handed; now all you had was your word and control.

And the slight age difference seemed to help it out too. “I-I’m—holy shit— I’m gonna cum noona, noona—"

Abruptly, you move from his neck that you were just lightly sucking on, hand once palming him over his sweats, retracted. He whines from the loss of friction, opening his shut eyes to give you the nastiest look as he tries to quickly bring back his high but he clearly fails when he groans, nearly feeling his eyes get teary. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"I told you to stop calling me noona. Plus, I'm not gonna let you soil your pants the minute I get my hands on you."

Wild runs in his eyes and its unlike you’ve seen him. "Holy shit, you're so—" But it’s not intimidating. You cut him off by straddling his lap, and if you weren’t nicer you would’ve laughed at how fast his expression changed. Dumb kid.

He was totally awestricken, wetting his lips for a second until opening them again, "—fucking hot."

You strike a sharp blow across his face, the slap silencing him abruptly. His lips are slightly parted, confusion ridden in his features, his cheek quickly turning a shade of red, ears ringing—then you start grinding and his expression once again morphs into something sinfully pathetic, except this time he had those tears threatening to spill. “Don’t call me hot again. Understood?”

“It’s a fucking complim—”

You shove two fingers in his mouth to attempt of actually shutting this man up, and for a bit it serves to gag him until a lewd thought popped in your head. “Suck. Or I kick you out and you can jerk off your stupid dick alone.”

He immediately obeys, sucking on your two fingers, his saliva coating them. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was shifting his position and not attempting to buck his hips like a dumb rabid dog. He was getting off from this.

You were proven more when you start pumping your digits in his mouth, too fascinated at how he sucks in his cheeks, making eye contact, whining on your fingers. “Why’re you so frustrating? Could’ve been a good boy from the beginning.”

You rolled your hips into his more, his dick hardening you’re surprised he hasn’t complained yet. “When are we gonna fuck?” He whines when your fingers are out of his watering mouth.

Clearly, you speak too soon.

“Never if you keep being a fucking bitch. You know how much sleep I lost because of your idiotic shenanigans? Let me have my fun.”

A lot. He was insufferable the first three months, dark circles getting more deep set. Feeling anger bubble up, you move to roughly trailing wet kisses down his neck and goodness is he audible—his soft moans are truly music to your ears. “You’re loud.”

And it gets you to needily grind down on his bulge even more, your core aching. Unfortunately, he takes this as you scolding him to be quiet, and so for a second, he’s extremely quiet. “No, no, want you to be loud. Love your needy voice, such a pretty dumb boy.” you breathe, getting off on his lap.

You suck hard on a sensitive spot and he spasms, whimpering. “Noona—”

You bite down on his exposed shoulder and Yeonjun cries. “Told you to stop calling me that freak.”

“Don’t care, I wanna call you noona,” you swallow the lump in your throat because the honorific does spur you on his lap, “My noona.”

Your eyes widen, flustered hands raising to slap him again, which he doesn’t dodge. Hot cheeks so red from the two times you hit his pretty face, tears long spilling down them, is so much better than the dream—except his bratty smirk pulls you out of the fantasy. “Stop pushing it dumb frat.”

His hips buck to hump up against your pussy and you really start to think he enjoys getting slapped. “P-please, want your pussy. Been thinking about it all week.”

“All week?”

“Y-yeah, since that guy fucked you dumb, like a bitch.” If it weren’t for how distracted you were getting by his twitching dick in between your thighs, you would’ve given him another strike against his face—and maybe then he would’ve shut up for good.

“You want to fuck me like a bitch?” you slur in his ear in mock tone, “You?”

He furrows his brows, visibly getting haughty. “Yes, me. What about it?” he bites.

You whine at the cute knit of his brows, the pout that rests his pretty lips. You lean to kiss them, you’ve been thinking of doing that since the beginning—they looked so pillowy, soft, everything you could now feel as he eagerly returns the chaste mouth to mouth.

It’s quick to turn messy, spit smothered by the side of his lips when you cup his cheeks—then you let go, abruptly. Yeonjun tries to blindly chase your lips, but you’re unrelenting, working yourself on his lap. “You can’t fuck me like him Jjunie.”

“I can fuck your brains out, you—” He’s mid barking back at your statement, his ego clearly beaten down to the ground, but you do the next thing you’ve been dying to try—playing with his nipples. You graze them with your thumb when you’ve had your hands under his shirt for a good minute—a fact unnoticed by the man under you—and that gets him mewling. Mewling.

“F-fuck, don’t touch me there..”

“But I thought you could fuck my brains out?” you mock with a pout, “How come you get like this just by…”

You pinch his nipples slightly and he throws his back on the couch almost immediately, whimpering through his tightly closed lips. “Me touching your tits?”

“Don’t c-call them that.”

“Tits? But you like this don’t you?” you ask softly, studying every bit of a jerk, or a slight quiver of his bottom lip. He loved every second of this, but you needed him to tell you. You stop massaging his nips, removing your hand entirely from under his shirt, which gets his eyes to fly open, holding your wrist. “I do! I do. I like it when you play with my tits.” he says exasperated, raising your hand under his shirt again.

What a desperate whore.

You smirk, incredibly engrossed by his eagerness, and his swollen glistening lips from your brief makeout earlier. “Yeah?” you drawl, pressing on his bud just a tiny bit, and he nods. Thank god he was sensitive.

“Mhm.” he hums, still pathetically chasing your warmth. All he can think with is his dick.

“Thought about wrecking my tight, little pussy so bad all week, huh? Jerked off to the thought all week? Poor baby. Then I have to make it up to you today don’t I?” you know those words would make him act up more, getting him unbearably hard to the point its torture. And god, now your panties were uncomfortably sticking to your pussy.

“N-noona let me—let me—” Yeonjun’s crying more as the friction between your bodies gets too overwhelming for him— and gosh, does he look like such a dumb boy; none of his cocky stupid shit from earlier.

It was hot.

“Want my pussy?”

His nods are frantic, so much that you snort. “Yes, yes please. Wanted to fuck you dumb ever since you came over. You never gave me any attention, jus’ wanted to make a mess of you, cumming all over your tits—”

No way. He was a pervert from the beginning? You thought he hated your guts just as much as you did him. “Did that filthy fantasy give you a good enough reason to ruin my sleep schedule and ..and all my chances at a promotion? Huh? Because of you i can’t even dream of it—“

You were lying. Losing sleep had definitely affected your work performance but it wasn’t to the point you couldn’t aim for a little promotion. But you liked seeing his guilt pool in, crying, crying sooo pathetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know noona, I swear.”

His hiccups are enough to get you to fasten your speed on his lap, the friction working to get you off.

“Yeah. Because your undeveloped brain can’t grasp at the real worlds consequence. I hate guys like you. So immature and dumb.”

That snaps something in him clearly as he finds the tongue to retort, “If you hated me you—you wouldn’t be getting off on my cock.”

You scoff, especially at picking up on the strained moan he tries to conceal, the shudder of his body giving away the orgasm. Choi Yeonjun just came. Untouched.

You could feel it between your legs, the warmth spread disgustingly all over and you grimace. “Gross.”

He groans out of embarrassment, hiding his face with an arm. And now you’re just sitting on his wet lap, contemplating two things. Kicking him out or getting to satisfy your needs?

Unfortunately, the banging on a door pauses your movement of unbuckling his jeans and you can’t hide the roll of your eyes. “Yeonjun! Are you home?!”

Convenient timing. Not.

You don’t let your disappointment show—he came and you hadn’t. You instead turn to face him, giving him a mocking smile, “You have a party to host ...oops.” And at least end it with the illusion you had the upper hand.

But Yeonjun is not as willing to give it up. “I don’t give a shit. I host these weekly,” Oh, you know. “…Can you at the least …let me eat you out?”

#############################

a/n; lol this got longer than i intended to the point i was thinking about naming it and getting it out as an actual fic but ehhhhh ill leave it raw 🥲 wish my shitty neighbor was yeonjun but we move 😁!!!!!

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[httpvomitello]

Hi!! Can I request a TMNT 2012 Donnie X M!Reader? (Headcanons or fanfic is your pick :D)

The reader is stoic, quiet, and blunt, with a monotone voice and a resting bitch face, which can make him seem rude even though that’s never his intention. But, he’s completely obsessed with history—like, he could talk about it for hours on end! When the topic comes up, his eyes light up, and he gets so excited, talking nonstop without even realizing it. Also, could his love language be Acts of Service for both giving and receiving? He’s also an excellent listener. :)

Hello, hello! I hope you like it ♡♡♡♡

My moment of knowing a little history will shine now ~

donnie x m!reader

Bitch, Please! *⁠.⁠✧

It was quiet in the lair, save for the occasional sound of Donnie tinkering in his lab. The soft hum of his computers filled the space, the purple-masked turtle lost in his latest project. His focus was absolute until the familiar sound of your footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Donnie,” you said, your monotone voice breaking the silence. Despite the neutral tone and your infamous resting expression, Donnie’s face lit up at the sight of you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, setting his tools aside. “What’s up? Need something fixed?”

You shook your head. “No. Just thought I’d hang out here. It’s quieter than the living room.”

Donnie chuckled softly, already understanding that this was your way of saying you wanted to spend time with him. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. To anyone else, you might have seemed disinterested or even annoyed, but Donnie knew better. He saw the subtle changes in your posture, the slight shift of your weight when you were comfortable around someone.

As Donnie turned back to his work, you watched him quietly, your eyes scanning over the intricate gadgets and blueprints scattered across his desk. After a few minutes, you finally broke the silence.

“So... I was reading about the Byzantine Empire earlier.”

That was all it took. Donnie didn’t even get the chance to ask a follow-up question before you launched into an impassioned explanation about Justinian I, the Hagia Sophia, and how the empire's politics shaped modern Europe. Your voice gained just a hint of excitement as you spoke, your eyes lighting up as you dove deeper into the topic.

“And then there’s Theodora,” you continued, your words tumbling out faster now. “She’s so underrated. Like, people talk about Justinian, but without her, half of his policies wouldn’t have worked. She was a genius.”

Donnie wasn’t much of a history buff himself, but he loved these moments. Seeing you so animated, so alive, made his chest tighten in the best way. He didn’t interrupt, letting you talk as much as you wanted. It was one of the things he adored most about you—how your passion could take center stage, even when your personality was more reserved.

When you finally paused for a breath, Donnie smiled softly. “You know, you’re amazing when you talk about history.”

You blinked at him, your expression unreadable. “Amazing?”

“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red. “I mean, it’s obvious how much you love it. It’s... captivating.”

You stared at him for a moment before your lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Thanks, Donnie.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while after that. You quietly admired the way he worked, his hands precise and confident as he adjusted wires and soldered pieces together. And though you didn’t say it out loud, you loved these moments just as much as he did.

When he finished, Donnie leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Whew, finally done. What do you think?” He gestured to a small handheld gadget on the table.

You picked it up, examining it closely. “It’s perfect.”

The simple praise made Donnie’s heart swell. He knew you didn’t give compliments lightly, and hearing it from you meant the world.

Before he could respond, you set the gadget down and pulled a small leather-bound book from your bag. “Made this for you,” you said, holding it out.

Donnie’s eyes widened as he took the journal. “You... made this?”

You nodded. “Figured you could use something to jot down your ideas. The leather’s reinforced, so it should hold up in the lab.”

“Y/N, this is incredible.” He flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing over the crisp, high-quality paper. “Thank you.”

“Figured it’d be useful,” you said simply, but Donnie could see the faintest hint of satisfaction in your eyes. Acts of service were how you showed your love, and every detail in the journal screamed how much thought you’d put into it.

Donnie set the journal aside and reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you didn’t pull away. “You’ve said that already.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he replied, a soft smile on his face.

[achaoticeternal]

you matter to me.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x READER

summary: they all told you it would be difficult to love him. word count: 0.9k a/n: listen to you matter to me - sara bareilles warnings: sweet, sweet fluff; not proof reader; afab reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"I thought I would find you here," Aemond turned his head to see you approaching him, your figure descending from the stairs.

He had just seen his strong nephews observe his training sessions with Ser Criston. At least until they ran back under the protective gaze of their mother, Rhaenyra.

"My lady," He looked at you with a slight smirk, setting his sword down on the table of the armory. A part of him wished you had arrived earlier so that you could see another one of his victories in sparring against the Kingsmen, "How might I be of service?"

You offered him a warm smile with your simple response, "I just wanted to see you..."

Your relationship with the prince was... interesting. With your family being in direct service to the Throne, you had practically grown up in the Keep with the Targaryen children. Though you had been close friends with Aemond for years, things had only recently shifted. Every time his brother or nephews tormented him, his studies or training frustrated him, and even when he lost his eye... you were there to comfort him. It shouldn't have been that shocking when nearly three moons ago, the Queen and your Lord Father announced the betrothal between you and the prince.

"Do you think you have time to take a walk with me through the gardens?" You asked politely.

Aemond reflected for a moment before offering a curt nod, "As long as you do not mind walking with me after I've trained."

"I never mind walking with you, my prince," You smiled to him, looking at him with a loving look that he hadn't quite expected, "I find myself quite lucky to have the chance to have your company as often as I do."

The corners of his lips tipped upwards for just a moment before settling back into their typical half-smirk. Aemond offered out his arm to you which you willingly accepted. Upon tucking yourself into his side, you wiped off a patch of dirt on the sleeve of his shirt that must've gotten there during his sparring.

As you walk through the fine gardens of the Keep, you passed by plenty of other nobles who were there to hear the trial that would occur the next day. They would bow their heads to both of you, but very few sparred any words to the pair. Yet as soon as they were passed you both, their faint whispers could be heard.

To be betrothed to a Targaryen prince used to be an honor... That poor girl, I do hope he treats her decently, at least... Such a beauty, wasted on such a beast...

With each encounter and following remark, Aemond grew more tense. His jaw was clenched and his posture had stiffened up, making him isolated from you despite your close proximity.

But as soon as you saw him wince slightly, no doubt due to the pain his scar would cause him, you suggested you both return inside.

"Are you tired of the gardens?" He snipped at you, "Or tired of being seen with the One-Eyed Prince?"

Though he had sparked quite the attitude, you replied calmly, "My prince, I know when you are in pain and I do not wish for it to turn into a headache from the noise and bustle of the Keep. Please, allow me to help you... let me take care of you..."

Aemond begrudgingly allowed you to return with him to his private chambers, though a maid also accompanied the pair of you. Just because you were betrothed did not mean you were allowed to be completely unchaperoned. After unbuckling his eye patch, you gingerly pressed the cool, damp cloth on the edges of the scar.

"If it hurts too much, I can have Milk of the Poppy sent for," You told him so that he may consider it.

"No, no," He shook his head slightly, "I've seen what it has done to my father and I do not wish for that."

When he waved your hand away from his face, you instead took to sitting beside him as he rested. You grabbed the eyepatch from his nightstand and gently began to clean the fine leather.

Aemond watchfully observed as your cleaned his patch. He watched as you carefully wiped each crevice and even the strap that rested around his head. The kind gestures caused a warmth to spread through his chest.

Suddenly, he felt guilty once more for snapping at you in the gardens earlier that hour, "My lady, you are too considerate for helping me."

"I do not mind it, my prince," You shrugged off the words as you returned the patch and cloth to their spots on the dresser.

"It is too much, more than I deserve, I'm afraid," He shook his head, his eye refusing to meet yours.

Softly, you rested your hand atop of his, "It is not too much. I do it because I lo—"

You stopped yourself, not wanting to burden him with words he was not quite prepared to hear. Then, you intertwined your fingers with his before speaking once more, "I do it because you matter to me, which is never too much to ask from someone who truly cares for you."

Aemond did not respond with his words. Instead, he simply looked to you. But it was a look that said a thousand words, as he gently squeezed your intertwined hands three times.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

[aventurineswife]

u r now my go-to whenever i have an idea for aventurine :3 (and i love everything u write :3)

so like readers parents invite aventurine over cuz they wanna meet him. aventurine gets nervous (who wouldnt) and reader tells him itll be fine. but readers parents dont like him when they meet him for the first time bc hes part of the ipc (no one really likes the ipc im pretty sure). eventually he grows on them bc hes nice and treats reader well. once they learn his trauma and backstory they're joking about adopting him cuz theyve always wanted a son :3 but it doesnt really matter cuz aventurine is gonna marry reader anyway so theyll get the son they always wanted >v<

-:3 anon

Meeting the Parents!

Summary: Aventurine nervously meets your parents, who initially judge him due to his connection with the IPC. Despite their doubts, his kindness and the revelation of his traumatic past win them over. By the end of the evening, your parents jokingly consider adopting him, unaware that Aventurine plans to marry you, making him family in more ways than one.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Family Dynamics, Nervousness, Romance, Humor, Trauma, Supportive Parents.

Warnings: Light angst, mentions of trauma, family tension.

A/N: HEHEHE THANK YOU SOO MUCH!! 🤭💖 AND I LOVE YOUR REQUESTS!! <33

Aventurine stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar for what felt like the hundredth time. He’d faced down intimidating boardrooms, handled high-stakes deals, and even wagered his career on sheer wit and nerve. But nothing could compare to the butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach at the thought of meeting your parents.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his usually confident voice edged with uncertainty. His eyes found yours in the reflection, an unspoken plea lingering in them.

You took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “They’re going to love you, Aven. Just be yourself, okay?”

His usual grin flickered on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Myself?” he echoed with a soft chuckle. “I hope they can handle that.” He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, donning his most dashing smile, a look that usually melted away doubts. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The smell of fresh-baked bread filled the air as you stepped into your parents' house, leading Aventurine by the hand. Your mother greeted you warmly, her gaze flicking to Aventurine with curiosity…and a touch of skepticism. Your father, meanwhile, offered a polite nod, but there was no missing the cautious look in his eyes as he took in the flamboyant attire, the card suit details, and the peacock feather earring glinting in the light.

“Mom, Dad,” you began, smiling encouragingly, “this is Aventurine.”

Aventurine extended his hand to your father. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. [L/N].”

Your father shook his hand briefly before pulling back. “So, IPC, huh?” he remarked, eyebrows raised. “Not the most popular organization in these parts.”

Aventurine’s confident smile faltered just a bit. He shot a glance your way, as if to gauge if this was the normal reception. You gave him a supportive look, and he recovered, nodding smoothly. “Yes, sir. It does carry a reputation—but I’m not your typical IPC manager.” He laughed, but your parents' silence made the sound a bit strained.

Your mother gestured for everyone to sit, her eyes fixed on him as though assessing some hidden quality. “We know that our [Name] has always been a good judge of character,” she said delicately, “but IPC isn’t exactly known for…compassionate work. What drew you there?”

Aventurine paused, clearly grappling with how much to share. “It’s…complicated,” he said eventually. “But to be frank, I didn’t have much choice. When life’s odds are stacked against you, sometimes you have to play the hand you’re dealt.”

That seemed to strike a chord with them, though they exchanged skeptical glances. Noticing the tension, you gently rested your hand on his, giving him a nod to continue. He met your gaze, and something in your eyes—trust, reassurance—seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders.

Throughout dinner, Aventurine worked to prove himself. He shared stories from his travels and even cracked a few jokes, though his laughter was softer, more tentative than usual. And you noticed him sneaking a worried glance at you each time your father’s questions probed a little too close for comfort.

But slowly, as the evening unfolded, the initial frostiness began to thaw. Your father seemed to soften, maybe even appreciate Aventurine’s resilience and tenacity. And your mother, despite her initial concerns, seemed almost charmed by his good manners and his clear affection for you.

“So, Aventurine,” your mother began, refilling his glass of water, “tell us a bit more about your family.”

He froze, the smile slipping from his face for just a moment. You felt his hand clench slightly under the table, and instinctively, you rubbed his knuckles with your thumb.

“Actually,” he said quietly, looking at his drink, “I…don’t have family.” He gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “They’re gone. All of them, I suppose.”

Your parents’ expressions softened, and your mother reached out, resting her hand over his free one. “I’m sorry, dear,” she murmured, her eyes filling with a new warmth. “No one should have to go through that.”

Aventurine looked up, a surprised flicker crossing his face. “Thank you.”

By the time dessert arrived, the mood was lighter, laughter filling the room as your mother jokingly commented on how she always wanted another son. Aventurine flushed at the remark, glancing at you with a shy, boyish grin you rarely saw.

“Well, Mom,” you said, barely holding back your own grin, “it’s only a matter of time before he’s family anyway.” You shot a mischievous look at Aventurine, who raised an eyebrow, his signature confidence slowly returning.

“Oh?” your father asked, now leaning back with a playful smirk. “You plan on making things official?”

Aventurine chuckled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear, a genuine, softened expression on his face. “Actually…yes, if your child will have me,” he said, his gaze warm as it found yours.

That night, as you walked back to your shared apartment, Aventurine’s hand wrapped securely around yours, he let out a long sigh, laughing softly. “They’re…amazing. I was so nervous. But they’re…your family, [Name]. And they really welcomed me, despite everything.”

You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. “I told you they’d love you.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully, his eyes bright in the dim streetlight. “You were right. And…I want you to know, they’re my family now too. I’m going to protect you. Always.”

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I know. And I’ll protect you, too.”

Together, you walked on, your steps in perfect harmony. Aventurine didn’t have to gamble anymore; he’d already won.

[remeberm3]

sparkling commentary | k.m

⎯⎯“What can I say? I’m a giver.”

warings: none, just me thinking im funny

The Mikaelson compound was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of the fire crackling in the grand hall. Klaus Mikaelson sat sprawled across his favorite leather sofa, an almost-too-full glass of red wine dangling from his hand as he stared into the flames. His posture screamed disinterest—legs casually draped over the armrest, his head tilted against the back of the sofa—but the sharp set of his jaw betrayed his simmering thoughts.

This was how Klaus dealt with his problems: brooding, plotting, and occasionally snapping at whatever poor soul dared interrupt him.

The double doors creaked open behind him, their groan echoing through the quiet hall. Klaus didn’t bother to turn. Few people had the audacity to stroll into the Mikaelson compound unannounced, and fewer still would dare do so while he was in one of his infamous moods.

“Well, don’t you look cheerful,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife—sharp, amused, and entirely unbothered by the hybrid glowering at her from his perch.

Klaus closed his eyes for a moment, as if summoning patience from some otherworldly source. He took a slow sip of his wine before responding. “Ah, yes. Because what I truly needed tonight was your sparkling commentary.”

She smirked, strolling into the room like she owned the place. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

“Is it too much to hope that you’ll give me silence?” Klaus muttered, swirling his wine.

“Silence? From me? Don’t be ridiculous.” She plopped down on the opposite end of the sofa, stretching her legs out across the cushions without a care in the world. “Now, tell me—what’s got you sulking tonight?”

“I am not sulking,” Klaus snapped, his eyes narrowing.

She raised a brow, her expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “Oh, you so are. You’ve got that whole ‘brooding villain’ thing going on again. You know, staring at the fire like it’s personally offended you. Very dramatic.”

Klaus exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his glass down with just enough force to make a point. “I am reflecting, darling. Something you clearly don’t have the capacity for.”

“Oh, I can reflect,” she shot back, grabbing the wine bottle off the table and pouring herself a glass. “I just don’t do it while looking like someone stole my favorite toy.”

Klaus gave her a withering look. “Do you enjoy making my life miserable, or is it simply a natural talent?”

“Both,” she replied cheerfully, taking a sip of her wine. “But don’t act like you’re not secretly entertained by it. You’d have thrown me out ages ago if I actually annoyed you.”

“Perhaps I’ve simply been too busy to deal with you,” Klaus retorted, leaning back against the sofa.

“Sure,” she said, smirking. “Because the almighty Klaus Mikaelson is so busy staring at walls and brooding over… what is it this time? Werewolf drama? Vampire politics? Someone looked at you funny?”

Klaus tilted his head, his lips curving into a dangerous smirk. “Careful, love. You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You’d miss me too much.”

Klaus barked out a laugh, the sound low and sharp. “You’re delusional if you think I’d miss this constant prattling.”

“And yet, here I am,” she pointed out, gesturing to herself. “Still alive, still pestering you. Face it, Klaus—you like having me around.”

Klaus opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “Nope. Don’t even try to deny it. You’re far too stubborn to admit it, but we both know the truth.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he fixed her with an intense stare. “And what truth is that, exactly?”

“That I make your life interesting,” she said smugly.

Klaus chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Oh, you make my life something, darling. Interesting isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

“Infuriating?” she suggested.

“Excruciating,” he corrected, though his smirk betrayed his words.

She laughed, leaning back against the sofa. “You know, you’re not nearly as scary as you think you are.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered, his expression sharpening. “Careful. I’d hate for you to forget who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, trust me, Klaus,” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with. The big, bad hybrid. The original king of temper tantrums. The guy who’d rather punch his problems than deal with them like a normal person.”

“You’re testing my patience,” Klaus said, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Good,” she shot back. “Because you’re testing mine with all this brooding.”

Klaus chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re relentless, I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re impossible,” she said, clinking her glass against his with a grin. “But somehow, we make it work.”

He took a sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. “Why do you insist on tormenting me?”

“Because it’s fun,” she said, shrugging. “And because someone needs to keep you from wallowing in self-pity. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Klaus scoffed, setting his glass down. “You truly have no survival instincts, do you?”

“Oh, I have survival instincts,” she said, smirking. “I’m just smart enough to know you won’t actually hurt me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Klaus muttered, though his tone was more amused than threatening.

She grinned, leaning closer. “Face it, Klaus. You’d be bored out of your mind without me.”

He leaned closer too, his voice low and dangerous. “And you’d be in over your head without me, love.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the tension between them crackling like the fire behind them. Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh, leaning back and raising her glass.

“Cheers to that,” she said.

Klaus shook his head, leaning back with a smirk. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable,” she shot back.

“I am never predictable,” Klaus said, his tone sharp.

She grinned, taking another sip of her wine. “Oh, you so are. But don’t worry—I’ll keep things interesting for you.”

Klaus chuckled, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “I have no doubt.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the firelight casting long shadows across the room. Klaus wouldn’t admit it—never in a thousand years—but she was right. Her presence did make things more interesting.

i love this one <3

[feyunir]

One thing I love about Dragon Age is how much you can learn about your companions by paying attention to their facial expressions and body language.

So I have taken a closer look at Emmrich. Most of my impressions of him will be from before the 16th September, as I have largely been avoiding spoilers since then.

As far as I can tell he has 3 character models. High, medium and low polygon count. Not important, but I think they look slightly different so I thought it was interesting as it might affect his expressions.

Let's take a look at his "Victory pose" as I'm calling it. Usually shown when he is out in the field. He looks confident, and gives the impression he enjoys being out and about. Fighting with confidence. I think he loves magic.

Next, in conversation with all the companions. He seems happy. Give the impression he is having fun figuring out their current dilemma. His scholar is showing. Let's call this his "scholar pose" lol. Even when wearing his resting b***h face he is clearly paying attention, looking at whoever is talking. His posture is open and friendly, exposing his chest and not crossing his legs.

Alone with Rook however we see a different side of him. He has long periods of time when he isn't looking at Rook at all. Coming of as a little reserved. He has his arms resting crossed in the front. Politely present, but respectfully distant. I call this his "Funeral priest pose". I have been to way too many funerals lately and that's generally how the priest was standing. Maybe they always stand like that, but I don't go to church so I wouldn't know.

Judging by how empty the shelves in the back of the clip is, he hasn't been at the Lighthouse long.

Another thing that I noticed was when Rook says "A Watcher's work is never done", he looks sad? At first I thought he is sad because of the never ending stream of death, but then it occurred to me maybe it could be taken more literal. As in, once a Watcher, always a Watcher? Once a Watcher dies, their body/skeleton is being put back to work? We know from The Flame Eternal that Emmrich thinks it would be romantic to be buried with the one you love. Maybe he is sad because he knows that even if he found that someone, being buried with them is something he can't have as long as he is a Watcher. Just a thought.

Next is his "Nope pose". I'm not sure what to make of this one lol. The game clearly has NPC - player head tracking. Emmrich is turning his head and looking at the approaching Rook. Only to do an extreme NOPE turn when they come within talking distance. I'm willing to blame game mechanic on this one, but even then he is a bit strange. He is just standing there to the left of the fireplace, clearly not warming himself. Just standing there looking up at the roof. If anyone have any thoughts on this one I'd like to hear them xD

From his V&V episode we know he is very kind and polite. Probably to the point he became a bit naive and easy to take advantage of. A friend of mine said he came across as potentially having mild Autism. Interesting thought, and I can see where they're coming from, but I don't like slapping labels on ppl so I'm going to leave it in the theory box. All in all he seems confident in his choice of work field, fighting/magic/scholarly, but a bit distant or reserved when in one on one situations.

[guppygiggles]

Pale Blue

What: Sleepy tickles, body positivity, fluff.

Word count: 1.2k

Universe: Canon

Who: Casper and Avery

Description: It feels weird to formalize this because it's so short, but I desperately needed to write something for comfort. This is a little messy, but... so are my feelings right now, so at least it's honest. Please forgive any typos or formatting mistakes. 💙

The humidifier whispered at our bedside as I laid in big-spoon position against Avery's back, the ice crystals inside his head reflecting our nightlight in tiny flashes.

With my arm resting on his ribcage, I studied the rhythm of his breathing, trying to figure out if he was still awake. We'd been in bed for around an hour according to my phone, which I'd just checked for the eighth time. I couldn't stop thinking about the audit in which I was mired at work, plus, my shoulder hurt from poor posture all week. I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. 

I rolled over, nuzzling my head into my pillow to try and get comfortable. To my surprise, Avery rolled with me, his long arms wrapping securely around my body. He enveloped me like an oversized beanbag – when I spooned him, I was more like his backpack. Avery sometimes rolled over in his sleep, but as I felt his hand move with intelligence against my hip, I spoke into the dark. 

“Are you awake…?”

“Mm… no.” He did sound sleepy. That cool palm slid up my body and under the hem of my t-shirt.

I exhaled slowly. “Good, you're not supposed to be.” 

“I could say the same to you.”  

His fingers traced down my bare tummy. I flinched. 

“Why are you so tense~?” He asked. 

“Aheh…” 

“Relax your belly.” 

I whimpered. 

“Casper, relax for me~” 

I bit my lip, but did as instructed, releasing my stomach muscles with a shaky exhale. As the pudge of my belly expanded into his palm, he gently grabbed at it. 

“Mm, there we go~ I love how soft you are, here…”

My legs twisted as I turned my face into the pillow, muffling giggles into it as he fondled and teased my vulnerable tummy. My hands knew better than to interfere with this ticklish evaluation.

“A-Ahavery…” 

“Yesss~?” 

I could hear his smile. I squirmed against the cool softness of his body. 

“That…!” 

“Mhmmm~?” 

I tensed again, my muscles knitting together. This was met with a punishing fingertip wiggling into my navel. 

“Ah, ah~ You know better. Do I need to get mean~?”

“P-pleahease…” My ears burned. 

“Please…? You want me to get mean?” 

Oh, no. 

“No, no wahahait-!” 

“Well, who am I to turn down such an invitation?” 

His curious fingertips turned into a plush claw as all five digits dug into my belly. My bubbling giggles turned into a geyser of laughter I had no hope of holding back. 

“WAAAhahahaha!” My legs kicked, toes curling in futility. 

“If you won't relax your belly for me… I want you to at least complete your thought from earlier, please… Tell me what this does to you.”

Avery's politeness made the demand twice as scary. I grabbed a fistful of blanket; anything to help me resist grabbing his hand. I knew what was down that road. 

“I c-cahahahan’t!” I whined as he continued to wiggle his fingers into me, exciting all those wickedly sensitive nerves. I could barely hear his voice beneath my laughter; low, controlled. Amused. 

“You know how much meaner I could be than this~ Is that what you want?”

“Nohohoho!” His hand scampered across my tummy, lightly skittering to a new spot and then digging in again, with random breaks to gently pinch my side or hip. With every attempt to roll onto my stomach, he simply pulled me back with his gentle strength. I could feel the restrained power behind that touch; hands that could easily unrest a tree from the earth handled my human body like a priceless Fabergé egg. 

“Tell me, then…” 

His index finger found the crease at the top of my thigh, pressing it like a child presses a streetlight button when there's an ice cream parlor across the street and five dollars in his hand. My reaction was explosive. 

“WAAHAHAHAHAA! OKAHAHAY! OKAHHAHAY~!” 

The handful of blanket was damp with the sweat of my palm as the tweaking stopped. A pause heavy with expectation fell over us. 

“Well…?” 

“It… it…” My blush was so hot, I was sure Avery could see it in the dark. 

He chuckled against my back, placing a cool, refreshing kiss on the back of my neck. I wanted more… I wanted them all over. 

“Sing for me, dewdrop…” 

A single tweak into that crease made me jolt and gasp. 

“Fihihine! It…” I tucked my head into the pillow. “...Tickles…” 

“What was that? Apologies, I'm afraid you'll have to speak up…” 

I felt swift movement behind me and even before the attack, I realized that I had pushed Avery's ler rage too far. In an instant I was on my back, cushy cloud cuffs around my wrists as they rested above my head, Avery's leg like a lap bar across my thighs. His hand spidered over my torso, scribbling under my arms, my ribs, my belly. I howled with laughter, my back arching uselessly. 

“OKAHAHAY IT TIHIHICKLES! IT TIHIHICKLES!!” I cried through gale after gale of deep, hopelessly honest cackling. 

“Oh, it does? It tickles when I do this? Hm! Could that be because you're ticklish?” He'd adopted a casual, playful tone as he laid beside me, propping his head up with one hand as he tormented me with the other. 

“YEEHEHEHEHESSS!” What good was it to resist at this point? I didn't even bother tugging at the cuffs as he used a single fingertip to wiggle into one armpit, then the other, then back to a big, ticklish claw at my belly. I just laughed and laughed, letting it all pour out unimpeded by resistance. 

“Very good~! My goodness, such hair-raising laughter, all from such a small amount of stimulation…” 

He lifted my night shirt up to my ribs, then went back to gently pinching and grabbing at my belly pudge, patting, squeezing, and playing with it. 

“I'm sorry, I just can't get enough of this.”

“Plehehehehease stahahahap thahahahahat~!” I protested in a combination of ticklishness and embarrassment. Much as I was a huge proponent of body positivity, I wasn't exactly immune to insecurity; I'd packed on a few pounds from work stress. 

“I will never understand what you humans find shameful about fat on your bodies… especially here…” 

He shifted on the bed, repositioning so that he could nuzzle his cool face into my exposed middle. He kissed and cuddled, making me giggle shyly. 

“So soft and warm,” he cooed, peppering me with more kisses, the last one landing on my navel. 

I felt the cuffs around my wrists dissipate. I reached down, stroking the rolling curve of Avery's head, even as my belly quivered beneath his touch. 

“I love tickling you,” he said. “I love loving you. All of you, just as you are.” 

The corners of my eyes felt wet as he crawled back up the bed, wrapping his body possessively around mine, pulling me into him like he was an oyster and I his treasured pearl. I tucked into him, his cool arm a relief against my cheek as I rested my head on his bicep. The world disappeared around us; we were a mote of sanity glowing amidst a blackness of merciless chaos. 

“I'm so tired,” I whispered. 

“I know, sweetheart. Can you sleep, now?” 

“I think so.” My eyes were already closed; there was very little thought involved. 

It was quiet. Avery's breathing slowed. 

“Avery…” 

“Hm?”

“Don't let go… okay?” 

He pulled me in tighter. I felt his lips on the back of my head, nuzzling my hair. 

“Never. Never, ever, ever.”