#I wonder if you can drown in a cloud

[glass-breaker]

We have Flim & flam I only made small changes with them, and added some money to their cutie marks. it shows multiple times in the show that they will come up with schemes to make money.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part three)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe is sitting in a chair in the front room of your home, his chin resting on his hand, hardly paying any attention to the sitcom playing on the tv screen.

He’s pissed off. Why did it have to storm tonight of all nights, when he doesn’t have anything to numb the pain, nothing to drown out the sound of the rain drumming on the windows?

In his haste, he didn’t pack any coke before coming here. He didn’t think he’d need it this bad.

And that photo he saw upstairs. It’s making everything so much fucking worse.

This is how the world repays him for helping someone. Figures. He’s used to having shit luck. Trying to make his own father love him has been a losing game, and he’s been at that for years, so why would anything else go his way?

“Hey.” Rafe straightens when he hears you. You look into the room. “Did the thunder wake you up, too?”

He hasn’t slept at all. But he nods.

There’s a blankness in his stare, the tv casting dull colors over his face. He didn’t bother to turn the light on.

You cross the room, hazy from your interrupted sleep, and settle on the couch. You’re far away from him, acting like you’ve never touched, even though you were just pressed against each other on his motorcycle.

You wonder if it felt nice to him, too. Or if you were just extra weight on his bike, an irritating responsibility he was cornered into taking on.

“Do you have any booze around here?” Rafe mutters. You catch the desolation in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

You instantly feel ridiculous for expecting you won’t be met with the cold shoulder. You doubt he’ll answer. But then, because the world must be off its axis, he does.

“Fucking hate this weather,” he says.

His words make a chill sink into your bones. You remember your father telling you the news years ago after he got the phone call. A torrential downpour. The freeway. Zero visibility.

Anne lost control of her car.

By the look on your dad’s face, you knew what that meant. Rafe’s mother didn’t survive the wreck.

He doesn’t have to say it. You know that’s why he hates storms.

“I can distract you,” you offer, “if you want?”

It was something you did as kids. Rafe would be angry or sad or hurt or anything and you’d talk his ear off about whatever you could think of until the dark cloud hanging over him drifted away.

His feelings always felt too big for him. You were the best at making them small enough to manage.

Rafe is used to wanting to be left alone. But not right now. Not if he can be with you. Admitting it feels impossible. The wall he spent years building around himself is solid from both sides.

“It’s your house,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

You take it an invitation to stay. You turn your attention to the tv, as if holding eye contact with him will make him take it back.

It gives him a chance to look at you. How the fuck have you not lost patience with him yet? Why do you still care?

“I keep wanting to ask why you’re helping me,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the tv.

Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing his forehead.

“This is you distracting me,” he scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to do the talking?”

The fact that he’s expecting you to replicate the days of your youth gives you a sliver of hope that maybe he misses them, too.

“There has to be a reason you’re doing it,” you murmur.

“Can’t you just be happy that I am?” he responds. A white flash of lighting pools into the room for a split second.

“No,” you say. Finally, he gives in.

“Because I…” he begins.

The noise from the show is adding to the frustrating confusion engulfing him. He angrily picks up the remote and turns the tv off, plunging both of you in darkness.

You turn your head towards him again, only able to make out the hard outline of his jaw.

“I always had to look out for you,” he says. “I guess I still do.”

You look down at your lap, taken aback that Rafe holds any sense of loyalty for you.

You almost want to remind him of what he said earlier, that you’re not kids anymore, but you don’t want to challenge him.

“And I don’t know why,” he adds, voice thin, “but you’re not a dick to me like everyone else is, so I kind of owe you.”

All you can hear is your own breathing and the ticking of the clock in the foyer and the tap of faltering raindrops. The storm is passing.

“It’s because you didn’t do anything wrong,” you say into the silence. “It’s not like you did something to make me hate you. You shut me out, but I get why.”

Your words reverberate through him. He wonders if you think that he hates you.

Still, you could have gone to any other guy and asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“Why’d you come to me?” he asks.

“Because he’s scared of you.” You don’t have to nor do you want to say your ex’s name.

“And you’re not?”

“No.” You tilt your head. “We used to be best friends.”

You say it like he wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t erase it from his brain if he tried. And he has.

The heaviness of all this is suffocating to him. The past is done. There’s no point in digging up things that’ll just hurt him all over again.

He stands up, chasing out the familiarity that was slowly growing between you. But before he leaves the room, he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, either, alright?” Rafe says into the dark, irritated, answering the question you asked him on the shoreline hours ago. “Not on purpose.”

As his shadow retreats, the words he left you with ring in your head. He doesn’t blame you. But you did do something wrong.

Rafe had his head buried into his pillow, throat burning from crying through his grief, every night for months.

As he lies in an unfamiliar bed all for a girl whose very existence makes him feel a multitude of good and bad all at once, he’s thrown back into those days, as if he’s a boy again.

His mother used to tell him it was a strength to be so sensitive, but her voice faded and his father’s voice got so much louder. What he tells him every time Rafe can’t swallow down the tears echoes in his mind. Toughen up. You’re fine.

But he’s not fine. He can’t stop crying and he knows he has to tell you he can’t do this anymore. Being with you brings back too much.

But the next morning, when Rafe finds you sitting at the kitchen island, wearing your pajamas and a smile, the prospect of ending this is tossed away.

You have access to him that nobody else does. You and that damn smile are a weakness that he didn’t know he had. And while he can act happy and careless around everyone else, he can’t put on an act for you. Ever.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask. Your hands are cupping a mug, your phone sitting beside it.

“Like shit,” Rafe replies, pacing to the fridge. “Took hours to fall asleep.”

You feel guilty that he didn’t have a good rest, considering he’s only here because you were too frightened to be alone.

“You?” he says after a beat. The ice must be melting if he’s actually asking about you for once.

“My sleep was good,” you reply. “It helped having you here.”

Rafe’s cheeks get warm. Someone actually wanting him around is a foreign feeling.

By the time your conversation was over last night, the rain and thunder had dwindled. It couldn’t have been the storm keeping him awake. Curiosity pushes you to figure it out.

“Was the bed uncomfortable?” you ask.

“No,” he answers. He finds a glass and fills it with water. His throat still hurts from crying last night.

You watch him, his presence commanding as he leans back against the counter opposite you. The dark, shallow bags beneath his eyes are illuminated in the bright lights above you. He looks exhausted.

“Was the room too warm? Or too cold?” you say.

“Can you relax?” Rafe huffs, his tone almost playful.

He isn’t about to admit that he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep sober. And he’s definitely not going to tell you that the last thing he thought about before finally passing out was that his cheeks burned from how hard he was wiping his tears away.

“The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable since I made you stay the night,” you say.

His brows furrow as he takes a long gulp, tipping his head back.

“Nobody can make me do anything,” he replies once he downs the water. You know it’s the truth. It makes the fact that he’s doing this for you all the more meaningful.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes loudly on the countertop. Rafe sees your face fall when your eyes drop to the screen. You read the notification for a moment, then sigh and shake your head.

“He emailed me,” you say incredulously. “I blocked him on everything and he emailed me.”

Rafe leans over to see if you’ll let him look for himself. You slide your phone towards him and he picks it up to read Ty’s message.

What you have with him isn’t real. We both know it. Let me prove that I can treat you how you deserve. Please. I’m sorry for everything. I love you.

A part of Rafe is concerned you’ll fall for it.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Block him there, too,” you mutter. “He does this. He’s mean, then he pretends like he changed, then he’s mean again… It’s the same bullshit over and over.”

Rafe blocks him for you and places your phone on the counter. You bite the inside of your cheek as the dread you always feel when Ty contacts you floods your every sense.

The despair on your face makes Rafe’s stomach sink. The next time he sees Ty, he’s beating the shit out of him.

“He’ll stop, okay? I’ll make him,” he says.

You’re still skeptical. Rafe definitely scares him, but Ty called him a bullshit rebound last night. He wrote that what you have with Rafe isn’t real. You’re not fooling him. And you’re afraid he won’t leave you alone until he believes you’re actually in a new relationship now.

“Yeah.” You exhale slowly. “Doesn’t sound like he’s falling for this, though.” You motion between you and him.

Rafe has to take a moment to catch your meaning. Falling for this. Your pretend relationship. Right.

“I didn’t tell anyone it’s fake,” you say, afraid it somehow got out. “Did you?”

Rafe shakes his head no and puts his empty glass in the sink. He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you again.

“Do you want me to keep crashing here until your mom and dad get back?” he asks.

You hate that your mind goes there, but you wonder when the last time he said mom out loud was. You shake away the thought.

“Not if you can’t get any actual sleep,” you respond.

Rafe typically gets irritated when someone can’t make up their mind. He wants everything done quickly, so he doesn’t have to stop and think.

But this is you and even though you’re scared of sleeping on your own, you’re considering how staying here affects Rafe and it gives him a heavy feeling of shame. He spent years avoiding the only person who never abandoned him. The only person who still gives a shit.

“I’ll just leave my stuff here,” he says, making the decision for you.

“Thank you.” You mean it. The thought of someone being here with you is comforting.

As usual, Rafe ends the conversation quickly and abruptly, leaving the room. You soon hear the engine of his motorcycle rattling loudly from outside, the roar fading as he drives away.

You hoped that he’d at least want to hang out with you now. You don’t understand why you keep expecting more from him. It just hurts you every time.

You don’t hear from Ty for the rest of the day. You manage to run some errands without worrying you’ll see him because even when Rafe isn’t with you, you don’t feel as scared knowing he’s in your corner.

The days of the week mean practically nothing on the north side of the island over the summer. There’s a party almost every night, this time at a house just down the street from you.

You invite your friends to your place, drinking as you get ready, deciding to walk over to the party. You turn up already tipsy, finding yourself looking for Rafe even though you know you should only really be doing that if Ty is bothering you.

When you walk into the loud, crowded house, seeing you reminds Rafe of why he isn’t smoking or drinking or snorting anything tonight.

He’s had countless fights while wasted, but he wants to have a clear mind when he sees Ty. He needs to make the fucker pay and not give him a chance to get even one punch in.

You meet Rafe’s blue eyes every so often throughout the night, glad you’re finally able to have fun again because you know he’s keeping you safe.

The second Ty walks in, even though he hasn’t come close to approaching you, you make your way to Rafe.

You stand close to him, placing your hand in his, acting like a girlfriend to someone who is only doing this because he feels an overdue sense of loyalty to you.

Rafe stills for a moment before he laces his fingers with yours. His skin is hot, making your heart flutter in a way you know it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” you say over the music. His ring presses against your thumb.

“Hey,” he says tensely. He’s not used to affection, especially in front of people.

But this is what he signed up for. He needs to act like a boyfriend and he’s not going to fuck this up. It’s the first real responsibility he’s had that he actually gives a shit about.

His eyes land on Ty and his plan to confront him takes a backseat when he realizes he doesn’t want to let go of you. Right now, he’d rather have his hand in yours instead of using it to throw a punch. It’s like every touch you give him leaves a heavier impact than the last.

You immediately notice how tense Rafe is.

“Can you relax?” you joke, imitating the way he said it this morning. Your heart warms when his dimples appear, framing a smile he can’t stifle.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says.

“You sound exactly like that,” you reply with a laugh, picturing how tired he looked in your kitchen. “Please tell me you got some sleep today.”

Again, the concern you seem to have never lost for him appears.

“I did,” he says. He crashed in his bed the second he got home.

“How come it took you so long to fall asleep last night?”

Rafe’s knee-jerk reaction is to avoid the question. Especially if it’s you asking. But he can’t forget how shitty it felt when you brushed him off last night at the beach, so he pushes himself to answer.

“Just, uh…” He looks away. “Couldn’t turn off my brain.”

You gaze up at him. It almost aches, how badly you’d love to know what goes through his mind.

“When did this start?” one of his friends amusedly asks, pointing between you two. You notice Ty close by, his gaze sharp as he eavesdrops. Rafe notices him, too.

You squeeze Rafe’s hand tighter, clinging to him. He notices that his entire body buzzes when you do that.

“What, was I supposed to call you?” Rafe responds.

“I’m just saying,” his friend replies with a laugh, “it’s like all of a sudden, you got a girl out of nowhere.”

Alarm stings every inch of your skin when you notice Ty’s posture straighten in your peripheral.

“Don’t sound so surprised, asshole,” Rafe replies lightheartedly, gently pulling his hand out of your grasp to drape his heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him.

You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his torso. The relief from how well he played it off and the comfort you get from how he’s holding you is overwhelming.

Rafe dips his head to speak into your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, his cologne fresh.

“Think he’s falling for it now?” he mumbles, voice lowering an octave. With the way he’s holding you, you might fall for it yourself.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze him tighter, not for show, but because you want to. You’ve wanted to hug him since the funeral, when he was a boy with bloodshot eyes in a crumpled black suit, but he never let you get this close.

He brings his other hand up to your face, cradling your jaw, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. His touch is so tender that you have to remind yourself it’s Rafe doing this.

You’re suspended, bodies curved together, cheeks brushing, like you’re playing a game to see who’ll let go first.

“And he’s staying away from you, right?” His breath is warm against the shell of your ear.

You nod, at a loss for words.

“Is he watching?” he asks. You can see from the corner of your eye that your ex is staring right at you.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

At this point, Rafe is being selfish. This is close enough. You wanted him to act like you’re a couple and he’s done it. He can pull away now. Maybe he should keep his arm around you for a little longer, but he doesn’t need to be this close.

Instead, he lowers to press his lips against your cheek and you hug him tighter, and fuck, it feels so good that he misses it before it’s even over.

He can’t believe that his body yearns to be this close to you. You opened up the floodgates the second you put your hand on him the first time a couple of nights ago. How good would it feel if you were doing it for real?

You lean into his kiss. His lips are so soft. You wish you could feel them against yours. It’s all to make everyone think you’re actually together. You keep telling yourself that.

When your arms around him weaken just a little, you feel something at his back, protruding against your forearm.

Your eyebrows draw together as you pull back only a few inches to meet Rafe’s eyes, your mind going to the worst possible scenario. Your breath catches. It’s a weapon.

“What is that?” you ask quietly, nudging against the hard item tucked into the band of his jeans.

“What do you think?”

“Rafe,” you say. His jaw tightens. The moment is gone. The wall is back up. Your tone teeters on a thin edge, like you’re judging him.

“You’re surprised the psycho owns a gun?” he scoffs.

He didn’t brush off what Ty said like you thought he did. It makes your stomach turn that your ex’s lie actually stuck with Rafe.

You glance over to see Ty’s back as he storms out of the room. Part of you is relieved, but right now, you mostly feel anxious that Rafe believes a lie.

“I never called you that,” you reiterate to him quietly. “I’ve never said anything bad about you. You think you can trust what he says?”

“I’m not planning on using it on him, okay?” Rafe snaps. “Unless he asks for it.”

He wishes you didn’t notice it. If you didn’t think he was fucked up before, you do now. He’s pissed off and embarrassed and disappointed all at once.

You’ve been trying to reconnect with him for so long. If he gives in, you’ll see that he’s not even close to who he was when you knew him. He’ll just let you down.

He realizes he hasn’t kept his distance only because you’re a painful reminder of a time he wants to forget. It’s also because he’s sure you wouldn’t like who he’s become. And he can’t take the rejection.

You’re still, unable to believe that he actually has a gun. That he would use it. That these are the lengths he’s going to to keep you safe.

You haven’t lost contact with him, but Rafe checks out of the moment and pulls his arm away.

“He’s gone now,” he mutters. You get the message. He’s done pretending. You drop your arms and find your friends again.

Hours later, the party is dwindling, but far from over. Rafe has been sober the entire time, making him all the more antsy and irritable.

He thought he’d beat the shit out of Ty tonight, but he’s exhausted and he can’t stop shaking. Why the hell is he shaking?

Rafe loses his patience and approaches you while you’re dancing with your friends.

“Let’s go,” he says, holding your hand. The contact makes your head spin all over again. Even though you’d like to stay, you comply.

You notice Ty’s eyes on you when you leave. He’s pretending to be a good guy again, keeping his distance, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he cracks.

Once you reach Rafe’s motorcycle in the cool night air, he hands you his helmet and you take it without hesitation.

After the short drive, you walk up the steps to your front door together. But you soon stop in your tracks, eyes wide as you stare at the ground.

Rafe follows your eye line. Mud’s been tracked onto the porch in fragmented footprints.

“I can’t… I can’t remember if that was there before,” you stammer. “Did you see it this morning?”

“I don’t know,” he responds. He rushed out of here too quickly to have noticed something like that.

You look around, as if you can find an answer in the darkness surrounding your home. You would have noticed it after you ran your errands earlier today. Probably. Maybe.

It could have been you. Or Rafe. Or one of your friends.

Or Ty. He didn’t arrive at the party until late into the night. Could he have been creeping around your house? Why would he?

Rafe glances up to confirm that there aren’t any cameras aiming at the door. It pisses him off when he notices there aren’t any cameras at all. He quickly catches on that your breathing has grown faster.

“Come on,” he says, gently pulling you by the crook of your elbow. “Let’s go inside. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t believe his own words, but there’s no reason to scare you any further.

“What if he was here?” you say, letting Rafe pull you to the door. He takes the key out of your hand and pushes it into the lock.

“Then I’ll shoot him,” he mutters.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

The door swings open, prompting the security system to start beeping.

You flip on the light and enter the code as he shuts the door behind you. You’re so frightened and unnerved that you jam one of the buttons with the wrong finger, prompting a harsh error noise from the system.

“Can you do this?” you huff. You tell Rafe the five-digit code and he quickly enters it, arming the system again. You notice his hand is trembling.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You know it’s not from fear. Rafe isn’t afraid of anything. He must be high on something. “What’d you take?”

“Nothing,” he says with a humorless laugh. It dawns on him that his body is reacting to the lack of coke in his system. “That’s the problem.”

“What?” you ask.

Rafe sighs, double-checking that the front door is locked for your peace of mind.

“I can’t be wasted if that asshole tries me. I haven’t taken anything since last night,” he says. “But it just made shit worse.”

He realizes how messed up it sounds. How messed up it is that being sober for one night makes him shake like this. He has a problem. But he never really had a reason to get clean before now.

You watch Rafe checking the lock and like a riptide, everything crashes down on you at once.

The torment from Ty harassing you. The guilt from asking Rafe to take on this responsibility. The sadness from knowing that he’s only doing it because he feels a sense of obligation for you and wants nothing more.

“Bet you’re glad I have a gun now,” Rafe mutters. He turns to look at you, your expression grim. “What?”

“I don’t want to keep bothering you with this,” you admit, your heart racing with panic. “I don’t want you to have to sleep here and I don’t want you to have to drive me home all the time and… I hate that this is happening and that I had to drag you into it.”

His eyes travel over the anguish etched on your face.

“What, like it’s your fault he’s a piece of shit?” he says.

You chew on the inside of your cheek and look up to the ceiling, trying to keep your tears at bay. It’s still odd being alone with him, having him in your home.

Rafe hasn’t tried to make someone feel better in a long time. He hasn’t cared enough to. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t mind doing this, alright?” he says.

“You don’t?” You take in the softness in his eyes that you don’t often see.

“Think I’d be here if I did?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You used to do things you didn’t want to all the time for me.”

The Rafe that was your best friend always went along with whatever you wanted to play, wherever you wanted to go.

He grits his teeth, tearing his eyes off of you, trying not to think about how when he was a kid, if someone asked him who his favorite person was, he’d tell them that it was a tie between you and his mom.

“Don’t talk about how shit used to be,” he says quietly. And because he doesn’t want to see that hurt look on your face again, he adds, “Please.”

The mere prospect of talking about the past seems to actually give him pain. It dawns on you that you’re looking at a man who may have never processed what happened to him.

“Do you want something to eat?” you offer, changing the subject swiftly.

Rafe realizes he’s starving.

“Yeah,” he says.

A memory washes over you as Rafe sits at your kitchen counter, eating leftovers you heated up for him.

It was a humid summer day and you two were scarfing down the lunch his mother made for you after a morning of swimming behind his house.

Rafe always liked picking the wildflowers that grew in the grass that lined the beach for his mom. The ones he found that day were purple, sitting in a small vase she put in the center of the dining room table.

Every time he gave her a small bundle of uneven flowers, she had the same joyful reaction. Rafe always looked so proud of himself when she enthusiastically thanked her son.

It was just another happy day.

Until Ward came into the kitchen and like always, Rafe’s smile disappeared. Your best friend tended to shrink when his dad was around. Ward almost always found something to chide his son about. He never spoke like that to his daughters.

“Could you eat any faster?” Ward muttered. “Where are your manners?”

“Leave him alone, Ward,” Anne said with a sigh. His mother’s tone was only ever sharp when she was defending her little boy.

You remember watching her lean to kiss Rafe’s head, earning a small smile from him. Then she winked at you, trying to dismiss the tension from the room.

You wonder what Ward has said to Rafe ever since he lost the only person who stuck up for him.

You face the sink as you wash your hands, your back to Rafe, trying to stifle the tears that build as you imagine what the world would be like if the wreck never happened. Who would Rafe be if he never lost her? If a part of him didn’t die with her?

Is it crazy to think that you’d still be best friends, instead of two strangers pushed together in such an arduous situation? You miss her so much that it hurts and all this is yet another thing adding to the weight sitting on your shoulders.

Rafe hears you sniffle and when you finally turn around, you stare at the floor as you try to rush away.

“What is it?” he asks. Is he already failing at making you feel safe?

You freeze. You can’t tell him what’s really bothering you. Especially since he asked you not to talk about your memories.

“I’m just freaked out.” It’s not exactly what you’re thinking of now, but it’s true. This mess with Ty is a nightmare. “If he was really creeping around here… Ugh, I don’t know what he’s going to do next.”

Rafe chews slower as he observes you through narrow eyes. He’s no stranger to the pain of crying to sleep. He doesn’t want that for you.

You notice his hands are still trembling. You have no idea how often he does coke, but it must be an addiction if one night without it makes his body react like this.

“What else do you need?” he asks. It comes out sharper than he intended, like he’s asking what else you could possibly want from him after he’s given you so much.

Your lips thin as you stare at him from across the counter. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so miserable.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “Good night.”

You start to walk away but Rafe says your name to stop you and it sounds so good coming out of his mouth that your stomach numbs. When was the last time he said it?

You turn to look at him. His eyes dart down to his food.

“What if…” he begins, his fork loudly clattering against the dish. “Would it help if I slept in your room?”

You’re surprised. And soothed by the thought of him sleeping close by in case your ex does something as unhinged as break in.

Everyone else paints Rafe as rude and aggressive, but you knew it. You knew he still had some kindness in him.

“Yeah,” you say. “It would help.”

(part four)

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[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration 'Choose your own adventure' story

Dragon x fem!reader— hate fucking, rough sex, marking, fire breath play, restraints (tail)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3

You stomp out of Minotaur Boss’ office in a blind rage. Your vision blurring with either anger or arousal, you’re not exactly sure. The sound of the door slamming open doesn’t attract any attention, your coworkers far too busy fucking to watch how hot you look when mad. But you can’t help but watch them, eyes drawn to the carefree way they drown in their pleasure. Caring more for satisfying themselves than continuing to work their job.

It was simply astonishing. They all hold a freedom you’ve never known. Not until yesterday when you got here, that is. The longer you stare the hotter your body grows, your pussy gushing with arousal. You feel your world spin, trying to accommodate to your new reality as you would have to accommodate a massive cock. Your thoughts quickly stray away from your mission, the arousal overtaking the anger brewing within you.

For a moment you seriously consider joining one of them. If this is your new life, who’s to say you shouldn’t take advantage of it? You bite your lip, slowing your pace as you walk past a pair of Cat Hybrids who look like they’re in heat.

No—

You can’t risk getting too distracted right now. You had to go confront your Dragon Headhunter and maybe, just maybe, you can blow some of this steam off on him. In whatever form that may take. With a deep inhale you try and clear some of the lust clouding your mind. You turn back toward the conference room, intent on going in, when you immediately bump into a man devouring someone like it’s his last meal.

A small yelp leaves you as you go flying back, not wanting to interrupt, but you quickly lose your footing and once again go tumbling to the ground. You briefly wonder if that sexy Secretary Bunny will catch you again. No! Focus! But then a pair of hands are on you and your heart, and your pussy, flutters.

The stranger’s hands quickly switch you around, causing you to plop firmly in his lap as you straddle him. A moan freely slips past your lips as you already feel his fully hard cock beneath you. As your head snaps up to look at your new rescuer your jaw drops, your eyes sweeping over his infuriatingly and impossibly perfect features.

But unlike everyone else you’ve met in this city… he appears perfectly human. That is until his eyes flicker, his pupils forming a small flame to reflect his burning desire. He wasn’t a human, he was a robot. No wonder he’s the most perfect specimen you’ve ever seen. You glance down, eyes trailing his form when you notice his IT badge. How ironic.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the main event falling right into my lap,” he purrs, voice smooth as silk as he leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw.

A small whine leaves you, his skin impossibly smooth against yours. Your eyes flutter and you hate how easily you melt against him. An IT Robot shouldn’t be so damn comfortable. You find yourself baring your neck to him, seeking more of his touch. His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin and you shiver, unintentionally grinding against him. Or was it on purpose? Fuck, you couldn’t even tell anymore.

“Technically you got me into your lap,” you sigh with bliss, your brain only growing fuzzier the longer you stay in his embrace.

It was like he knew exactly where and how to touch you. You were sure it was just from some strange programming he’s downloaded but who were you to question it? The IT Robot’s touch slips beneath your shirt and his large hands caress your curves reverently.

“And what else can I get you to do with me?” IT Robot’s voice rasps and curls into your ear as if putting you under a spell. A spell called his cock. He rolls his hips as he speaks, pressing his hard length roughly against your clothed clit.

“Nngh… N-nothing! I have to go, but damn I wish I didn’t,” you say through gritted teeth.

You force yourself out of his lap, your body vibrating and your cunt pulsing with need. You push the office chair he was sitting in away from you and he laughs. The chair stops as it bumps into another person but his eyes don’t stray from you.

“You’re always welcome, doll.”

It takes all the strength left in your tired and yet still somehow horny body to turn away from the sexy IT Robot but you do. You keep your eyes firmly trained on Conference room D, determined to see this through. Your Dragon Headhunter is the only one right now who deserves the impact of all your pent up emotions.

As you near the door, you stop short, surprised when it opens. For a second you wait with bated breath, wondering if maybe the Dragon Headhunter is looking for you too. You don’t even question the way your pussy floods with arousal. But your stomach drops as a Fae walks out of the conference room and sneaks off, not even seeing you staring after them.

Your fury returns tenfold to the point where you can’t even think straight. You rush for the door, barging in and smashing it closed behind you. The Dragon Headhunter jumps from the noise, lazily glancing over his shoulder at you. Your eyes automatically widen, a gasp leaving you as you finally see him in person. You’d video called dozens of times yet it all paled in comparison to seeing him face-to-face.

He was broad and painstakingly attractive. His scales glimmer in the sunlight that streaks in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His suit fits tight against his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination of what lies beneath. The fabric clinging to his thick ass and strong thighs. A slow smirk forms on his lips. The sight has you shuddering where you stand and it only serves to make you more angry.

“Well, if it isn’t my newest treasure…”

Your eyes flash, focus returning back to his face. Just in time too to see the smug look painted across his face. You’re in front of him in an instant only to push him back. The creature barely even moves. He sways, although you know he only did it for your benefit.

“Where have you been? You have no idea what’s happened today?” you ask lowly, hands shaking from your anger. Sure, the dicks been great, but this wasn’t how you expected your new life to start.

It’s Dragon Headhunter’s turn to look you up and down, noting your disheveled appearance and lustful expression. It has his smirk growing somehow wider across his face. He crosses his arms, admiring what he’s done to you, what this city has turned you into.

“I believe I have an idea.”

The air grows thick between you and the Dragon Headhunter. You can barely breathe, only managing short shaky breaths as you stare each other down. Your skin burns under his gaze but you refuse to squirm and let him win.

“Of course you do. ‘Cause you fucking tricked me into coming here. Why?” You ask firmly, finally demanding answers from him. You won’t be leaving here without them. And you’ll do anything to get them.

You slowly walk up to him, trying your best to intimidate a beast such as him. But all you do is make yourself feel smaller as he towers over you. The height different has your pussy clenching around nothing. His nostrils immediately flare and you know he can smell how turned on you are. You cry out and push him back again with all your strength.

“Why?!” You demand with a ragged shout.

Without a single word, Dragon Headhunter swoops down and claims your lips in a searing kiss to shut you up. A low moan rumbles through your throat and the Dragon responds with one of his own. One that has you turning to mush in his arms. Your mouths clash together as they fight for dominance. The Dragon’s claws sink into the flesh of your wide hips and he whirls you around, pressing your ass into the conference room table.

Dragon Headhunter ravages you, his tongue swirling through your mouth as if trying to taste every last bit of you. He pushes against you harder and harder until he growls and lifts your plush frame up like it’s nothing and drops you easily on top of the table. You grunt and throw his arms off of you, forcing him to kiss at your pace. His claws sink into the wood and screech loudly as he drags them down, trying to resist grabbing at you again. But as you suck his tongue into your mouth he can’t take it any longer.

He pushes you all the way down on the table with as much as a small shove. You cry out as you go flying back, glaring at him. Dragon Headhunter starts furiously trying to shred off your clothes. You grunt and wrestle against him to get your clothes off without ruining them. He doesn’t bother, shredding his own clothes with a few swipes of his claws. You two glare at each other even as lust fills your gazes. He jerks your legs open to reveal your glistening folds and smoke leaves his snout with his huffs.

“This is where I fucked that pathetic little fae and now it’s where I’m gonna give you their sloppy seconds,” he snarls in your face and you grit your teeth. Your stomach churns with a jealous rage.

Before you can snap back at him, Dragon Headhunter snaps his hips forward, impaling you on his massive cock with a solid stroke. Fire shoots from your core and burns through your entire body. A fierce scream echoes off the walls and your pussy spasms around his girth as your body tries to adjust to being split open on his cock.

But the Dragon barely lets you take a breath before he’s rearing back and snapping his hips back against yours. You groan lowly, actually thankful for all your previous lays today as they helped prepare you for this. Your pussy opens up for him, allowing him to drive in even deeper inside you with each movement. Letting your fury fuel you, jerk your hips, meeting his thrusts. The Dragon’s eyes roll back in his head.

“F-fuuuuck— augh— knew this fuckhole was gonna be good without even seeing it. Looked like a damn slut who’d take anything given to them,” he says darkly, his tongue slipping as he gets more and more lost in the pleasure of your cunt.

Your eyes narrow at him, no matter how good he’s making you feel. Each pump of his hips brushes along every nerve in your core and it sends you flying, your body shaking with unimaginable pleasure. Your sopping cunt sucks him back in with every thrust, needing him inside you despite everything.

Wanting to drive him to the brink of insanity, your hands snap out and sink in between his sensitive scales. The Dragon throws back his head and lets out a ferocious roar. Then he falls forward, elbows caging you in and rutting up into your perfect pussy.

“Tell me why you sold me on this job. Did you think I was right for it?” you ask lowly, your breaths mingling with your close vicinity. Needing to ask and know the truth.

Dragon Headhunter chuckles and your pussy flutters around him, making him groan. He leans in and bites down on your neck, marking you with the memory of this moment. Then he leans back enough to look in your eye to deliver the blow.

“Nah, I just wanted this sweet cunt,” he says breathlessly, his words so simple yet infuriating. You dig your nails into the flesh beneath his scales the Dragon groans in pain, his hips surging forward into your tight heat.

“Fuck you.”

Dragon Headhunters eyes burn brightly, finally matching the anger in your own gaze. He smirks wickedly, flashing his fangs at you in a clear threat.

“Gladly.”

His tail whips out, quickly wrapping around your wrists and pinning you to the table. With a growl that sends chills up your spine, the Dragon picks up his pace, fucking up into you with a stamina your poor human body can barely handle as it jerks up with every thrust. A loud mewl rips from your throat as his cock bullies into your cervix with each stroke. His eyes gleam devilishly as he watches how much of a mess he’s turning you into.

But it’s not enough. His free hand flies to your puffy little clit and rubs your bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. Your jaw drops, all the sensations building up inside you have you nearly losing your mind.

You scream in relief a when you finally fall off the edge. Your body shaking, hips rising off the table with the force of your orgasm. For a moment you see white and you hear the Dragon roar once more as he follows right after you. And when you open your eyes you gasp to see fire shooting out from his throat, teasing you. The heat it emits just turns you on even more, prolonging an already intense climax.

It’s only once you finally come down from the high of a lifetime do you seem to gain common sense again. You huff, your anger still palpable but more half-hearted as you tear yourself away from him. You slide off the table, heading toward your discarded clothes, needing to get out of here.

“I’m leaving,” you announce, quickly sliding your clothes back on. Ignoring the way your combined release drips out of you and pools in your panties.

“You’re under contract, sweets,” Dragon Headhunter replies, his tone filled with amused arrogance.

You whip around to face him yet unable to reply. He’s right. You’re stuck here. But is it really that bad that you are?

Seeing your hesitance to reply, thoughts clearly spinning through your mind, Dragon Headhunter smirks and saunters up to you in all his naked glory. “Welcome to Free Use City. Embrace it.”

Leaving the conference room you think over what he said. This was your chance at a fresh start and you wanted to make the most of it. In a Free Use City you guess that meant fucking strangers. Truly embracing the city for what it was and what it offered. You could do that! In your office building alone there were hundreds of people to choose from. You look around the office, wondering if IT Robot’s offer was still on the table. He’s bound to know everything about pleasuring a human. Or perhaps you could find Bunny Secretary and see if you could throw yourself at him again. And well… there was always that Demon Guard you passed on the way in. You’re sure he could show a sinful time.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Weeks

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, face sitting, premature ejaculation, unprotected p in v sex (reader is tested and has an IUD, protect yourselves IRL), mentions of sex work, anxiety, Din is bad at feelings, farmhouse emotions, goats!, yes I made Din Djarin a schnauzer owner don't judge me. Words: 5,050

A/N: Here it is folks, the follow up to Fifteen Minutes, which I originally wrote as a standalone. Thank you to @goodwithcheese for speaking so highly about Fifteen Minutes thus making me revisit this draft and finally finish it. I also want to thank @frannyzooey for taking a look at the bare bones of this months ago. I really love these two and I’m so glad they finally get to eat soup together.

Masterlist

___

“So, where ya’ headed?” the Uber driver asks, turning toward the departures terminal.

“Just to see a... friend."

“Hm. Must be a special friend to catch a flight this early.” 

“I guess he is,” you smile through a yawn.

___

Waiting to board. Can’t wait to finally see you! xxxx🙂

Hitting the send button, you shake your head still finding it hard to believe you’re traveling almost halfway across the country to meet a man. A man you’ve fallen head over heels for.

Can’t wait to see you too. See you soon.

His response arrives just in time. A nervous rush of excitement courses through your body before turning your phone off for departure. 

You wonder if your seatmate can feel your leg shake as the nerves tap out against the plane floor. Sure, you’re excited, you’re ready to meet Din in person but there still is trepidation twisting inside of you. You’ve never done anything like this at all. You’ve never met a client and now you’re on a plane headed to one. You’ve known him for only four months, but the connection the two of you share is something you’ve never believed to be something you’d find. You’ve dealt with enough men wearing wedding bands who tell you they love you, that you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, that you’re their whole world. Love is a ridiculous concept when you charge ten dollars a minute. 

With Din, it’s different, it’s something that can be named, can be felt, can be solved, and yet so many questions about it remain. What do you call the quiet silence that exists between the two of you, happy to be on the phone keeping each other company every night? The small laugh and head shake he does whenever you tell him he’s cute? The random texts of his life that always brightens your day? The way he nods with zero judgment when he hears the ding of your new client alert? What do you call the decision that got you here on this plane? 

You read the same page over and over in your book. Will you sleep in his bed tonight? 

You give up on reading and stare forward at the little map on the seat screen. What does he smell like?

You look out the window and watch the clouds disintegrate around you. Is he just as nervous as you?

You turn the volume up and try to drown out your racing thoughts. Will this all be worth it?

Two hours left to find out. 

___

You step off the escalator, eyes scanning the crowded baggage claim area for the reason why you’ve taken a six hour flight halfway across the country. Your hands grip the backpack strap tighter trying to calm the nerves overtaking your heart and brain.

There, right there, leaning against a column alone in the shadows is Din and the brown eyes you’ve only dreamt of seeing in real life. He straightens when you make eye contact, but makes zero attempt to move, still frozen against the column. You lose the fight to hide your smile and excitement hurriedly shuffling over to him, he smiles as you get closer, the same shy half grin he gives when he says good night. His hands slip out of his pockets as you approach. Goodness, he’s so big and handsome, he could be a heartbreaker of all sorts to anybody he sets his sights on. The phone doesn’t do his beauty any justice.

“Hi,” you smile.

“H-hey, I can’t believe you’re… here,” his voice sounds even smoother and deeper in person.

“I am,” you shuffle on your feet. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

He tucks his hands back into his hoodie pocket, his silent rejection shoots a pang of longing through you. 

You thought it’d play out like a grand romantic movie, you’d jump into his outstretched arms and he’d never let go. Din’s rejection fills you with jealousy… screw all of the happy couples. You hate those movies now.

Touch me.

Of course he’s nervous, you’re nervous too, you’re just better at hiding it. He still leans against the column, shielded by the liminal space.

“Do you have luggage?” He’s right in front of you and yet you’re too scared to touch him, too anxious you’ll scare him away. 

“Nope, just my backpack and carry-on.” 

Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Oh, okay, did you want to leave then?”

“I didn’t come here to see the airport Din,” you place a hand on his hoodie clad arm. He looks down and stares. 

Did you overstep? You couldn’t have, you just watched this same man orgasm for you last night while chanting how he couldn’t wait to paint you with his cum. 

“Din,” you snap him out of his stare, “come on, I’m ready to leave.” 

You know he’s not trying to reject you, but his nervous aloofness is overwhelming when all you want is for him to touch you… just once. 

“I—uh, here, let me take your bags,” he mumbles, reaching past you to grab your suitcase. “It’s really cold, do you have a heavier jacket?” 

“No, but I’ll be okay,” you reassure. The cold won’t sting nearly as much as Din’s seemingly innocent rejection.  

“Here,” he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his head. “I’m used to this cold. You aren’t.” 

You take the bundle of black fabric from his outstretched hand, not realizing just how cold you were until you put the hoodie warmed by his body heat on. It smells of him. Faint hints of campfire, wood, leather, citrus, and cinnamon. You wish you were wrapped up in Din himself, touching him, smelling him, tasting him. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Whatever is happening inside of him seems to be bleeding over into your mind. You’re now second guessing every decision to come here. He was excited last night, he texted you this morning how he couldn’t wait to see you, is he disappointed? 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods and turns towards the door, walking away in quick strides leaving you alone in the dark corner near that damn column he’d rather touch than you. He has your suitcase and backpack, so either this is a really expensive way to get robbed or he has zero clue how his actions are affecting you. 

He turns back to you as he reaches the automatic doors, his eyes wide with guilt when he spots you still standing in the same place he left you. Well, at least he feels bad. 

You let a deep breath out to steel yourself and walk to him.

“I-I’m sorry, just not used to ever having to… you know…”

“I know, it’s okay Din,” you gently smile. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m just—“

“Nervous. I know Din, it’s okay. I understand this is a lot.”

“It is, but just… know that how I’m acting is not how I’m feeling. I’m really happy to have you here. You’re so… beautiful and I—thank you for being here with me.”

There it is. Everything is worth it now. The early morning Uber to the airport, the neverending TSA line, the cramped airplane seat, the nervousness you feel. You’d do it all again to hear that sentence. 

“Of course, I know. You’re okay,” you take his hand. If he’s not going to do it, you’ll do it. “Come on, let’s go.” 

His eyes stay downcast staring at your hand wrapped around his.

You clear your throat to get his attention, his eyes snap up to yours. “Din, let’s go.”

“R-right. Of course. Right.” 

He leads you out the door, gripping your hand harder when the bitter wind lashes against your skin. 

The two of you weave your way through the parking lot until you reach a large silver truck. It’s clean with a few dents and scratches. Well taken care of but old. 

Din opens the creaky door and helps you step up. The black leather seat is smooth as you slide across it.

Din places your luggage in the back before opening his door and deftly stepping in. 

You hide a deep exhale when he starts the engine.

He clears his throat and you look over. “It’s–uh nice to see you in here.”

“I’m glad,” you smile, turning and reaching your hand out to touch his cheek. Your thumb finds the little heart patch on the side of his face, you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel since you first saw it. You can’t help yourself, he looks so delicate, as if he’s aching to be touched but too scared to ask for it. You’re holding a scared fawn in your hands. Don’t scare him, don’t move too quickly, let him figure things out on his own. 

His lips part as he inhales, deep brown eyes staring into yours, the nervousness radiating off his skin fills the truck cabin. You wish you could just throw caution to the wind and force him to tell you exactly how he’s feeling, to slide across the bench seat and beg him to take you right here in this airport parking lot. You don’t. You pull your hand away and put your seatbelt on.

“I can’t wait to see your home. I’ve never been to an actual farm before.”

___

You’ve seen glimpses of Din’s home in random pictures he’s texted you or your nightly FaceTime sessions, but you never imagined just how picturesque it could be. A large white two story farmhouse situated in the middle of a vast expanse of green grass, a small tin roofed barn sits to the side with a herd of goats happily grazing. Din’s life must be so peaceful here, very different compared to your townhouse in the middle of suburbia.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse as he pulls into the driveway. “I can understand why you never wanted to leave.” 

The truck stops in front of his home, a german shepherd and a little schnauzer run down the porch steps and head for Din’s truck.

“They’ll be fine with you, but let me get out so I can control them.” 

Din gets out of the truck, you chuckle to yourself as his clipped directions to the dogs are drowned out by excited barks. 

He opens your door and reaches his hand out.

“Grogu! Boba! Back!” Din shouts as he helps you step down. His raised voice makes your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know he could ever be this loud.

“It’s okay, I like your dogs, you know I think they’re cute,” you bend down and tap on your knees to beckon them over. “This must be Grogu,” you scratch his soft ears. “He does have big ears.”

“They’re not that used to other people.”

“Hmm,” you stand up and pat the top of Boba’s head, “sounds like someone I know.”

He chuckles as he walks up the porch steps and unlocks the front door. 

Warmth fills your body as you walk over the threshold. White walls, worn floorboards, antique furniture, all of it taken care of and clean. Tidy and well kept up, a lot like his truck, aged but in better shape and made to last; a far change from your newbuild townhouse and IKEA furniture. 

“Diiin,” you breathe, “it’s beautiful in here. Like… I knew you lived in a nice house, but wow, between this and the farm… when do you sleep?”

“I sleep enough. I’ll go get your bags, make yourself… at home.”

You take a seat on his couch, it’s perfect for him. Beige, simple lines, nothing fancy, not too comfortable, but probably the height of cozy after a long day working on a farm. Grogu jumps up and sits next to you, his little bearded face panting happily next to yours. You scratch his chest and praise him as he inches closer towards you. Boba stays near the entry, waiting for Din.

“Think he likes you,” Din says as he places your bags by the steps. “Don’t take Boba’s standoffishness personally he’s–”

“Like you. I know,” you smile.

“Did– what would you like to do?”

“Can I see the computer where you first talked to me?”

“Um, yeah,” he walks down the hallway leaving you behind yet again, “it’s just in here.”

You shake your head and rise off the couch to follow, obviously he’s not used to company.

You walk into a small office, everything has a place, efficient and tidy, perfectly Din. Paperwork stacked in neat stacks, a calendar with his sharp writing all over it hung on the wall, today’s date circled with your name written in the box. 

A black monitor sits on a mahogany desk. 

“This is the computer, huh?” you ask, running your hands across the black keyboard,

“It is.”

“So this is where it all began? You sat there, clicked on my picture, and now look. I remember when I first heard your voice,” you face him taking both of his hands in yours, “it was so deep and warm, it lit something inside of me.”

You guide his arms to wrap around you, his hands rest on your lower back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first session ended. There was something so pure and mysterious about you, I knew you weren’t lying about wanting to know. It wasn’t some kink you had, I knew you needed help. I felt lucky to be the one to show you.” 

He sighs as you rest your head against his chest hearing the rhythm of his heart. “I closed that window so many times before finally agreeing and joining. I-I kept on thinking about how I could talk to someone as beautiful as you, all it would take is just a click. You were so pretty.” 

“Just a click,” you whisper, craning your neck up as Din lowers his head. His nose bumps against yours, his plush bottom lip is captured between your lips, another part of him you’ve wanted to touch since you first saw him. You finally kiss him, sweet and tender, his lips molding to yours perfectly. He pulls you in closer, his tongue hesitantly dipping into your mouth as you lick against him. The past fifteen weeks have finally led to this moment inside of this old farmhouse office in the middle of nowhere. Your Din and his soft lips, tense hands against your back, your soft coos mingling with his low groans, you could stay in this moment forever, if it wasn’t for Din’s phone beeping in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulls away, a bashful smile adorns his face, “I need to go take care of the goats before sundown.”

“Of course.” 

He hugs you, planting a soft kiss against your forehead and inhaling your scent before leaving. He’s warming up…

___

Din loves soup. You know this by the nights you spend with him over the phone. The man eats soup almost every single night. Soup with bread, soup and a baked potato, soup and steak, soup, soup, soup. 

You can’t blame him, the stew and homemade rolls he serves you for dinner are delicious. He shyly tells you it’s his speciality when he places the porcelain bowl in front of you. 

You could get used to the farm life. A fire burns in the fireplace while the tv plays Din’s favorite movie he’s been wanting to show you, some film about a galaxy far far away and an unlikely hero. The man loves space. 

His arm slung across your shoulder lies heavily on you, warming you inside and out. Grogu sleeps on your lap, softly snoring as you pet his gray fur. Din occasionally sneaks a kiss against your hair, you don’t know if you’ve ever been more comfortable in your life. 

The movie ends, a grand symphonic score plays over the credits. 

“That was really good,” you smile towards Din. “I liked it.”

A grin slowly stretches across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, thank you for showing me it.”

“You’re welcome,” he gazes at you, the same look he smolders through the phone, like he can’t believe his luck that you’re talking to him. 

You attempt to fight a yawn and lose. Your eyes blink tiredly at Din when he reaches and rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Did you want to,” he clears his throat, “sleep in my room with me tonight?”

“Only if you want me to Din.”

“I, uh, I do.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

___

The airplane and long day washes off and rinses down Din’s shower drain. You use his washcloth and think of his hands touching you. You smell his soap and think of inhaling the scent as he holds you close. You don’t know what’s about to happen once you leave this room. If you’re this nervous, how does he feel? 

Din looks up from the book he’s reading and watches you step out of the bathroom shyly padding over and getting into bed.

“What are you reading?” you whisper.

“Some book about a cowboy warrior in space…”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s good.”

“You know,” you look around the simple bedroom, “I see this room all the time, but only the wall behind your bed, hardly anything else. It’s been really nice seeing more of your life.”

He nods, blinking back to his book. 

The night can’t end like this. 

You grab the book from his hands and place it on the table.

“What are you thinking about Din? I never know what’s going on inside of you.”

“H-how pretty you look wearing that.” 

You look down at the pink silk tank top and shorts and swallow down a smile. You specifically wore it because you know how Din’s eyes light up whenever you put it on. “It’s my favorite because it’s so soft. Do you want to feel it?” 

He turns to you wide-eyed and gives you a solitary nod. 

“Go ahead Din.”

His tan hand splays across your stomach, golden toned skin rests against the blushy silk of your tank.

“S’soft,” he murmurs to himself.

“Here,” you place your hand over his and press down, “really feel it.”

His eyes angle down watching your hand navigate his around your stomach to just below your breasts. His mouth sits slightly agape, thick brows furrowing in concentration as you slip his hand underneath the fabric, his trembling calloused fingers making contact with your skin. 

“Am I soft here Din?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers. 

“Touch me, as little or as much as you want. Wherever you’re comfortable doing, okay?” you remove your hand from his. “I came here for you… whatever you want… I want..”

“I want to,” he gulps, “I want to touch you all over.”

“I’m all yours baby.” 

His shoulders deflate with a groan, he trails his hand higher to cup one of your breasts. The tips of his fingers peek out of the top of your tank. Tan, well worked strong hands lay against your smooth skin. The sight makes you moan, your teeth gnawing at your lip, trying to qualm the temptation to touch him further. 

“Take it off Din.” His dark brown eyes beam up to yours. “Go ahead baby.” 

He grabs the hem of your tank top, softly bundling it in his hands and lifting it over your head leaving you bare chested. 

“Kiss me and touch me baby,” you gently will. 

His lips form over yours, his hands return to your skin, petting and caressing your breasts before you cover them, pushing them farther down your stomach. His breaths quicken against your mouth when you slip his hands underneath the band of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” he pants against your lips when his hand meets the wetness seeping from your pussy. “Fuuuuuck.” 

“You feel me baby? That’s how wet you always make me, ever since the first time we talked and all you were was a black square with a sexy voice. It’s like we were destined in the stars.” 

“God damnit, you’re so soft,” Din’s hips buck into the air, his head thuds against the headboard when his thick finger slips in between your folds. “I-I-I oh god, I’m– I think I’m going to cum. I’m sorr–” 

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, cum for me.” Your hand reaches down and grips his hard cock through his black sweatpants. “Cum for me Din.” 

You feel a warm wet spot spread against your hand, pulling a moan from you.. 

“I’m--agh– sorry,” his big eyes stare at you, a hint of shame rounds them. “You feel so amazing.” He pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“No,” you whimper at the loss of contact. “I like it baby, I like that you like me so much that happened. Please don't apologize. Keep touching me if you want to. Do you?” 

“God,” his eyes shrink in determination, “yes I do.” 

“Okay baby.”

You sit in between his stretched out legs, lifting your hips to take off your shorts, spreading your legs wide, much the same way you do for your clients. 

He stares at your exposed skin, eyes mapping every dip, curve and dimple of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re here… for me.”

“Of course I am baby.” 

His fingers trace the plains of your legs, moving their way up to your thighs. His face set in a determinative scowl, eyes fixated on your core as he inches closer to it, now aching and soaked for him. 

“I-I’ve never done this.”

“I know baby, you remember our first call?” 

He nods.

“Remember what I told you what I liked?”

Another nod.

“Do that for me baby, touch me. Make me feel good.” A thick finger meets your lips, tracing a line up from your entrance to your clit before softly rubbing a circle around your sensitive nub. He remembered.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes out, his eyes staying planted staring at your pussy beguiled by his own actions.

“I am Din, only for you. I think about you every time. I-I,” you moan when he sticks a finger inside, slowly pumping it in and out, “I only want you.” 

“Only want you too, baby. C-can I taste you?”

“Ye–oh my god, yes Din, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m yours, anything you wa–”

“Sit on my face,” he growls. 

“O-of course.” 

You crawl towards him, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips before straddling his face, your dripping cunt hovers right over his mouth. He grips your ass and pulls you down, smothering himself with all of your slickness. You cover him like a mask, he worships your taste like a religion, moaning and groaning into your sweet pussy. Your praises about how good he’s doing and how amazing you feel incant out of your mouth as he takes you to paradise. Plush lips suck and savor you, your hands grip the bed frame like a precious artifact, his devotion to you and your pleasure pulls a melting orgasm from you. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pray at his altar, knees bowed and quaking against his ears as he drinks your offering down. You’re shattered, everything you’ve ever believed in replaced by Din and his idolatry of you. 

You move your lust drunk body off and lay down next to Din. His face shines with a gloss of you, his tongue peeks out and licks his lips, before sending you a shy smile.

“You’re amazing,” he incredulously mutters. 

“You are too,” a doting grin lights your face before pulling him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, a moan leaves your throat at the realization. 

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you closer to him, his hard cock juts against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Already?” you pull back and tease. 

“C-can I feel you?” 

“Feel me?” 

“Yes, c-can I… can we….?”

A rush of anticipation thrums through your body at the implication of his nervousness.

“Yes Din, we can. Are you sure this is what you want tonight? We can wait.”

“N-no. I want you, I-I want this,” he moves his sweatpants down, kicking them off. 

“Okay baby, okay,” you kiss him, grabbing his face, petting the soft hair of his sparse beard.

He rolls on top of you, cradling your head between his strong forearms, a heated kiss licks into your mouth as his naked weight covers you. Your legs open in a silent offer for Din to take everything you have. You can just feel the heft of his cock ghosting against your entrance. 

He looks down at you, brown eyes wide, plush mouth parted, brows softened with adoration. 

You send him a silent nod and smile when his cock enters you, feeling a sense of honor that you’re the one Din has chosen for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The green accept button, the reserved man dressed in all black, the deep voice, the connection between two screens. Now, you’re here with Din, moaning and rolling your hips to accept the length of him.

His neck strains when he sheathes his cock fully inside of you, panting and groaning as he slowly rocks back and forth.

“You … feel … like … heaven… I love your pussy… I love your body…. I… love you.”

He freezes at the divulgence, body locked in shock at his slip. 

Your face lifts in a reassuring grin. “I love you too,” your hand grabs his chin, bringing his lips to yours. 

You love him, you’ve known it for so long, but here in this farmhouse bed you can hear it, you can feel it. 

Your bodies meld, hips meeting, lips locked, he gives you everything, you give him everything. Your pussy clenches around his slow, full strokes. This is making love. 

“Baby, I-I.. I’m going t–” he strains. 

“Go ahead Din, I got you.” Your hands trail up and down the expanse of his smooth back. He grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck, fevered breaths hit your skin as his cum fills you.

He rolls off, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your hair. 

“Wow… I.. are you okay?”

“What?” your head perks up.

“You didn’t… uh–”

“I did when you fucked me with your tongue Din, I’m very happy and satisfied.” 

“Oh, I just… I want to make sure you’re good.”

“Baby, I am very good. Trust me.” 

“I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you too Din…” you rest your head against his chest, the exhaustion of the day settling in, quickly lulling you to sleep. This is the way to go to bed.

___

The faint sound of running water gently rouses you from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon, the room’s still shrouded in a lazy darkness. 

Din’s long sigh echoes against the tiles of the shower like a siren song. 

You pad out of bed toward the bathroom, pushing the door wide open. 

Your mouth drops at the sight ahead of you… Din’s muscular, toned golden body shines underneath a glistening sheen of water. He runs a gray wash rag across his stomach, the mop of dark, curly hair right underneath his hand beckons you to look farther down. You’ve seen him so many times before, almost every night, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see all of him in person. Din is a big man, his cock matches his stature. Just as long, just as broad, just as golden. God, he’s gorgeous. 

You knock on the doorframe catching his attention, surprise tensing across his whole body. 

“Good morning,” you purr, “can I join you?”

He nods, his cock grows visibly hard when you walk over and get in. The warm steam, Din’s naked body, and the smell of Din’s cedar body wash engulfs you, this is the way to wake up. 

“Mmm, the hot water feels good,” you sigh, leaning your head against his chest. Din’s cock rests heavily in between you, tempting you to touch it. “Want me to wash you?”

He groans a yes. 

“You can wash me too,” you propose, squeezing a dollop of body wash onto your palm, running it across your chest before leaving suds on your hands. “Go ahead Din.”

Drops of water land against your skin as his trembling hands slowly reach for your breasts. He massages and kneads, both palms laying against your tits, his touch turns more searing when your hands land on his chest, rubbing in the soap along the dusting of hair stretched across his broad body. 

Your nipples pebble under his nervous, firm touch and undivided attention. He hisses when your hands slink farther down, running across the damp curls of his happy trail leading you to his cock standing between his thighs, thick and dripping. You wrap a fist around his length, his knees weaken causing his body to smash against the wall, his face grimacing in pleasured agony.

“Fuck,” he pants, water rains down into his wide open mouth, splashing out with every exclamation of your name he repeats as he cums all over your stomach. 

Your tongue runs up the column of his neck to his mouth, swallowing his rapid breaths. 

“You feel so good against me,” he gasps against your lips. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I am baby, I am,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him, wishing you could live in this tiny shower forever. This is the way to wake up.

___

Din settles on the porch swing next to you, pulling your blanket wrapped body close to him. 

“Is this what you do every morning?” 

“Just about,” he says before taking a drink of his coffee. 

“It’s nice,” you yawn, “early but nice.” 

He chuckles, “You get used to it.” “Mm,” you rest your head on his chest, smelling the fresh dew and hay on his flannel jacket. 

“I really like you being here,” he softly says.

“I really like being here too.”

“You know,” he gulps, “you can do your job here… with me.”

___

A/N: Thank you for reading! This ending makes me feel:

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face. 

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors. 

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face. 

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up. 

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all. 

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later. 

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened. 

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway. 

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had. 

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face. 

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form. 

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be. 

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant. 

he could see you were in pain. 

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear. 

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe. 

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie. 

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this. 

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief. 

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning. 

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way. 

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand. 

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe. 

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you. 

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.” 

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway. 

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin. 

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin. 

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you. 

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile. 

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words. 

[thebiggerbear]

Giving In

Summary: You've finally given in to what you've wanted all this time but will it be enough?

Pairing: ? (whoever you want it to be) x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a new format I was experimenting with while also practicing...well...smut. To a low degree. I've come across fics in the past for all different fandoms, on here and AO3, that have featured this "whichever character you want it to be" format. So this could be Dean, Russell, Beau, Soldier Boy, Jensen, whoever you want. I'm going to tag the ones I just mentioned just to give it somewhere to go but it was purposely kept vague to be whoever the reader wants it to be.

All unbeta'd.

Thank you @rieleatiel for pre-reading! I was so nervous lol. Once again, your input is invaluable and your time spent appreciated. 💖

Warnings: smut-ish (18+ - minors DNI); language

Word Count: 978

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

You can also read on AO3

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he moved in and out of you.

You felt his breath near your earlobe. “There it is. Let me hear some more of that, sweetheart.” He purposely moaned into your ear as an example.

You dug your nails into his back at the sound, matching the indentations that now resided in your bottom lip from your teeth. Fuck, that was hot. No wonder he wanted to hear similar sounds coming from you. “We shouldn’t—” You loudly gasped when suddenly without warning, he hiked your leg higher on his side, causing him to go just that little bit deeper. “Be doing this.”

“Yes, we should,” he whispered, feeling him trailing kisses down your jawline until he reached your lips. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he grunted into your mouth, squeezing your hand in his almost as if to echo his sentiment.

You let him kiss you passionately, make love to you, but the guilt weighed heavily in your chest. You meant what you had said before — neither of you should be doing this. Yet as his hips moved steadily against yours, as he broke away to lift his head up and lock eyes with you, panting harshly, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself that you had wanted this for some time as well. It was a truth you kept hidden deep down inside that you refused to acknowledge. Even when you’d taken a picture together last week with your friends and his hand had stayed glued to the small of your back until the last possible second. When his gaze lingered on you longer than it should in polite company. When the discreet tender touches began, the inconspicuous feathery brush of his lips on your earlobe happened repeatedly when your head was a little too close to his, and when his hugs lasted a little too long. Each time any of those things occurred, you knew that you were heading in a direction that would only lead to trouble, getting closer and closer until one of you couldn’t take it anymore. Like a rumbling storm cloud that was close to breaking, the electricity in the air around you two became more and more charged until eventually lightning would strike and the downpour would be sudden and both of you would be drowning in it. You should have put a stop to it, to any of it, but you hadn’t. Because deep down in that secret place, you hadn’t wanted to. 

And now here you were, underneath the man who had as tight of a grip on your heart as he did your body — tighter even. He was staring down at you with a mix of desire and something akin to reverence; you stared back at him, the same feelings coursing through you alongside pleasure and — well, love. You loved these eyes now, the ones that watched your expressions closely as he moved within you. You loved these lips, the ones that parted to let out a deep groan when you reflexively clenched down on him to slow him down. You loved the deep voice that followed, telling you, “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing the shit out of me” as lust brightened the sheen in his eyes. You loved the warm yet prickly skin you felt underneath your hand when you placed it against his cheek, causing his eyes to shut halfway before he turned and pressed his lips to your palm.

You loved this man. You’d loved him when he insisted on playing you song after song from the playlist on his phone. You’d loved him the first time he’d laughed at something you said, appreciating your steady stream of snarky commentary from movies to news to every possible topic in life you two could find to discuss. You’d loved him when you turned to say something to him about the tv series you were binging together one day to find him already watching you with an affectionate smile and a soft, faraway look in his eyes. You’d loved him when he fell asleep on your couch one night after several drinks between the two of you, his head in your lap and his lips resting against your hand that he had brought to his mouth and placed soft kisses on before drifting off. You’d loved him when you saw an act of kindness from him to a stranger that wasn’t meant to be witnessed by you or anyone else nor was he aware that it was. You loved him beyond words with every smile; every conversation; every laugh; every exchange between you without words; every look; every phone call and facetime; every touch; every text message he sent; every embrace; every thought he had and shared with you; every time he spoke your name with that adoration attached to it — all of it. You loved him.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, straight from the heart.

He turned a dopey smile down on you, kissing the tips of your fingers reverently. He didn’t say it back; he never said it back. And you knew why. It was the very same reason you two should not be tangled up in each other like you were. 

But you knew that he loved you, too, even if he couldn’t say the words. The way he leaned down to kiss you; the way he moved your hand back over your head and slipped his fingers into yours; the way he continued moving both of your bodies anew; the way his mouth lingered near your ear and breathily encouraged your quiet moans with “That’s it, baby, let me hear all of it”; the way he held you to him as you shuddered in orgasm and pressed his lips to your temple — you knew he loved you. And that would have to be enough.

For now. 

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for any works.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ art deco ࿐ྂ "you're not mean, you're just born to be seen"

summary: kokonoi hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to sano "mikey" manjiro's descent into darkness and now he unknowingly watches the start of a new obsession with something a lot prettier that owns one too many mini skirts

pairing(s): kanto!mikey x f!reader

notes: told through koko's eyes and the beginning of yandere!mikey and pre-bonten. heart divider by cafekitsune

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of weapons, mentions of murder, implied mental health issues, slight bimbo!reader, suggestive themes, mentioned voyeurism, obsession, future yandere(?), not edited we die like my potential

word count: 1690

Sano “Mikey” Manjiro was no longer the man he used to be. Perhaps after killing a bunch of people, part of him had gone numb. Or maybe most of him. He doesn’t feel the same way anymore and it’s clear to everyone around him. His black Toman jacket had been long changed to white and he’s got an appointment with a tattoo artist soon. Kokonoi wonders when it will be his turn to get tattooed next. He wonders when the matching jackets will be changed to suits and their flimsy pipes and bats will be replaced with guns. Kokonoi isn’t sure if he’s looking forward to it or not. Many things have changed quickly and so has Mikey. 

Kokonoi Hajime accidentally got front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s plunge into darkness and it’s not something very fun to watch especially since nothing he does can get the latter out of it. It was almost like Mikey wanted to burn. Like he enjoyed it. Kokonoi Hajime glanced up from his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his tired eyes. The rain outside pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows, a rhythmic drumming that filled the otherwise silent penthouse. Mikey stood motionless, staring out into the storm as if it held answers to the questions he never voiced. Kokonoi had grown used to this silence, the heavy, unspoken tension that seemed to hang over them like a dark cloud. “Mikey— Oh hi Koko!”

Maybe the only thing stopping Mikey from fully going crazy was you and your damn mini-skirt. You twirl into the room with that infectious energy of yours, your sneakers tapping against the marble floor. The rain pattering against the windows is almost drowned out by your cheerful presence. You greet Kokonoi with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a naivety that seems out of place in the world of the Kanto Manji Gang— in Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s world. “Hi Koko!” you repeat, a playful lilt in your voice

Kokonoi can’t help but crack a small smile at your enthusiasm, the glitter in the inner corners of your eyes shining under the artificial light. You always manage to bring a bit of light into these dark times, even if you don’t fully understand the shadows lurking around you. Mikey, however, doesn’t move. His gaze remains fixed on the storm outside, his reflection a ghostly figure in the glass. Kokonoi watches him, the unease gnawing at him. Mikey's transformation from the once lively, mischievous leader of Tokyo Manji Gang to this silent, brooding figure of Kanto Manji Gang is unsettling. You flounce over to Mikey, your hips swaying with each step. You wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “Mikey, come on. You promised we’d watch a movie tonight” you whine, trying to coax him away from the window, glossy lips shifting into a pout

Mikey finally shifts, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your touch. He turns around, and for a moment, Kokonoi catches a glimpse of the old Mikey in the way his dark eyes soften when he looks at you. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he says, his voice a low rumble.

Honestly speaking, in Kokonoi’s opinion, you were kind of a bimbo— in some sense that is. You were top of your class with the goal of getting into law school but here you were in a damn mini skirt, your bruised knees knocking against Sano Manjiro who is a literal fucking criminal. Maybe you have one of those weird fantasies of representing your criminal boyfriend in court. The problem with that though is you and Manjiro weren’t together. You were just a pretty distraction, someone who brought a flicker of life into Mikey’s darkened world, a role you played with such unknowing perfection that even Kokonoi found it admirable. The darkness that enveloped Mikey was thick, suffocating, but you… you seemed to be the only one who could penetrate it, if only slightly with your stupid mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs so well. “Not feeling it?” You ask him innocently, the tips of your white sneakers knocking against his boots

Maybe you were a little stupid but other than academic smarts, you were emotionally smart too. You didn’t realize just who you were hanging around and what the penthouse you waltzed into was but you knew when Sano “Mikey” Manjiro wasn’t feeling well. Kokonoi admires that because he as well as the other top members of Kanto Manji Gang were yet to figure out Mikey’s emotions. “Not really” Mikey says, his fingers curl around your hip in an almost possessive manner, pulling you closer to him. 

Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a pang of jealousy mixed with something he can't quite place. Maybe it's envy at your ability to reach Mikey in a way he can't, or perhaps it's frustration at Mikey's apparent detachment from everyone else. Kokonoi watches you wrap your arms around Mikey’s neck. The contrast between Mikey’s brooding presence and your bubbly aura is almost comical, like a scene from a twisted romantic comedy. Kokonoi can’t help but shake his head at the irony of it all. “What’s wrong, Mikey?” you ask softly, your voice laced with genuine worry.

Mikey’s gaze softens as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a twinge of envy mixed with a hint of admiration. Despite everything, Mikey still had the ability to care for someone, even if it was in his own twisted way. You pout slightly, not satisfied with his vague answer. “But I do worry about you, Mikey. You know that,” you insist, your well-manicured fingers intertwining with his bruised fingers.

A small, almost invisible smile tugs at the corners of Mikey’s lips. “I know, babe. And I appreciate it” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice. 

He leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise of reassurance. Kokonoi can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the intimacy between you and Mikey. It’s not that he harbours any romantic feelings for Mikey himself, but rather he envies the connection you two share, a connection that seems to elude him in this world of darkness and violence. As you pull away from the kiss, a bright smile graces your lips once more. Your lip gloss is now transferred onto Mikey’s lips and he doesn’t seem to mind as he licks up the artificial taste, his eyes never leaving yours as he does. It was weird though— You and Mikey weren’t dating but you still kissed and cuddled and did other things like normal couples did. Mikey called you sweetheart, babe, baby, doll, angel and any other sweet endearment his tainted mind could think of but you both weren’t dating. You both aren’t dating but Kokonoi knows the bruises on your knees are from when Mikey’s got you on the floor between his legs and the scratches on Mikey’s back are from you being pinned beneath him. “I’ve been a little stressed though. Come help me out?” Mikey says to you, thumb rubbing away some of the lipgloss that smeared onto your chin when he kissed you

Kokonoi can imagine it clearly— you down on your knees on the hardwood floor in front of Mikey, your pretty eyes wide and watery with drool running down your chin and mascara smudged; your stupid mini skirt hiked up around your hips as Mikey made you take it. “Hm, m’kay” You answer a little too innocently for what Mikey was suggesting at

As Mikey guides you to another room in the penthouse, he looks over his shoulder. “Koko, make sure no one disturbs us”

“Got it boss” He answers, trying to sound as apathetic as possible

The lock on the door clicks and Kokonoi is already scrambling to find his headphones. He’s been a victim of getting hard off listening to your breathy moans and helpless whimpers too many times already and he’s still got work to do. Kokonoi wasn’t a huge fan of being a voyeur like the rest of the sickos and perverts Mikey let into Kanto Manji Gang after all. He barely gets his headphones in when he hears a breathy groan come from the other side of the locked door. He tries to focus on his work, to lose himself in the lines of code scrolling across the screen, but his mind keeps drifting back to the scene unfolding behind the locked door. He can almost picture it—the way you kneel before Mikey, your eyes wide with anticipation, your lips parted in a silent plea. He can hear the soft rustle of fabric as Mikey guides you, his voice low and commanding. It’s a scene that plays out in his mind with disturbing clarity, one that he wishes he could erase but finds himself unable to look away from.

Kokonoi Hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s descent into darkness. But it seems he’s watching an obsession grow as well. 

An obsession that owns too many mini skirts and with a smile as bright as the sun. 

Kokonoi wonders how long it will take for that obsession to grow into something unhealthy and something that starts to hurt you. But even as he wonders, a part of him knows that he’ll be there to witness it all. Because in this world of darkness and violence, there are few constants, and Kokonoi has unwittingly become one of them. So he continues to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he loses himself in the safety of his own little world, a world far removed from the chaos that surrounds him.

As the night wears on and the sounds from the other room grow louder, Kokonoi can’t help but feel a sense of resignation settle over him. Because in the end, he knows that you’re just as trapped as the rest of them, prisoners of their own making in a world where darkness reigns supreme.

[w3irdo666]

Hi! I wasn't sure if you were accepting requests at the moment

but can I get (romantic) Alastor x Lucifer's ex Seraphim Angel wife who he left plz?

S/o eventually left Heaven and still got to keep their wings and powers before it got taken. They meet him around the time he got to Hell and they hit it off

Anything else is up to you if you'd like

Oh, interesting idea!! I'll try my best, love youuu!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

The Drug In Me Is You

Alastor x Fem!reader x ex!Lucifer

Letter count:

Tags: slightly angst, sfw, slightly possesive behaviour, depression.

Notes: I hope i understood you right!!! Enjoy!!

Lucifer was a wonderful husband.. Constantly enveloped you in love. It seemed to you that you could not dream of anything more. Romantic dates, beautiful clothes, oh, you thought that you would drown in his care.... Which is what happened. Lucifer was undoubtedly magnificent a man...But not a great husband...When you got married, your joy knew no bounds...but...

A year later, you began to notice that he began to pay less attention to you. In the evening, he no longer went to you to cuddle in bed, but just turned his back to you and fell asleep.When you wanted to hug him, threw your hand away and answered annoyed, “Leave me alone.”

One day you were walking through a magnificent garden in paradise. The beauty of nature has always delighted you. Oh, these magnificent scarlet roses.. They look so fragile that it seems that if you touch them, they will fall into small pieces... Birds sang and flew in the sky .Everything was so wonderful, you even forgot about your husband for a while...But suddenly you heard someone’s voice. Your wings trembled slightly, not expecting that someone would be there. You came closer to the source of the sound and, hiding behind a tree, looked whose it was a voice...

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt tears running down your cheeks, like blades piercing your skin.Lucifer stood with another woman. His smile....he had not smiled as much as he smiled at this woman for a long time.You were hurt, terribly. He betrayed you. You were on the verge of hysterics. Turning around, you ran away, sobbing and wiping your tears with your hands.

Everything around you seemed so fake. These light clouds. Birds, flowers, plants. You flapped your three wings and quickly flew. Where? You didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t where you were flying from.

..............................................................................................................

The next few days were a blur. You felt terrible, you suffered. Lucifer, betrayed you? You couldn’t accept it. When Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven because he got involved with a demon, you didn’t care anymore. You used to be a very joyful archangel. Everyone called you a ray of sunshine. But now... There were black bags under your eyes because of lack of sleep. Your eyes are red, tear-stained. Your condition was immediately noticed by other angels.

“Y/n, honey, are you okay....?” One day an archangel turned to you, concerned about your condition. But she was only met with a few rude words. This alerted her. Soon the angels began to avoid you. The archangels thought about making a decision about your expulsion. But before they could do anything, you expelled yourself. Having opened the portal, you descended into hell. “If I suffer here... It won’t be worse there..” You thought.

Unfortunately, you were wrong. A few days later, you sat curled up in a ball in some alley of hell. Your clothes were torn in some places, your wings were tattered, you felt emptier than an empty glass.Your tired eyes were closed. Your face was buried in your knees. You were so tired that you didn’t even have the strength to cry. Suddenly, you heard someone’s voice. It felt like someone was talking on the radio.

"What are you doing here, dear.With those...wings.Aren't you supposed to be in heaven?" His static voice sounded confident.

You raised your head slightly and opened your eyes. You saw a strange sinner in front of you... He was different from many of those you saw here. He was dressed in a beautiful fitted red suit, his black bow tie was beautifully attached to his shirt. He had a big smile on his face, showing his yellow, sharp teeth. His eyes were calm, but you could see a slight mockery in them.He had black gloves on his hands, and in one of his hands he held a red microphone on a stick.

"W...what do you want...?" You asked in a quiet, pitiful voice. You heard him laugh slightly.

"Ah, nothing important, dear, just curious what such.... creature..like you doing here?" He tilted his head to the side with slight -crack-.

"Who are you...?" You said weakly

"Ah, name's Alastor.Pleasure to meeting you! Quite a pleasure!" He bowed while saying this. You didn't say anything, only looked down at the ground. He continued watching you for few seconds then walked closer to you, standing in front of you.

Alastor couldn't help, but when he saw you, something woke up in him.He was in hell only few month, but still made reputation of dangerous cruel demon.But when he saw your poor, beautiful body, his heart skipped a beat. He felt a strange pull to protect you.

"Such an innocent soul..." he thought

............................................................................................................

You didn't know how it happened, but you find yourself in....his apartment...? With Alastor in front of you.There was a cup of tea in front of you. You looked at your reflection in the tea. You looked terrible. Shabby dirty hair, tired face...The demon continued to look at you, drinking his coffee. His smile never fell, you didn’t even care.

Your weak hand reached for the cup of tea. Fragile fingers clasped the handle of the tea, but your hands were too weak to lift the cup. Alastor noticed this and his eyes narrowed slightly. He put his cup on the saucer. Crossing his legs, he leaned back, watching you.

No matter how he tried to find pleasure in your suffering and raise the cup, he did not feel good. He felt sympathy for you, and a desire to protect. He slowly stood up and approached you.His beautiful long fingers took a cup of tea from your hand and brought the cup to your lips. Slightly surprised by such actions, you looked at the demon.

Opening your lips slightly, you started drinking tea with small sips.

After tea and some food (Alastor feed you too) Alastor showed you way to the bathroom, you needed it.You looked like complete mess.Alastor provided you with a towel, after which you went into the bathroom.When you came out of the bath, prepared clothes were waiting for you... Or rather, a shirt and pants...

When you were changing clothes, Alastor came into the room. He was amazed by your beauty. Your hair.. your smooth skin... Ah, those beautiful wings... He felt his pulse increase.His smile and eyes began to give off shades of warmth.

..............................................................................................................

You lived with Alastor for a long time.You became very close, you started to feel better. Every evening, over a cup of tea, he listened to your worries and sufferings... Usually he would have enjoyed this, but with you, he only felt the desire to calm you down. Every day spent with Alastor gave you more strength, and made you forget Lucifer.

In a hell full of lustful sinners and murderers, you have found comfort in a dangerous demon.No, he wasn't just a demon for you, Alastor, this soul..When he woke up in the evening because of your sobs in the next room, he would sigh and get up heading towards you. When he approaches you, he will lie down next to you and hug you. He hates touching.... But for you he will do anything.He would kill for a feeling of your wings wrap around him when you relax after telling him what bothering you.

When the angels officially kicked you out of heaven, you didn't care so much anymore.You cared only about one thing...only about one person...only about Alastor.

........................................................................................................

"Alastor, where are we?" You asked as you looked around.You were in some kind of garden. Although the flowers were not as luxurious as in heaven, life was visible in them... They looked so bewitching.Alastor coughed and turned away from you. You looked at him in surprise, not understanding his behavior.

"Alastor...?" You almost reached with your hand to his shoulder, but he quickly turned to you.

"Y/n.." Alastor began. His smile was on his face as usual, but you saw the uncertainty in his eyes when he turned to you with one black rose in his hand.You lowered your hand. Oh, how beautiful this rose was... Like an angel of death...

"yes..?"

"i....love you." He extended his hand with the rose towards you. His other hand was tightly gripping his microphone. Your cheeks turned slightly red due to the blush. You felt your heart beating faster and as if butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.He turned his head away, looking away.Without wasting a second, you grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned his face in your direction with the other. Alastor tensed at the contact, but when he felt your soft, plump lips on his, he almost melted.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to penetrate. You let out a slight moan as your tongues intertwined.

After a few seconds, you pulled away each other. from each other and looked into each other's eyes. You smiled. Your cheeks were flushed with blush, but you were happy to think about it.

"I love you too."

Notes: I hope you liked it!!! Sorry that i didn't lost for a while (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠)

[revelboo]

Could you do more of your story for TFP Sound wave? He is my favorite iteration of him and your writing is so good. I love your blog

Sure!

Bad Idea Pt 8

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Ignoring Lazerbeak’s annoyance sitting at the back of his processor like a dark cloud, he turns his attention away from his screens to the small form enshrouded in a nest of blankets on his desk caged between his arms and uses a tendril to adjust one of your blankets, letting the graspers on the end linger against your neck so your emotions spark intoxicatingly through him. Reassuring him that all’s well as he watches over you and helping drown out the mental distress he can feel from the other end of the ship from Megatron’s little pet and the human that Shockwave has taken for reasons he’s trying very hard not to think about. It shouldn’t matter to him one way or the other, but after you? There’s a vague sense of guilt for those others even knowing there’s nothing he can do for them. You he can protect, though. And he will.

• Sleepily peering up at him as he works, he somehow knows the second you’re awake, head tipping down to stare at you as one of his tendrils slides against, then coils about your ankle to make you smile. For being a giant, spiky horror, he’s surprisingly sweet and clingy. “Anything exciting?” You ask, and his head tilts before lifting back to the bank of screens and then down to you in what you guess is a ‘no.’ From what you’ve seen of the feeds throughout the Nemesis, it’s normally pretty boring unless his big, even scarier boss is on a rampage.

• Your little head tilts up to watch the screens with him and he wonders if you’re trying to help or just bored. Running his graspers through your hair, he likes to think you enjoy his company, like to be with him. Remembering that you’re there waiting for him makes his tasks a bit more tolerable, even if leaving you unsupervised makes him uneasy. Old worries like raw wounds still hurting him even though he tries to bury them. Tries to forget and move on. You’re just so fragile.

• The steady slide of those graspers through your hair is almost hypnotic, every bit of tension easing under his attention. You’re never quite sure what’s going on in that pointy head of his, but his actions? Always trying to take care of you, worrying. It’s a pity he’s not a human guy, because you’d grab on and refuse to let go. He’s not human and you already feel that way as silly it is. It’s likely some weird combination of Stockholm’s and stress, but you enjoy being around him. Love how affectionate he is. Venting softly, one of his graspers slides over the shell of your ear, before he just curls the tendril about you, gently squeezing to make you laugh.

• Lowering his head when you tip your own up to look at him, he very carefully bumps his helm to your forehead, spark warming as you reach up to lay a soft palm on him. His affectionate, little songbird. The quick brush of your soft mouth against him sparks electric through him, freezing him in place, before you duck your head. Hiding how red your face now is from him.

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[soulofapatrick]

Let me help you - Rhysand x female reader 

Summary: Your period hits and Rhysand is there to help 

Words: 3.8K

Warnings; periods; pain

Y/N's POV

The moment I wake, the pain hits me like a tidal wave. It’s not the usual ache that comes with a period—no, this feels like my body is being torn apart from the inside. A low, guttural groan slips past my lips, my arms instinctively wrapping around my middle as the cramps twist and tighten like a vice. Sharp, unforgiving. It feels like I’m being ripped in two, like something is clawing its way through my flesh. 

“Gods,” I rasp, barely able to get the word out as another wave of pain surges, more violent than the last. It’s as if someone has taken a blade and is dragging it through my insides, slicing me open from the core. My skin is slick with cold sweat, each breath shallow and ragged as I curse whatever deity is responsible for this torture. Feyre and Morrigan warned me, but this… this is something else.

No one told me it would be like this.

I try to move, to do anything other than lie here helplessly, but the agony drags me under again, my muscles seizing so tightly I can hardly think. I force myself to sit up, gasping at the sensation of everything twisting in my gut. The room spins, the dizziness overwhelming. My vision darkens at the edges, and I have to grip the bedpost just to keep from passing out.

I try to breathe through the pain—deep breaths, in and out—but every inhale feels like it’s being cut short by the sharpness, the claws tearing into me from the inside. I can feel my pulse hammering in my ears, drowning out everything but the relentless throb. My whole body feels wrong, like it’s unraveling, bleeding me dry.

I need to get up. I need to clean myself up. I can feel the sticky warmth of blood pooling between my thighs, seeping through my nightgown, spreading like ink across the sheets. I have to get to the bathroom, grab a fresh pad, do anything to stop this mess. I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, the pain spikes again. A strangled cry escapes me, and I clutch my stomach, hunched over.

The world spins, black spots dancing in my vision. My legs feel like they’re made of water, trembling uncontrollably beneath me. I take a step—just one—and the ground rushes up to meet me. My knees hit the floor with a sickening thud, but I barely feel it through the haze of pain. I can’t move, can’t breathe. My body is paralysed by the sheer force of it.

Blood drips down my legs, a steady trickle that feels endless. Too much. Too much blood. It’s warm, sticky, and I know there’s more than there should be. It’s soaking through my nightgown, through the carpet beneath me, and the humiliation stings, but I’m too weak to do anything about it. My mind is too clouded with pain to even care.

Another cramp hits—harder this time. The pain shoots through me like lightning, and I gasp, doubling over as my muscles lock in agony. It feels like I’m dying. Gods, it really feels like I’m dying. Like something is clawing its way through my womb, ripping me apart from the inside out. My body feels like a battlefield, each pulse of pain a fresh wound.

And then, through the storm of agony, I feel him.

A gentle touch at the edges of my mind—Rhysand. His presence, usually so comforting, now feels too close, too intimate. His mental claws brush against my shields, tender and concerned. He’s looking for me, probably wondering why I didn’t show up for breakfast. I can feel his worry like a pressure against my thoughts, his claws scraping lightly as he tries to find a way in.

Are you alright? His voice, gentle yet insistent, echoes in my mind.

But I can’t let him in. Not now. Not like this. I’m covered in blood, curled on the floor like a wounded animal, and the idea of him seeing me this vulnerable is unbearable. So I slam my shields shut, cutting him off. Go away, I think, my mind a tangled mess of pain and shame. I can’t let him see me like this.

The pain flares again, and I curl tighter into myself, my arms wrapping around my middle in a vain attempt to hold myself together. My body trembles with each new wave of agony, and the blood… there’s so much blood. I can feel it running down my legs, sticky and warm, pooling beneath me, soaking into the plush carpet. I can’t stop it. I can’t even move.

I press my forehead to the cold floor, trying to focus on the coolness, anything to distract from the hell raging inside me. The cramps come in relentless waves, each one worse than the last, sharp and deep like knives being twisted into my flesh. I dig my nails into the carpet, trying to ground myself, but nothing helps. It’s unbearable. I’m suffocating under the weight of it, drowning in the pain, the embarrassment, the blood.

All I can do is lie here, curled up on the floor, hoping for it to end, knowing I have no choice but to endure it.

I wake to the sharp sound of the door slamming shut, jolting me out of the haze of pain and darkness. My mind is slow to catch up, my body even slower. Everything hurts, but the agony in my abdomen is the worst of it—sharp and brutal, cutting through the fog like a jagged blade. It feels like I’m being torn in two. I can barely move. My limbs are heavy, leaden, and when I try to sit up, the world spins around me.

Then I hear him.

"Shit," Rhysand’s voice is frantic, breathless, and close—too close. "What in the name of the Mother—" His words stop short as his footsteps close the distance between us, and before I can blink, he’s kneeling beside me. "Gods, there’s so much blood."

I try to respond, to tell him it’s fine, that I’m fine, but the words stick in my throat. I feel his fingers gently brush the hair off my clammy forehead, and even though I know I look a mess, a soft, involuntary whimper escapes me. Despite the situation, despite the pain, there’s a strange comfort in his touch—familiar, safe. I hate myself for needing him like this, for craving the warmth of his presence. He’s not mine, not really. We’re just… whatever we are.

But right now, I don’t care. Right now, I need him.

I manage to crack my eyes open, just enough to see the way his usually cool composure is cracking, his violet eyes wide with panic. "Why didn’t you say anything?" His voice is raw, full of frustration and worry, his hands hovering helplessly over me, unsure of what to do. He’s always so collected, always in control. Seeing him like this—flustered, panicking—it does something to me, something that tugs at my chest, despite the pain.

I don’t have the strength to speak. But I feel him again, the soft, familiar claws of his mind brushing against mine, asking for entrance. He’s trying to get through, trying to understand what’s happening. I almost shut him out again, the embarrassment of my situation too overwhelming. I don’t want him to see me like this—weak, vulnerable, covered in blood. But I can’t. I’m too tired, too shattered. I let him in, completely, giving him access to everything I’ve been trying to hide.

The moment he’s inside my mind, his panic shifts, morphing into concern, deep and sincere. His mental presence wraps around me like a warm blanket, his voice now a soft whisper in my thoughts. Tell me how to help you, darling. Please.

I feel the faintest shiver roll through me at the sound of his voice in my head, at the way he calls me darling. It’s always been just a word—nothing special—but now, with him, it feels like so much more. Even through the haze of pain, that flutter of warmth blooms in my chest, spreading through me. I wish I could answer him, but I can’t. The pain is all-encompassing, every thought, every breath consumed by it.

Without waiting for an answer, Rhysand moves. He scoops me into his arms with an ease that surprises me, as if I weigh nothing at all. I don’t even protest, too weak to do anything but lean into him, my head resting against his chest. His scent is everywhere now—night and mist, the faintest hint of salt and something purely him. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming my senses, and for a moment, just a brief moment, it distracts me from the pain.

The next thing I know, the world shifts around us as he winnows. The familiar sensation of weightlessness washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden rush of air. When I open them again, we’re in his bedroom—no, his ensuite. It’s massive, opulent, and the smell of him lingers even stronger here. Everything, from the polished stone to the elegant fixtures, screams Rhysand. And all I can do is breathe him in.

He gently sets me down on the toilet, his touch lingering for just a moment before he moves toward the large, clawfoot bathtub. I can hear the water rushing, the soft hum of the pipes filling the space. He tests the temperature carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. Even in my dazed state, I can’t help but watch him. He’s so beautiful, even like this, even with worry etched into every line of his face.

I let out a shaky breath, the pain ebbing and flowing like a tide, and I can’t help the thoughts that begin to swirl in my mind. He cares. He really cares. The realisation crashes into me like a wave. He could have sent someone else to help. He could have stayed distant, detached, like he usually is. But he didn’t. He came for me. He’s here, and he’s doing this for me.

I don’t realise I’m letting those thoughts slip through, letting him hear them. I don’t realise it until I feel him pause, his back still turned to me as he stands at the tub, his hands hovering over the water. For a moment, the only sound is the steady rush of water filling the bath. But then, I feel him. His mind brushes against mine again, gentle, but more intimate now, more knowing.

Of course I care. His voice in my thoughts is so soft, so tender, it sends a shiver through me. I’ve always cared.

My heart stutters in my chest, a fresh wave of heat flushing through my body, and I barely have the strength to register it. I didn’t mean for him to hear that. But I’m too tired, too broken to put up any walls. The pain is still sharp, but now… now it’s mingled with something else, something that feels like hope.

He turns around, his violet eyes meeting mine, and there’s something different in his gaze now. Something softer. He crosses the room with slow, measured steps, kneeling in front of me again, his hands gently cupping my knees. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but there’s a warmth to it that makes my chest tighten.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low, a note of affection I’ve never heard from him before. "You’re going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you."

I don’t know why, but when he says sweetheart, it’s like something inside me melts. Despite the pain, despite the agony still tearing through me, I feel a tiny flicker of something warm, something safe. I want to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to, that I can handle it on my own. But I can’t. I’m too tired, too weak. All I can do is nod, my breath hitching in my throat as he rises to his feet again, moving back toward the bath.

The water has reached the perfect height, steam curling up into the air, and Rhysand shuts off the faucet with a quick flick of his wrist. He watches the water for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning back to me. His expression is so gentle, so filled with concern, that it nearly brings me to tears.

Rhysand kneels beside me, his violet eyes soft yet steady, his brow furrowed in concern as he gently asks, “Are you okay with me helping you out of these?” His gaze flickers down to my blood-soaked clothes, and the weight of the question settles in the air between us. His voice is calm, but there’s something tender in it, something that almost undoes me. The way he says it—so careful, so respectful, as if I have the strength to refuse.

I give a small, barely-there nod, my body too weak to speak, and without hesitation, his hands move with an almost reverent gentleness. He never looks at me too long, his gaze never lingers anywhere intimate. Instead, his focus remains on my face, watching for any sign of discomfort. His fingers work swiftly, unbuttoning my ruined clothes, his touch featherlight as he peels the blood-stained fabric away from my aching body.

Even though my skin feels raw and every movement sends a fresh wave of pain through me, I feel… safe. Safe in his hands, in the way he handles me as if I’m something precious, something fragile. As he helps me stand, guiding me toward the tub, I lean heavily on him, my legs trembling beneath me. Each step is agony, but with him beside me, his arms steady around my waist, I make it.

He guides me to the edge of the bathtub, his hands still on me, firm but gentle, before he helps me lift one foot, then the other, into the steaming water. The heat wraps around me instantly, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain, and I let out a soft, broken sigh of relief as I sink deeper into the warmth. Rhysand’s hands never leave me, steadying me as I lower myself fully into the bath, the water rising around me in soft waves, soaking my bruised, aching skin.

For the first time, the relentless ache eases, if only just a little. The hot water cocoons me, and I let my eyes flutter shut, my body finally releasing a small fraction of the tension it’s been holding. I let my eyes close again, sinking deeper into the water, my body heavy but finally able to rest, even if just for a moment. And then, I feel it—a soft, warm press of lips against my forehead. My heart flutters, and before I can stop myself, a quiet whimper of need escapes me.

“Stay here, love,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin as he pulls back. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he slips away, I feel the absence of him acutely. The pain returns in full force, but it’s more than just the physical ache. My mind drifts to Rhysand, to the way he looks at me, the way he’s always cared for me. I’ve known for a long time now that my feelings for him are far deeper than they should be. It started with admiration, respect for the way he leads our people, but it grew into something else. Something I’ve never allowed myself to fully admit.

Azriel knows, of course. He’s always been able to read me better than anyone else. But I’ve kept it hidden from Rhys. Buried it deep under layers of friendship and duty because the thought of losing him if he didn’t feel the same—it’s unbearable. And yet, now, with him here, caring for me like this, it’s impossible to ignore.

What feels like mere moments later—the soft warmth of the water wrapping around me like a gentle hug—I hear the bathroom door creak open. My eyes flutter open, and there stands Rhysand, a vision of calm amidst my chaos. In his hands, he carries fresh clothes, the fabric crisp and inviting. My heart lifts at the sight of him, the concern etched on his face only deepening my feelings for him.

He kneels beside the tub, his eyes never lingering anywhere too intimate, always respecting my boundaries. “Let’s get you out of there, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. With practiced gentleness, he helps me rise from the water, his hands warm against my skin. As he steadies me, I feel a rush of gratitude for his care, for the way he makes me feel safe.

Once I’m on my feet, he moves with fluidity, quickly drying my body with a soft towel. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin as he helps me step into a fresh pair of panties. I glance down to see a period linen already tucked inside, a thoughtful detail that makes my heart swell. He continues to guide me into an oversized shirt, one that I instantly recognise as his. It drapes over me, soft and comforting, filling me with warmth and an inexplicable sense of belonging.

“Let’s get you comfy,” he says, scooping me up once more, his arms strong and reassuring around me. I nestle into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—night air, cedar, and something uniquely Rhysand. He carries me effortlessly into his room, laying me down gently on his bed. The moment I sink into the sheets, I’m enveloped by his scent; it’s like being wrapped in a warm embrace, familiar and perfect.

The duvet is plush, enveloping me like a cloud, and I can’t help but smile as Rhys fusses around me. He adjusts the blankets, ensuring I’m tucked in snugly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “How’s that?” he asks, his voice tender, eyes searching mine for reassurance.

“It’s perfect,” I reply, a soft smile spreading across my lips.

He then hands me a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. “Madja concocted this to help with your pain,” he explains, his eyes locked onto mine, waiting for me to take it. I can feel the warmth of his presence like a protective shield, and I lift the vial to my lips, drinking it down as he watches intently.

“Good,” he murmurs, his tone filled with encouragement. He doesn’t move an inch until I’ve finished every last drop, his gaze unwavering, filled with a mix of concern and affection.

As I set the empty vial down on the bedside table, a wave of fatigue washes over me. Rhys shifts, preparing to leave and let me rest. But before he can, I reach out, grabbing his arm. “Stay,” I whisper, the plea escaping my lips before I can think twice.

He pauses, surprise flashing across his features, but then a soft smile breaks through. “Of course, love,” he replies, warmth flooding my chest at his willingness to remain by my side. With a snap of his fingers, he’s clad in nothing but a pair of black boxers that seem to shimmer like the night sky, the stars sparkling across the fabric.

I can’t help but let out a surprised giggle, the sound light and airy, breaking the tension in the room. Rhysand looks at me with an amused grin, his deep laughter filling the space. “What’s so funny?” he teases, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“You look ridiculous,” I reply playfully, a smile still tugging at my lips.

He laughs, a rich sound that makes my heart flutter. “I’d say it’s better than being overdressed,” he quips back, sliding into bed beside me.

As he settles in beside me, the warmth radiating from his body feels like a balm against the lingering pain. The air thickens with an unspoken connection, something that has always simmered just beneath the surface of our friendship. It’s as if the mate bond is finally clicking into place, binding us together in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. Yet neither of us acknowledges it, choosing instead to revel in the comfort of each other’s presence, knowing we’ve always been this close.

I can feel his heartbeat against my back, a steady rhythm that lulls me into a sense of safety. Rhysand shifts, his fingers brushing against my arm, sending gentle shivers down my spine. It’s a simple gesture, but it ignites something deep within me, a longing that has been hidden for too long.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks softly, his voice low and soothing. I nod, trying to find my words, but the moment feels too perfect for anything but silence as I turn my head to see him. He studies me, those fathomless eyes searching mine for the truth.

And then he leans in, his breath warm against my lips. My heart races as he closes the distance, kissing me softly, sweetly. It’s a tender press of warmth and promise, a moment that makes the world around us fade away. His lips are soft, coaxing me into a blissful calm, and I respond instinctively, leaning into him, deepening the kiss.

When he pulls back, our eyes lock, and I see something flicker in his gaze—something that hints at all the words unspoken between us. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the magic of the moment.

He tucks me against him, his body a perfect shield from the world. With each gentle stroke of his fingers through my hair, I can feel the tension and pain easing away. It’s as if he’s weaving a spell of comfort, one that wraps around me like a warm cocoon.

My eyelids grow heavy, and I let out a contented sigh, surrendering to the warmth and security of his embrace. “You’re safe, sweetheart,” he whispers, and those words resonate within me, echoing through my very soul.

Slowly, I feel myself drifting, the edges of my consciousness softening. Rhysand continues to stroke my hair, his touch a lullaby that pulls me deeper into sleep. I let out a soft hum, my body relaxing completely against him.

As I slip into a dreamless slumber, I can’t help but think that this moment—his presence, the warmth of his body against mine—is where I belong. And for the first time in a long while, I feel truly at peace.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

[oofthwoods]

CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own. 

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

[frostdayz]

Kings expectations

Aegon x reader (f! reader)

Genre: fluff once again LOL!!

summary: Aegon has recently become king and with the overwhelmingly large shoes he has to fill he tries to find comfort in his loving wife.

wrds: 804

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grandeur of the Red Keep had always been imposing, but now, with Aegon on the throne, it felt even more overwhelming. The days since his coronation had been a whirlwind of responsibilities, decisions, and the weight of expectations pressing heavily upon him. As I wandered through the echoing halls, I thought of the man I married, not the king he had to become.

I found Aegon in his chambers, slumped over his desk, a sea of parchments spread out before him. His shoulders were tense, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the endless reports and decrees that demanded his attention. My heart ached at the sight. This was not the carefree man I had fallen in love with; this was someone burdened by the crown he wore.

"Aegon," I called softly, stepping into the room. He glanced up, and the exhaustion in his eyes was evident. "You've been at this for hours. You need rest."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't afford to rest, Y/N. There's too much to do, too much expected of me."

I walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can't pour from an empty cup, my love. You need to take care of yourself too."

He reached up, covering my hand with his. "I know , but... I'm trying to be the king my mother wants, the king the realm needs. It's just... ever since I was a kid this cloud has been over my head and now its finally covered me whole." He sighed and looked at me with his sunken eyes.

I moved around to face him, kneeling so that our eyes were level. "Aegon, you're doing your best, and that's all anyone can ask of you. There is no need for you to be perfect. You just have to be you."

He looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and despair in his gaze" Y/N. I feel like I'm drowning."

I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You are not alone in this. You have me, and together, we can face anything. You are stronger than you think, my love. And I believe in you."

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without..." He takes a deep breath and smiles at me.

"I thank the gods for making you for me every waking hour."

I smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "And I thank them for you."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I were his anchor in a storm. I could feel the tension slowly leave his body as he took comfort in my presence. For a while, we simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace in the quiet moments away from the demands of the crown.

Eventually, I pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air will do you good."

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "That sounds wonderful."

We left the burdens of the throne behind as we wandered through the gardens, the evening air cool and refreshing. The flowers were in full bloom, their fragrance a soothing balm to the soul. Aegon laced his fingers with mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of the man I had married.

"Do you remember our wedding day?" he asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with the memory.

I laughed softly. "How could I forget? You were so nervous, you nearly tripped over your own feet while standing still"

He chuckled, a genuine sound that warmed my heart. "And you looked so beautiful, I forgot how to speak."

I blushed, nudging him playfully. "It was a perfect day. And despite everything, we still have each other." I chuckled and gave him a playful push.

As we continued our walk, the pressures of the throne seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being together. We talked about everything and nothing, finding comfort in each other's presence. The stars began to twinkle in the night sky, casting a gentle glow over the gardens, and I felt a sense of peace settle over us.

Not knowing what would come tomorrow, next month, or year I knew I'd want to be by his side no matter what. To others, he is King Aegon but to me, he is so much more.

[porcelian]

Lilac-blossoms and Bookstands

Summary: Two strangers at a bookstand bond over their shared interest, and shared awkwardness.

Warnings: Both reader and Jason are inexperienced, nervous messes, give them time <3. Fluff.

Note: the second book, "Collage in the Moonlight", is a real book. However, I do not think it has been translated yet.

Word count: 802

Masterlist. Navigation.

The sun's soft rays cling to your skin with their warmth. It's a sunny day. For once in Gotham City, the rain has stopped, and the sun peeks out of the dark grey clouds.

Your loud steps on the concrete path go unnoticed by you. Your attention is completely stolen away by the hundreds of books for sale on the street. The stands are long and covered with old second-hand novels and romances, fantasies, and sci-fis stacked on top of each other.

There's a nostalgic feeling that blooms in your chest when you run your fingers over the covers. It's somehow firm but soft. The dust clings onto the paperback like a blanket. The faint smell of old paper never fails to comfort you.

There it is. A specific, special book you're looking for. The word 'Emma' in a soft rose gold color is embedded on a teal hardback cover. Your hand quickly reaches for it, but you're too late.

A stranger seems to have gotten their hands on it first. You look up, ready to at least try and reason with them about how desperately you need this book. Years of only drowning yourself in Dostoevsky and Wilde seem to dim your outlook on the world. Hopefulness, dropped and discharged–like a lilac-blossom in the garden.

As you open your mouth to speak, no words find their way through. The man in front of you is pretty, very pretty. Beautiful, actually. His eyes are a sea-colored green. Almost teal. Like the book you wanted.

Right, the book. You almost forgot.

He speaks first, "It's a great book. No wonder you want it." The corners of his lips curl up. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

You finally gather your wits and speak, "Seems like you've read it already." You try to hide the small feeling of disappointment of not being the first one to get the book, trying to focus on him instead.

"Here," he hands you the book, "seems like you haven't read it. And you should." He chuckles, "if you want, that is." He runs his hands through his hair, and you notice a few white strands.

"Oh–" You grip your jacket closer to you, "thank you so much. Though, I do need to return the favor." You take the book from his hands. Your fingers cross over the rose gold embellishment. "It's my second time reading Austen, actually..." You admit.

He jokingly gasps, "What, seriously? You've been missing out then." His voice is comforting. Not too loud, not too soft. "You seem like a reader, haven't taken your gaze off of any of the books here. And there's a lot of them." He's not asking too many questions, but he's still curious. His smile returns.

You grip the book closer to your chest, "Let's do it like this," you pick another book from the stands, "how do you feel about trying something new? We can trade, sort of?" Your voice trails off, "You have recommended this book to me, so in return, I recommend one to you."

He tilts his head, his teal eyes glancing at the new book in your hands, and then looks at you again. "Alright, I already trust your taste. So, what do you have for me?"

You hand him the book. It's a dark blue paperback. Golden leaves fall in the background. Yellow letters spell "Collage in the Moonlight." He takes it gently and looks it over, fingers grazing the spine.

"I never thought they'd translate it, but here we are." You giggle. "You'll like it." You look back at him. "I mean, I think you will. I'd never give a bad recommendation." You say, your voice filled with a tinge of pride.

He takes the book from your hands, looking it over. You notice just now that he smiles with his eyes. Cute.

"I trust I'm in good hands, then." He replies, "I'm Jason, by the way." A few strands of his hair fall free, framing his face. He can feel the nervousness in his stomach, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

You quickly give him your name, "Though, after I read this and you finish your book, I'd love to hear what you think." Your hands grip the book tighter, you're so nervous. Calm down. "Same place? In a few weeks, maybe?"

"O–oh, I will, I mean." He straightens his posture, "I mean, of course." Jason's cheeks feel a bit warm. Is the weather that warm already?

You give him a small smile before getting ready to leave, "See you soon, Jason."

Jason's eyes trail after you as you leave. He stands there for a while in silence before he realizes he didn't even say goodbye. He mentally scolds himself. Though the giddy feeling that follows after the reminder that he'll see you again here seems to calm him down.

The sun is still out, not yet covered by the clouds.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[notjustjavierpena]

i loved getting an insight into hubby in 4am. It got me thinking about other times I’d like to see into his brain.

Did he know straight away that reader was different and a potential future for him or did it take him a little while due to his past as a womaniser? His brain working overtime trying to process all the new feelings.

Did he ever feel like he should leave her feeling like he’s not good enough?

Bee (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N:  This is not totally what you had in mind, I think. However, this came to me and I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s soft and tender ❤️

Summary: Javier reflects on how gentle you make him.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Javi POV, fluff, insecurities, love

Word count: 1.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/137384134

Bee

Sun filters through the clouds above Javier as he lies on the ground behind his father’s ranch. You’ve talked him into drowning in the tall fields of grass that surround the fenced-off area for the cows, listening to the sound of a million buzzing bugs that hide from you as you invade their home. He isn’t too fond of anything that could possibly land on him, too rough around the edges still to treat nature with the care that you do. 

You are talking softly yet enthusiastically about shapes that you find in the sky, reaching for heaven as you explain or draw out shapes with your finger. There’s been a dragon, a heart, and a bunny. You wonder out loud if it means something but Javier can hardly follow your words despite trying. He is too busy gazing upon you, having turned his head to the side to look at you in secret, the greatest marvel in his presence right now. 

The sun is hot in Texas right now and the shadows of the grass engulfing you and him dance across your face, your eyes glinting whenever the sun catches them even if it makes you scrunch up your nose and hold a palm up to cover the sunrays. Everything about this moment feels so delicate, terrifyingly sweet when he naturally thinks he is made of harsher stuff that should squash what little softness is left in his world. His hands have had to do so many destructive things in the past fifteen years that they feel too coarse to touch you. 

He turns his head towards the sky and closes his eyes, letting the sound of your voice wash over him like he wants it to for the rest of his life. There’s a part of him that’s afraid of you, afraid that he’s not made for this life with you, that he doesn’t know how to handle something so precious without breaking it. The way you treat the world around you with such reverence, such care, is foreign to him. He was used to being cold and logical back in Colombia, used to enduring. But here, in the Lone Star State with you, he finds himself wanting to be gentle, wanting to learn whatever he can from you. The love of his life. 

“Mhm,” he replies with the tiniest twitch of the corners of his mouth as you still haven’t figured out that he isn’t really listening. Not when your voice is accompanied by the sound of a breeze continuously creating waves in the grass that is tickling his arms, almost tricking him into thinking he is by the ocean. 

But then he feels it. It’s a sudden, light tickle on his nose that makes him open his eyes in slight surprise. There’s a small bee perched on the tip of his nose, its glasslike wings buzzing gently as it searches for pollen. Instinctively, he lifts his hand and gets ready to swat it away; he’s always been quick to react, quick to defend himself from anything that might harm him, even moreso during his time in Colombia. However, as his hand twitches mid-air, you notice, and your laughter is like music being carried through the air.

“Hold still,” you whisper as you lean over him, your face so close and your hand on his chest so he can feel the warmth of your palm as he sees your grin. With a gentler touch than what you even handle him with, you coax the bee onto your hand, lifting it away and letting it fly off again. Javier watches quietly in awe of his future wife.

“You don’t have to be so scared,” you say, smiling at him, “Not everything that approaches you is out to hurt you. Perhaps he just wanted to say hello.” 

Your words hang in the air, weighing nothing yet feeling heavy. Javier feels a tug in his chest like you’ve grabbed at the part of him that harbors hate for himself and has festered for too long. You’ve just pulled it loose inside him. He knows you’re not just talking about the bee. He hears the undertone, the suggestion that maybe he doesn’t always have to be on guard, doesn’t always have to assume the worst as he has done for so long. 

He looks at you and he wonders if you’re talking about yourself, too. If you’re telling him that you’re not here to hurt him, that your presence in his life isn’t a threat. He doesn’t know why he thought that twosomeness was not for him. Here you are and he doesn’t need anything more because you soften the edges of the world around him. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs and slides his arm beneath your body so he can snake it around your waist. His palm lays flat against the small of your back as he pulls you in, his heart still pounding against his rib cage when you are this close just five months after your first meeting. Five months since he saw you for the first time and realized that you might be different. Five months since you turned his world upside down. 

You curl your fingers on his chest and let yourself be drawn close, lowering your head until he can feel your breath against his face. You block out the sun, smiling fondly at him as if he is not at all rough and calloused. 

It is what makes him close the gap between you and kiss you on the mouth. It’s slow and unhurried, unlike many other kisses he has given you when the two of you have been alone. He pulls back to see your eyes fluttering open again. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asks himself out loud. The sun is around you like a halo, shining on your hair and making your skin glow. He wants everything with you. Everything that he never thought he wanted to have but also everything he never thought he could have.

“Doesn’t matter if you have done anything to deserve me. Do you want me?” You ask and the question floors him. He doesn’t need to think about it or weigh his options and words. He knows his answer. Yes.

“Para siempre (forever),” he says. You smile. It seems like that was the perfect answer. 

“Then that’s all that matters,” you reply and roll onto your back with a content sigh, laying in the nook of his arm while the sun shines on the both of you. He could fall asleep with you, let a whole hive of bees land on him one by one to greet him.

Javier feels a calm wash over him. Maybe this - him and you - isn’t bad just because he feels like he isn’t enough for your kind being. Maybe it is exactly right because it is something you both want. 

.

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If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[storieswithvenus]

Weather girl - Tyler Owen’s x Fem! Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! sorry for taking so long off, i’ve been super busy and getting back into the swing of everything. hope you guys enjoy, it’s a bit of a rollercoaster;)

TW!!

use of y/n, reader and tyler being somewhat surprised by a tornado even though they are chasing it???, quick love confession cause i got tired lmao

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

As the cloud started to swirl, the one supercell storm now forming a small funnel, you stood watching from the beginning of the dirt path a mile away.

You stood there with your high definition camera, snapping away photos of the upcoming storm, just a few feet behind you stood Tyler Owen’s.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You two had an unusual relationship, the two of you had grown up together. Frankly, he was your older brother’s best friend. Growing up together, you had always had some sort of tension, he had grown close to your older brother Mason in their sophomore year of school while you were a freshman. As they grew close, he was always at your house with Mason, either playing football in the back garden or playing video games in your brothers room while screaming at the screen.

You were a bit of a nerd, you knew from a young age that you wanted to work in something to do with the weather. So when you were trying to study the weather patterns around you and all you could hear was the screaming of your brother and Tyler, you did lose your mind. Stomping your way towards his room and slamming the door open, banging off the wall.

Both of them staring up at you with disbelief, watching as you throw one of your massive textbooks at them. The book smashing off the head of Tyler and as you reach for the handle of the door slamming it closed.

By the time you had graduated from university, you hadn’t been home to Texas in years. You hadn’t seen your family in years because you were too focused on your career, and it worked in your favour too.

“If we look towards the Joplin area here,” you say standing infront of the map which is covering the massive screen behind you, pointing towards that area, “you can see that there is a storm heading towards this area. Right now, it doesn’t look like anything too bad, however I will report back if it does gain the attributes to form a tornado that would touch down.” You carry on speaking before your cameraman gives you the thumbs up to finish so they can wrap up. “That’s it folks, please do keep checking the weather app for any possible updates! This is Y/N L/N signing off.”

You walk out of frame just as the director cuts. Walking straight over to your assistant who has your phone and a bottle of water waiting for you. “There’s been this number blowing your phone up, I haven’t answered of course - but they literally won’t stop phoning. I’m starting to think a fan has gotten your number.” Your assistant, Mark, says as you open the bottle of water and start drowning it to coat your throat. “There’s not much we can do if it is leaked, but i’ll check it out. You’re free to go home, I know your little ones are probably looking for you to come home” You say before leaning in to give him a hug, he thanks you profusely before running out the massive door to the carpark.

Looking down at your phone, you decide that you’re gonna phone the number back. You tap the number on your phone and put it up to your ear as it begins to ring. After 5 rings you consider hanging up, that was until you heard the number pick up.

“Hey! Is this Y/N?” the deep voice spoke after a few seconds of silence, “Hi! Uhm yeah this is she… Who is this? Why have you been spamming my phone?” You voice slightly breaking, confusion evident in your voice. “It’s.. uh-“ the voice on the phone stumbles, “It’s Tyler, you know Tyler Owen’s”.

Then it all clicked, the voice, the way he spoke, everything made sense. “Tyler, I haven’t heard from you in years..” your voice lower. “Yeah, listen, I see you on the news now, and well.. I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna join us for a few weeks storm chasing. So you can get your own experience.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“Are you sure this is safe?” you screamed at him from the passenger side of the truck, your hands gripping onto the side of the chair. He looks at you with a little laugh, as he speeds up, watching you squirm in your seat. You turn to look out the front windscreen, just as you look, you see the massive tornado cross the dirt road in front of the truck.

Your head quickly turns to his as he speeds up towards the twister. “Tyler, are you fucking crazy?” You scream over the sound of the truck speeding down the dirt path, the sound of destruction coming from the tornado. Suddenly he turns the wheel to his left, the car turning sharply down another smaller path, your body being thrown to the left as you held on for dear life.

“We need to get in front of it before we deploy the rods to hold us into the ground”, his voice still drowned out with the noise around the car. Looking out the side window, you watch as the tornado seems to be standing still.

Panic fills your body, you feel the world go into slow motion. You know what’s coming. “Tyler, deploy the rods.” Your voice quiet, close to a whisper as you couldn’t take your eyes off the storm beside you. “What?”, he questions you, before looking over to see what you were saying. His eyes moving from you to out the window your eyes were glued to, his eyes widening at what the two of you were seeing.

The truck hauls to a stop, the two of you being slightly flung forward. His hand quickly slamming down on the red button in the middle of your two seats to deploy the rods into the dirt ground below the truck.

You finally come back to earth, turning to him as you feel the truck get closer to the ground, the rods securing you into the floor. Your hand reaches for his, intertwining, before you throw your head between your legs in a brace position. Tyler’s hand squeezes yours, a last sense of safety before the tornado hit the truck.

The force of the 90mph wind hits your side of the truck first, your mouth let out a scream as the violent shaking begins to cover the entire truck. The colour of the sky outside goes from a light grey to a dark grey, close to black, in seconds.

You hear smaller items of debris hitting all around the truck, a branch hitting the window with such force you thought the window would give out and crash in on top of you. With all of your focus on the storm now surrounding you, you didn’t realise you had began to cry. The tears streaming down your face as you hold your head down and cover it with your other hand incase of something breaking a window.

You feel the violent shakes begin to slow down, becoming more gentle. Your curiosity for the better of you, your head turning up to look out the front window screen. The storm had just passed you, all the trapped air in your lungs finally cleared as you let out the biggest sigh of relief.

You look over to Tyler, he was already watching you. His smile spreading across his face, “What did you think of that?” His voice full of cheekiness, giving you a slight wink.

And all you could do, was give him a slight laugh back.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

And that’s how you ended up here, watching the now EF1 cross the field in front of you. Taking your own photos of it, and just taking in the sight of mother nature.

You feel Tyler walk up behind you, his hand making contact with your lower back. Turning to look at him, you smile as he begins to speak, “Hey weather girl, did you get any good pictures?” You smile widens, turning your head to look down at your camera as you go through the pictures to pick your best one, “Yeah I did. Got this amazing one here”, you say in a soft voice, showing the small camera screen to him.

He reaches out to your camera, his hand touching yours, a spark of electricity connecting between you two. You both look up at each other, eyes connecting, both of you looking at each other with love.

“I’m glad you decided to stay with me and the team after what I put you through in our first week”, his voice was full of truth. Your hand lays on his arm, “I would never leave after that.”

“Can I kiss you?” Your eyes slightly widen at the question he sprung into you. He could tell he surprised you, just before he was about to apologise you pulled him in. Your hand laying on his jaw as you kissed him.

You slightly pull back to make eye contact, smiling at him. His voice soft and low,

“I have loved you ever since we were kids, ever since you threw that book at us.”

[satvruu]

ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.