#Sun is such an awful liar.

[kiruamon]

Minish AU - Sketch dump 4

Aaaand I came up with a few more ideas about the minish au. So maybe stick around for me rambling a little bit here and there or just to look at the sketches. Whatever you guys like the most.

We start with Y/N sharing some old Minish legends about a brave young hero in a green tunic defeating an evil sorcerer.

Honestly, I am kind of playing with the thought that what happened in the Minish Cap game is a part of the past in this au. That while maybe humans forgot most of the story that happened back then the Minish kept telling it from generation to generation. Some informations still might have got lost with time. Like the place where castle Hyrule was located. Or the true name of the sorcerer and his origin. So my silly little mind went to: What if instead of the old hidden pizzeria under the Pizzaplex there was the remains of Castle Hyrule? Or the old pizzeria is still there but if you go down even deeper you would find the ruins of the castle? And with it the sealed Sorcerer of the Wind? It's some fun little thing to wrap one's mind around.

Also Sun and Moon are not really believing those legends but do find them entertaining and do encourage Y/N to share these stories with them so they can tell them to the children at the daycare during story times.

_

Also! Let's talk about Kinstone Pieces! Because after living for a while at the Pizzaplex Y/N definitly decided to create a few of those! Wanting to spread a bit of joy and good luck.

They started to hide the finished pieces mostly at the playground of daycare for the children. Hiding them at some obvious places, like the shoes of a child, and some not so obvious places - behind some stuffed toys - while making sure all of them would be easy to reach and not endanger someone.

Also they did 'hide' a special Kinstone Piece for their friends. Which Sun found during cleaning time when putting away the scattered stuffed plushies.

Sun: "Oh? What's this here? A gift from you, my friend?" Y/N: "You found it, Sunny! It's a Kinstone Piece! If you put together two matching pieces it creates good luck!" Sun: "Good luck you say? So it's like a little charm? How lovely."

I would like to think that the pieces that Y/N created for Sun and Moon are multi-colored. Having a yellow and blue side which is rather unusual for Kinstones, but during their creation it just striked Y/N as fitting to use two different colors for this one Kinstone.

I was also playing around with the thought if this au would ever go the story route of the events leading to the ruin DLC and DLC itself what if instead of having to reboot Sun and Moon, Y/N or maybe with the help of Cassie would need to put the two Kinstone pieces together to cause said 'good luck' to spring into action? (Or maybe it would be a mix of needing to join the two pieces and also to do the reboot.)

-

Also... have Vanessa coming into the daycare during her shift and startling Moon or Sun causing the two to swiftly grab their little friend and hide them behind their back.

Vanessa: "What are you hiding behind your back?" Moon: "Dead mouse. Want to see?" Vanessa: "Urgh. No! Why would you even think-..." *takes a deep breath* "You know what? Throw the thing away and clean your hands." Vanessa: *mumbling to herself while leaving* "They don't pay me enough for this... "

And Sun edition:

Vanessa: "Sun have you seen anyone or anything suspicious lately?" Sun: "Oh! H-hello friend! I haven't seen you coming in! How is your day so far? I hope it's faztastic! We surely had a lot of fun today in the daycare! So many things to do. Playing with the little ones and-" Vanessa: "Sun. I asked you a question." Sun: "Haha, right, right. You did. Sorry, but I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Not at all! Everything was splendid over here. No incidents or mishaps. Just a perfectly normal day!" *Vanessa looking sceptical at him, because of how Sun acts* *but also too tired to deal with any possible bullshit* Vanessa: "... I better not find out that you or Moon are hoarding glitter glue to pour it over Monty... again. Parts and Services needed a whole week to get all that stuff cleaned up." Sun: "Oh, hahaha, nonono. Of course not. We absolutely wouldn't do that again. We know our little prank had gone too far." Vanessa: "Hmph... fine. But remember. If you see anything odd let me know." Sun: "Sure! I will keep my eyes wide open! Have a nice day."

Luckily, no human had found Y/N so far. But it was a close call with Vanessa snooping around.

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ AND I CHOSE YOU, ‘CAUSE YOU’RE ALL I NEED ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai

some winter prompts/scenarios with the bsd men…and other romantic things they spoil you with.

info. fem!reader. fluff fluff !! domestic moments. profanities from chuuya. established relationships. kissing. mentions of a fake! machete from nikolai lmao.

DAZAI says: it’s too cold to get out of bed! can’t we just stay in and cuddle?

As soon as your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted with the realization that it was far too late to wake up at this time on a weekday. You could see the sun outside your window, overlooking the blanket of snow that had fallen the night before. Panicking, you tried to turn towards your nightstand to catch a glimpse of your clock to confirm your thoughts, but a leg wrapping around your waist stopped you.

“Osamu?”

“Morning, beautiful,” Dazai’s sleepy voice replied, continuing to trap you in an embrace with his arms.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, but that only made you feel even more uneasy. You forcefully shifted out of his grasp to look at your clock—woah, you were both supposed to be at work an hour ago.

You sat up on the bed, startling Dazai. “Osamu! We’re supposed to be at work! Why didn’t the alarm go off…I haven’t played with it lately…”

Another realization. You sharply eyed Dazai with a frown, who, in contrast, had his signature mischievous smirk on his face, even through tired eyes.

“Did you turn it off?!”

“Huh?” He yawned. “Now, why would you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t see why the alarm should be turned off.”

“Exactly!” you replied. “But who else could’ve done it? A ghost?”

“Hmm.” He tapped his index finger on his chin in thought. “Oh, I know!

“How about fate?” His hand moved to cup your cheek as he answered you in a flirtatious voice. You tried not to cringe at how corny he sounded. “What if fate wanted us to miss work today so we can stay in and spend time together inste-”

“Now this is where you gave yourself away!” you cut him off, moving towards the end of the bed to stand up. “Who said we’re missing work? It’s better to be late than not show up at al-”

Dazai grabbed your arm, pulling you back in.

“Osamu!”

“Yeah, unless you’re sick! Wouldn’t want to infect everyone else with a cold, right?”

“But none of us are sick?”

“Too bad,” he whispered, pulling you back under the covers. “I already called the Agency. I told them that…” he made dramatic coughing sounds, “...you were sick, and of course, you got me sick too!”

“What?!” you were in disbelief. “You liar! You could’ve at least not put the blame on me!”

“Oh, don’t be mistaken! I said it was my fault—you just looked so adorable while sick, I just had to cuddle up with you the whole night! So naturally, I got sick too. Isn’t that believable? I’d do the same if it actually happened.”

You facepalmed. “You’re not making it past Ranpo.”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve taken care of that too,” Dazai smiled. There was no getting around Ranpo, but it would only be a problem if he exposed the lie. So, Dazai had bought him a stockpile of snacks to keep his mouth shut.

You sighed before snuggling up against him. It looks like you weren’t going anywhere today. Not that you were complaining anymore—if your lover handled everything anyway.

“So why did you want to stay in?” you asked.

“Because I knew I’d feel cold if I got out of bed.” The brunette’s fingers started stroking through your hair as you rested your head on his chest, relaxed by both his hand and the faint thump of his heartbeat.

“That’s it?” you laughed. “You didn’t want to be cold?”

“That, and because I want to spend time with my belladonna, duuh.” Dazai turned you around so he could see your face.

“You look pretty. Just like an angel, more bonny than any other snow angel.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as his eyes studied you in admiration, flustering you. You were in awe that he could call you that when you had just woken up—you probably looked like a mess. He was the one who looked lovely—amber eyes peeking through his untidy hair and pretty eyelashes, the faint pink that surged through his cheeks when you kissed his knuckles, his bandaged chest that was revealed under his slightly unbuttoned pajamas…Dazai looked as dreamy as hearing his morning voice. And man, was it attractive, too.

He gave innocent pecks from one corner of your mouth to the other, and you reciprocated. You gently peppered each other’s faces with sleepy kisses until you rested on his torso again.

“That’s right, bella,” he cooed, rubbing your back. “We can relax today.” You wrapped your arms around him, enjoying the warmth he provided. “And if you’re hungry, we can order something from wherever you want later, yeah?”

You nodded with a smile. “Sounds perfect.”

CHUUYA says: let’s go ice skating, darling!

“C’mon, doll, it’s okay. Promise I’ll catch you if you slip!”

A local lake had frozen over, and you’d always wanted to learn how to ice skate, so Chuuya saw it as the perfect opportunity to teach you. Yet now, you stood at the edge with your skates, intimidated by the sapphire water that rested below the thin layer of ice and having nowhere to hold onto for support. Thankfully, it was just the two of you there; you would’ve felt even more nerve-wracked if others were watching.

“You’re so rude, Chu! You left me!” you whined, your voice traveling across the serene scenery. Chuuya simply laughed—he had skated a few feet off into the lake, waiting for you to follow. Yet, to you, it seemed so much farther than that.

“I’m right here!” he replied. He motioned for you in a way that reminded you of how a parent encourages a baby to take their first step. “Here, baby!” He cooed, holding his arms out. “You can do it.”

“Are you mocking me?! You’re talking to me like a little girl!”

“You are my girl though, sweetheart,” the ginger responded.

You sighed, your breath visible as it fanned out into the cold. “There has to be some sort of compensation, though, if I do fall!”

“I’ll massage whatever hurts if anything does,” he promised.

“Fair.” Chuuya’s massages were priceless.

You slowly stepped onto the ice, trying to keep balance on the blades attached to your feet. You looked up at Chuuya, panicking.

“Bend your knees.” You immediately followed, which helped you stabilize yourself.

“Now push off from one knee to the other,” Chuuya continued. Slowly, you started moving towards him, skating into his arms when you reached him.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he smirked through the embrace. “Good job. Now c’mon.”

Chuuya started leading you across the ice, helping you get used to the rhythm and being in sync with each other. Once he saw you get the hang of it, he suggested something.

“We can go really fast, yknow,” Chuuya proposed. “If you want…I think it’ll be exciting.”

“Exactly how fast?” you asked.

“I’d use my ability to enhance it,” he smiled. You knew that would speed you up tons.

“Okay,” you said after contemplating for a few seconds. “I trust you.”

Chuuya moved in front of you to hold your hands in his. “Hold on tight, baby!”

You gripped onto the executive as he activated his ability. And with one push, after making sure you knew it was coming, you two zoomed across the lake, wind breezing past you. You screamed—in surprise, fear, and exhilaration, as Chuuya steered you both, even more talented doing it backwards.

“Damn, you’re flying, doll!” he exclaimed and loosened his grip on one of your arms. Chuuya spun you around on the ice as he slowed the both of you down, bringing you to a complete stop with a kiss.

“Already like a pro,” he praised. “You learned so fast. And what’d I say? I promised I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You chuckled, feeling warmth heat up your frost-nipped cheeks as Chuuya cupped your face with his fingers. “I still want a massage, though. Pleeease?”

He smirked. “Fuck, I could never refuse since you asked so nicely. And I guess you deserve something for doing so well on skates. Of course.”

“Yay!” You cheered as you skated in a circle around Chuuya before connecting his lips with yours once again.

“This was incredibly fun, Chu.”

FYODOR asks: is the fireplace not enough? you need me to warm you up, too?

“It’s cold.”

You and Fyodor were in a cabin high up in the mountains, the epicenter of planning his next mission. Fyodor often traveled, and you always accompanied him, despite his warnings of how boring those journeys would be because his attention would be mainly focused on his paperwork and mapping out the areas by the temporary headquarters.

You always reassured him you were completely fine with it. You understood his job and were used to him not having his attention on you all the time. You were content reading through his collection of novels with his cursive annotations scribbled throughout the pages to pass the time while he sat devising schemes.

Though right now, you were starting to shiver, even below the three layers of your sweater. The heat radiating from the candle on the desk you sat reading at wasn’t enough—you were still cold.

“Put your coat on,” Fyodor replied from another table. He had let you have the true desk by the bookshelf with the comfy chair to lounge in while he took the dining table.

“It’s too bulky. It’ll be uncomfortable,” you said, gliding your hand over a page.

You heard a sigh. “Must you always choose comfort over practicality?”

“Of course, when I have the privilege,” you chuckled. “Can I light the fireplace?”

Fyodor looked up from his work. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

“Are you sure? You seem busy. I can do it myself.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t distract me with anything else.”

You gave him a knowing smirk. “I’m not sure if I can guarantee that,” you replied as you headed for the wooden logs in the back. Fyodor followed you, helping you carry a few over to the fireplace.

You ensured all the air vents were open as he threw the wood in, starting the fire with a lighter. Fyodor sat in the single armchair right in front of it, checking to see if it was stable from afar.

“How’s this?” he asked, watching you on the floor, getting close to feel the flames. “Warming up?”

“Yes,” you responded, turning towards him.

“Good. You can sit here while I return to-“ he was both cut off in speech and from getting up when you lowered yourself onto his lap. “Milaya…“

“I warned you I couldn’t guarantee it,” you whispered, straddling him. You weren’t forceful—each move was as graceful as a ballerina’s glide, and it was probably because, despite his words, Fyodor differed to fight back.

“Stay for a little, please,” you softly pleaded, trapping the ravenette even more by wrapping your arms around his neck. “Can you take a short break?”

“You’re asking me as if you’re giving me a choice,” Fyodor chuckled, still seeing you give him no room to leave. “Fine. I’ll indulge in your wants this once.”

“It’s more of indulging in my needs,” you corrected him, looking into violet eyes. You then picked up the book you had been reading earlier to continue.

“Enjoying it so far?” he asked, moving the hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ears.

“Yeah. But I’m not going to lie, I think I like your annotations more than the actual book.”

“How flattering.” Fyodor smiled. “I enjoyed reading it a lot, too, though. That’s why I wrote so much.” You flipped open to the page you left off on when you suddenly had an idea.

“What if you read to me?” you asked with a giggle.

His face showed rare, genuine surprise for a moment. “Hm? It’s not like this is some bedtime story…

“I’m not against it, though.”

And so, he started reading to you. You sang in victory in your head because though you would never admit it to him—Fyodor had too much ego for you to heighten it even more—you loved his voice. His accent laced the words of the plot that resumed as he spoke from page to page.

You couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Hearing the satisfying tone of his tongue accompanied by the ambiance of the fireplace and the flipping of pages…you could stay nuzzled up against him like this forever.

“I thought you said you were enjoying it,” Fyodor paused after some time, noticing your eyelids drooping and head limp against his shoulder. “Yet you’re falling asleep.”

“I am,” you said, your words slurring. “I’m just really comfy like this. It feels cozy…makes me sleepy…”

You tucked your face into his neck. Fyodor gently closed the book before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Well, it can’t be helped…” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, dorogaya.”

NIKOLAI says: let’s build a snowman!

“Why are you putting the carrots for eyes?” You shook your head in disappointment as you watched Nikolai create his ‘snowman.’ It hardly looked like one, honestly. The only thing normal about it was the base—which you had helped him with. Three spheres of snow stacked upon each other to make the snowman’s body. The rest…was very Nikolai.

He had put the carrots as the eyes. And the snowman had three orange, pointy eyes. As for the mouth, he sculpted a smile out of clay, which was fine, but of course, he made it in a way that looked very ominous. Then, the jester had decorated it with a bunch of colorful pom-poms. The whole thing was very random, but you knew something like this was coming.

“And finally!” Nikolai pulled out a fake plastic machete.

“Kolya, what the heck?! Now, we really can’t leave this here! What if some kid stumbles upon it and takes the knife?”

“It’s fake, baby, don’t worry!” He replied, running his finger along the sharp end.

“Well, yeah, but still! I don’t think anyone’s parents would appreciate that!”

Nikolai sighed before a portal appeared, swallowing his entire snowman and the machete inside.

“You play too safe sometimes, love.”

“Where did you transport that to?!”

“The Sky Casino,” he giggled. “I’m sure Sigma will find the new decoration lovely!” You immediately felt pity towards the poor man—you imagined him having to clean up a puddle of melted snow and other objects in the casino.

You just stood for a moment before Nikolai spoke again.

“Okay, I’ll actually make something you like,” he said. “Could you help me with the base?”

You didn’t know what he was going to do next, but you helped him anyway after making him promise he wasn’t going to pull out anymore weapons, real or fake. You stacked the snow on top of each other and waited to see what he was going to do next.

Nikolai transported two buttons that reminded you of your eye color to place on the snowman’s face as its eyes. He then used two sticks to create a cute smile. Then, he pulled out a hat and scarf that looked like the exact ones you were wearing…

“Wait, huh?” You glanced down at your attire and then at the articles, you saw Nikolai dressing the snowman in. “Where did you even get that?”

“The place where you got yours, duh!” he responded. You tried to push away the thought in your head that he most likely stole it. But now, you understood what he was doing. So, while he finished replicating you, you started a snowman right next to his.

“Kolya, can you please let me borrow your top hat? And a green and a gray button?”

His face grew elated. “Sweet dove! You’re doing what I’m doing!” He summoned what you had asked for. “Here you go!”

In the end, Nikolai had created a snowman of you, and you had built a snowman of him. It made your heart warm at how sweet it was.

“Yours looks so cute!” you exclaimed, looking at the one of yourself. You then teased him. “Honestly, I’m surprised you were capable of this.”

“No snowman will ever be as cute as you,” he responded with a wink. “And what can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He then threw himself onto you.

“And you made me! My heart could burst right now…look at us together!” You felt everything happen at once after that—one moment, Nikolai was spinning you in the air, absolutely thrilled, and the next, his lips sealed yours in a passionate kiss.

“Quiz time,” Nikolai whispered on your mouth.

“What must’ve I done to deserve the best girl in the world?”

rbs are cherished; they are your christmas gift to me <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + heart lights divider by benkeibear.

[notmorbid]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[mikanotes]

don’t even bother ft. aventurine x gn!reader — just something short bcs his va is too good at his job and him voicing that post made me go oh wow! warnings cursing, clingy aven and reader in denial about their feelings, one suggestive joke, badly written Sorry! this is very much dedicated to nour enjoy ur bf

The light of the sun indicates that the day has started much longer ago than you had originally thought. You cling onto sleep, nevertheless, not at all fond of the idea of facing the day properly.

“Alright. I understand.”

There isn’t need for any context for you to get that the second disruption of your attempts at going back to dreamland is a call concerning work, of all things. The clear exhaustion and barely concealed frustration in Aventurine’s voice as he speaks to the person on the other end of that call indicates he probably feels the same as you.

Irritated enough to go back to sleep immediately after hanging up.

“Let’s schedule the interview for today.” he says, sounding like he’s stretching. Oh, great. He’s decided to be professional and get up. You hear him heave a long sigh, probably after hanging up, and blindly try to reach for him.

“No.” you mumble, frowning slightly. Aventurine hums, seemingly surprised, then chuckles.

“Hm? No?” he repeats, and leans down. You open your eyes enough to see him cover the painful rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. He looks at you and tilts his head with a smile, “Not even a hello, huh? You’re so polite.” his voice drips with sarcasm.

You try to press your palm to his face but he grabs your wrist before you can, laughing. He presses closer to you and leans his forehead to your shoulder. “No what?” he asks, whispering. You don’t appreciate the chill that runs down your spine. He’s so close.

“No to leaving before me. I heard that call.”

He smiles against your neck before pulling back to look at you. “Who says I’m leaving?” he huffs softly, “I was just trying to sound awake, okay? And since when were you this clingy?”

“I’m the same as usual,” you complain, turning to lay on your back, “I just don’t want to be kicked out become the actual room’s owner isn’t here, is all. It’s a pain to deal with.”

He’s right. You’re not a clingy person. In fact, you don’t usually find yourself sleeping in the same bed as anyone, no matter how close you are to them. This is just… A rare occurence.

You and Aventurine getting one too many drinks at a nearby bar, you realizing you didn’t get yourself a hotel room prior to the whole ordeal, and crashing in his luxury bedsheets before he could protest.

And the worst part of it? You slept well.

In any case, the problem was that the warmth of someone by your side as you slept felt much more comforting than you’d expected it to be. Maybe it was just the previous night’s drinks residue blurring your thoughts. Maybe that’s what made you say no to him potentially leaving before you could actually process it.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him, and you never really mind him being so close to you.

He sighs and moves over your figure, planting his arm at the side of your head to hover over you. “You’re an awful liar. You wouldn’t last at poker.”

“Enlighten me. What the hell am I lying about?”

“This.”

He smiles, and it somehow makes you all the more aware of the distance between the two of you. It’s not nerve-wracking but it’s not uncomfortable. And it’s not comfortable, either, but it’s somewhere there in the middle. It’s on that line that makes your head struggle to keep up and that’s more than enough to tell you how badly you’re handling what should be a routine, by now. This is nothing new, come on.

“Who am I lying to…?” you continue.

He scoffs. “Yourself. I can practically see the gears turning inside your head. It’s almost cute.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “Almost.”

He smiles to himself but doesn’t add more, moving away from you. He breathes out tiredly as he leans back against his pillows, a hand moving to cover his eyes. “You should get the higher-ups to call for a room for you. No one’ll bother you then.”

“You’re the higher-ups, do it yourself, you have the funds.” you imitate a robotic-sounding voice, then sigh, “That’s what they’ll tell me.”

“Mm, will they, now?”

You look at him. Only then do you notice the sun on his skin, his slightly messed up bangs, and the one button holding that cursed hotel pajamas top. You press your eyes shut with half a mind to hold back an annoyed groan. Don’t look at him like that, you repeat in your head.

You and Aventurine are friends. He likes to tease and flirt but that’s just how he is, so there’s really nothing more to it. You work as a negotiator for a group who frequently deals with the IPC’s offers and request for help to convince people of their grandiose plans. And Aventurine is arguably very high-up in the ranks of the IPC. It’s a wonder you even became friends, but it has been a long while now. A long while of bantering, clinging into each other just a bit too much, and listening to the other’s stories the very few times either of you actually opened up.

— Most of those times being after drinks. Nevertheless, it counts for something.

But you’ve never seen him in this kind of light. In sunlight! You’re not seeing him in any kind of new light at all. It’s just a different atmosphere than what you’re used to around him. You’ve spent time talking for hours at quiet bars or helping each other out in the most chaotic situations, but it’s never been this.

It’s so… calm.

But your phone rings. You sigh heavily before you grab it and answer the call. “Hello?” You barely get to properly register who called you before the voice of your senior at work starts complaining in your ear. You grimace.

Aventurine stares at you curiously.

“… This is really last-minute. Seriously?” you say, then wait for an answer. Seems like you’re needed somewhere again. But calling you saying to get to a location one system hour later is just… “Fine, I’ll— I said fine. I’ll be there. Yeah. Yes, sir.”

You hang up. Quiet daydream’s over.

“Turns out I’m gonna need to leave, anyways.” you mutter, sitting up. You suddenly become very aware of how comfortable it was simply laying there talking with Aventurine. Now that you’re faced eith your usual duties and loud coworkers, you’re forced to realize just how soothing the man’s presence is in comparison.

You feel a hand on your arm. It’s warm on your skin, holding some remains from the sun’s touch. You turn your head to see Aventurine’s fingers trailing down slightly, seemingly in thought. “How about…” he trails off, brows furrowing.

“How about?”

He looks up at you and grins before pulling you back into him, wrapping his free arm around your waist swiftly. You end up much closer to his face than either of you had anticipated but you don’t move away, and neither does he.

“How about we take a day off?” he whispers.

You try to say something but no word comes to mind. Aventurine stares at you for a while and you notice his gaze flitting down your face for a flicker of a second before he grabs your arm more firmly and pulls you closer, leaving you no room to even attempt thinking. “Hm?”

“I, you… Fuck you.” is the only response you manage to get out of your throat, and even that sounds half-hearted. It almost sounds like a question, even. You have to blame it on the exhaustion. You brain’s not cooperating, right now.

“Are you offering?”

Now he’s done it. You manage to grab his pillow from underneath his head to swat it at him, making him exclaim in surprise and soon yell for mercy. “Okay, hold on, hear me out, I’m sorry!”

You lower the pillow, looking down at him. You’ve been close before but straddling him’s a new one. Outside of fighting, that is. Maybe this counts as fighting.

“Good Heavens.” he huffs, hair at least ten times messier than it was before, “Okay. That was unnecessary.”

“False. Deserved.”

“…Perhaps.” he clicks his tongue, and carefully picks his pillow from your hands, like it’s a gun threatening to fire at him. “But that was no answer to my offer. Shall we take a vacation?”

“You get to decide when your vacation is?”

His sigh sounds nothing short of exasperated. “Just play along, will you? If you do, I’ll find a way to cover for both of us.” he says, fingers touching your face for who-knows-why. His eyes focus back on yours and he raises his eyebrows questioningly.

You’re not going to immediately say yes.

“Fine. Full blame’s on you if my boss kills me.”

He laughs, seemingly pleased with your answer.

“Then rest.” he says quietly, pulling you against his chest. You tense for a while, then relax. Now the sun is on your skin, too, and its warmth almost seems to beckon you back into sleep. Or is it his arms wrapped around you? You can’t tell.

Maybe the world feels a bit less harsh and cold when Aventurine is with you, and maybe you just shouldn’t bother questioning it.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)

Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation

A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.

It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.

You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.

“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house. 

Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.

“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”

Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.

Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?

It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.

“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room. 

Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.

That can’t be good.

“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”

“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.  Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.

“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.

You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.

“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.” 

Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”

“Shit—”

“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell. 

In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.

Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier. 

You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same. 

Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.

Wanda made this all conceivable for you.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.

“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.

Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.

“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.

Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”

“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”

She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”

Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.

“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.

You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”

Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”

You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.

Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today. 

“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.

You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.

“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”

“Do you love me?”

You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”

“Only me?”

You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.

“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.

Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out. 

“Wanda, I—”

“Do you like living here?”

“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”

Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else. 

“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"

You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”

You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.

“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”

The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.

–

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found her.”

Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.

“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial. 

Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.

The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.

“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.

A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.

“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.

It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.

“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.

“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly,  like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.

“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.

“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.

Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.

“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”

“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.

“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”

“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.

“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.

“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.

“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.

Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.

“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”

Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.

“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.

You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”

Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.

You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.

“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.

Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”

“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”

Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”

Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.

“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”

Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”

“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.

The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”

“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.

“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”

“You think?”

Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”

“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”

“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”

“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. “We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”

Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”

“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.

But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.

–

After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on. 

She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.

When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.

She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.

Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.

[rainybubbles]

What hug COD men would give you ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Keegan

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T : Comfort hug.

You always used to jokingly ask Simon, "Want a hug?" knowing how much he detested physical contact.

He'd always respond with a firm no.

It became your way of greeting this burly soldier, a ritual of sorts.

So why... why was he now whispering those words to you?

"Need a hug?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, bearing the marks of too many cigarettes and too much silence. Yet there was an unexpected warmth in it, a warmth that could thaw you.

"No." you said.

Cold and trembling, with lips turning blue and tears welling in your eyes, you were at your breaking point.

It started with a soldier's criticism, then your chief's belittling of your work, followed by a letter from your mom, a malfunctioning oven, and a stubborn onion. It all culminated in your retreat to the cold room, seeking solace, seeking release.

But the door was jammed, leaving you alone in your despair. What a pathetic demise for a cook. Yet Ghost, ever watchful, came to your rescue, finding you in your distress. And in that moment, he echoed your jest.

"Need a hug?" he repeated.

You nodded. He knelt beside you, gathering you in his arms, offering not just his warmth but also solace. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"It's okay."

"The lock, it—"

"For everything."

"Do I look that awful?"

"Yeah."

"You're supposed to say no."

"Not a liar, darling."

"Not a hugger either, but here you are."

"You're the exception, I suppose."

You were.

What you initially thought were mere circumstances now seemed to hold a deeper truth.

And the next day, when you initiated your ritual greeting with "Need a hug?" Simon's response of "maybe" signaled a shift in your dynamic.

________________________________

SOAP : "I'm home in your arms" hug.

He always gives hugs.

Soap is a very physical person; you knew that even though you were just a friend of a friend. You never dared to speak to him much, too shy. He seemed like a sun.

At gatherings, you were always quiet, so you weren’t sure if he remembered your name.

But he always had his eyes on you, always had his hug for you, and when nobody listened to your ramblings, he was there asking you to continue.

It was a silly crush; his hugs were something you secretly enjoyed. A thing, a treat for your heart, even though you knew it wouldn’t be more.

So when you opened your door, expecting it to be the delivery man from something you ordered online or maybe some important packages to sign, but…

You got bumped into.

You fell with the strength of the stranger’s hug until you recognized the mohawk.

“John?”

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said, helping you up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the one who needed a place. Mancy asked you, right?”

You remembered.

Mancy had asked if her friend could stay at your place for one week.

You didn’t know it would be John.

“Oh, yeah.”

“You don’t seem happy.”

“Well, if you hug me so hard I’ll fall every day, then no.”

He chuckled.

“It’s because I’ve missed you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, after three months without your pretty smile, a man goes insane.”

“My dad lives just fine without it.”

“True, but he’s a moron. I’m not. Now give me a hug.”

“Okay.”

And you did.

Gently, you noticed his hands around your waist, the way he slowly soothed his breath.

You didn’t know, but the only thought Johnny had in mind was, “I’m home.”

____________________________

GAZ : "I'm sorry" hug

The TV droned on in the background, but your gaze couldn't focus on it. Your stomach was tied in knots, and you felt utterly lost. 

The argument had been trivial, blown out of proportion by fatigue and frustration. You and Kyle were both drained, and the clash of tempers only fueled the misunderstanding, escalating it into a full-blown confrontation.

Now, you found yourself at a loss for what to do next. Kyle had stormed off for a walk, his usual retreat during tough times. But this time, his absence felt like an eternity.

You knew you could reach out, ask him where he was, beg him to come back. Yet, your stubborn pride held you back.

Was it pride or fear? Fear that he wouldn't return?

The nagging voice in your head echoed the doubts others had planted—that you weren't good enough for him, not pretty enough, not kind enough. You felt inadequate, unworthy of his love.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, your nose tingling with the threat of more to come. It felt absurd to be sitting here, watching a documentary while your relationship teetered on the brink of collapse.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears as you sat there, watching a documentary you couldn't even comprehend. 

When the door finally creaked open, your heart leaped into your throat, memories of past confrontations resurfacing. But the footsteps that followed were hesitant, tentative.

Turning slowly, you found Kyle standing there, mirroring your own disheveled state. Puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks spoke volumes of his own internal struggle.

Standing up, you met his gaze, unsure of what to say or do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the silence that enveloped you both.

"Me too," you replied, your own voice catching in your throat. "It was foolish of me to let my anger get the better of me."

"I agree," he murmured, stepping closer. "We need to find a better way to communicate, darling."

"Yeah, and maybe get some sleep," you added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Definitely," he whispered, extending his hand towards you.

You took it, feeling the warmth of his touch, and allowed him to pull you into an embrace. In that moment, words became superfluous as you both sought solace in each other's arms, tears mingling and laughter bubbling forth.

"I feel ridiculous," you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest.

"Me too," he confessed, his grip tightening around you. "But being with you makes everything better."

"Agreed," you murmured, snuggling closer.

"What if..." he began, his voice trailing off.

"What if what?" you prompted, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

"What if we can't sleep because of the neighbors?" he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, what about them?" you replied, confused.

"Let's move out," he proposed, his eyes earnest.

"Kyle, we live in separate apartments," you reminded him, a hint of skepticism creeping into your tone.

"Then let's get a house," he persisted, his gaze unwavering. "A place where it's just you and me, lost in the forest. Our sanctuary."

"You're just saying that," you countered, though a flicker of hope ignited within you.

"I mean it," he insisted, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I want a life with you, everything included. The silly arguments, the morning wake-ups, all of it. I don't want to wait to see you, but I also don't want you living on base. A house... it's us, it's safety, it's peace, it's..."

"Commitment," you finished for him, the weight of his words settling in your heart.

"Yeah, that too," he admitted, a shy smile gracing his lips.

"Okay," you whispered, a surge of emotion welling up inside you.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Yeah," you confirmed, squeezing his hand.

He enveloped you in a tighter embrace, and in that moment, you knew that perhaps this sorry hug was the beginning of something beautiful.

________________________________

PRICE : last hug

You felt his embrace, and a smile graced your lips.

“I never pegged you as a hugger, Captain,” you remarked.

“Don’t talk, soldier,” he replied, his voice firm yet gentle.

Nevertheless, you found comfort in his arms, basking in the warmth they provided. Your consciousness nudged you to close your eyes and surrender to the moment.

“Cap, can I rest?” you inquired softly.

“Not yet,” he responded tersely.

“But why? Even ghosts nap during brief,” you persisted.

“Don’t make me spell it out,” he said, his voice trembling, tears glistening in his eyes. 

Confusion laced your whisper, “Why are you crying, Cap?”

As you attempted to step back, you felt something damp on his hands. Bringin your own hand up, you saw it- red, your blood.

Blood.

Your blood.

It wasn’t a mere cut; it was a hemorrhage.

“Why…” you began, your voice trailing off.

“Don’t give up,” he interjected, his tone weighted with understanding.

He knew. You knew.

You wouldn’t last, and the medics wouldn’t arrive in time.

“Cap, could you...hold me tighter?” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper.

“Soldier,” he acknowledged.

“Just one last embrace, please,” you implored, a desperate longing for affection evident in your words.

Yearning for one final moment of love.

He acquiesced.

You buried your nose in his aftershave, despite the mingling scent of tobacco. Your arms savored the feel of his gear, your cheek nuzzling against his neck, the roughness of his beard against your skin.

Despite the warmth he provided, a chill crept over you. Your lips grew heavy, your eyelids too burdened to stay open.

“I'm glad it was you, Cap. Your hugs are the best,” you murmured, a serene smile gracing your lips.

With your blood staining his gear and your body cradled in his arms, he granted you your last hug, whispering your name softly.

____________

KEEGAN : "you're alive" hug

His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, his ears filled with screams. His eyes focused on Ghost’s voice, and then he saw you, lying on the ground.

What were you doing on the battlefield? You were a civilian. He sprinted towards you, but your body remained still. He reached out for your hands, but they slipped from his grasp.

Nightmare.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. His back was drenched in sweat, his mind replaying the image of you lifeless. He couldn’t move.

Reaching for his phone, he knew he wouldn’t believe you were alive until he saw it with his own eyes. He made his way to your shared flat, knocking on your door.

As you slowly opened your bedroom door, relief washed over him. "Keegan, what the hell—" He cut you off with a tight embrace, his hands on your neck feeling the rhythm of your heartbeat. "You're alive."

"Yeah, obviously. You saw me just two hours ago, we're roommates, Keegan."

"You're alive," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion.

Seeing his state, you melted into the hug. "You need to sleep."

"I can't."

"In my bed, you can check if I'm alive like this, okay?"

"I don't want to—"

"Keegan."

"Okay."

Slowly, he settled into your bed, your warmth comforting him. You worked on your laptop, but he didn't mind. His arms wrapped around your body, he could feel the steady beat of your heart. He knew it was his favorite sound because it meant you were alive.

"Sleep well, Keegan."

"Thanks."

And that night, he didn’t have any more nightmares, wrapped in your embrace.

If you want more : my masterlist

[mediumgayitalian]

Will wakes up sometime around two, stumbling over to Arts & Crafts. He looks so incredibly, adorably sleepy, face creased with pillow marks and hair sticking out everywhere even worse than usual, that Nico can’t help his smile.

“Morning,” he says quietly, shifting over in the bench to make room. “Or, well, afternoon.”

“Mmfh,” Will responds. He sways on his feet, eyes still closed, so Nico has reach back and take his hand, guiding him to the seat Nico cleared for him.

“Still sleepy?”

Instead of answering, Will slumps onto his shoulder. Nico tenses for a moment, but quickly relaxes — Will is out of it. He’s a heavy weight on Nico’s side, and his breath comes out in little puffs; he’s halfway to snoring. He sets aside the clay sculpture he was making, wiping off his hands, and shifts slightly to make his shoulder more comfortable, sliding his hands in Will’s hair. After a quick glance to double check that no one’s around, he cards through the matted curls, carefully untangling the birds nest that sits currently upon his head.

“Night shift was long?”

Will groans, nuzzling deeper into Nico’s neck. Nico huffs, allowing it, turning his half-limp body so he’s practically sitting on top of him. It’s kind of a nice weight, actually. And Will is warm, slumped and half-sprawled in his lap like a freckly blanket.

“Got thrown up on three times.”

It takes Nico a second to decipher the words, mumbled as they are. His finger gets caught in a strand of Will’s hair as he winces, tugging a touch too hard. Will shivers.

“Oof.”

“Mhm. Shouldn’t complain, though. Not Cecil’s fault.” He pauses. “Well, it’s a little his fault. I told him not to mess with Billie’s garden.”

Nico smiles. “You know, it’s not the first time a Hermes kid has been poisoned for their dumbassery. You could’ve left his cabin to handle him.”

“They would do a horrible job. They might actually make him worse.”

“Yep.”

“…I can’t leave him to suffer, Neeks.”

“Hero complex,” Nico teases. “Sounds like a natural consequence to me.”

“Shhhh. I’m sleeping.”

“It’s two thirty in the afternoon, Solace.”

“Pot, kettle, et cetera.”

Nico smiles. “Only dorky people say et cetera when they’re half asleep.” He shifts, accepting that he has a lapful of head medic, now, no refunds or exchanges. It’s still, somehow, very comfortable — he feels as if he’s laying in a sun patch, under a warm, heavy blanket. Plus, Will smells like strawberries and lavender and his sandalwood shampoo. Nico could get used to it.

He does, however, subtly raise a couple skeleton to stand guard outside the gazebo — no need to get anyone gossiping. As cute as a sleepy Solace is, Nico can and will shove him to the ground the second anyone gets too close. He has a Reputation.

(He is a liar.)

“Did I miss the strawberry coffee cake this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Aw.”

Nico hums, untangling the last of his hair. Without anything for his hands to do, he slides them under Will’s hoodie, resting them in his stomach, ignoring his whining and exaggerated shiver at Nico’s ice-cold hands.

If Nico is going to function as his personal bean-bag chair, Will is going to function as his space heater. Fair’s fair.

“Saved a piece for you, though.”

He feels Will’s grin more than sees it, twisted up as they are. He feels his happy little wiggle, too, arms flailing before wrapping around Nico’s waist, thighs shifting before re-bracketing his hips.

“You’re my actual favourite.”

“Hm. I think you say that to all the boys you save you strawberry cake and let you nap on them.”

“Nah.” Will’s breathing starts to slow, body stilling as he rests his head right about Nico’s heart. He can feel his puffs of breath in his collarbone, tickling the skin under his thin t-shirt. “Just you.”

Nico flushes, more pleased than he’s willing to admit, and rests his chin on his head, watching over the strawberry fields. He checks that Will is actually asleep, and when he is, he presses a quick, darting kiss to his still-creased cheek, and smiles.

“You’re my favourite, too.”

[pitchsidestories]

don't want you like a best friend II Steph Catley x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1748

a/n: inspired by this request here, we hope you'll like it.🥰

it's coffee time (group chat)

Steph

girls !!!

Jen

what's up, Stephy? It must be late where you're mate.

Beth

don’t write girls and let us wait!

Steph

I need to confess something.

Beth

tell us!!!

Steph

my best friend is gorgeous.

Beth

that was all? Wow, what a let-down 🥱              

Steph

I think I'm in love with her.

Jen

you’re messing with us. You’re not serious, right?

RIGHT?

Beth

that must be a joke.

Steph

no, I'm serious.

Jen

are you absolutely sure about your feelings for her?

The next day

Steph

girls, I obviously meant it platonically. Sorry, I was a bit tipsy last night😅

Jen

drunk people and children always tell the truth.

Beth

you two should talk about this.                          

Steph

we're on vacation.

Jen

yeah, perfect opportunity for it

Ever since your started playing for the Matildas youth teams, you and Steph had been best friends. You were roommates at every game, you were the first person that got to meet Calvin when he was still a puppy and of course, the two of you would go on vacation together to switch off from the stress of football.

This year, Steph had booked a beautiful hotel with a huge pool for the two of you. Your room overlooked the ocean, and you were completely in awe when you first walked in.

In fact, you still were mesmerized by the beautiful view a few days later when you got ready to go down to the pool. You pulled an oversized shirt over your bikini and turned towards Steph who sat on her bed, frantically typing on her phone.

“Come on, Steph. Time to go down to the pool, the weather is perfect.“

“I’m coming in a sec.“, she said, her gaze still on her phone.

You gathered your stuff for the pool, throwing a towel over your shoulder: “Okay.“

Steph finished typing and turned off her phone: “I’m ready.“

“Perfect. Let’s go.“, you smiled as the two of you made your way to the pool.

It was still empty, the blue water glimmered temptingly in the midday sun, inviting you in. You dropped all your stuff on a deckchair and without hesitation jumped in.

Steph stared at you in surprise as you emerged back to the surface. You grinned at her, pushing your wet hair back. She looked so shocked, she must have missed that you had just jumped in.

She shook her head in disbelief but a smile softened her features.

“Is it cold?“, she asked?

“No, very refreshing.“, you laughed, splashing some water into her direction.

She quickly pulled her feet back to avoid getting wet.

“Maybe I’ll come in too.“

“You should!“

Steph got up from her deckchair and in contrast to you, used the ladder to get into the pool. Halfway in, the cold water hit her calves and with a shriek, she climbed back out.

You immediately burst into laughter. One of the toughest players that you knew and she still couldn’t handle cold water.

“You’re such a liar!“, Steph yelled and gave you reproachful look.

“Sorry but your face was so worth it.“, you wheezed.

“Hate you.“, she pouted jokingly.

“No, you don’t.“, you smiled, pushing yourself out of the pool.

She shook her head: “No, I don’t.“

“See.“, you grinned as you walked over to her, your arms outstretched and dripping water on the concrete.

Steph cursed under her breath as you pulled her into a very wet hug: “Ew, you’re dripping water everywhere!“

“Sorry not sorry.“

She rolled her eyes with fondness and moved her clothes in a pile from the deckchair so it wouldn’t get wet: “You’re so annoying.“

“Excuse me? I’m not as annoying as Kyra.“, you laughed and sat down next to her.

“No one’s as annoying as that little pest.”, Steph countered. Even in her pretended annoyance her love for the younger teammate shimmered through. They really were like mother and daughter sometimes.

“You love her too though.”, you smiled at her before your face turned serious.

After a pause you changed the topic. “Can we talk about last night?”

“You mean when I almost kissed you?”, she asked cautiously in return.

“Yes.”, you nodded slowly.

Not looking into your eyes, your best friend glanced at her fingernails instead.

“That was dumb.”, Steph muttered under her breath.

“Best friends don’t do that.”, you remarked calmly.

“I told you; it was nothing.”, the defender insisted fiercely.

“What if..”, you started carefully but were immediately interrupted by your friend.

“What if what? Is this one of those but what if we kissed as a joke things?”, she huffed.

“No, I’d never joke about such things.”, you stated firmly.

“Wait? What are you trying to say?”, Steph gave you a look you couldn’t quite interpret.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”, you mumbled.

“That’s why you didn’t kiss me last night? That’s why you pulled back when I tried to kiss you?”, your friend pressed on, biting her lip anxiously.

“Yes and call me old school but you were tipsy and I didn’t want you to regret it.”, you smiled weakly.

“I.. that’s very sweet of you.”, she replied softly.

“But would you like to kiss me?”, you asked her, your heart pounding hard against your chest. It was a question which potentially could change your friendship forever.

“I think I do.”, Steph admitted, putting a loose hair string back behind her ear.

“Me too.”, you confessed nervously.

“You do?”, she glanced at you surprised.

“Yes.”, you confirmed, sounding sincere.

“I guess we should then.”, your best friend grinned shily.

“I agree.” You could hear her stomach growl, so you quickly added with a smirk on your lips. “Maybe we should have dinner first.”  

“Please.”, Steph answered while you walked hand in hand to the restaurant inside the hotel.

“That was so delicious, and the dessert was perfect.”, you sighed happily, once you both had finished your dinner.

“Agreed, it was really good.”, the defender said.

“Can I?”, you have begun almost timidly. The anticipation for the first real kiss has risen for you two over the course of the three courses meal, it was nearly unbearable. You were so hungry for the touch of your friends soft and sweet lips. Waiting for her reply.

“Yes.“, Steph said quietly.

That was all it needed, you leaned forward and kissed her gently and carefully. You pulled away after a few seconds, searching for any hint in your best friends face. “And? What do you think?“

Steph bit her lip with a smile, her eyes sparkling in excitement: “Can I try again?“

“Please.“, you laughed. This time you let her initiate the kiss.

Stephs lips found yours with impatience and a sense of urgency. This kiss lasted longer, it was more passionate.

“I like it!“, Steph decided as she ended the kiss abruptly.

“I like it too.“, you grinned.

You noticed that she was still staring at your lips.

“I never kissed anyone that tastes so good.“, she admitted.

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to reference the Matildas’ iconic warm up song which was also Stephs favourite song of all time: “Strawberry kisses.“

“Nothing’s as sweet, the taste still drives me crazy.“, she sang the lyrics.

“Such a good song, I hope we’ll hear it at the Olympics.“

Steph looked at you like you had gone crazy for a moment: “Of course we will!“

You grinned at her: “Of course. You’ll play it.“

“Exactly.“, she confirmed, lost in thoughts while her fingertips reached for yours.

This year’s vacation must have been your favourite so far. There were many more kisses after your very first one, slow mornings in the hotel bed and lazy touches in the afternoon sun.

The memories of your holidays followed you to the Matildas training camp a few days later.

As usual, you arrived with Steph. Only this time, there was more between you than just friendship.

You felt like you were constantly grinning, like all your teammates would know immediately by just looking at you.

But there was no time to greet the other player as you were knocked off balance by Kyra who pulled you and Steph into a hug: “Missed my mums!“

You frowned at her but laughed: “Mini is over there. She is your mum.“

You pointed towards Katrina with Harper sitting in her lap.

Kyra rolled her eyes: “Yes, but…“

She didn’t have to finish her sentence, you understood.

“She’s busy with her two small children?“

“Yeah.“, Kyra pouted playfully.

Steph gently stroked the younger players hair: “Poor pest.“

You met Stephs gaze with a grin and shrugged: “I guess it’s our turn to babysit, babe.“

“Babe?!“, Kyra and Caitlin both echoed simultaneously.

Kyra pulled out of the hug to study the two of you with excited, curious eyes while Caitlins face was pure bewilderment.

Steph bit her lip and reached for your hand: “I don’t think I have to explain this, right?“

“Yes, you do!“, Caitlin disagreed, impatient to get the full story.

“It just happened.“, Steph offered her short version of events which earned her an eye roll from Caitlin.

“So, you two are not only best friends but girlfriends now?!”, Kyra gasped dramatically.

“Yes. She’s, my girlfriend.”, your lover confirmed, smiling proudly at you.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”, Caitlin yelled excitedly.

“Thanks, Caitlin.”, you gave her a grateful smile.

“So that happens when two best friends go on a vacation together.”, Mackenzie commented with a huge grin on her lips.

“More like when two people who had a crush on each other for years go on a vacation together.”, you corrected her.

“And who were too afraid to ruin such an old friendship.”, Steph added, looking at you lovingly.

“My favourite idiots in love.”, Alanna sighed, moved.

“Lani, we’re not idiots.”, you protested smirking.

“You’re a bit.”, the Portland Thorns goalkeeper disagreed amused, referring to for how long it took the two of you to realize that you don't want each other like best friends.There always have been something more than friendship and your teammates saw that all along.

“But only a bit.”, you replied.

“As long as you finally figured it out.”, Caitlin intervened soothingly.

“That’s so cute but can we all get ready for training now.”, Tony Gustavsson requested smiling.

“Ugh, Tony.”, the youngest Arsenal player groaned.

While the training begun you thought to yourself that were was nothing better than to be on that football journey together with your friends and the love of your life.

[p0orbaby]

Honeymoon

summary: sun, sea and sex on the beach

warnings: SMUT 18+, not explicit but still, voyerism? dom!leah

a/n: im sick of the cold so i wrote this, enjoy

word count: 1.3k

-

Everything was perfect.

The sea breeze tickled your skin with each wave that broke on the shore. You were well rested, a belly full of wine and great food.

If you had to be picky, the canopy you were laying under was doing too well a job. The rays of the Mediterranean sun thwarted by canvas as your skin prickled slightly in the shade.

And Leah had abandoned you.

You pull your sunglasses down to the end of your nose to get a better look at the scene before you. A slender figure, hair wet from the ocean, bikini clinging to her deliciously, her tanned skin making your mouth water as she strides back in your direction.

The book you were reading tumbled from your grasp, completely forgotten about as your jaw slackens.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases when she’s close enough, well aware of the spectacle she’s become. Made all the more obvious by the smirk she’s sporting as she talks.

“I am now” you manage after a second. “Kept me waiting long enough”

Leah slides into the shade, the mattress dipping as she settles in her spot beside you. She smells like sea salt and sunscreen and you sigh contentedly.

“Sure you don’t want to go in? she asks, reaching for the half drank beer she’d left. “Water’s perfect”

You shake your head, pushing your sunglasses back up. “Maybe later. I can’t promise I wasn’t enjoying the peace and quiet”

Leah chuckles, “you’re a terrible liar. You know that right?”

You do an awful job at hiding your offense. Though you frown from behind your lenses, your pout gives you away. Evident by the way Leah leans over and kisses you. Once, twice. She pecks your scowl away. She tastes like beer and you find it hard to stay annoyed.

Her fingers dance along your arm, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “I did keep you waiting, didn’t I? Maybe I should make it up to you”

“Maybe?”

“I’ll make it up to you” she corrects herself, leaning in to capture your lips again. She lingers and you hum. “You’ve been a very patient little thing”

You hum again, this time in agreement. Because you had been.

“Come here”

You ignore her at first. Picking up your book and scanning the pages as if her choice of words hadn’t at all affected you.

“Y/N”

It wasn’t a warning, but there was an edge to her tone. The wind wasn’t the only thing making you shiver now. And it was getting increasingly hard to pretend your book was of any interest to you.

Then before you knew it, the words you were trying so desperately to distract yourself with were gone. Book removed swiftly from your grasp. You squeal as cold palms pull at your wrist and waist, finding yourself perched in Leah’s lap.

“I said come here”

“You’ve made me lose my page”

Leah leans in, her lips leaving a trail of warmth against your skin. “You weren’t really reading it,” she whispers, the wet ends of her hair dripping onto both of you. “I’m trying to apologise”

“By manhandling me?”

Leah pulls back slightly, her mischievous smile undeterred. “I prefer to think of it as a strategic repositioning”

You roll your eyes, the grin now playing on your lips betraying your half-hearted resistance. “You interrupted a good part”

Leah’s fingers traced teasing patterns along your arm, sending ripples of warmth through you. She met your gaze with an intensity that told you where this would be headed. “Doesn’t seem like you’re too upset about that, does it?” she remarked, her lips a breath away from yours.

Her touch became bolder, fingers now lingering at the edge of your bikini, a subtle promise hanging in the air.

“I could make it worth your while,” she whispered, her voice quiet and soft despite her intentions.

Your heartbeat quickens as Leah’s fingers start to tug on the knot of your bikini top, loosening it slightly. “Leah,” you murmur with a shaky voice. “We’re in public”

“If you’re quiet, no one will look over here” she states matter of factly. “Can you be quiet for me?”

Your breath catches, and you nod in agreement, feeling the exhilaration of breaking the rules. Leah’s fingers work deftly, loosening the knot further, and the warmth of the sun-kissed air mixes with the thrill of her touch.

“I can be quiet,” you reply, your voice a whisper. Leah’s eyes lock onto yours, a mischievous spark swimming in them.

Her lips find yours again, this time with a searing connection that leaves no room for restraint. As the spattering of beach-goers ignorantly continues on with their day, Leah’s touch becomes determined. Her experienced fingers toying with places that send shivers down your spine.

You suppress a gasp as she deftly removes your bikini top, her lips now exploring every inch of exposed tanned skin. You bite your lip, stifling any sounds that threaten to escape as she pushes her other hand down the front of your bikini bottoms.

"You're being such a good girl, Y/N," she whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers find their way into her wet hair, tangling and tugging gently as you surrender to the intoxicating feelings of pleasure coursing through you.

Despite her actions, Leah's voice remains unwavered. "Let go," she murmurs, her lips tracing a path along your neck. Teeth nipping and tongue soothing. "Let me hear you, just a little”

A collision of sensations ensues—the sea breeze, the soft touch fabric beneath your knees, and the feel of your wife’s fingers moving against you. Any semblance of public surroundings fades away, leaving only the cocooned world of forbidden bliss.

The boundary between public and private blurs, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of it.

“So, about that swim,” she says as between kisses along your sternum, your throat, your jaw. “Or do you plan on keeping me all to yourself under this canopy?”

“Stop talking” you beg, trying to catch your breath as waves of pleasure ripple through you.

She just laughs against your skin and uses her now free hands to keep you close to her, letting you retain some of your dignity.

“If we become a headline, I’m divorcing you” you state, pulling at the fabric laying around your legs, prompting her to help you get dressed.

She smirks up at you, “somehow, still worth the risk. Do you accept my apology?”

“Not in the slightest” you remark, rolling off of her and reaching for your book once more. Albeit this time with trembling hands and an erratic rise and fall in your chest.

The blonde turns to lean over you again, close enough that you can feel her breath against your cheek. Feel the heat of her skin against yours.

“In that case” she whispers, dipping down to lick a stripe up the column on your throat, “I’ll be off, then”

Your eyes snap open from where they threatened to close. Getting whiplash at her change in pace.

“What? Hey, where are you going?”

Leah stretches when she stands, the hard muscle taut and she twist and pulls, “getting you some food”

You frown, wondering why she would bother when you only had breakfast about an hour ago. “I’m not hungry”

She just shrugs, looking down at you triumphantly as she takes in your disheveled look, “doesn’t matter. I’ve got some groveling to do and you need to keep your energy up if I’m to be forgiven”

The fog in your brain stunts your ability to process her words. The cogs sticking as you try to clear your mind. Then clarity hits you like a freight train, and your legs involuntarily rub together at the prospect.

Your wife is a menace. She knows full well what she’s done as she walks off without even so much a look over her shoulder.

With a wry smile you settle back against the canopy pillows. Sunglasses shielding the desire burning in your eyes. The book in your hand a forgotten relic as the Mediterranean breeze whispers the promise of more.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes. 

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered. 

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak. 

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt. 

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have. 

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while. 

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between. 

That's why he calls this place purgatory. 

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips. 

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth. 

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human... 

He wonders if she's even real. 

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls. 

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke. 

And then the angel turns her head. 

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile. 

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her. 

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him. 

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base. 

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees. 

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite. 

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it. 

His angel is lonely and trapped too. 

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss. 

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too. 

Has someone claimed her already…? 

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night. 

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat. 

No. 

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good. 

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror. 

He wants all of that. 

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either. 

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse… 

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet? 

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him... 

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move. 

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster. 

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers. 

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now. 

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too... 

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly. 

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

[poppitron360]

Even more incorrect quotes From this RANDOM INCORRECT QUOTES GENERATOR that I found!!

Hazel: Just be careful, Leo!

Leo: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Hazel!

Leo: It's everything around me that's careless.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Annabeth: The first time I saw you, you stole my heart.

Piper: But I'm a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Jason: I will find us a covered wagon and horses.

Jason: If you two can manage to not kill each other while I'm gone.

Piper: Oh, please. We're not children.

*Jason leaves*

Piper, casually: ...Eat shit and die.

Leo, also casually: Yes, fuck you.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Annabeth: Sorry I’m late, I was doing things.

Percy: Hi, I’m ‘things’.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Will: What are you in the mood for?

Nico: World domination.

Will: That's a bit ambitious.

Nico: You are my world.

Will: Aww...

Nico:

Will:

Nico:

Will: OH.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Percy, upon learning how Annabeth did a magic trick: So you’re not magic?

Annabeth: Well, not really.

Percy: You’re just a liar.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Piper and Leo: *speaking Spanish*

Piper: I know, I know.

Jason: You speak Spanish?

Piper: No. I just know the phrase, 'this is all your fault' in every language Leo speaks.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Annabeth: N... No!

Percy: A fair rebuttal. However, consider this counterpoint: Y... Yes???

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Leo, talking about Jason: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH THEM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? THEY DID. THEY KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Percy : I’m the sexiest bitch in this therapy waiting room.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Annabeth: Plants are basically the ideal friends. They are quiet, friendly, and easy to please. All they need is a little water and fresh earth, and they are perfectly happy to lie there all day in the sun. And they don’t make increasingly awful life choices, or hide their relationships. They have never, as far as I know, fucked a bee.

—_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_ —_—_—_

Will: Can you keep a secret?

Nico: Do you know anything about my life?

Will: No, I don't. Good point.

[lovelybarnes]

Flustered 2- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, natasha romanoff, sam wilson, wanda maximoff warnings: flustered!reader, bucky teasing her. I haven’t written for him in so long i hope htis doesn’t suck about: flustered part 2!! requested

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You say it very matter-of-fact, yourself nearly believable. Metal bumps against plastic, narrowed eyes trained on collecting the last of your yogurt.

“Oh, no idea, huh?” Natasha accuses, crossing her arms against her chest. “You’re a liar.”

You scoff, glancing at her for credibility. “I’m not lying.”

Sam frowns, leaning in close to your face. You stare right back at him over your yogurt cup, bewildered.

“I can’t tell,” he says, disbelieving. He turns to Natashs. “Are we sure she knows?”

“She is right here,” you snap. “And she thinks you both are insane.”

“His effect on you should be studied at universities,” Wanda quips.

“What effect?” you cry, letting what’s left of your breakfast clatter to the table.

“Come on,” Sam starts, observing you closely with a hopeful smile beaming although obscured. “You know you turn into a dopey idiot when RoboCop comes around, right?”

“Don’t call him that,” you mutter, a little quieter. “And I do not. We’re grown-ups, Sam. Who are together. In an adult relationship.”

“‘M not saying you’re not,” Sam shrugs. “I just…” He squints. “I need to hear you say it. You can’t seriously not see it, I’m concerned.”

“I don’t need your concern,” you argue. “And I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You’re a competent person,” Sam starts.

“Thank you,” you deadpan.

“Normally. And then… Bucky, like, smiles at you, and you get all… gooey.”

Your brows pull together. “What does that mean?”

Immediately, all of your friends fall into an array of “gooey.” Natasha stares up at the ceiling with doe eyes while Sam fans himself, falling over the counter. Even Wanda has cradled her chin in her palm.

“You guys are awful,” you declare.

“I should film your interactions,” Sam says in turn. “Are we awful… or are we accurate?”

“You’re awful,” you respond promptly. “And I genuinely can’t see where you’re getting this from because--”

“Hello.” Bucky.

The show begins.

He catches your eye and smiles, eyes crinkling in a promise that it’s genuine.

Your reaction is immediate, features melting like butter in the sun at his appearance. “Hi.” You straighten and blink fast, clearing your throat. “Hi. Hello, Bucky.”

He raises an eyebrow and says hello again, curved in amusement. When he says your name, it’s devastating. 

The others can see it happen, the moment your resolve begin to crumble in unsteady hands and trickle into Bucky’s. He sidles up next to you, familiar, wonderful heat kissing a bare stripe of your skin. Pathetically, you freeze up. It’s only for a moment because it’s him, because you’re overwhelmed, because your ribcage feels like it’s closing in around your heart, a shocking heat at the bottom of your stomach, but the team notices anyway, sharing a distinct look you can sense.

You turn to him, that line of itchy warmth crawling up your nose and into your eyes. He’s very pretty up close, eyes a green below ocean and smile a notch above cocky.

“You look nice,” he says casually, brushing his lips right below your eye.

“Thank you,” you breathe. He’s done this so many times, and not once has it dimmed your reaction. He looks at you like he’s proud of the fact and squeezes your hip. You feel as though he wants to kill you. “You.. you too.”

Unexpectedly, he dips down int the dip between your shoulder and your neck, his chin grazing your necklace. “Why’s everyone staring at us?”

You’re a little dizzy. With him, it’s like your surroundings are heightened and gone all at the same time, like it’s just you and him and the lovely sparks beneath your skin. You shrug. “They’re perverts.”

Bucky laughs. “‘Course. I already knew that. Don’t know why I asked.” He steps away from you in favor of the coffeemaker, but you’re stuck in the few seconds before, reminiscing on the heat of his skin sticky on your collarbone. Like a sweet, awful honey.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at you, you frown; you just get so caught up in his eyes.

“C’mon.” Bucky’s hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you from the kitchen and away from prying eyes. He has a mug in his fingers. One of yours, with a grinning Garfield dragging something along a faded white background.

“Do you know,” you start finally, standing close to him in the elevator, “that our friends think I act weird around you?”

“How so?”

“Gooey. That I go gooey around you.”

“Gooey?” he repeats thoughtfully, a canine concaving his bottom lip. “You? No.” 

“That’s what I said.”

“Good,” he says. “‘Cuz that’s ridiculous,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. As if expecting something, a hand goes to support the dip of your back quickly.

“Yeah,” you mutter indignantly, leaning into him. “Yeah…”

It’s love, you think. Prickly, overwhelming love that makes you want to hold his face in your hands and kiss him till you can’t breathe, and the cost of the image is the cost of the action when it comes to him.

He hums against your lips, grinning at you when you pull away. “You do this on purpose,” you accuse, its bite harmless with your breathlessness.

His pupils bounce between your features, his shoulders jumping with a shrug. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He kisses you again, that same heat that stifles you crawling up his neck.

“Liar,” you croak.

Maybe, he thinks.

[starogeorgina]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Baratheon reader

Warnings: None

1.02

You watch as the hot wax runs onto the surface of the rolled-up scroll, the color of which is much like blood. You press a stamp onto it and wait for the impression of a stag to set into the wax.

“Sending another letter to King's Landing?”

Looking over your shoulder, you smile. “Uncle, I had no idea you were there.”

In jest, he wags his finger. “You’re a very bad liar. Deceit wasn’t a Lannister trait you inherited.”

“Well, as my mother likes to remind me, I am my father’s daughter.” Your uncle was right; you were an awful liar. And you knew it was him approaching because Meraxes always hissed at him. “But no, I’m sending this to Winterfell.”

Tyrion places the jug of wine he brought with him in the middle of the small table. He sits across from you, smirking, “Oh, pray tell. The king's daughter, who’s going to marry a prince, sends love letters to her former betrothed. How scandalous.”

When you are happy that the scroll is securely sealed, you place it with the other two you wrote. “You sound like a gossiping lady at court, uncle.”

“That is not a denial, y/n.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Of course I’m not writing to Robb; I’m writing to Jon.”

Not long after your tenth name-day, Lord Stark traveled south with two of his sons, his eldest son Robb, and his bastard Jon Snow. You liked both of the lord's sons, but only Robb made you blush. Your father had proposed to betroth you to Robb, but your mother fought against it for years until she finally got her way and you were promised to another.

“Ah yes, Ned Starks bastard. Do let me know if you ever find out who the boy's mother is.” He takes a large gulp of wine, then lets out a satisfied sighing noise. “That truly has been a mystery at court.”

“And betray my friends' trust? Never,” you chuckle. “I’ve written to my father and siblings, but I’ve yet to receive anything back.”

“If it’s any consolation, I very much doubt my sister is letting them receive it. I’m sure Myrcella and Tommen would both be thrilled to know you’ve written to them.”

“I hope so.”

Tommen and Marcella were both you and impressionable; you didn’t want them to think you’d abandon them deliberately, gone to start a new life while leaving them behind without a second thought.

—

Burying your toes into the sand, you enjoy the feeling of warmth surrounding your feet. You lean to the side and dip your finger into the cool water of the pond, causing a ripple effect on the surface. After a few moments, you watch as several colorful fish swim closer to your finger to investigate; one of them brushes against it, causing you to giggle slightly.

Feeling eyes on you, you look up and see Ellaria walking in the opposite direction across a wooden bridge. She was looking over her shoulder and glaring right at you.

The people of Dorne were rightfully still furious about the horrific deaths of Elia Martell and her children, and the anger was aimed in the direction of house Lannisters. Which has resulted in you being very lonely. Most people were indifferent or just outright hostile towards you. The only people who spoke to you daily were your uncle Tyrion and your lady-in-waiting. But you were the daughter of the king, so no matter how you felt, you needed to hold your head up high and not let them see how badly you were hurting.

“Princess.”

“Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn stands in front of you with his hands behind his back gracefully. Your mouth goes dry. Oberyn was tall and slender, with lustrous black hair. Even now, with his eyes squinting slightly because of the sun shining in them, you avoid his gaze, afraid you’d get drawn in by the darkness of them.

“Where is Lord Tyrion?”

A Dornish beauty who works in a pillow house had caught your uncle’s eye, so he would be most likely absent for the rest of the day. You click your tongue. “He has gone to drink the finest wine and bed the most beautiful woman.”

“Oh,” he laughs.

Your gaze remains on the pond as the prince sits down beside you. Oberyn was very flirtatious with both men and women; however, a mere simple interaction would cause your cheeks to burn.

“I’ve got you a gift,” he says, pulling a book from behind his back and giving it to you. “When we first met, you said your septa only told you what they wanted you to know.”

You read the title out loud, “The Songs of Robert's Rebellion.”

Oberyn seems intrigued as he watches your reaction closely. His intention was never to offend you, but when he heard the book had been written, he thought you might find it interesting.

You straighten your shoulders up, place the book on your lap, and look up at him, finally locking eyes, and it’s him. “They say my father had the strength of a giant; the weapon he used in battle was a spiked iron warhammer that was so heavy that Lord Stark could barely lift it himself. In his youth, my father was known to be quite fearless.”

“I dare say he was.”

Your lips press together into a thin line. It was easy for you to get carried away talking about your father. You want to believe the version of his heroics that the septa told you, but it was just a lie. They knew it, you knew it, and Prince Obryen knows it, but no one dares speak the truth.

“Are the two of you close?”

“Yes, we are. Are you close with your daughters?” It was common knowledge that the prince had several bastard daughters. You had briefly met his eldest, Obara, whom Obryen fathered at the age of thirteen.

“They are my whole world.”

“All my life, I’ve heard King Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. But he doesn’t feel that way.” Your father shared that he never felt so alive as when he was winning his throne, but from the moment he sat on the iron throne, he felt dead inside.

“Even a man with a reputation such as the king has a softness to him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have named his firstborn daughter after his mother.”

Crossing your arms over you, you hold the book to your chest and smile softly. “Thank you for the gift; it was a thoughtful gesture.”

[mcondance]

“and i wish that i could be with you tonight, you give me butterflies”

butterflies — oj haywood

pairing oj haywood x Black!afab fem reader

contents slow burn, kinda, but not too much. little bit of angst and self doubt. canon-compliant except holst and jupe did not die, smut (unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), creampies, it gets rough for like one scene but nothing too crazy)

words 8.8k

notes handful of michael jackson references (like 3) so if you don't like michael kill yourself, oh also the title is from butterflies by michael too, this is a re-upload from my old blog!

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The pictures of the horses are beautiful, but the horses themselves? They’re gorgeous. After seeing countless pictures of them and marveling at the still images, you ask Holst who’s horses they are, and if their owner would be okay with you popping up for just a second. 

The drive is long as hell, some big ass ranch out in Agua Dulce, far from anything except for Jupe’s Theme Park. You make plans to visit one day. Today you’re on a mission to lay eyes on some of the most beautiful animals you’ve seen. Which is saying a lot, since you work with pictures of Holst’s animals all day. 

The man that meets you at the ranch is.. not amused. In fact, he looks extremely annoyed. It seems like Holst is a liar. 

“Who are you?” he asks, face scrunched up from the heat of the sun, hands on his hips, body language giving stand-offish. You give him your name and he barely acknowledges it. He would much rather know why you’re here and what you want.

“I, um, I work with Holst.” you say with a nervous smile, his displeasure at your unexpected and uninvited presence evident. “I just saw some pictures of the horses and I had to see them in person.” 

Hearing your reasoning for basically trespassing on his ranch strikes a bit of a nerve in him. He’s never met someone who’s that interested in the horses. But he wants to get this over with quickly. He got shit to do, and you just interrupted the horses feeding time.

He turns, nods in a gesture that you take as him telling you to follow him, and walks off. You follow closely, but not too close. You don’t wanna seem like more of a weirdo than you’re sure you already do. 

“You drove all the way out here just to see my horses?” he questions, leaning on the arena near a pretty brown horse as he waits for you to catch up. 

“Yeah.” you nod. “I been seeing pictures of them for some months now and i just wanted to see them in person.”’

“Mhm.” he nods, reaching up to sift some dirt off of Lucky’s mane. 

You step a little closer to the arena, and Oj figures you want to pet Lucky. “Come ‘ere.“ He nods his head again, this time gesturing you to follow him towards the horse. You do, falling into place beside him. 

“Gimme your hand.” He reaches for you and meets you in the middle and places it on Lucky. His hair is soft and silky, hot from the California sun, and you can tell just from a feel that Oj takes good care of him, of all of his horses. He’s gentle with your hand, holds it and guides you. That makes heat rise in your cheeks, heat that’s definitely not caused by the sun beating down on you two.

Then Oj pulls his hand away from yours, casting his eyes over the expanse of land. 

That breaks you out of your awe-induced stupor. 

“I gotta get home.” you say, walking off before he gets the chance to say anything.

On the way home, you have flashes of the cowboy playing through your mind, the burning heat on your hand remaining from his touch, and a couple of butterflies find a hopefully temporary home in your stomach.

—

The next day, you come back. 

You find him in the stables this time, throwing hay into the stalls.

Oj’s surprised. Usually, people pet the horses, hang around for a little while, and then lose interest.

“Hey, Oj.” you wave happily.

“Hey. You wanna help me feed them?” He assumes that you’d like to, since you’ve shown some interest in them. And of course you do.

It’s not easy, the bales of hay heavier than you anticipated. But you take the work in stride. It’s not too hard, not when you get to admire these beautiful animals and see how they work. And, to be honest, you like seeing how their owner works as well.

He’s so handsome, with his pretty brown skin, glistening with sweat, the image of a hard-working man. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how, but the cowboy thing is working for him and on you. He’s captivating, his dedication to his horses and his quiet demeanor working together to have you tripping over your words and feet around him.

You could blame it on the heat, or you could blame it on the feeling of his eyes on you the entire time. You’re sure he’s just trying to make sure you don’t fuck up his horses, but you can’t lie, it’s nice to feel for just a second that a man like this is interested in you. 

When he asks how long you’ve been working for Holst, it’s like you completely forget the last 8 months of your life. You stutter over your words, and you’re quite literally confused on how you could stutter over two simple words. Still, you do, and you’re sure you just setback any progress you made in getting Oj to find you at all attractive and worth being around.

Because that’s the problem. That’s the dilemma. Here you have a man, who’s happiest in solitude and quiet, and here you are, talkative and loud, and you think you want him to want you. That’s the problem you have. And it’s a big, inescapable problem.

He tells you to hang back by the door of one stable while you’re thinking, telling you that this horse doesn’t take too kindly to strangers. That gives you another chance to really take him in.

He’s so goddamn attractive, and you’re so glad he’s so focused on the horse, because you’re shamelessly staring at his thighs, visibly thick through the denim of jeans. His chest is built; it’s visible under his shirt, too. 

And the butterflies are there once again, accompanied by the heat encompassing your entire being.

It isn’t quite professional to be eyeing one of your coworker’s business partners like this, but you’re too caught up in your reverie to care. 

And then Oj turns around, and you snap out of it as fast as you can. Not fast enough, you suppose, because he asks you if you’re okay when he makes it back over to you. 

“You good?” he asks. “The heat is a lot. You can go if you’re getting too hot.”

“No, no, I’m good!” you nod, reassuring him through a heavy breath. 

“You sure?” he pushes, eyes fixed on yours.

“Yeah.” you nod, but you’re not at all okay. He’s close enough that you can feel his warmth radiating off of him, and you have to suppress a chuckle at his previous choice of words. You are getting too hot. 

It’s just.. with the way he towers over you, looking down at you under the brim of his hat, the way his pretty brown skin shines with sweat, the way he’s so fucking warm and his lips look so goddamn nice, you can barely focus on anything else. And the way he’s staring at you like he wants to do something more than stare has you questioning if Holst would be upset if you kissed his business partner after only knowing him for like 2 days.

A horse neighs. Oj backs up immediately. You have to go, have to get from around Oj before you do some reckless shit.

“That was the last horse, right?” you ask shakily, uneasiness leaking into your voice.

“Yeah.” he nods, hands on his hips, his stance driving you insane.

“I guess that’s my cue, then.” you respond, walking off before he can even fit another word in.

On the drive home, Oj’s the only thing on your mind.

—

Visiting the Haywood ranch this time is for two reasons.

One: you want to ride one of the horses.

And Two: Oj fucking Haywood.

This time, surprisingly, he isn’t outside with the horses. You hear music playing from the house, so you assume he’s in there. Before you can even knock, the door opens, and you’re met with the face of the man you think you’re developing feelings for. 

“Hey.” he greets you.

“Hey!”

“If you wanted to feed them or something, it’s past their feeding ti-”

“No!” you cut him off before he can shut you down and send you home. “I was hoping you’d take me, uh, horse riding.” You say it like a question, eyes searching his face for any emotion, any answer to your question. The music playing is a glaring foil to your current feelings, smooth reggae contrasting with your hyper aware and scrambled mind. You don’t know how he does it. 

“Yeah. I’ll take you horse riding.” he nods, stepping out of his house and closing the door. He clicks at you in that certain way, jerks his head in what you know to be directing you towards the horses. 

“Which one?” he asks when you both make it to the stables.

“Lucky.” you answer. “I’ve liked him since I saw the pictures of him.” Once it leaves your mouth, you’re sure it sounds weird. But his reaction, a warm smile that seems genuine, tells you otherwise. Perhaps he’s growing as fond of you as you are of him. 

After he saddles Lucky up, he calls you over to the horse. 

“Okay, so I’m gonna help you up. You ready?” he asks, leaning down to cup his hands together. You nod, throwing one hand over Lucky and stepping into his hands. He boosts you up, and then he’s swinging up behind you, reaching around you to grab the reins.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Because you can feel him against you, and if you don’t hold on tight enough, you just might fall off the damn horse.

“You ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” you nod. 

He takes you down through the gulch, takes you near Jupe’s Park and somewhere way behind the ranch. The sun is beating down on you two, but you know it isn’t the cause of what you feel.

The heat that has enveloped you is caused by Oj’s arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing every once in a while to guide Lucky. Caused by the way you can feel his chest pressed against you, firm and warm. The way merely being close to him has your head spinning.

At some point, he notices the sun starting to bother you. You feel him shift behind you and see his arm go up, and then his hat is on your head, and you’re pushing it down to make sure it doesn’t fall off. 

It means nothing, you’re sure. He’s just being nice. But god, it means so much to you, though you’re sure it shouldn’t.

When you make it back to the ranch, you’re jittery and nervous, letting him help you off the horse and then backing up from him as soon as you’re off, handing him his hat from a distance. He doesn’t say anything, crediting it to being your first horse ride and the heat. He’s right, sort of. Just not right about where the heat’s coming from.

He waves you a quick goodbye in that attractive cowboy way, two fingers and all flicking off his forehead in a salute, and you turn away, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

You’ve tried to make your feelings for the quiet man go away, but he’s not made it any better. 

You like Oj. There’s no denying it, no hiding it. You’ve fallen for a cowboy. 

–

Some time passes between your realization and your next visit. You needed some time to think, to make sure what you feel for him isn’t just some stupid crossing of wires in your brain. 

It isn’t. He’s on your mind every goddamn for the next 2 weeks. 

Your visit is Holst’s doing this time. He wants you to take some more pictures of the horses. You go reluctantly, not arguing with him so he doesn’t start to pry.

When you get there, Oj seems happy to see you. You credit it to wishful thinking, or maybe he’s just happy to be here with his horses. You don’t know, and you don’t intend to think about it for long. You just flash him your camera and a wry smile and he nods, understanding what you’re here to do. 

Well, what you’re here trying to do. 

You’re too distracted, eyes flitting over to him with everything you do. You’ll be lucky if you get one clear picture, hands fumbling with the camera like you haven’t been taking pictures all your life.

Everytime your eyes find him, his eyes have found you as well, glances shared from under the brim of his hat. It feels like you’re both in middle school, trying to sneak little glances at your crush from across the ranch, your work going undone.

You’re trying. You really are. You try to focus on your task, to take the pictures Holst needs and leave, but you can’t settle the butterflies in your stomach, can’t get rid of that familiar heat, not with Oj’s gaze lingering over your every move.

But you’re just imagining things. You know you are. There’s no way Oj’s even giving you a second thought. He’s just watching his horses, making sure they’re in good hands. 

You feel uncomfortable even being around Oj, knowing you feel the way you do for him and being sure he doesn’t feel the same. You have to go home. You have to get from around him before you do some shit you’ll regret.

You turn to leave, to sneak off before he even has the chance to realize you’re gone. You won’t come back again. You’ll think up some bullshit excuse to give Holst later. 

But then Oj’s voice sounds out from across the way, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey, where you going?”

Shit.

“Home. I don’t wanna bother you anymore.” you answer, turning towards him, figuring you’ll be truthful since this is the last time you plan to see him.

The look on his face is one of confusion, which matches what you feel inside. This can’t be happening right now.

“You’re not bothering me.” he says. You’re sure he’s lying, right? He’s just trying to be nice, trying not to ruin his business relationship with Holst, trying not to hurt the weird photographer who popped up at his ranch one day’s feelings.

“I think I am.” you respond, eyes looking down at the dirt. Anywhere but at Oj. “It’s obvious you like being alone.”

“I do like being alone.” he nods, walking towards you. You knew it. 

You nod at his statement, gearing up to ask him why he even stopped you. You back up, ready to leave. Until he speaks again. 

“Unless I find someone who’s worth sharing my space with.” 

Your head shoots up, eyes meet Oj’s sincere expression of emotion. 

“Am I worth sharing your space with?” you just want to hear his answer, need to hear it spoken straight from his mouth. 

He’s so close now, mere inches separating you two. And the heat is there again, and the butterflies settle in your stomach, just like they have everytime you two have been this close. 

“Hell yeah.”

His lips crash against yours, the brim of his hat brushing against your forehead. You both can’t be bothered to care, not when the yearning of two people too afraid to say anything has finally been sated. Not when your lips feel so good together, when he can taste you and you can taste him. Not when his hands have found your waist and are gently squeezing, and your hands have found his neck, scratching softly at the short hair there. 

Not when the heat of the California sun is nothing compared to the heat shared between you two. 

You both separate for air, and Oj takes that as a chance to pick his hat up. Your hand flies to your chest, feeling your heartbeat as your chest heaves. He stands back up, laughing breathlessly.

“You dropped my hat.” he jokes, dusting it off. His eyes meet yours again.

“Well, it was hindering my ability to kiss the very handsome cowboy standing right in front of me.” 

“Yeah, alright.” he laughs, putting his hat on your head. 

“I’d hate to ruin the moment, but I gotta go home.” you say reluctantly, blushing at Oj’s action and tucking your braids under the hat.

“Yeah.” he nods, looking in the direction of the already setting sun, hands on his hips like they always are when he’s focused. “Next time you visit, I’m taking you out.” He smiles now, pretty white teeth shining. He looks happy, you think. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” you smile back. He kisses you on your forehead as a goodbye. 

This time on your drive home, you don’t chase the images of the cowboy flashing through your mind away.

—

Your next visit to the ranch is by invitation. You could call it a date, you guess. 

When you get there, the man that meets you is obviously so happy to see you. He greets you with a kiss, one hand on your cheek, resting tenderly. He tastes like lemonade, and his body is warm like the heat of the sun. You hate to pull away, but you just have to admire the handsome cowboy standing right there in front of you.

He has an orange hoodie on, with something like “Scorpion King” written on it. It’s late in the evening, so you can just barely make it out. It looks good on him.

“You staring?” he asks with a smirk.

“Yeah.” you nod with a smile. “I can’t admire the man I just kissed? Plus the hoodie looks good on you.”

He doesn’t answer, just smiles again, shaking his head at your words. 

“Nice hat.” he changes the subject, motioning with a nod towards the hat on your head that looks suspiciously similar to the one he gave you last time you saw each other.

“Where we going?” you change the topic, saving yourself from your own bashfulness. 

“There’s this food place like, 5 minutes from Jupe’s Claim.” He decides  to leave you alone, but inside he’s feeling all sappy about you wearing it.

“Cool.” you smile. 

The drive there is filled with talking, mostly on your part, and laughing on Oj’s. You both fall into this dynamic quickly. You speak, and Oj listens. You like it. 

You eat in his truck because you know that Oj doesn’t wanna be in the building with that many people. He tries to protest, but you stand firm, even locking the doors when he tries to leave the vehicle.

“You know, you’re holding me hostage.” he deadpans, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, okay.” you laugh through a mouthful of fries. He can’t help but chuckle, reaching for his food.

“And in my own vehicle?” he jokes, placing more fries into his mouth. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” you acquiesce. “We’re not going in there. I like it like this, just me and you.” 

His eyes meet yours, and you’re so grateful that you can say something about it this time, can act on what you’ve been feeling for the past month or so. So you kiss him, and kissing him feels just as good as the first time. 

When you hook your phone up to the aux and turn some music on, he cracks a smile, which turns into a laugh when you begin to passionately sing the lyrics. 

“You’re very excited about this, I see.” he remarks.

“Hell yes I am!” you scream over the track. “It’s my favorite song!” 

He just nods, choosing to silently watch as you give him the show of your life, grabbing at his hoodie and sobbing exaggeratedly to get the song’s point across.

You end up back at the ranch after a while, sometime after midnight. You leave, still feeling Oj’s lips on your forehead, his form of a goodbye. 

— 

No way. 

Absolutely no way.

You rub your eyes like on the cartoons, squinting to make sure your vision is correct.

“Oj, what the hell!” you scream up at him.

“What.” he responds, like he’s not outside your house on top of a literal horse.

“Why are you on a horse!”

“I wanna take you horse riding. This time as my girlfriend.”

As his girlfriend.

“Good lord.” you laugh as Oj hops off of Lucky so he can help you up. 

“How’d you know where I live?” you ask as he boosts you onto Lucky with a grunt. 

“Holst.” He answers shortly. This man is gonna drive you insane. He swings up behind you, and then you both are off, riding through the countryside.

He’s so warm, and you are too, just like that third time y’all met. This time, you can express your thoughts to him. 

“You know, last time we did this, it made my feelings worse.” 

“Is it doing it again?” he asks, not questioning what else you meant.

“Yeah. Hell yeah.” you nod, and you feel him smile against your neck as he places a kiss there. His hand ghosts up your side, the other staying steady on the reins, and he places his hat on your head, just like the other time.

You smile to yourself, relishing in having the affection of the cowboy you could’ve sworn didn’t care for anything other than his horses. 

When he drops you off at your house, you kiss him goodbye this time. He leans down over the horse to accept your kiss with smiling lips, and then he’s nodding like the stereotypical cowboy and riding off to his house. 

Who would have known Otis Haywood Junior could be such a sweetheart?

— 

Oj’s vinyl collection is insane.  Currently playing is “Fisherman” by the Congos, the same song that was playing the day you came over for a horse ride.

Oj comes into the living room, two glasses of lemonade in both of his hands. 

“I like this song.” you say.

“That’s good. It’s one of my favorites.” he responds, handing you a glass and taking a seat beside you on the couch. 

“So when were you gonna tell me you’re this good at making lemonade?” you question dramatically, going back in for another sip.

“I live on a hot ass ranch and I’m outside most of the day. I thought that would be obvious.” He’s a sarcastic little thing, all snarky and cocky under that stoic exterior. You feel so grateful to be able to see this side of him, the side that he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. 

He finishes up the lemonade in his cup, setting it on the table beside the couch and hopping up to change the vinyl. 

“What you turning on?” you ask, swirling your remaining drink around in your glass. 

“It’s a lil vinyl I made for us.” He pulls the record out, replacing the one on the player with it.

“You.. you made a vinyl for us?” you ask incredulously, in fucking shock. 

“Yeah.” he nods, placing the needle on the record. You recognize the song as one of the ones that you played in the truck on your first date. The one you told him was your favorite. 

“You remembered.” 

“Of course I did.” You go silent at that, enjoying the song in a different context now.

He goes to the kitchen to wash and put up the glasses, leaving you in the living room, smiling when he hears you singing along to the record. When he comes back, another song is starting.

“All you got to do is walk away and pass me by, don’t acknowledge my smile when I try to say hello to you, yeah”

Michael Jackson croons off the player, singing lyrics that song very similar to you and Oj’s meetings and now relationship. 

“That sounds like us at first.” you laugh, remembering Oj’s reluctance to even allow you on his ranch when you two first met.

“Does it?” he questions with a tilt of his head, fully aware that it sounds just like him. 

“It does.” 

“I just want to touch and kiss, and I wish that I could be with you tonight, cause you give me butterflies”

“You definitely give me butterflies.” you admit. 

He’s standing cross-armed now, leaning against the table that the player sits on. 

“Come ‘ere.” he beckons with a smile at your confession and a jerk of his head, outstretching his hand to you. 

You stand up, entangling your hands and fingers with his. His other hand meets your hip as he starts to sway back and forth, and you fall in line with his dance. 

“Would never have pegged you for the slow dancing type, but it works, to be honest.” you smile, eyes fixed on his. He smiles back, shrugging and kissing you on your forehead. 

“If you would take my hand, baby I would show you, guide you to the light, babe”

Time seems to slow, the world outside falling away, leaving just you and Oj here together, dancing to music off a vinyl player on his ranch, your hands connected, bodies moving in sync. It feels kinda overwhelming, falling so fast for a man you were sure didn’t want anything to do with you. 

Your eyes meet again, and so many things are said with just a glance. You have to talk, have to do something to deal with what you’re feeling. He looks too enamored with you, and you’re in too deep to not express it.

“Oj, I-” but he cuts you off with a kiss, knowing what you want to say. 

“Don’t talk.” he shakes his head, separating for just a second. “Just do.” he nods, and then he moves back in. He’s sweet, a mix of lemonade and something you can only describe as him. His other hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face, and you almost melt at his tenderness when you feel his thumb start to rub softly. Your hands find his waist, tangling in the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to keep you in this plane of existence. It doesn’t quite work, though, because merely existing with this man sends you high enough to make sure you’ll never come down. 

“Cause you give me butterflies inside”

When you both pull away, it’s with closed eyes and heaving chests. It takes you a second to come back down, to ground yourself back on earth. Oj’s hands have found your waist now, and yours are folded in front of you, too scared to touch him for fear of what will happen next.

He’s starstruck, but sure about what he wants. His hands find yours as your eyes open to find him gazing at you with adoration and sureness, and he places them on the waistband of his jeans, smiling against your lips when you hook your fingers in the loops and pull him ever closer, sighing against his lips when his warmth overtakes you. 

Then he kisses you again, hands moving down to where yours are, ghosting under your shirt and resting on the skin above the waistband of your shorts. The kiss is deep, and before you know it your tongue slips into his mouth and his is in yours, and tongue-kissing would be gross with anyone else but with Oj it feels right. Everything feels right with him, and you swear you can feel him, hard and heavy, pressing against your thigh. 

You can’t blame him though, because the heat he’s made fall over you has spread, has entrapped you and found its way between your legs. 

And, maybe fueled by arousal, or Oj’s urging for you to just feel and do, you unbutton his jeans. You don’t know what to do next, don’t know anything about how he likes it or how he wants it, but you don’t give yourself time to doubt. You hook your fingers in his belt loops again and pull him towards the couch, and you fall back, letting him take his place hovering over you. 

He leans down to kiss you again, like he’s addicted to the feeling of your lips against his, your taste mixing with him. And he is, god he is. He can’t separate, can’t bring himself to just stop kissing you, so he doesn’t. You separate just for a second, just long enough to push his jeans down so he can take the hint, and he steps out of them, leaning right back down to kiss you again. 

His kisses flow from your lips down to your neck, and your hands find purchase in his short curls, nails scraping at his scalp, and the appreciative groan he gives you send chills racking through you. He kisses and licks, sucks and bites until he finds the spot that makes you squirm and whine just a little louder than the rest. You feel him smile against your skin, then, and you can’t stifle a smile either. 

“You found it.” you say quietly, like talking too loud will wake you out of a dream, and you’ll wake up in your bed and not under Oj on his couch, with music playing off his vinyl record player. 

“Mhm.” he hums against your neck before he goes to work on that spot, focusing his kisses and licks on that sensitive patch of skin. His hands drift down your body, nimble fingers unbuttoning your shorts with one hand. You lean into his touch, nodding when his eyes find yours, and he asks “Is this okay?”

Your brain blanks at the feeling of his hand so close to the heat that he’s created inside you. And then his hand slides into your shorts, slipping into your underwear to meet the mess he’s made of you.

“This all for me?” he asks with a smile, and you, with a heaving chest and a fluttery stomach, nod again, head falling back onto the couch. His other hand eases the shorts down your legs, giving himself more room to work with. On his way back, he kisses down your leg, drawing a small laugh from you, so happy to be seeing this loving side of him, and he smiles at you. 

Then he’s focused again, fingers moving against you, experimenting with different angles and movements and motions, still kissing and nuzzling at your neck while you whine and squirm. He’s determined, wants to find that one thing that makes you tick.

And then he finds it.

“Fuck, that’s it.” you moan, chest arching into him, feeling him press against you, firm and warm, as his fingers find your clit. 

“That’s it?” he asks, mirroring you as you nod before he even gets the question out. It’s arousing, for some reason, and he swears he can feel the blood rush to your clit. He rubs soft circles over it, watching your face, making it his one and only purpose at this moment to learn how you like, how you want it and what drives you crazy. And when he rubs a certain way, flicks his fingers just right, he can’t help but smile again at the unadulterated moan that rips from deep in your chest. 

“That’s it.” he speaks against that sensitive spot he’s found on your neck, and it drives you wild.

“Shit.” is all you can manage, back falling down from its arch, legs closing around his hand. 

Oj takes it all in, your whines, your groans, the way you squirm and shake and jerk against him. It feels so good, Oj on top of you, his hands on your body, one between your legs and the other stroking your hair, soothing you as you get lost in the pleasure that he’s giving you. 

“Feels so good.” you whine, one hand curled in his hair, the other curled in the fabric of his shirt that you wish was off right now. “Off.” you manage to say, and he hates to pull his hand away, but he gives you what you want, pulls his shirt off as fast as he can, returning his hand to where you both want it. 

“You dripping, baby.” he hums, and you shiver at the pet name that slips off his lips so easily. 

You bring him down into yet another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he finds his rhythm again, working you up into ecstasy like  you’ve never felt before. 

“You- fuck, you make me feel so good.” you confess. “You’re making me feel so good.” 

That makes him press harder, makes his movements against your clit speed up, makes him grow harder and heavier against your thigh. He needed that, needed to know that what he’s doing is still something you want. 

“You shaking, baby. Feel good, yeah?” His accent has you hanging off his every word, his deep voice and drawl adding to the blood rushing to your clit. 

“I wanna come.” you say, eyes locked on his. 

“Well come, baby, you got that shit.” And you do, shaking and shivering as you soak his hand and your underwear and the couch beneath you. You find it funny how you’re coming for him on his couch, coming for a man you swore didn’t want you, laughing as you come down, small huffs with your arm thrown over your face, in awe at how fast and hard he made you come. 

Then his lips are meeting yours again, and everything feels so perfect, final pieces of clothing falling onto the floor beside the couch.

You and Oj make love that night on his couch for the first time, with a vinyl he made for you two playing.

–

You wake up in his bed, slightly confused until the memories of last night come rushing back.

—

Oj bottoming out inside you, kissing you softly as his hips slot against you. His thrusts jolting you up the couch, your arms and legs wrapped around him, his soft praises of “You look so pretty, been wanting this for so long” meeting with your moans and groans of “Right there, fuck, right there, Oj.” 

Your chest arching into his, breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hard and peaked and sensitive. His hand finding your chest, flicking softly, smiling once again at the shakes that rack through you. His golden chain dangling over you, glittering and hitting against your chin with every forward push of his hips into your heat.

Your hands gripping at his back, scratching and smoothing down his pretty brown skin, leaving red marks in your wake. His hisses and moans into your mouth at the feeling, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths too.

His fingers finding your clit, using the circles he learned earlier. Your legs tightening around his waist, his other hand ghosting down your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin, tight enough to leave pretty marks that you’ll admire in the California sunlight tomorrow. 

Both of your moans and pants, warnings of your impending orgasms mixing together until you’re coming with each other. You soak his cock and he fills you up, giving warmth to each other like you’ve never felt before. 

Oj collapsing on top of you, caging you in, you both resting in the afterglow of making love after holding back. Music sounding out, the soundtrack to you and Oj’s expression of passion.

Oj carrying you to his bed after a while, disappearing and returning with a warm, wet towel. While he was gone, you heard the music stop. You feel his hands ghost between your legs, soft and slow as he cleans you up, throwing the covers back over you. 

Oj coming back after putting the towel away, settling on the other side of the bed, not knowing what to do next. You moving over to him immediately, arm thrown over his chest, and his arm coming up to embrace you. 

You both drifting to sleep, laying in each other’s arms.

— 

Oh. So that’s why you’re in his bed.

You throw the covers off your body, and you admire the bruises on your thighs in the California sun streaming through his windows. He’s not beside you, but you hear music spinning and smell food cooking. 

You pick one of his shirts from his closet, a faded blue tee that stops right around the middle of your thigh. The marks he left yesterday are slightly covered, but enough peek out to satisfy your loving admiration of his touch left lingering on you. 

When you make your way to the kitchen, you find Oj at the stove stirring a panfull of eggs. There’s two plates sitting on the counter, decked out with toast slathered in jelly, grits, and sausage. The food is paired with two glasses of cold lemonade — you can tell by the way the glasses are dripping in condensation.

He’s just finishing up, sliding eggs onto both plates. He leans into your touch when you embrace him, sliding your arms over his sides and to his front. 

“G’morning.” you hum.

“G’morning, pretty girl.” is his response, voice deep with sleep, deep enough to shake you to your core. He turns around in your arms, places a finger under your chin to lift your lips to his. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Great. Even better since I was beside you.” you answer honestly, your smile mirroring his. 

“Yeah?” he muses, before dipping down again to kiss you once more. 

Kissing Oj feels like magic, feels like sparks and flames and butterflies, shooting heat through every nerve in your body. He pulls away just to sit there, to smile at you and watch you smile back, before kissing you again.

His hands ghost under his your shirt, resting on your waist. He hums at the lack of obstruction, the way what you both know is going to happen is just within his reach. You rest your hands on the sides of his face, thumb rubbing against his skin. 

Things move fast this time. His hands are running down your body and over your thighs, hooking under your knees to place you on the counter, still kissing you with all he has in him. 

His jeans and boxers are down as quick as quick as he can pull them, and then he’s pushing inside you again, seating himself where he belongs. 

He ruts deep, hips flush against yours with your arms wrapped around him, shaking legs pulling him as close as you can. His face buried in your neck as he finds that spot on your neck, and that spot inside you again. 

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he nods against your neck, smiles when he feels you nod with him, slipping into the morning bliss and the feeling of you around him, wet and warm. Your skin is heated, swapping warmth from him to you and back to him, passion and infatuation hanging in the air. 

Now, you both learn that you two love it like this as well, slow and deep on the kitchen counter, sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating and bearing witness to love-making between two people learning to love each other. 

And when you come, and he does too, it’s with quiet moans and groans of each other’s name, his forehead against yours, hands gripping your waist, and you, with your fingers curled in his hair, shivering at his touch.

Luckily, cold eggs don’t sound too bad.

— 

You make the ranch your home in no time. You have to go home for changes of clothes that day, but you’re back before sundown, decked out with some vinyls from your house to add to the collection. 

You fall into your own routine, getting up and making breakfast somedays, prepping sandwiches for lunch on the days Oj cooks breakfast. You really could just do anything for the rest of the day, but most of it is spent with Oj, learning more about the horses and helping him where you can, sappy little moments ever abundant. At night, he ends up buried inside you again, which is becoming his favorite place to be. And during the day too, if you’re being honest. You two fuck like rabbits.

It’s cozy, existing in the same space with him. He’s soft, kisses you every chance he gets, makes you food and fucks you good after. And he’s funny, his wit endearingly annoying at times, though he tries to pretend like he doesn’t know.

“Put that shit on.” Black fabric hits your face as you’re sat on the couch, and when you feel it you can tell it’s the satin of your bonnet.

“What the fuck, Oj.” You deadpan, though you know he’s right.

“You left that in bed last night. Them braids look new. Put it back on.” 

“So,” you start, raising up your hands so you can count on your fingers, “and I’m just tallying you up here, you can: cook, clean, you’re funny, you fuck amazing, you care about my hair, and on top of it all, you’re a real-life fucking cowboy?”

That draws a deep laugh straight out of his chest, his chuckles reverberating through the house, and through you, it feels. You laugh with him, feeling something like home sinking down into your bones. He makes his way to the kitchen, where he was on his way to before he spotted your bonnet on the bed.

“Yeah, I guess. And you went through the day without that on your head. So put it on.”

When you fuck on the counter a little after that, your bonnet is on.

–

The birth control / no condom conversation isn’t awkward at all, actually. It happens around two weeks after that first night.

With Oj’s cum leaking down your legs in the shower, his head resting in your neck, he finally says something.

“You on birth control?” he murmurs. “I been cumming inside you this whole time.” You can’t help but chuckle, breathless, still coming down.

“Yeah.” you nod.

“Thank god.” he responds.

He cooks you dinner that night, and kisses you every time he can.

—

It was inevitable, honestly, getting Oj between your legs. He’s tasted you on his fingers too many times to not want it from the source.

A morning spent in bed evolves into kisses, though everything with Oj means kisses. You’ve learned that Oj loves to kiss. 

He sucks and licks at your neck on the way down to where he wants to be, hiking his repurposed shirt up to your stomach to reveal your core, wet and waiting for him to have his fill.

You know what’s about to happen, but you still jolt in shock when he licks that first stripe up your folds. Someway and somehow, he knows where your clit is, swirling his greedy tongue around it, indulging in your arousal. 

“God, of course you’re good at this.” you moan, throwing your head back onto the pillows.

“Mhm.” he chuckles with an open mouth, tongue out and focused on your already sensitive clit. He bobs his head up and down, moving from your hole to your clit, always returning to the bundle of nerves that he’s so proficiently found and laid claim to.

He spreads you out with his thumbs, licks a fat stripe up from your entrance, sucking your clit into his mouth. You’re dumb now, stupid from pleasure and mind spinning with ecstacy. Sunlight streams through the windows, lights his pretty brown skin up, gives him a golden glow. It lights you up, too, gives him a better view of what you both know belongs to him already.

And you’re so close already. Three-ish weeks at the ranch has shown you it doesn’t take him long to get you high like this.

“Oj, ‘m gonna–”

“I know. Do it. Come for me.” He’s so sure in his words that you can’t help but follow them. You come, shaking and damn near crying on his tongue for the first time, and he swears you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

He makes you come with just his tongue two more times before you both start your day. You have to lay in bed for a while before you can even think about walking anywhere on your still-shaking legs.

–

“When’d you catch feelings for me?” you ask him in bed one night while you read and he lays beside you, thinking.

“I thought you were pretty when you first came. But I really got roped in seeing you in your element, taking pictures of the horses, even if you were nervous. The day we kissed the first time.”

“Good to know.” you nod. You don’t feel the need to say anything else. Sitting in silence with Oj is something you’re growing to love. 

–

You return the favor a couple days later. 

He’s gentle, letting you take your time and take him into your throat at your own pace.

It’s messy. Spit dripping out of your mouth and onto the ground in the stables. Depraved, cause you couldn’t wait to get him in the house. He chuckles breathlessly at your greed, the way you basically jumped him, pushed him against the wall murmuring “God, you’re so fine” before you dropped to your knees, unbuckling his jeans with ease.

“That’s it.” he groans, hands threading into your braids.

You bob your head up and down, wrap your hand around the base of him, giving him just a little pressure, just enough to have a low growl reverberating in his chest.

You don’t pull off when he tells you he’s about to come. You don’t give a fuck, truly. You want it all. And you take it all. 

You learn he’s the type to kiss you after he busts in your mouth.

–

Angel and Em come over a couple weeks after you move in. It doesn’t take them long to catch on to what you and Oj have going on.

“She’s yours?” Em motions to you with her vape as she steps into the house. Angel trails behind her, yapping on about aliens or some shit. 

You see Oj nod from the corner of your eye as Angel makes you his next victim, asking “Do you believe in aliens?” like you didn’t see the picture of Jean Jacket on the news. Oj watches in quiet fascination as you fall quickly into Angel’s rant, nodding and adding your own two cents every once in a while when Angel needs a second to breathe (which, rarely happens, unsurprisingly). 

The house gets loud pretty quickly, with Em quizzing you on who you are and if you’re any good for her brother in one ear and Angel going on tangent after tangent in the other. Oj’s content to just watch, to see you get loud with people who also enjoy being loud. He’s getting to know all the sides of you, learning the outgoing side he saw in the truck on your first date, learning the quiet side he sees on those music and lemonade nights, learning the soft side he sees when you two make love, learning the side of you that likes it rough and carnal, learning what makes you you.

After a while of talking and sipping lemonade with your copy of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album spinning, Oj joins Em in the kitchen. 

“She reeled you in, didn’t she.” Em questions with a smile, poking fun at her brother with the smooth notes of “Human Nature” filling the house.

“Yeah, she did.” he admits with a nod and a smile. “She something special.”

“I can tell. she got you smiling and shit. You ain’t smiled this much since before.. you know. And from talking to her it seem like she’s what you need.”

“She makes me happy. For real.” is all he says, and Emerald knows what he means without him having to say anything else. 

When Em and Angel leave for the night, you ask him one question, standing across from him in the kitchen, him leaning against the counter.

“I make you happy?” You ask.

“Hell yeah. You been making me happy since you came here that first day.” He hopes you believe him.

And you do. You can see a future with him. He sees one with you too. 

When you both fall asleep in each other’s arms, you’re content.

–

It’s hot as fuck. Like, hot. It’s been a month or so living on the ranch, so you’re growing accustomed to the heat. But shit.

Oj’s feeling the effects of the sun too, wiping sweat off his forehead every second it seems. You take a second to lean against the stables for just a moment, just enough to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asks when he sees you stop tending to Ghost. 

“Yeah.” you huff, fanning yourself. “It’s just hot as hell.”

You see him reach down to turn the hose on, and you pay him no mind. He’s just giving the horses some water.

Then you feel water hit you. 

“Oj.” you laugh, wiping your face off. 

“Yeah?” He feigns innocence. “I’m just tryna cool you off.” It’s sweet, really, his playfulness mixing with him caring for you, making sure you don’t pass the fuck out. 

It turns into a water fight, the hose making its way from your hands to his, wetting him up too.

Eventually, the hose is dropped on the ground, spraying water up over you two while you kiss, laughing in between.

–

It’s not all love-making with Oj, though, not all sappy moments and heartfelt confessions. Oj knows how to break you just the way you like.

Over the months he’s learned you like it face down in the pillows sometimes, his hips snapping strong and determined into you, cock pressed right up against that spot. He’s learned you like when controls you, when he takes the reins.

“You can take it, beautiful. You got that shit.” You sob into the pillow, writhe and thrash in his grasp as he tightens his hand around your wrists, pushes them closer to your back where he has them pulled behind you. 

“You feel me deep, don’t you? Feel me deep in this pussy, my pussy.” You couldn’t form words even if you were able to. He knows this, knows his voice, his accent, his drawl all get you that much wetter. “Its mine, hm?” he knows all of you belongs to him. All of you, down to your soul, belongs to him.

“Yours.” you choke out, tell him what he knows already. He makes you come so many times that night, you just barely pass out. 

–

Things go so easy. It’s so easy to love Oj and it’s so easy for him to love you.

The first time he says it is completely on purpose, about 6 months after that first date, and 5 months after you moved in.

It’s a night that goes like many of yalls nights, sipping lemonade and spinning records. The conversation is meaningless, but meaningful because it’s with you. And then things get silent, and it gives Oj a moment to lay in what he has with you. The words make perfect sense when they roll from his lips.

“I love you.” His eyes are trained on yours.

“I love you too.” You’re sure about it. You’ve loved him for a long time.

And that’s the end of it. It isn’t a big deal, because you both knew what it was you were feeling before you even felt the urge to put words to it. 

You love him. And he loves you too.

– 

It’s funny how a quick visit to see some horses could evolve into this.

Moving onto the ranch, making love whenever you both please, letting Oj break you the way you love and he loves too. Kisses and I love you’s shared, horse rides and lemonade and dates in his truck, with and without music playing. Compliments on your hairstyles and reminding you to wear your bonnet, late night runs to the nearest store, dates at Jupe’s Claim. Water fights on days when it gets wayyy too hot. Nights spent listening to music and talking about the most mundane of things, eyes and lips always landing on your lover. 

He eventually tells you exactly how Pops died. How that shit fucked up him up bad. But he makes sure you know he’s grateful for you, thanks whoever’s listening that you walked into his laugh with a love for something he loved too and shy ass smile.

“You make me happy in a way I aint felt in a long time.” he tells you in bed between kisses one night with you wrapped up in his arms. You’re glad you could do that for him.

“You make me feel safe. You make me feel seen.” He’s glad he could do that for you. 

Funny how one meeting could spawn all this

[anonymous-dentist]

Based off of @fagdykeroier’s dragon au:

-

When Cellbit was a hatchling, he remembers telling Bad, “I’m gonna kidnap a princess when I get out of here.”

Bad had rumbled and lightly bapped him with his wing. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dragons don’t kidnap princesses. We eat them.”

He had bared his fangs, then- still dripping with the acidic blood of the loser of his most recent fight- and, well. He had a point. Dragons don’t kidnap people. They eat them. They eat them because they’re monsters, and they need to be dealt with accordingly.

It’s been a decade since then, and now Cellbit is protecting a prince from the dragon that’s been kidnapping him biweekly for the past five years of his life.

Cellbit is also kissing the prince. And he feels awful about it.

Roier is a nice guy. He’s better than nice, actually. He’s beautiful. His smile could make an angel weep, and his eyes? They’re warm enough to make Cellbit’s fireproof bones turn to jelly. He’s funny and he’s smart, and he’s the nicest person Cellbit has ever met.

He’s also a prince. And dragons don’t kidnap princes. They don’t kiss them, either.

Dragons eat people. Because they’re monsters, and they need to be dealt with accordingly.

Cellbit forces himself to push Roier away, fists loosely curling in the soft silk of Roier’s shirt.

“What?” Roier asks. He’s frowning, and he’s somehow still handsome doing it. “What’s wrong, gatinho?”

Cellbit tears his eyes away from the prince’s and chooses to instead look out over the horizon. The sun is setting, and it almost makes Roier’s honeyed brown eyes burn as red as the flames burning in Cellbit’s chest.

He drops his hands, and he takes one step back. And then another, head dropping and hands shaking.

“…Cellbit?”

“I can’t do this,” Cellbit hears himself say. (Which is a fucking lie, but what else is new? He’s been lying to Roier the entire time he’s known him.) “You…”

The world is… distant. And warm. It’s so warm. Fuck, he needs to concentrate or-

Everything bolts back into clarity as Roier takes his hands and squeezes them.

“Hey,” he softy says, “it’s fine. Okay? If you don’t want to-”

Cellbit’s head snaps up. He meets Roier’s gaze and only halfway flinches as how caring it is.

“I want to!” he interrupts. “But- but I’ve been lying to you, guapito. Roier. You deserve better.”

Roier’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t look angry. For some reason. Even though he hates liars- he hates liars! Cellbit deserves to be thrown off the balcony they’re standing on…

“Okay…” Roier slowly nods. “Tell me.”

“What? I lied.”

“Yeees, so tell me what you did. Then I’ll be angry. Maybe. Who knows?”

He smiles, then, and it’s as brilliant as the sun.

Cellbit wants. He’s never been the type of dragon to hoard, he was trained out of it before it could become a problem, but he kind of wants to put Roier in a cave somewhere and curl around him and never let him go.

But.

Of course Roier is going to be angry. Dragons are monsters. They’re nearly extinct for a reason. And he’s been regularly kidnapped by one for the past however many years of his life, of course he’s going to be angry when Cellbit tells him.

But.

Cellbit swore to Roier on his first night on duty as Roier’s personal guard that he would never lie to him. It’s been almost a year since then, and not once has Cellbit broken his promise… outside of this.

So he sighs and hangs his head and squeezes Roier’s hands once before letting go and moving to lean against the balcony with his face in the sun. It’s warm, but in a good way. The incoming night breeze is chilly, but in a better way. Maybe Cellbit doesn’t deserve the warmth.

“I haven’t been totally honest about who… or, rather, what I am,” he explains, slowly as he figures out the words. “Your fathers hired me to protect you from the dragon-”

“Melissa.”

Cellbit can’t help but smile. “Right, Melissa. But they don’t know that the reason why I know so much about dragons is…”

He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly; it comes out as smoke, tinted green by his flames.

“…because I am one.”

Silence. Expected, really.

Cellbit’s eyes slip shut, and he waits for the inevitable outburst. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Roier will end him from behind so he doesn’t have to see the hatred in his eyes.

But then Roier speaks, quietly: “How long have you been my guard?”

The answer is immediate: “Nine months and two weeks.”

“And how many days have you had off?”

For vacation? “None. I had to protect you.”

Roier sucks in a deep breath. Oh, so he is angry, after all. (Of course he is.)

“Nine months and two weeks,” he says, voice raising in volume with every word until he’s shouting: “And you’ve been human this whole time!?”

Cellbit yelps as he’s forcefully spun around, and he’s expecting a dagger to the chest, but what he gets is… a hug. He’s pulled to Roier’s chest, and Roier hides his face in the side of Cellbit’s neck, and he squeezes him so tightly that Cellbit can’t breathe.

“Why didn’t you just say so, pendejo?” Roier asks. His lips brush against Cellbit’s skin and make him go weak in the knees.

That’s a stupid question.

Cellbit can’t bear to hug him back, but he can force himself to answer: “Because dragons literally eat people?”

(It’s not the real answer, but it’s what Cellbit can give without giving himself a panic attack.)

Roier pulls his head back and gives Cellbit an unreadable look.

“You,” he declares, “are coming with me.”

And, with that, he breaks the hug and proceeds to drag Cellbit by the hand off of the balcony and through the castle towards the stables.

So he’s going to kill Cellbit elsewhere. So be it. He deserves nothing less.

First kiss ruined…

-

The secondary location, for whatever reason, is the cave Cellbit first met Roier at on that first rescue mission. He’s only been back since a handful of times to rescue Roier from the dragon, Melissa, but it’s familiar enough to make him pause in the cave’s mouth.

“It’ll be easier to clean the blood up outside,” he helpfully says.

Roier groans, “How many times do I need to tell you I’m not going to kill you? Come on.”

Grumbling, he pulls Cellbit deeper inside the cave, still holding his hand as tight as he was holding it back at the castle. They even shared a horse to get to the cave so they could keep holding hands in some way; the horse is tied up outside by a fence post Cellbit had installed after his second rescue mission for convenience.

Cellbit never got a proper cave growing up. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember most of his hatchling years, but the years he does remember were all spent in a too-small cage miles underground surrounded by the rotting corpses of the dragons he’d killed.

He used to dream of having a cave. He wanted enough room to spread his wings for once, just like how Bad said he would spread his wings back when he was free.

Now, he knows better. What’s the point of the entire world being open to him if spreading his wings would get him thrown back into the ring?

Roier leads Cellbit past his usual “kidnapping bedroom” and through a large-ish crack in the cave wall. On the other side is an enormous cavern with fire-scorched walls and mounds of gold and silver and silks and satins piled into the center of the room like a nest.

Cellbit’s hand falls from Roier’s grip. He stares at the gold hungrily.

And then he screeches and covers his eyes and turns away as Roier pulls his shirt over his head and starts stripping.

“Roier!” Cellbit protests. “I’m- I’m really not into this kind of stuff, if that’s what you’re getting at!”

“Qué?” Roier laughs. “Relax, Cellbit, it’s fine!”

Oh, gods, maybe Roier didn’t drag Cellbit all the way into the mountains to kill him. Maybe he’s one of those weird humans into dragons. And Cellbit can’t judge exactly because he is a dragon and so he gets the appeal, but-

His ears prick up at the sound of crackling fire and the sudden rush of wind from the center of the cavern, a familiar magical sensation gently pushing against him as his own magic tries to push back in a similar way. He grits his teeth and forces his claws back to blunt human nails. Not now.

Hesitantly, he lowers his hands from his eyes, and he looks up at the dragon standing where the prince just was. Melissa.

Or, well.

Cellbit’s arms fall to his sides and he, frankly, stares.

The dragon has eyes the same red as the color Roier’s turn in the sun. Black and red scales meshed together like the end of a sunset.

“Guapito…” Cellbit whispers. He tries to go louder, but he can’t, so he says no more.

He stumbles forward, one hand instinctively outstretched.

Roier smiles and flops onto the ground, shaking it. He bows his head, purring as Cellbit places his hand on his snout and lightly strokes it.

Of course, Cellbit thinks. His first theory from all the way when he first rescued Roier is true. He’s a dragon, and he’s been kidnapping himself, the absolute freak.

Roier huffs out a puff of smoke right into Cellbit’s face as if saying, “What were you thinking about all dragons being irredeemable monsters, hmm?”

(Cellbit doesn’t need to be able to hear him speak to know what he’s saying, of course he doesn’t.)

Cellbit breathes the smoke in like it’s clean air; weirdly enough, it tastes a little like Cellbit’s own.

Cellbit’s forehead presses against his prince’s snout, and he sadly smiles. He’s going to need to protect Roier from much worse than a dragon, now.

“You’re very handsome,” he says.

Roier nudges him annoyedly. “Of course I am.”

“If you want to…” Cellbit lets out a breath and stands up, adjusts his cloak and the sword hanging from his belt. “If you would like to rest, I can go stand guard.”

Roier’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Cellbit takes one step back.

“It takes a lot of energy to change forms,” he says. Another step. “You need the rest.”

A third step, and then he’s turning on his heel and running for the exit because he knows what Roier wants him to do, and-

Roier roars and snaps at him, grabbing Cellbit by the back of his hood with his teeth and dragging him back into the center of the room.

Cellbit thrashes briefly, but he gives up as he’s dropped back at Roier’s feet.

“I’m not shifting,” he firmly tells him. “Someone needs to keep you safe.”

Roier rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You need to, and I can protect you, too, pendejo.”

He nudges Cellbit with his nose to the side towards the center of the nest. Cellbit protests, skittering and slipping on the gold coins and the soft fabrics. But Roier catches him with his teeth and sets him back upright.

A warm breath tickles Cellbit’s back, and it takes all of Cellbit’s strength to keep him from shifting right then and there.

He’s so tired.

But he tries one last time: “But I-”

But he’s interrupted by a gentle rumble and a flick of a cold forked tongue against the back of his head. “Rest. You can protect me tomorrow.”

But Cellbit won’t wake up tomorrow. He’ll be out for a week straight at least. He has duties to complete. He’s supposed to go grocery shopping this week, it’s his turn.

He sighs, anyway and shuffles out of the nest to deposit his clothes somewhere where they won’t get too charred by all the flames about to appear.

“Close your eyes,” he says over his shoulder. He’s blushing as he unties his cloak and casts it to the floor, and then he’s blushing harder as he pulls his outer shirt off and dumps it on top of the cloak. “We didn’t even finish our first kiss. Save the peeking until after we’re married.”

Roier’s eyes light up at the mention of a marriage, but he still turns his head away and makes a show of covering his eyes with his front feet. Cute.

Cellbit sucks in a deep breath and looks down at the floor. Okay. It’s just. The first time in eight years. Just that. First time willingly doing it in front of someone. Just that.

He lets the breath out, and green flames come out with it.

Undressed, Cellbit steps away from his clothes and closes his eyes, and he lets his own fire eat him up as he transforms. And it hurts, okay? It burns, and not in the good way. But-

A concerned noise from the nest as Cellbit lets out a pained grunt of a growl.

-but Roier is waiting, and Cellbit just wants to sleep.

Fully shifted for the first time in almost a decade, Cellbit doesn’t realize how scrawny he really is until he’s sleepily staggered up to Roier’s side and collapsed into the nest with an exhausted whine. He fits perfectly under Roier’s wing. He needs to eat more, Forever’s been saying as much for years. Now, Cellbit gets why.

A nose brushes the space between Cellbit’s horns like a kiss. “Sleep well, gatinho.”

Cellbit’s eyes slip shut, and, pressed against the man he thinks he could spend the rest of his life with, he finally, finally falls asleep.

[lunajay33]

New World🍂Part.3

Summary:You’ve made it to the cdc and a drunken night changes things between you and Daryl, but will it change your friendship for the better or worse?

Part.2

•Masterlist•

The CDC was our last resort and after screaming and beginning we got in and everything finally felt secure, Jenner showed us to the rooms and even said there was hot water

You threw your bag on the bed as Daryl was setting up the spare couch in the room

“What are you doing?” You asked confused

“Settin up the bed, I ain’ sleepin on the floor”

“And you’re not sleeping in the couch, after sharing a sleeping bag for weeks I think we can share a bed Daryl” you laughed

“Fine” he huffed as he threw himself on the bed, putting his arms behind his head

“Do you wanna take a shower first?”

“Nah go ahead imma look around this place, maybe find us somethin ta drink” he said

So you got some clothes and hopped in the shower and god did it feel good, to finally get all the builds up dirt and grime of your skin. You finished up quickly not wanting to hog all the water and saw Daryl back on the bed with a bottle of what looked like to be some kind of liquor

“Ya want some?” He asked after he took a gulp of it

Usually you’d decline but why not, you found somewhere and you needed a night of relaxation, so you jumped on the bed next to him and took the bottle

You tipped it back and the liquid burned going down

“Ugh that’s awful” you whined handing it back over

~~~~~~~~

Dinner came around so you both went down and enjoyed a fun night with the group, you could feel the alcohol kicking it and it helped you unwind

You could see Daryl was too, he was a definite chatter box when he got tipsy and you always thought it was cute, but I mean he was always kinda like that with you but seeing him open up around others was nice

“Drink up Glenn I wanna see how red yer face’ll get” he said making you laugh

As everyone slowly dispersed you took Daryl’s hand stopping him from his conversation with T.dog

“Wanna go to our room D?” You asked a little bit slurred

“Sure sunshine” he said taking your hand and leading you up to the room with the bottle still in his hand

He plopped down on the bed and put the bottle on the night stand as you stripped from you pants leaving you in one of Daryl’s night shirts and climbed in bed

You turned on your side as he did and you both just looked at each other

“Daryl why are you so beautiful?” You said making him laugh

“I think yer drunk peach” he said putting his hand on you hip

“I know I am, but that doesn’t make me a liar, you really are gorgeous, makes me wish I was one of those lucky ladies you’d hang out with back in school” you were too drunk your filter was gone

“Ya know I never did anything other than make out with them”

“Well they were lucky enough to get atleast some action from The Daryl Dixon” you could see the blush reach his ears and cheeks

“Are ya serious right now?” He asked as you put you hand through his hair

“Of course i think I’ve always had feelings for you, just think they’ve grown as we got older”

“Yer gonna regret all this tomorrow”

“No im not, im just hoping you won’t look at me any different, i still need you Daryl even if you don’t feel the same”

“Ya know why I never went further with any of em?”

“Whys that?” You mumbled

“Cuz they weren’ you”

You knew this was hard for him to say he wasn’t very vocal about his feelings

“I’m glad I decided to have lunch with you that day”

“I am to sunshine, lucky every day” he said as he pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head as you both feel asleep feeling the alcohol take over

~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to the sun shining in your eyes and a pounding headache, you sat up rubbing your eyes hoping this headache will go away soon, looking beside you when you heard a groan to see a tired Daryl

“How’re you feeling D?” You asked as he sat up beside you

“ ‘bout as good as I look”

“So amazing” you joked then remembering everything that happened last night

“Stop that” he groaned as he got up and put on his shoes

Maybe he didn’t remember everything, maybe that was a good thing last thing you’d want is for him to be awkward around you and distance himself

You both went down and thankfully breakfast was already made and you were desperate for food to heal this hangover

The day went on and all of a sudden the lights shut off, you ran downstairs to the room Jenner first showed you seeing everyone freaking out

Daryl came over with his chest heaving

“Daryl what’s going on” you asked placing your hand on his arm

“Place is gonna explode, runnin out of energy and the place is locked down”

“What? There has to be a way out, we’ve come so far we can’t die here” you said feeling the panic rise as your eyes started to water

He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you back against his chest as you slide to the floor crying

“I’m scared D, I don’t wanna die”

“Shhh ya ain’ dyin today, imma get us outta here, imma try” he said squeezing me tight

He got up and took an axe slamming it against the door

After everything happened, the grenade helping you get you, Daryl took your arm dragging you quickly to his truck the building was gonna explode enough second

He pushed you down and covered you with his own body against the seat

The explosion boomed making your ears ring as Daryl sat you up trying to shake you out of your trance

“Hey can ya hear me?” He snapped his fingers in front of you

Your hearing slowly came back as you focused on him

“Daryl……I love you” the rush of a near death experience showed you, you couldn’t waste your precious time with Daryl anymore, he needed to know

He didn’t say anything he held my hand as we all drove away to our next location, your heart felt like it was gonna either, you knew he didn’t like this stuff but god at least I thought he’d say something, you’ve told him you’ve loved him before but in a light hearted way because he was your best friend, but you knew he knew this was different

But at least he knew now, you loved him that’s all he needed to know

—///—///—///—///—///—///—

Part.4<-

Guys I’m in my depression era, I feel like crap ever day but I hope you’re liking the story

Taglist: @deansapplepie @thebadbatch2022 @writer-ann-artist @ghostboneswrites