#Yeah sorry this has been plaguing my thoughts

[aquaticaeronaut]

Hashtag Signless gets trolled lmao

[ironsoftie]

Once Odysseus is back home. When everything's settled down and he's able to find some semblance of normalcy… Have you thought about how he fares back on Ithaca? Because I have. How some days are so light and easy yet others feel like trying to tread water in a storm-tossed sea.

Maybe you’ve thought of a moment where Odysseus and Telemachus are outside sparring, and Telemachus lands a really good hit? Odysseus laughs off Telemachus’s concerns, clutching his now bruised shoulder, and turns his head to joke that his son would be a better fighter than Eurylochus soon. Instead though, his words taper off and his eyes go slightly unfocused when he realizes the tall, broad-shouldered friend he half expected to see isn't standing there laughing along with him. Where for a split second, Odysseus could swear he smells acrid ozone despite the sky above them being clear and bright?

Or maybe it was a time when Odysseus had been walking with Penelope in one of the markets across Ithaca, only to catch a passing glimpse of a mop of chestnut-colored curls precariously held up by a red band ahead of him? When, for an unending second, his muscles lock in place and the air in his lungs freezes. That is, until the man in front of him turns his head and sorrow comes crashing back down into his bones like a rouge wave. It wasn't the warm and familiar smile of his dear friend Polites greeting him, but that of a stranger.

Maybe it was one of the times where Odysseus finds himself walking the halls of his palace aimlessly, and his eyes find one specific spot on the floor. The same spot where his mother, Anticlea, had once taken a very young Odysseus into her arms to comfort him after he’d taken an unfortunate tumble and broken the skin on the palms of his hands and knees. Stones that had been scrubbed clean of his blood then, only to have been stained afresh with the blood spilled from one of Penelope’s suitors upon his tumultuous return to Ithaca.

Perhaps there was even a time or two where Athena had begged Hypnos to help her friend rest easy after yet another night of Odysseus jolting awake with the same prayers for her aid stumbling their way off of his trembling lips. As if he was still trapped on that island. The island where his desperate prayers for her aid had been able to go no further from its pristine shores than he himself could.

Do you think Odysseus has moments where he cannot quite quell the discomfort in the disconnect of actually being safe and home within himself? After all, he'd argue, how could he when the loss of his men- his friends- still weigh on his mind and body like the Earth weighs on Atlas's shoulders. How could he while the parts of himself he lost, gave up, and had taken from him were scattered across caves, across the underworld, and across so many islands he could almost loose count if not for what had transpired on them? When, sometimes, he doesn’t quite feel fully himself, and wonders if perhaps he was starting to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Moments where everything weighs so heavily upon him that he feels as if all he can do is sit on his balcony and look out across the waves on the horizon. A sight that once brought him such comfort, now only acting as a reminder of what he had done and gone through while sailing its waters.

Or maybe you've thought of something else entirely. Of how Telemachus would fill the quiet that falls between them when his father’s gaze goes distant. Where he begins to share stories from his own childhood until Odysseus’s eyes are clear and focused raptly on him as he speaks so as to not miss a single moment of the tale?

Where all it takes Penelope's hand brushing his hair back from his face as she hums and holds him securely in her arms for the voices of those who aren't there anymore to gently fade to murmurs in the back of his mind? Where she weaves, and he sits nearby and works. Sometimes pausing just watching her hands dance skillfully across the loom, letting the rhythmic sounds relax him.

Where he finds himself tucking the hair behind her ear gently after catching Penelope staring at him as if she also couldn’t fully comprehend that he is back. Or maybe you’ve thought of times during meetings with visitors to their kingdom where he gets lost in thought so Penelope silently snakes her arm around his and clasps his hand in her own to bring him back to himself subtly enough so as to not alert their guests.

How Athena might sometimes fly past the couple's balcony after Odysseus has had a particularly rough day. Where, landing, she’d rest her wings and perch on the balcony’s hand rail just outside of their bedroom, clearly in his line of sight. And there she’d wait to hear Odysseus's sigh as he finally relaxes into the bed below him. How Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, would keep watch and ensure his family’s safety. He didn’t have to be on guard when he was attempting to try and rest. He could trust her to rouse him if he was needed. Of course, she would simply ensure he was never needed on those nights.

Or perhaps you've thought of the times where Odysseus can simply relax and laugh freely with his family. Where he looks at them and finds peace in their smiles and in the familiar halls and rooms of his palace. Where the sea breeze refreshes his mind as he walks around his island. Where he finds himself fondly remembering those that were lost on the journey home, and doesn’t find guilt smothering him for simply thinking of them. Where he stops questioning if this was yet another dream that he’d wake up from once he opened his eyes next.

Where he reaches out and cradles Penelope's face in his calloused and scarred hands, and the soft warmth of her skin and weight of her hands landing on his forearms to simply hold him back settles something fragile in him like balm on a burn he hadn’t known he’d received in the first place.

Maybe it was the first time Telemachus calls him father and Odysseus knows he means it and wasn’t just using the word as a formality. When Odysseus stops being the unreachable legend he was built up to be, and becomes a man and then a father in his son’s eyes.

Where he feels the familiar rush of Athena's approval in his mind after using a particularly good turn of phrase to secure more resources in a trade deal, and can finally accept that he actually has her blessing and favor again.

He doesn't forget all the bad that has happened, but he finds ways to live more in the present than the past that sometimes haunts him.

He struggles. Of course he does. There’s so much that he still deals with; but having Penelope, Telemachus, and Athena around is enough to get through even the worst of days. Healing is slow, yes. But he heals all the same. They all do.

[bayleaf-2]

*Gritting my teeth* I Will Not add love songs to Lyra's playlist I WON'T DO IT I WON'T!!

[radiotorn]

i used to be their smiley :((((((

[planet-dusk]

tw//cnc, coercion

jisungie and coercion in a cnc roleplay scenario has been plaguing my mind for a while... he's all "please, baby? it hurts... i know you want it, too, right? i'll be quick.. promise"

"just the tip, please, baby. i promise. i love you. need you so much. you love me, too, right?"

which he immediately disobeys and slides right in, "why're you so wet, baby? you really wanted this, didn't you?"

"let me cum inside, babe. it belongs in this pussy, doesn't it? you know that."

if u have anything to add i might pass away but no pressure. ily ! i'm glad you're back:)

maesie it's so good to see you,, i hope you're doing well! and leaving such a treat in my inbox? yum <33

🏷️ han jisung x fem!reader. cw ; cnc, free use, breeding, pet names: baby, babe, doll ( 692 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

jisung gets so desperate when he's needy, and he's just a tad too big for you to not feel the sting without any prep of his fingers; the thought alone makes you wet at the most inconvenient times. so you and jisung came to an agreement: you get to use each other, wherever, whenever. but that doesn't mean it isn't fun to push back a little. feed into his recklessness.

"not now, babe," you manoeuvrer between the spice rack and the stove with jisung clinging to your back. "i'm trying to make dinner here."

"but i need you, baby. i love you. you love me too, right? i need you so bad. please, it hurts," he pleads, bulge pressing thick and heavy against your ass. "just lemme grind against you for a second then, yeah? i'll be quick."

he lifts your skirt and grabs your hips, hungry, fingers making indents in the flesh. his leaking cock slides between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed clit with every rock of his hips.

"that's my girl, so good for me, fuck— i can feel you throbbing trough your panties, baby." he kisses your shoulder, his grip on your hips becoming more insistent. "let me put it in, please? i need to feel your pretty cunt around me. just the tip, okay?"

"sung, the food —"

"dinner can wait," he slides your panties down to your knees and you instinctively push your hips back. the gentle but demanding press of his hand between your shoulder blades lowers you over the kitchen counter. his cock prods at your hole, clumsily in his need, catching on the rim a few times.

the knot in your stomach tightens at the prospect of him entering you raw. it isn't the first time but you know how much the pretense of it riles him up.

"n-no sungie, wait, not without a condom..."

"it's just the tip, baby. i'll pull out, i promise. god, this tiny pussy," jisung groans when your walls give way slowly for the thick head of his cock. you whimper at the burn, caught between the counter and his hips with nowhere to go but take it.

"i know, doll, i know." he soothes you with a kiss to your nape. you gasp when he sinks in deeper, the sting bleeding into a dull throb when he hits that sweet spot nestled between your walls. "'m sorry, shit — this pussy's sucking me right in, baby, i can't help it. want me that bad, huh? you're such a liar."

"'m not," you shake your head, cunt clenching around him at the same time.

"i can feel how wet you are, baby, i know you need this too." his hips slam into yours and he wraps an arm around your chest to lift you up, his long curls tickling your ear. "let me cum inside, babe, it belongs in this pussy, doesn't it? you know that."

his other hand's on your clit now, and you won't last long this way. you're too far gone to give him a proper answer so you shake your head again, stammering a chorus of pleas and moans as your orgasm quickly approaches.

"then why're you creaming on my cock, baby? this tight fucking pussy's begging to be bred," jisung groans, "knows who she belongs to. do you, baby? c'mon, tell me."

he forces his cock as deep as he can and you shudder, holding onto the counter top for dear life as he fucks you towards the peak of oversensitivity.

"y-you," you start to ramble, "it's all yours, sungie-ah, please..."

jisung leaves sloppy kisses all over your neck and shoulder, mumbling filthy words of praise into your skin. "best pussy in the whole freakin' world, gonna fill you up so good, baby, until it's dripping down your legs..."

he cums with a final gasp of your name, then holds you close for a moment. "thank you. i love you," he whispers into your hair, and you squeal in surprise when he spins you around and drops to his knees in front of you.

jisung laughs and presses a kiss to your mound. "dessert first."

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

[lalunalando]

High Altitudes - LN4

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+! minors dni! smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), needy gf reader, mile high club, cockwarming

Songs: Own My Mind - Maneskin / White Glove - Dove Cameron (bold parts are lyrics used)

It’s been 5 hours into this 22 hour flight, and to say you were bored would be putting it lightly.

With the AusGP and surrounding celebrations over, you Lando and Max were flying back to England with a few of the team on the jet so he could do a factory debrief after another successful podium.

Lando was currently asleep in the seat next to you, worn out from a big week of exploring and most of all the celebrations from the evening before that ran well into the morning hours.

You on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. Lando had started something right before you had to leave thinking it would be funny, but being stuck on a plane for 22 hours now, you wanted to kill him for leaving you so needy.

Every time you tried to close your eyes, images of his hands on you plagued your mind.

The way his facial hair tickled your thighs while he buried his head in your heat.

The way he looked down at you half-lidded with pouty lips parted while you were on your knees for him.

You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together hoping to relieve even a little pressure.

Lando woke up to you squirming around in your seat, reaching a hand over to grab your thigh and make you stop.

“Babe, are you okay? You’re being real wiggly right now.” He says through a yawn.

“Uh, yeah sorry, just um feeling a little cold i guess” you respond, looking away from him as to not show him the blush across your face that was red enough to rival Ferrari.

Tapping your thigh to get your attention back on him, he has to hold back a laugh hearing the high pitch of your voice, knowing exactly what was going on.

“Princess, you should have told me sooner, come here” he says softly, as he lifts the blanket that’s laid over him for you to join him on his seat.

You thought for a second, knowing you wanted to be close to him but also knowing you wouldn’t cope being that close to him.

Seeing the way he looked at you with sweet puppy dog eyes as he laid on his side, you realized he really did just want to help, so against your better judgements you got up and wiggled into the space beside him, getting cozy under the nice warm blanket as his arm wrapped around your waist from behind.

Feeling him pressed against you wasn’t doing anything to help the ache building between your legs, but at least it was cozy enough now that you could try and get at least a few hours sleep to distract your mind.

Or at least you thought that would be the case.

Just as you started to feel yourself drifting off, Lando starts sliding his hand from your waist down to your heat, bringing you back to full alertness.

“Lan, wh-what are you doing?” You say, trying to hold in a whimper as his fingers trailed up under the dress you’d worn, just trying to be comfortable for the flight.

“Just trying to warm you up darling, you were cold right?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he buries his face into your neck, leaving little kisses in his wake.

“Lando we can’t, max is right across the table” you whine quietly as his fingers trail up and down the wet patch that has well and truly formed on your panties.

“Max is asleep, don’t you want to know what the good, good, bad things all feel like?” He whispers, sending another chill down your spine as he starts moving your panties to the side and circling your clit slowly.

“Can you be quiet baby? We can only keep going if you stay quiet, don’t want anyone waking up to see you like this do we?” He says as he leaves another kiss right below your ear, making you bite your lip to stay quiet as you nod in agreement

As he continues his torment with one hand, he quietly releases himself from the confines of his sweatpants with the other, giving himself a few strokes.

“How about you keep this warm for me princess, think you can do that?” He asks as he parts yours legs slightly, hooking one over his own to give himself more space, as he runs his tip through your folds a few times before poking his tip at your entrance.

All you can do is whimper and nod as he pushes in slowly, so slow it’s making you lose your mind.

After a few minutes of stillness, him just resting inside, you feel like you’re going to go crazy.

“Lan can you please move? Need to feel you already”

“Nuh uh baby, you’re just supposed to be keeping it warm for me. Thought we couldn’t do this with everyone around, what if max wakes up” he teases, using your own words against you.

“You might be the answer to the sinner in me” you quietly groan as you lean your head back against him.

It takes Lando all of his self control to not wake the entire plain up with a loud groan after hearing that, knowing he can’t keep the teasing much longer.

“Meet me in the bathroom in 5 minutes” he demands before pulling out, making you whimper at the loss of contact as he readjusts himself in his sweatpants, before getting up and heading to the small plane bathroom.

This was it. You were going to join the infamous mile high club today you guess.

After what you assume to be 5 minutes, you quietly get up and head to the bathroom, hoping no one wakes up.

You knock as lightly as you can on the door to alert Lando that you were there, and within seconds you were being pulled into the bathroom with him and pushed back against the door the moment it was locked behind you.

Lando wasted no time, biting at your neck as he pushed his bulge into you, making sure you knew how painfully hard he was for you.

“Excited to join the mile high club baby?” He smirks before finally kissing you properly, hands still wandering up your thighs to your ass, tapping lightly on your ass to tell you to jump and wrap your legs around him.

You use this moment to mess with him a little, as payback for his earlier teasing.

“Who said i haven’t done this before?” You ask as you pull back and tilt your head at him, a smirk on your lips

“Well then angel, gonna make you swallow all that pride, take you up to higher heights” he growls before putting you back down on the ground, turning you around and pushing you to bend over the sink.

You don’t have a moment to think as he pushes your skirt up over your ass and smacks it hard, making such a noise you’re sure anyone awake outside would have heard it.

Before you can scold him, he’s pushing his sweatpants down to free himself again and pushing your panties to the side, lining himself up with your entrance before pushing himself in roughly, giving you no time to adjust.

You bite your lip to contain your moan, biting so hard it draws blood.

“You know I’ve just gotta have it baby, can’t help myself being rough when you take me so fucking well” he growls in your ear, snapping his hips into yours so rough your sure the sink in front of you is going to bruise your own hips that are hitting it in the process

You’re a whimpering mess in front of him as he pulls your hair and makes you watch yourself taking him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Look how much of a slut you are, taking every inch of me in a plane bathroom while our friends are outside all because you were too needy and desperate to wait until we got home”

”I couldn’t help it lan, need you so bad all the time” you’re a panting mess at this point, fueled by the feeling of your own arousal sliding down your legs as he continues his relentless punishment on you.

“God you’re such a good girl for me always, you own my mind” he says as he locks eyes with your own in the mirrors reflection

It doesn’t take long before his thrusts get sloppy, signaling he’s not far off finishing.

“Please Lan, need to cum, need to be full of you” you pant out, your own high teetering on the edge.

He slides the hand, that’s currently gripping your hip with such force your sure there will be bruises of his entire fingerprint on it, around to your clit and rubs tight circles with the rough pads of his pointer and middle finger, completely making you come undone.

Feeling you tighten around him, he’s quick to release your hair and cover your mouth to muffle the moans spilling out of your mouth as he bites on your shoulder to muffle his own, spilling himself into you as you pulse around his cock.

After a few minutes of regaining your breath, he’s slipping out of you and making you whine as his cum seeps out after him. Suddenly he’s shocking you and your over sensitive parts once again as he pushed his cum back into you with two fingers and then places your panties back into place, patting your pussy as if to say “good job”, before sliding your dress back down over you.

You give yourselves a few minutes to regain composure, Lando helping you fix your hair he’s knotted up with his fist but unable to help you stop looking so blissfully fucked out and flushed, before you get ready to slip out hopefully without anyone noticing you’ve both been missing for so long.

As you open the door while looking at Lando and giggling, you turn around to the cocky face of Max Fewtrell, arms crossed in amusement.

“Took you both long enough, I’ve had to piss for 20 minutes now” he says with a smirk, holding back laughter as he watched you turn paler than a ghost in horror that you we’re caught.

“I won’t tell anyone, if you both move the fuck out of the way before i piss myself” he suddenly gets serious, pushing you both out of the way and locking the door behind him.

Lando just laughs as he leads you back to your seats, pulling you down to squish back into his one and cover you both with the blanket again before cuddling up to you.

“Think you can get some sleep now pretty girl?” He asks as he places a kiss to your temple

“yeah i think I’m warm enough now” you respond with a smile, making him let out a chuckle into your hair

Max returns and sits across from you both, making a face of disgust before breaking character and laughing, making you and Lando laugh with him.

“Well, welcome to the mile high club lovebirds”

[windowsillbells]

one of the theories as to how and why we humans started making music is that we simply have it in us. like eating, sleeping, like birds. we have something in us that we only can put out by making sounds. grunts at first, then imitating birds and other animals, then developing structured language and music.

one of my headcanons is that ghost king is the only one among the ghost tribe that felt the impulse of making sounds. he then learned to speak, and found kunlun. i don’t really think kunlun had any interest in poetry or music, and that’s why this headcanon is so dear to me. shen wei learned this all by himself. talking to kunlun, he gradually found that sometimes things become manageable when spoken out loud. when kunlun left, he meddled with humans, and found that poetry was a particular way humans had to talk about painful things without mentioning the pain directly as not to jostle the wound too much. he listened to humans sing, and he started to sing too, because if poetry licks and cleans the wounds, music is the balm you put on it to make it heal faster. in the shen san extra, he’s got some little bells hung on his windows. when i started playing the piano with the intention of dedicating my life to it, one of the first thing i did was hanging some of those dreamcatchers with tubular bells to my bed, so that i could always have some tinkling sounds whenever i moved around while sleeping. and i think he’s the same. he finds that little sounds made by the wind helped soothe his loneliness. kind of like having a conversation partner, but without the commitment of words. he was starting to compose some short poems sung on few tones melodies, nothing fancy, and maybe shen san picked one of them up. an hymn to the vastness of one person’s love for life and the world, one that surely resonated with his personality, and one that didn’t leave his soul after his death, and permeated all his next lives. and i think there must have been one life where shen wei was a pianist, and kunlun was a woman. they meet, maybe at some sort of fancy jam session, kunlun starts singing, and shen wei instantly recognize this song. but he’s not an inexperienced musician anymore, he now has centuries of experience, and while kunlun sings this simple song, he dares to give her his most perfect and beautiful harmonic background, knowing full well he’ll need to flee as soon as it ends. as much as i want them to at least spend an evening together, i think shen wei has learned his lesson.

[strangerstilinski]

𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

summary: steve is plagued by bad dreams. one night, he needs a little help finding his way back. [3.8k]

content warnings: roommate!steve, hurt/comfort, night terrors/ptsd, panic attack?, copious amounts of pining, could actually be either canon compliant or au depending on how you want to interpret his nightmares, this was mostly just an excuse to write sad cuddles with stevie

a/n: no, this most certainly has not been sitting in my drafts for the last 9 months. what are you talking ab-? ok, yeah, it definitely has. but i finally got my shit together! everybody cheer! [p.s. mar ily to the actual ends of the earth thank u for proofing this for me]

as always, please reblog if you enjoy! xx (if you're feelin really crazy, you could even say smth nice)

dividers by @strangergraphics

It's a knock against your bedroom door that wakes you. A quiet rap of knuckles on wood so soft that you nearly fall back asleep after convincing yourself you must've dreamt the noise entirely— until it sounds again.

A soft grumble of confusion escapes you as you push your weight onto your forearm to sit up in bed, using the knuckles of one hand to rub sleep from your eyes and squinting toward your bedroom door in confusion; fighting to focus the way that the faint light coming in through your bedroom window illuminates the hallway through the crack in the door. The familiarity of the shadowy figure slowly solidifies under your hazy gaze.

“Steve?” You call out in question, voice a little hoarse from disuse.

“Yeah.”

His voice is quiet on the other side of the door, the sound more of a breathy exhale than a word, really. You run your fingers through sleep-mussed hair as you try to focus on the clock on the bedside table. Your brain can barely comprehend the early hour, even as the clock clicks quietly, the last number flipping as one minute gives way to the next. It takes a few seconds, but your eyes begin to adjust to the dark rather quickly and it's with newly awakened attention that you turn toward the door again.

“You can come in.” You call out softly, your words slightly less scratchy with sleep now that your drowsiness has begun to bleed away and the quiet night around you comes more and more into focus.

The door creaks open a little further after a moment and you find Steve there in the dark. His chest is heaving, his lungs expanding and deflating rapidly beneath his ribs. The sound of his quick breaths is loud in the silence, bare feet shuffling against the hardwood in the hallway as he continues to stand just outside the door.

You wait, but he makes no move to enter. He looks so meek like this. His sharper edges have been softened and shrunken by the weight of his anxiety. The threadbare tshirt that's stretched across his shoulders hangs loose around his neck. You can see the crooked line of scattered moles you love so much decorating the line of his throat and eventually disappearing beneath the fabric, though the cotton sags enough to reveal a bit of the hair below his collarbones.

It all makes him appear smaller, somehow. Like a man so much younger than he is. Like a boy standing in the dark outside of his parent's bedroom, patiently awaiting comfort.

“Sorry. For wakin' you up.” Steve manages quietly, his words clipped.

The full-blown panic attack he'd been on the brink of moments before in the privacy of his own bedroom had receded, but just barely. The world around him still shifted in and out of focus, a buzzing sort of white noise filling his ears like cotton.

He glances up at you— Where you've pushed up onto your elbow to squint at him in the dark, your face baring the faint imprint of creases from your pillowcase. Steve spares a fleeting thought to how lovely you look like this, sleep-induced wrinkles on your cheeks and heavy lidded eyes. But he's only granted a moment to admire the sight before the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears forces his gaze to drop to the floorboards again.

With difficulty, he swallows past the lump lodged in his throat, pinching his eyes shut for a moment when a discarded pair of jeans on your bedroom floor look just a bit too much like a thick, crawling vine making its way toward him in the dark.

“No! No, it's okay,” You're reassuring him in a rush, “What's wrong?”

“I, uh.. I-I need your help.” His admission comes out a little like it causes him physical pain to say it out loud. His fingers shake as they comb through the sweaty hair that's flopped down over his forehead in sleep, pushing it back from his face, though a few stubborn strands immediately break free and curl over his brow again.

“Okay,” You readjust yourself on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit up a little straighter, crossing your legs beneath the blankets while you watch him in confusion, “Y'can come in.” You repeat softly.

“I just-” Steve pants, voice hoarse with the way his labored breaths have dried out his throat, “I-”

“Steve?” Your skin has begun to prickle with that itch that tells you something isn't right, but lingering drowsiness fogs your brain just enough that the severity of it hasn't quite sunken in.

His gaze flicks once again to the rumpled pile of denim on your bedroom floor, one pant-leg outstretched in his direction, and the longer he keeps his eyes trained on it, the more the shape of it melts into the dark vines from his nightmare. He blinks, just once, and he swears the thing fucking moves. He thinks it might be crawling its way across the scuffed floorboards, toward him-

Steve's panicked breathing picks up, and your own heart ticks a little faster with worry. You watch as Steve's hand meets the trim around your doorway, his long fingers curling tight around the wood as he tries to steady his wobbly legs.

He makes an awful sound, like he's suffocating. He's nearly gasping for air, choking on the words as he pushes them out, “I- I can't-”

The blankets that cover your lap have already been tossed haphazardly to the side as you stumble from the bed in a rush. You're reaching out for him even as your mind struggles to comprehend what's wrong — why it is that he seems to be panicking.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” You soothe as gently as you can manage, doing your best to push your own anxieties down to focus on the man in front of you. “Steve-”

His cheeks are warm beneath your palms as your hands find either side of his face, thumbs dragging soft over the apples of his cheeks while your fingertips tangle lightly in the tufts of hair that curl out from behind his ears. The ragged breaths rushing past his lips fall over your face when you guide his gaze up from the floor to meet your own, his dry lips parted and quivering with every exhale.

“It's okay, you're okay.” Your words don't come out nearly as firm as you want, one of your hands leaving his cheek to drag over his sweaty forehead. 

Your fingertips smooth over the furrowed line of his eyebrow before falling back to his cheek and finally settling over the column of his throat. His racing pulse thumps soft against your hand, a barely-there fluttering like a hummingbird's wings flapping beneath his skin.

Steve reaches up. His sweaty palm grips your wrist so tight it aches while his head tips a little farther into your touch. He lets out a shaky breath once he makes it just one small step through the doorway.

“What is it? What d'you need my help with?” You ask, voice a little airy with concern.

His chest continues to rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths, and with the help of the soft glow of the streetlight outside your window, you manage to catch the longing glance that he casts to the bed behind you. You're quick to guide him toward it, back peddling until you feel the cushion of the mattress against the backs of your thighs. You settle into the rumpled blankets again and tug at Steve's hand until he has little choice but to climb in after you.

“What is it? What's wrong?” You ask, words whisper-soft.

It takes a moment before his breathing has calmed enough for him to respond, the clock on the bedside table clicking quietly once more as one minute flips to the next, the sound of Steve's ragged inhales and shaky exhales drowning out the silence of the night.

“I, uh. God, it sounds so stupid now, but I-I had this dream,” Steve starts slowly. His trembling fingers prompt you to tighten your grip on the large hand still cradled in your own as he continues, “It was- Fuck, I just- It was a bad one and I-” A harsh breath is forced past his lips, “Feel like I'm still dreaming.. Even now, I feel like.. Like everything's about to flip on its side n' then the nightmare'll take over-”

Your heart cracks at the wobble in his voice, and you can't help but reach up to smooth some of the bedhead back from his face once again, “You're not, though. You're awake,” You promise softly, “You're with me, you're safe.”

“Well, to be fair, you'd probably say that in my dream too, though, right?” Steve points out with a weak laugh, muscles in his jaw tense as he gives a self-deprecating shake of his head.

The dim light pouring in from outside catches the sharp line of his jaw, casts a pretty glow over his long lashes when his downcast eyes focus on the mess of blankets surrounding the two of you. In any normal situation, you'd be ecstatic to have Steve in your bed. But tonight, in the presence of his distress, that elation is decidedly overcome by something more akin to sorrow.

“Yeah, I guess I probably would,” You laugh quietly, though it's a joyless sounding thing, “What can I do then? How can I help?”

“I dunno, I just- I.. Didn't wanna be alone, I guess.” His voice is quiet, embarrassed maybe, and it only makes that urge to pull him into your arms that much stronger.

“You never have to be alone.” You tell him. And you mean it.

“Right,” Steve nods once, adam's apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows, “Thanks.”

You want to help. God, you ache to help — but you have no idea where to start.

“How.. How do you usually bring yourself back after you wake up? When you are alone?”

“Sometimes I, uh, I count my fingers-” His voice is scratchy as he speaks.

He brings one of his hands in the narrow space between you with a small, playful waggle of his fingers. But both of your gazes fall to the slight tremble of his hand, and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“-I read somewhere once, 'm pretty sure, that if you're dreaming, the number of fingers? On your hand? It'll be off.” His words come out choppy, unsure. Like he's expecting you to misunderstand him.

“Off.. Like, you'll have twelve fingers or something?” You clarify carefully.

“More or less.” He shrugs like it doesn't mean much, but you know it does. “It's stupid. And I'm probably not even remembering it right-”

“It's not stupid,” You insist, continuing only a moment later when he only frowns in response, “You are not stupid, Steve Harrington.”

Steve laughs weakly, the sound dejected and harsh, “That's a first.” He jokes.

Now's not the time to get into it, not really, but his words make your stomach twist with a pained emotion you can't quite name. You find yourself needing to reassure him just once more, even if he might not believe you.

“I mean it.”

He doesn't respond to that, though his eyes shine a little at his waterline. The silence that follows feels heavy enough to smother you both. Another click sounds from your alarm clock, seemingly louder now, though you know its volume is the same as it always is.

“You.. Y're warm,” Steve whispers after a moment, tongue poking out to wet his dry lips before his eyes flick up to meet your own, “That helps, y'know? Because there's no warm or cold in.. in dreams.”

You squeeze his hand once before pushing up onto your knees and turning to prop a couple of pillows up against the headboard. You lean back into the cushion when you're done and urge him to lay with you with a small wave of your hand.

Steve only hesitates for a second before he follows your silent command, crawling forward as you fall back with a sense of familiarity. The two of you move a bit like there's a tether connecting you to one another. It's easy. Like it could just be a ordinary Thursday night, settling onto the sofa in the living room for the newest episode of Night Court. The simple normalcy of it has a shaky sigh tumbling past his lips when his head finally meets your chest, and he all-but melts into your side.

“How's this? Okay?” You ask cautiously. When Steve nods, lightly-stubbled cheek scraping against your shirt, you wrap an arm around him and take both of his hands into your smaller ones, “D'you wanna count with me?”

“Please.” Steve's response comes so quiet, so vulnerable.

You've never seen him like this. You're flooded with the overwhelming urge to protect him, to shield him away from every bad dream he's ever had, and every one that threatens to haunt him in the future. He avoids your gaze though his face is upturned toward your own, his chin dipped into his chest so he can focus on the way your joined hands fit together.

It's slow going. You fold Steve's fingers down one at a time, the two of you counting them off together beneath whispered breaths. 

He audibly sighs in relief when you finish his first hand with five fingers, and his breaths truly begin to even out as you carefully curl your palm around his knuckles and fold down finger number ten on his other hand. 

The moment you finish, Steve is grabbing one of your wrists in a gentle grip, his thumbs smoothing over your soft skin before he starts to count off the fingers on your hand as well, silently this time. He continues to calm, though it's a gradual thing. The once rapid heaving of his chest slows imperceptibly. His body relaxes more heavily into your own.

His whispered counting comes to a stop when he reaches your last finger, but he doesn't release you. You allow your free hand to card through his hair all the while, combing delicately through the silky strands, damp as they may be. Your fingertips rub over his scalp softly while he continues to toy with the fingers of your opposite hand.

“You okay?” You murmur in question after a few minutes have clicked by in the silence.

“Yeah.. Yeah, 'm fine.” Steve admits quietly, and he almost means it. He's comfortable here, in your arms — far more comfortable than he thinks he has any right to be. He narrows his eyes as he focuses determinedly on the smooth length of your fingers beneath his own, “Sorry. I just- I mean, Jesus Christ, 's fucking humiliating-”

“Would you.. Do you want to talk about the dream?” You interrupt carefully.

Steve doesn't say anything for a moment, and you're about to reassure him that doesn't need to tell you anything, but he speaks before you can.

“Usually, it's these.. Well, they're kinda bats.. But also not..?” He chuckles darkly, squeezing your hand once before loosening his grip and unfolding your fist.

He begins straightening your fingers one at a time, his thumb stroking soft along the inside of each one as he continues, “Tonight it was the vines. Sometimes.. Sometimes it's this.. This giant thing. Made up of blood and flesh, but in all the wrong ways. 'n there're these face-less, alien-looking...” He pauses like he's debating the final word, “'s just.. It's kid shit, y'know? Or, maybe horror movie shit. Just.. Monsters.”

“It doesn't sound like kid shit. It's.. It sounds terrifying. Honestly.” You acknowledge when he falls silent, your fingers still combing gently through his hair. “The bats..?” You repeat, leaving the word open in question.

“The bats..” Steve swallows, no longer counting your fingers but merely stroking the length of them idly as he speaks, “They're huge. Like, the size of a fuckin' hawk. But they've also got, like, four tails? N' I dunno if bats even have tails, normally. But they just- Just tear into you 'til you either bleed out or wake up.”

The motion of your hand running through his hair stutters, but just for a moment, “Jesus,” You pause for only a second before you have to ask, “And the vines?”

“They're.. Damn, what's the word? Sentient, kind of?” He explains in a soft rasp, “And strong as all hell. If they get ahold of you, you're not gettin away, y'know? They wrap around your limbs and you're stuck. They- they wrap around your neck and you can't fuckin' breathe.”

The air seems to catch in his chest at just the memory. A small hitch in his purposefully steady breathing that has you readjusting on the mattress to press yourself that much harder into his warmth.

“I'm sorry-” Your chin presses into the crown of his hair for a moment.

The gesture is meant to comfort him, and you hope it does, even as your nose fills with the scent of his expensive shampoo and a delicious, sleepy scent that's entirely Steve. It makes your stomach swoop familiarly, though you try to push the feeling down. 

“-That all sounds awful.” 

He swallows thickly before continuing in a quiet voice, “And it's not just me, y'know? More often than not it's the people I care about. It's Robin, or the kids, or Nance and Jonathan. It's-” 

His voice grows hoarse with emotion before he cuts off to lick at his lips, head tipping back. His wide, earnest gaze flicks up to you, his eyebrows pinched with something pained. 

“Sometimes it's you, and that's- Fuck, 's worse. So much worse than when it's just me. Christ, it's fucking scary. Having to watch any of you dying.. Bleeding out, right in front of me — and there's nothing I can do, I can only watch-”

“I know it doesn't feel like it, but they're just dreams, Steve,” You whisper carefully, “That's all they are. They can't hurt us, any of us.. And they can't hurt you.”

He nods once after giving your words a moment to sink in, stubble on his chin scratching softly against the cotton of your shirt. You ache to say more, to find the right words to magically make it all better, but you know there's no articulation that will serve as such an all-healing balm. Even if there was, he's gone this long without someone to placate him with empty, pitying promises, and the absolute last thing you want is to make him feel any smaller than he already does.

Silence falls over the room again like a weighted blanket, a contented sort of quiet that you're both grateful for. 

The rumble of a lone car cuts through the night, headlights colliding with shadows against the far wall. The glow reflects on the window as the car comes and goes, and for just a brief moment, you get a clear view of the twin beauty marks on his cheek — You have to rein in the all-encompassing urge to drag your thumb over them.

Now's not the time.

But you do wonder what it might be like, to share a bed with Steve under more normal circumstances. What it would feel like to wake in the late hours of the night and have his head resting on the pillow beside your own. For your sheets to hold that musky, sleep-riddled scent that lingers on his skin now.

You watch Steve's full lashes flutter as he blinks, his unfocussed gaze trained on the way your fingers curl and straighten under his own ministrations, bending them this way and that as his thumb presses into the meat of your palm. Your tongue has gone heavy in your mouth with the words you long to say:

I want you.

I love you.

I'll protect you.

You push them down, tough as they are to swallow, and instead break the silence as gently as you can, “You know, you can always come in here after a bad dream. Even if it's not as bad as tonight. If this helps, then I want you to.. I don't want you to worry about waking me up or-”

“Thanks, I- Yeah, maybe.” Steve murmurs noncommittally.

“Steve,” You speak sternly. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you carefully tip his head back, his chin jutting up as he's forced to look at you. “I mean it. You're more than just my roommate. We- We're friends. I care about you. I don't mind.”

Steve swallows, hesitates. His adam's apple bobs before he nods his head in your hold slowly, “Okay.” He says finally, a weight that he didn't realize was even there suddenly lifts from his shoulders.

You allow yourself to drag your thumb lovingly over the long line of his brow, just once. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, “Then it's settled.”

The wonky streetlight outside your window flickers for a moment-

You probably wouldn't have even paid the momentary darkness a second thought if not for the way Steve stiffens suddenly. The flickering only lasts a second or two before it re-settles into that same dim stream of light that always illuminates your bedroom at night, but Steve lets out an audible breath of relief when it does.

Neither of you mention it, but the shakiness of that gust of air when it pushed past his lips is nearly enough to break your heart.

You watch the way his jaw flexes, your gaze drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck covered only by the long, curling ends of his hair. You can almost make out his jumping pulse at the hollow of his throat, the dark shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly as Steve forces the too-quick beat of his heart to slow once again.

You're about to ask him if he's okay, but Steve must feel it coming, because he manages to speak first.

“You should get back to sleep.” He says softly.

He releases your hand to prop himself up on an elbow, a small gap of space growing between you that feels so much larger than it is.

Your hand slips from the hair at the back of Steve's head, but you manage to grab ahold of his bicep.

“Do you wanna stay?” You find yourself asking.

“Y'sure?” Steve asks in surprise, “I mean, you.. really don't mind if I stay?” He questions cautiously, golden eyes wide and entirely too pretty, looking a little like even after all this, he can't quite believe you'd let him stick around any longer than necessary.

In lieu of responding, you slip further underneath the blankets. You roll onto your back and open your arms — a silent beckoning for him to join you.

Steve huffs a soft breath through his nose, a relieved sounding thing. The walls that he was rushing to put back up just a moment before crumble in an instant, the stiff set of his shoulders falling slack as well. He drops his head down onto the pillow beside you before draping an arm around your waist to drag you back against his chest.

You're lulled back to sleep by the soft puffs of breath he lets out against your neck and the warm weight of his body wrapped around you.

The last thing you'd ever wish for is for Steve to suffer, but you can't help finding yourself somewhat looking forward to the next time he'll crawl into bed with you — Regardless of the circumstances.

You're more than happy to be his rock.

[sunsetchicane]

i love you, i'm sorry [QH43]

quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: two years after breaking things off with Quinn, you find yourself going to Game 1 of Round 2 of the Playoffs, completely unprepared to see the man you still harbour feelings for.

based off of: this is loosely based off of I Love You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams

warnings: aggressive amounts of pining (like, probably annoying), two swear words, a few kisses, mentions of a breakup (so like, kinda angst? idk man), copious amounts of cheesiness, probably extremely inaccurate descriptions of the game, not great writing lol. let me know if i missed anything!

author's note: okay, i haven't written anything on here yet due to a horrendous case of writer's block and many hours of working. so, this is definitely not my best work, but it was a fun way to try move past my writing slump. i really do hope that anyone who reads this does enjoy! love, addi <3

Vancouver’s streets preserve memories well. You found that out when, even two years after things had fallen to pieces, you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the two of you holding hands, sharing quiet laughs, and stealing kisses. You’d thought that after two years you would’ve been able to shake those memories off when they plagued your mind; but it was hard when he was plastered across banners and fans sported his jersey for half the year. 

He was making his name known throughout the NHL, and you couldn’t ignore the buzz around Quinn Hughes when the Canucks made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs. 

After you and Quinn had broken things off, you had to find separate friend groups to belong in. The two of you had shared too many mutual friends. The group of ladies you did manage to find yourself among knew nothing about your past relationship with the captain of the Canucks. When the city was gearing up for the first round of the playoffs, even your friends couldn’t stop talking about the sport. 

You were standing outside, leaning against the railing on a BC ferry, returning from visiting family on the Island, when you received a call from your friend Lydia. You picked up without hesitation. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked. 

She immediately giggled, which honestly had you a little scared. “I have a surprise,” she said excitedly, the last word dragged out. 

You snorted. “Am I allowed to ask what it is?” 

“It’s a really big surprise, and you have to promise not to scream when I tell you,” she laughed, acting like a teenage girl again. It was one of the things you really did love about her – her ability to bring childlike joy with her wherever she went. 

“I promise not to scream, Lyd,” you assured her, hoping she was satisfied. 

She paused for dramatic effect, and you let her. You knew she was having fun with it. 

“We’re going to the first game of round 2 of the playoffs!” she squealed. 

Your phone nearly slipped through your fingers, almost lost to the sea. You stepped away from the railing, suddenly very glad there was no one on the deck with you. Your heart clenched in your chest. The last time you had been to a game was when you and Quinn had still been together. He wouldn’t even know you were in the crowd, but you would be painfully aware of him in the centre of the arena. 

“Okay, you’re even quieter than I thought you’d be,” Lydia commented, reminding you that there was someone on the other end of the line. 

You debated for a moment what to say. Would it best to just blurt out that you had dated Quinn Hughes and you were not exactly ready to go watch him play again? Definitely not. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m just surprised!” That wasn’t a lie. “How’d you get the tickets?” 

“My dad,” she said simply. “When I told him I wanted to go see the Canucks, he was suddenly the proudest parent in the world. You know how he is – once he gets an idea in his head, whether it’s planted there by me or not, he has to do it.” 

“Wow, that’s–that’s crazy!” you said stiffly, still unsure of how to act. 

“Yeah, and it gets better! We’re sitting right behind the Canucks’ bench!” 

You nearly choked on nothing. “What?” 

“I know, right? I don’t know how my dad managed it, but he did,” she told you, completely unaware of your stuttering heart. “Who knows, maybe we’ll catch some players’ eyes,” she joked, and you tried to force a laugh out with her. 

“Yeah, maybe.” What you didn’t add out loud was your brain screaming please no. 

After a few more minutes of chatting and you pretending to be completely sound of mind, Lydia said goodbye, telling you she would send the details soon. 

You pocketed your phone and leaned against the railing once more. You watched as the sun brushed the horizon, casting a beautiful pink against the clouds. Vancouver was getting close, and for obvious reasons, you were suddenly dreading it. You wanted to sit on the ferry until it returned to Vancouver Island. 

You sighed and rested your chin on your folded arms. You heard a faint buzzing sound above you, and lifted your eyes to the sky. A plane was coming to land at the Vancouver Airport. As it approached, you let yourself imagine it was Quinn flying back from Nashville, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest once more, because you were terrified to see him again, but also because you still missed him. Maybe you were scared to see him because you missed him. 

You dropped your forehead to your arms once more and groaned loudly, the ocean and the brightening city lights your only listening companions. 

When the morning of May 8th arrived, you found yourself unable to shake the anxiety that had made a home in your chest over the last few days. There was a tenseness in your shoulders that never left, and a squeezing at your heart that seemed relentless. 

The group chat you shared with your friends had been buzzing incessantly, the girls incredibly excited. Every now and then you made your fingers put a message out there that hopefully hid your anxieties from them. 

After much procrastination, you eventually made your way to your closet. After tugging on a simple pair of blue jeans, you reached towards the back of your closet. Your fingers closed around the unmistakable, thick material of the jersey. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it out. Your only Canucks jersey of course, had to be Quinn’s home jersey from two seasons ago. No one would know it was the jersey that he had pulled over his head before every home game. However, you knew. There was no C on the left side of the chest, and your mind was pulled back to the relationship you had shared.  

You often questioned why you and Quinn had even ended things. You missed him so much still, and you were plagued by the way you knew it had been the wrong choice. You had been growing apart as he was dealing with growing attention and expectations within his career, and a promotion at your own job had stolen your energy and attention. You had both been tired and short with one another, and eventually the tension built and had blown up in a terrible way. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force both the guilt and continued yearning out of your busy mind. 

When Lydia texted that she and the girls were on the way to your apartment, you reluctantly pulled the jersey over your head. The sleeves covered most of your hands, and the fabric fell past your hips and part way down your thighs. You pulled on a pair of shoes and left the safe space that was your apartment, locking the door behind you. 

Rogers Arena was packed and the energy in the building made you feel like you could start vibrating. You and your friends held hands so as not to get separated. You were glad when your friends made no comment on how tightly you squeezed their hands, or how sweaty your palms might have been. 

You were made significantly more nervous when you realised that Lydia had not been exaggerating about your seats. You were sitting right behind the bench. 

The arena was filling up steadily, and you sat there in between your friends, not speaking a single word. It had been a couple years since you had been here, and while you were very nervous, the familiarity came rushing back to you and it helped to slow your fast beating heart. 

If you closed your eyes, you could imagine Quinn smiling at you from the other side of the glass, and laughing when you blew him a kiss. 

You wrapped your arms gently around yourself, the once very stiff material of the jersey now very easily shifted and manipulated. You knew it didn’t smell like him anymore, but when you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his old jersey, it was like he was right there. You were wrapped in him still, and you doubted it would ever go away. 

You were shocked out of your own thoughts when your friends, along with the rest of the fans around you, started cheering. The Canucks and the Oilers were on the ice, starting to warm up. Your eyes searched the ice quickly, and gliding easily across the ice on the opposite side of rink, was the captain, the number 43 embroidered on his jersey, just like the one you adorned. 

Your own cheeks heated up when it really hit you that you were wearing his old jersey. You weren’t together anymore; what were you thinking? He could see you– what would he think when he saw you right behind his bench, wearing the jersey he had gifted you?

You suddenly wanted to throw up more than ever. He exchanged a few words with Elias, and laughed at something his buddy had said. Your heart ached in longing once more. You had missed his laugh so much. 

Quinn now had facial hair, something he hadn’t had when he was with you. His hair was longer, peeking out from beneath his helmet. He already seemed much more grown up. He looked like a captain, something who had become used to leading his team. Quinn had always been somewhat confident in his abilities as a hockey player, but it was easy to tell that he had really gotten used to his role on the team and had come into his own over the past two years. 

The girls grabbed your hands and walked into the aisle, just to get right up to the glass. Your face burned and you tried to hide behind some of your friends. You kept your heads down and your arms folded. 

Your friends held up hats and other paraphernalia that they desperately wanted signed by players. 

“Y/N!” One of your friends practically shouted. You suddenly noticed that they had all stopped cheering. You looked up to see them parted in front of you. 

Quinn was on the other side of the glass, looking right at you. 

Your friends shoved you up the glass, giggling and squealing. You nearly ran into the glass from the force of their shoves. Quinn laughed at you, his smile exactly how you remembered it. 

He pointed at the white Canucks towel in your hands and shouted, “toss it over!” The arena was so loud you were glad he had mouthed it clearly. You hesitated but threw the towel over. With one glove off and in the other hand, he caught it. He gestured to one of your friends to throw over the Sharpie she was holding. She did gladly, happy to be included. He caught it easily and started to write quickly on the white fabric. Your heart did flips while watching him, and your hands shook with nothing to hold onto. 

He finally capped the pen and threw both the towel and marker over the glass. You struggled to catch it, but thankfully, you managed to hold onto it. You held it flat before you. 

Meet me by my car after. Usual spot. Your breath stopped slightly when you saw a rushed heart drawn next to the words. You looked back up to see him putting his glove back on. He gave you a warm smile that set you on a fire from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You took a deep breath and nodded to him. His smile widened slightly. Before he turned to skate away, you saw him mouth the words, “nice jersey.” You stuttered for a second, and he simply winked and turned. 

Your friends all screamed and crowded you, looking at the towel. 

“Usual spot? What the fuck is going on?” Lydia yelled over the noise, cackling. 

You just blushed and shook your head, returning to your seat with the towel gripped tightly in your hands. 

As the teams continued to warm up, you explained as quickly as you could that you and Quinn had once been together. Your friends, of course, were shocked but also very excited for you at the prospect of reuniting with him. You simply waved your hands in protest. 

“I don’t even know if he wants to get back together with me! He might just want to catch up or something… we’re cool now and I don’t want to mess anything up.” 

“Girl, please!” one of your friends shouted. “He drew a motherfucking heart and winked at you! Of course he wants you back.”

You all laughed and you embraced the next blush that warmed your cheeks. 

The players left the ice, and minutes later, the lights went dark. The deafening sound of nearly 19,000 people screaming almost broke your eardrums. Blue light filled the room, and you looked up to see what was playing on the large screens above you. 

You watched the intro video and let a nostalgic, giddy feeling overtake you. You couldn’t help but smile. 

The arena fell back into nearly full darkness. You heard the beginning of a familiar sound of twinkly guitar that dragged you right back to 2011. Goosebumps rose up along your skin all over your body. That was the last time the Canucks had made it to the Playoff finals, and you hoped dearly that they could get there again. The playing of Where The Streets Have No Name from their intro from 2011 made hope take hold of you.

You couldn’t help but raise your particularly special white rally towel in the air to wave alongside all of the other Canucks fans in the building. 

It had been surprisingly easy to get into the players’ parking garage. Despite it being two years since you had been in the building, you were recognized by several people, who let you walk wherever you wanted. 

Your friends had practically shoved you to go after the game, screaming after you to call them later. You had laughed and walked away, your steps lighter than they had been in a long while. 

You later found yourself standing by Quinn’s car. It was the same one he’d had when you had been together. Your hand brushed the shining hood of the car, and you could see yourself in the passenger seat, laughing at something he’d said as the two of you drove around downtown Vancouver. 

“Thank God you actually showed up.” 

You whipped around, seeing a freshly showered Quinn in sweatpants and a hoodie making his way towards you. 

You tugged on the hem of the jersey, your heart beating quicker and quicker with every step he took. 

He stopped in front of you, and when you looked up, you both spoke. 

“I love you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. “You-what?” 

He bit his bottom lip before repeating himself. “I love you. I know it’s been two years, but-” 

“I love you, too,” you said quickly, blood roaring in your ears. “And I am so, so sorry. I never should’ve-” 

It was his turn to cut you off. “Don’t apologise, please. It’s not your fault.”

“Can you… can you please accept my apology, at least?” 

He smiled softly. “I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.” 

“I forgive you, too,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling with affection as you looked at him. You felt an intense relief flood your body. Your shoulders finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. He reached out and wrapped you in a warm hug. You melted into it, returning the gesture. 

“I missed you. So much,” you mumbled into his hoodie. 

One of hands gently scratched the back of your neck like he used to do. “I missed you, too.” He pulled away just enough to lean down and kiss your lips softly. Nothing had ever felt so natural. His playoff beard scratched your face and you laughed at the sensation, pulling away. 

“Not used to the beard,” you admitted, smiling widely. 

He smiled, too. “Yeah, what do you think? Should I keep it around?” 

You shrugged, leaning back into him. “Well, you’re very handsome either way.” 

“You think?” 

“Mhm. Your hair also looks very good. I like it longer like this,” you told him, ruffling his brown hair. He swatted your hand away and kissed your cheek. 

“Noted.” He looked down at me again. “Should probably get you a new jersey.” 

“Hm, you think I need the big ole C on here, Captain?” 

He shook his head, blushing. “Don’t call me that.” 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, bringing his head down for you to kiss. “Couldn’t help myself.” You grabbed his hands. “Congratulations on the big win, by the way.” 

“I can’t believe you came. I thought I was hallucinating or something when I saw you,” he told you honestly. 

“Well, I’m glad I came,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, smiling wider than you had seen all night. 

You laughed, feeling pure joy in your heart. “I think I might have an idea.” 

[shiny-jr]

from DIASOMNIA

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: This is just the first part, only with Diasomnia. I’ll post the rest later once its written. For now, I hope you enjoy this part! Oh, and this was inspired by the mention of letters @qierxing​‘s fic inspired by the whole imposter au idea. So yeah. Hopefully I caught all the mistakes in this post because I am not rereading all that again.

Diasomnia   |   Ignihyde

Among the first letters you pick is carefully sealed in a black envelope. You found it peculiar that Grim, who had offered to use his claws to open the envelopes, hadn’t been able to cause the slightest tear as if it were being protected by some magic. But it opened with ease during your first attempt to rip it open.

You didn’t care much for the wax family crest that had sealed it, or the black envelope itself. Maybe it would feel liberating to just set them all ablaze as soon as you finished skimming over the carefully written words.

To my dearest human,

I understand the pain I have caused you.

Ever since that moment I betrayed you, all I have seen in my vision and in my mind is your expression of terror. It tortures me. Your terror spurred by my actions and my very own hands. I am your most beloved and loyalest of companions in this world, and yet, had my retainers behind those doors not intervened, you would have been gone forever. And it would have been all my doing, all my fault.

I write this letter to apologize, but as I write this, I realize that there is no forgiving what has been done. Ever. No matter how I plead or what comes from my lips. But I will say this: there are no amount of words that can truly convey how sorry I am. This will haunt me for the remainder of my centuries of life.

Agonizing thoughts plague my mind and torment me at all hours of the day and night, at every and each moment. Even now, I reflect on everything I had done to harm you. While, the time I believed in those falsehoods was minuscule compared to the days others knew and acted upon it, the fact still stands that I was too easily deceived by mere rumors alone. I was blinded by my rage when I heard that someone dared to impersonate you and had been the probable cause of your vessel’s malfunction, that I did not even take a brief respite to consider the validity of the information that reached my ears.

Believe me, although I realize you have no reason to hold even a shred of faith in a single word I say and for that I would not blame you, but I will atone for the crimes I have committed. In any way possible. Even if it takes my entire lifetime, I will continue forward until I have achieved this goal and you may smile upon me once again. There is a human saying, which if I recall correctly I believe goes something like, forgive but never forget. Well, I would beg for forgiveness, while knowing full well that my misdeeds will never truly be forgotten. The harm I inflicted will leave scars that will never fully fade.

For every scratch my nails left on your delicate flesh, you may drive vines of the sharpest thorns against my own skin until blood pools all around me. For every bruise from my hand that tainted you, I would hand you an iron sword to use as you wish against me until you believe I’ve had enough. If it pleased you, I would even utilize my magic to transform into a figure with wings, which I would then proceed to sever the wings by my own hand and offer them to you on a silver platter.

Any punishment you can think of, I would readily accept.

Although living with the guilt of my mistakes and knowledge of the weight of my actions against you, is by far the most painful torture I’ve ever known.

If I do not receive word from you soon, I fear I may go insane with my own guilt. Yet I know I bring this upon myself. And if I were to go insane, if I was not insane this entire time already, you are all that would be in my thoughts. You are all that would remain in the part of my mind that is intact. You are currently and have been all that I think of, so perhaps my sanity is already long gone.

I would venture into the deepest crevices of hell and back, just to prove my worth to you. Even if I must be punished for the rest of my life, so be it. But I implore you to allow me to redeem myself, let yourself bear witness to the incredible feats I may accomplish in your name. Redemption... The thought of perhaps one day receiving the blessing of your smile and your grace once more in the near or distant future, is the light at the end of the tunnel in this dark period of my existence. I am yours. Whether you still desire me or not, I will forever be yours, and I will brave through trials of fire to demonstrate my eternal devotion to you.

Just know that I will do everything in my power to please you. Whether it be to fulfill the judgement you cast upon me, to demonstrate my worth and determination to achieve redemption, or simply because you command it so, it shall be done. 

For now, I will wait on your response and deliberate over my next course of action. Should you desire anything, anything at all, wether it be something as simple as traveling to the store for a purchase, you have a moment of recluse and desire company, or if you command me to move the island or clear the very heavens, all you must do is speak my name. Then, consider it done. Once my name is upon your lips, I will be there as the last syllable leaves your tongue. 

I will await the moment I am summoned.

Forever yours,

Malleus Draconia

That was... unnerving. Your hand unconsciously drifted up to the slight puncture wounds on your neck. They had long since dried, but you vividly remember feeling the thin trail of crimson being drawn and dripping down like a steady stream. 

You could remember the way Malleus withdrew as soon as he realized the truth, like he had been burned with his hands on you in that fashion. The blood, your blood, staining his sharpened nails. The red was deeper than any nail polish or ink. 

You were nearly sent spiraling, until you felt a tap and the texture of paper against your arm. When you glance down, you see Grim pressing his paws with another crumpled letter onto you. The ink on this letter is red, but the feline’s wide curious eyes are a glowing blue. 

“You okay? What’s so interesting about that wall you’re lookin’ at? You’re kinda just staring off into nothing there.” 

Offering a grateful nod to Grim who frowned worriedly, you accept the already opened envelope while tossing aside the letter from Malleus. “I’m good. Just... thinking.” 

Lifting a hand, you place your palm against his head and scratch the spot behind his ears. Grim lets out a content purr and holds a bag of junk food, which he probably found among the mountain of gifts, and curls up beside you. You continue the slow and soothing scratches as you use your freehand to unravel the letter Grim brought you from the towering stacks. 

This envelope was already cut open. It was a light brown and more square-shaped as thin rope kept it tied together. It had a mash of colorful strings that formed a messy bow to top it off. At least, you assumed it was meant to be a bow, but it looked more like a messy knot that would be impossible to untangle. Good thing it was already partially cut by Grim’s claws earlier. 

As mentioned, the ink was red, an interesting choice. While the handwriting was not as elegant as Malleus’ letter. Some words were written neatly, before falling off the line and blending with other words. Making it a bit difficult to read, but you managed. 

If you’re reading this, 

This means that I am not irredeemable in your eyes. 

Had I been beyond redemption, you would have not even opened this letter. If this was a lost cause, a merry dance, this paper would’ve been tossed into the trash without a second thought. But, my words have reached you. You’re reading this right now, aren’t you? It’s why I decided to write this. I could predict the actions you’d take. You are different from your vessel, but it’s only natural that you would act similarly to the silly little doll you controlled, the same doll that sparked this whole fiasco. 

I truly am so sorry if I frightened you. While I will admit, it was my intention to strike fear into your heart and use you to serve for another dubious purpose, that was when I hadn’t recognized you. Although, I know this doesn’t mean much to you, I figured I should be entirely honest to you. It’s the least I can do. I’m such a fool for being quick to believe the rumors like some sort of senseless child.

All I can do now, is remain true and offer up my loyalty. It’s nothing compared to the mistakes I made, and I’ve made plenty, but I know an apology will never suffice. So, even if you’re still uncertain about redemption, I’ll remain loyal. Among all the beings and creatures I’ve met in my lifetime, you remain an enigma. You’re human, but at the same time, you’re different. There continues to be so much I do not know of you. I wonder, could you hear me whenever I spoke to your plaything? Do you recall the stories I told, of my time as a reckless youth? Foolhardy, wild, that I was. But I was also fiercely loyal. For the Draconias, I razed down all foes like wheat in a field. 

Now that I consider it, perhaps it's best if you hadn’t heard me recount those tales. While I had been eager to share with you my experiences and act out my thrilling adventures, perhaps my story telling was much too graphic. I wouldn’t want the vivid details of bloodshed to be cause for alarm as our most recent encounter was far from pleasant. You have to forgive me, sometimes I get carried away when narrating my accomplishments and exploits. I’ll share more light-hearted memories with you the next time we meet. 

Our first meeting with your true self really went abysmally, didn’t it? I know that things never really go as planned, so I don’t bother planning such things in advance. But, I had pictured it to be a lovely moment. Silver and Sebek would look at you with shining eyes and proclaim their loyalty as they had practiced vows over and over again for such an occasion, I would get to embrace your true form and unlock your secrets, and of course Malleus would be truly content for once as he finally received the company he deserved. 

But, as expected, things didn’t go accordingly. 

Those three youths are miserable, thinking of the proper words to pen, a way to apologize for the suffering they’ve caused. But now, we are the ones suffering because we hurt you. 

They write and write, but tear their letters over and over again as they believe no words they’ve written so far are adequate. Soon they’ll realize that no words will ever be sufficient for an apology. Even if they were to create new words that are unheard of by any dictionary, it would not come close to being enough. That’s why I’ve decided to stick with this single attempt, because I already know that nothing I ever write will measure up to being acceptable. 

There is something about you that always leaves me bemused. Your grace left me feeling dizzy and giddy, like I was experiencing a little crush again, although this was much more intense than any crush. The truth about your vessel controlled by you, had me perplexed as I had never heard of such a thing. And well, the disastrous chase that followed your arrival... you know that part well and could assume how I feel about that from what I’ve told you. At present, all I can do is remain loyal, for what my loyalty is worth to you. Beyond that, despite having an abundance of experiences, there is no such situation that could have prepared me for this moment. 

Genuinely, I am stumped once again. I cannot even envision what can be done with my own two hands, that can be worthy of your attention once again and earn me redemption. But, you can be certain of one thing, and that is: my loyalty is undying. I still have a few years left in these old bones of mine, and I will use the rest of my life to serve you. 

Whether you want me or not. If you still want me, I will be of use to you. Whatever you are in need of, a soldier, a plaything, a companion, or even someone to take out your anger on. I shall be it. If you don’t want me, I will still be there. I will always be there to smile and lift your spirits like you once did for me through your doll. 

I eagerly wait for word from you. 

Until we meet again soon, 

Lilia Vanrouge

None of these letters were comforting in the slightest. In fact, they only placed you further on edge. For a moment, you considered stopping it here after only two and getting rid of the rest. 

Grim by now had settled in your lap, and looked up at you with those watchful blue eyes. Had he been staring at you the entire time? 

“Let me guess, they’re not taking it well?” 

“No, not at all.” You answer with a grimace. If this was how they were like now, you didn’t even want to know how they acted when they found out your vessel stopped working over a week ago. 

“Huh, sucks for them.” The feline stretched out, his claws poking out for a moment before quickly retracting as he plopped back down on his back with his stomach up. Maybe it was his own attempts to fill the silence, or to let you know you weren’t alone, but he eventually groaned. “Hey, read me one. I wanna know what they say.” 

Unable to say no to your companion, you nodded slowly and smiled weakly, “Alright, alright, let’s see what we have here...” 

You plucked out a random letter with neat packaging. However, just because the exterior was pretty, didn’t mean the interior message would be. You learned that already from the last two letters you had read. 

This envelope looked somewhat similar to the last one, square-shaped and tied closed with string. However, instead of the knot of ribbons on it, it held a simpler gift. The brown rope around it was tied in a neat bow, and between the string were lavender stems with a small branch of wild berries. 

Grim immediately indulged in the berries and the flowers, staining his little fangs and whiskers with the sweet sticky juice and purple petals. All the while exclaiming, “Oh, oh! I remember this letter. Some bird came to drop it and it flew away just before I could catch it...” 

A short laugh escaped your lips as you hear him. “So that’s why you were grumbling this morning.” 

Not wanting to be reminded again, he swat his paw at your nose as the feline hissed, “Shh! Just read already!” 

Dear player, 

I truly am deeply remorseful and I offer my sincerest apologies. 

I was to be a knight, that has been something I have strived for ever since I was a child. A knight not just to serve Malleus but to protect others, and eventually I discovered my purpose was to serve you as well. But... all I did was stand idly by and watch the torment. Shortly after meeting your vessel, I had promised to shield you from all danger. I broke that promise. 

I cannot imagine how frightened you must have been. Had just one person stop and thought things through, they may have realized the horrible mistake that was being made. Had I acted as soon as I felt the tug on my heart when I saw you weakened and on the dirt, I may have saved you from anymore pain. 

Those eyes, your eyes, I see them in my sleep. You were scared, and through your gaze you were pleading for help, were you not? I see it every time I close my eyes. You witnessed it yourself, the very moment when I had failed you. You were right there, so close I could have extended a helping hand. But my grief rendered me sightless, all I could think of in that moment is how my heart ached and how I longed to see you again. Even if it was through your vessel. The rumors didn’t quite make any sense to me, as I wondered how could anyone possibly be so cruel as to tear you away from us? 

Father had said that it would all be over soon. That capturing the imposter and bringing them to their knees, would make everything better. But when I saw you on the ground before we learned of your identity, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was alright. Would the player have wanted this? Would they have scorned upon witnessing the scene? Would this undoubtedly end the throbbing pain I felt in my heart? The pain was becoming unbearable, and I was not the only one to feel it. The news made little sense to me. Sebek insisted that it was true, and Father seemed to believe so as well. However, that is no excuse for how I went along as if it were okay. 

You were innocent and helpless, you, the player, not only witnessed the scene but were the victim. I’m so sorry, I should have done something... If it were the only way to gain your forgiveness, I would spend every moment of my waking hours writing letters of apology. To do so I would keep myself awake for as long as humanely possible. If asked, I would use every moment to pen these letters, each different from the last. Although after several attempts in redoing this single letter, I realize that it would be a pointless endeavor. 

After reflecting, the only way to make up for what I have do is be patient. 

Be patient and await for word from you. I cannot force you, I cannot pressure you, I can only pause and prepare myself to do whatever I must in order to earn back your grace. 

Please, do not keep me waiting too long. I know I have no right to ask you this. I’m willing to wait years if needed, but part of me has this fear that I will never regain a spot near your heart until I’m frail and feeble with age. Rest assured, even in old age, I would be willing to be your knight. Even if my bones ached, I would raise my sword and shield. If I couldn’t use my weakened legs, I would call upon a horse to be my steed. And if I were to become magicless, I would use the remainder of my physical strength to serve you. 

If I may be honest with you? I have no idea what to do. Yes, I said I would wait, but what else can I do? What can I do to eventually secure a place beside you, if it were possible? In times of trouble I normally turn to Lilia and Malleus for advice, however, I am a bit unsettled by their approach to this delicate matter. Truthfully, I am anxious, but while they share the sentiment, they are oddly confident that things will turn out alright in the end. I am unsure how they can muster the self-assurance to quell their fears. Maybe they know something that I do not, and have decided not to share this secret for now... 

Nevertheless, for now I’ll eagerly anticipate the day we can reunite just as I have dreamed. I greatly look forward to the second where not only I can see you smile once again and your eyes might finally look at me with content, but also the moment where all those I know might get the opportunity to be in your peaceful grace. 

I’ve dragged this letter on for too long. If you were to take something away from this letter, let it be this: I will carry out your wishes. No matter what you may think of me, whether it be a positive or negative image in your mind, I will continue forward in your name. Even if you think me unfit for the title of knight, then consider me a humble servant instead. Nothing will shake my commitment, and I will do whatever it is you ask. 

This is a pledge that will not be broken. 

Cordially, 

Silver

This letter felt a bit lighter than the others. Still, it was slightly intense in its own way, but it was nowhere near as extreme as the previous two were. And, maybe you had a better opinion on Silver, not because he was gentle with his words but because he was one of the very few who hadn’t threatened you, directly harmed you, or treated you cruelly. 

But! He didn’t get a free pass just because of that. Yes, he may not have directly caused any harm, but he didn’t exactly help you either. 

Grim had taken the letter from you, and inspected the paper in his paws. He held it above his head, scrunching up his nose a bit as he looked it over. “I dunno... he’s okay.” 

At that, you roll your eyes a bit as a smirk crept up from the corner of your mouth. “You’re not just saying that because his letter came with a snack?” 

“No! You think me easy to bribe? I think not! It would take a whole bucket full of berries just to get me to even discuss it. Then, I’d turn them down and take the berries anyways!” The feline proclaimed his brilliant plan should that situation ever arise. Maybe the gifts you allowed him to take were starting to get to his head. “But... he could be worse. Silver, as dumb as he was like everyone else, he did hear me out after they separated us.” 

Silver did that? If that were true, it’s possible that he wasn’t as bad as the others who had wronged you.

“That’s... good to know.” You murmur as you pluck up another random envelope from the pile. 

The last envelope you pick up before you planned to take a break was surprisingly plain. It was just that. A plain white envelope, sealed by green wax with what looked like a family crest that depicted a creature with fangs and scales. One of the corners was crinkled, as if it was gripped too tightly there. 

As soon as you slid out the folded letter, you were bombarded by the ink. Whoever had wrote this, seemed like they applied too much force. This caused certain parts of some letters to be too round and heavy with ink that made those bits feel damp and stain your fingers the slightest bit. Like whoever wrote this, placed just as much pressure with their hands on the pen gliding across the page, as much pressure as they felt weighing on their mind. 

Great Player, 

As I pen this, I am on my hands and knees.

I have prepared a multitude of letters which I will send daily, so that now and in the future you will continue to hear my apology and know I truly mean it. One admission of regret is not enough. An apology is only an acknowledgment of an offense, it does not absolve one of their wrongdoings. I know this! So, I, Sebek Zigvolt, will atone by any means necessary! 

To you, the player who I wronged and deserves nothing but happiness and perfection, I give my deepest sincerest profuse apology. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY. Right now when I look at my hands that I use to write, I’m reminded of the vicious way I grabbed you like some... heathen! These hands sullied your flawless self, and for that alone I will never forgive myself!

Had it not been for the wise words of Master Lilia and the bothersome yet logical reasoning from Silver, I would have been at your door everyday, every hour, begging for a second chance. In the midst of brainstorming, I presented my idea of crawling on hands and knees, from Diasomnia to the Ramshackle Dorm, to deliver the letter myself. Then, I would display whatever cuts or bruises formed on my palms and knees which I would receive from the rocky roads or thorns, that way you may see my devotion was true and no lengths are too great when it comes to you! No matter the pain or burden! The idea seems to appeal to Lord Malleus, but I was told that it comes off as too extreme...

But! I beg to differ!! I only consider it so that you may understand what I feel, so that you might comprehend the things I would do for you, and receive me back in your good graces! Additionally, delivering the letter in this manner would cause me as much or more physical pain than I caused you! It is a shame that things have come to this. I had wished so much for our first proper meeting to be one of joy where you might accept me as your knight! In spite of that, I will not falter in shame! If I were to deliver the following letters in that method I had detailed earlier, I would wear the scars proudly! It would be physical proof of my faithfulness towards you! 

I am sorry, and I will continue to say it. Perhaps, this may be presumptuous of me, but if you consider it, Diasomnia did not torment you nearly as long as any other insolent dorm had! And! We retainers accompanied Lord Malleus every day to check on the wellbeing of your vessel, and watch over it while investigating various possible approaches on how to revive Yuu. We diligently did this until the moment we encountered your true self! 

I swear to you, no one shall harm you from this moment forth! 

From now on, I’ll march forward and see to it that you are never hurt ever again! This is something I know that my fellow dormmates will tirelessly work toward as well. 

Have you realized that we have been guarding you and the serenity of your dorm in the past days? Have you not thought it strange that none have come to needlessly pester you? Yes, that is all thanks to the efforts of those in Diasomnia! Even when you do not realize it, we are insuring your welfare and the tranquility you require to recover! Of course, as much as I desperately want to inform you of the details, I will not. It is best you don’t know. 

Now, I must be honest with you. Originally, I had planned this letter to be much longer and have contents that would have been much different than what you are currently reading. I aimed to be honest in my feelings! But before I could sign off on the original draft, I realized that the others may be in the right. It is possible that our devotion, my devotion, may come off as disquieting if I were completely sincere. I’ve had to restrain myself on many occasions, reminding myself to at least appear collected and controlled. That is not as easy as it sounds! 

How could it be, when the one I must suppress my emotions and actions for, is you? That’s as if asking to repress part of my very soul and heart! I absolutely detest hiding it!! But when I remember this is for you and your own comfort, it becomes bearable. I can only hope that soon, very soon, I might be able to unveil my true sentiments towards you! As intense and extreme as they may be! 

It seems that I’m nearing the word limit that they imposed. Once again, I apologize. I’ll have to contemplate new ways to write ‘sorry.’ I wish I could write a million more words for you! But even a million words wouldn’t be anywhere near a satisfactory amount for me to detail how much I revere you! And it would take more than another million words for me to write a full apology, but even then I wouldn’t be satisfied! No single letter is adequate enough, so be prepared to receive the rest I have written! 

I will make sure they are delivered posthaste! 

Faithfully, 

Sebek Zigvolt 

Great... you’re back to being unnerved again. 

There was something about them all being so weirdly obsessed, but in vary different ways. Malleus and Lilia puzzled you, they had you feeling the most uneasy by far. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were both not human, they were arcane beings with enigmatic personalities and objectives that were incomprehensible to you. 

Out of the four, Silver was the only one that was fully human like yourself, but even he was a bit of a mystery as he was raised by the fae. It was hard to be wary of him, which was probably because your distrust and fear of him wasn’t as intense as it was towards the others due to his good nature and lack of actions he took during the whole disaster. 

As for Sebek, well, he was unnerving in his own right but it was nowhere near on the level that Malleus and Lilia were on. At the very least he wasn’t a complete mystery to you. It was easy to figure out his intentions, because he either said them or wore them on his sleeve. 

Your mind was spinning as you looked over the four letters, filled with lines upon lines and more lines of pages. In that moment your breath quickened as you noticed the cloudy sky outside. For a brief second, you feared you would see that familiar flash of green lightning, taking you back to that dark day when you nearly died. It’s like you could feel Sebek’s hands tightly gripping the back of your skull that forced you against the earth, you saw Silver’s sorrowful gaze that spoke a thousand words you didn’t yet understand, you heard Lilia’s words hinting to a doomed fate of becoming some lifeless doll, and god, you couldn’t forget him even if you wanted to. Malleus. He was the worst of all. You felt his nails and fingers constricting around your neck and squeezing out all the air, you saw his haunting green eyes with those slit pupils as he glowered at you with such anger and hate, and you heard what you had thought would be the last words you ever heard come from his lips––

“Hey!” 

You were torn out of those dark thoughts by the feline in your lap. A concerned frown tugged at Grim’s lips, but once he saw he had your attention, he mustered a slight grin as he held up what looked like an armful of snacks. At least, as much as he could carry in his small paws. From his grin, you could see his little fangs still covered in the remnants of the berries and flower petals.

“Look, I found your favorite! This is getting boring, so let’s just take a break!”

[lilasamaaa]

Ignorance is bliss | Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word count | 3K.

Warnings | Brief mentions of sexual activities, panic attack, Max and reader get in a fight.

Summary | Max and you have been dating for several months, and everything is going well. Except when paparazzi start chasing you for no reason. Is your boyfriend hiding something from you?

Author's note | This was requested by @butterflyexe ! Thank you lovely for the great idea! I tweaked it a bit though, so I hope you like it! I loved writing this piece but again, sorry for the crippling angst lmao 🥲 Not proofread as usual, oopsie

The doorbell of your apartment rings, and you leap off your couch, opening the door and throwing yourself into your boyfriend's arms.

"Oh, wow," Max says, pressing a kiss to your head. "Did you know it was me or do you throw yourself into the arms of everyone who rings your doorbell?" he adds, laughing.

"Of course I knew it was you," you reply, laughing too. "I've been waiting for you all week. And I noted that your flight was landing an hour ago, so it lined up," you explain, taking his hand and leading him to the couch, where you both sit down.

Max looks tired, the bags under his eyes casting blue and gray shades on his pale skin. He moves to lie down on the couch, resting his head on your thighs, closing his eyes.

"How was the work trip?" you ask, playing with his hair.

"It was great," he finally replies, opening his eyes and meeting yours. "Quite tiring, but interesting. It was nice to, erm. See my colleagues again," he says.

"I still can't believe your company paid for the trip all the way to Australia," you whisper as Max closes his eyes again under your caresses. "If I had known the automotive industry required you to travel that much, I would have applied for the job."

Max doesn't respond, simply taking one of your hand in his and gently stroking your knee with the other.

"You must feel so out of it with the jet lag..." you continue, concerned. "It's a good thing they gave you a few days to rest. When are you expected back at work?"

"Not until next week," Max says, playing with the rings on your fingers.

"And you said you're going to Japan after? That's such a weird ass schedule," you say, making him laugh. "I feel like you travel more than most influencers... Or even athletes," you state, making him open an eye.

"Perks of the job," Max says before planting a soft kiss on your lips, and standing up. "Can I borrow your shower?"

"Of course! You know the way," you wink at him, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us something to eat in the meantime."

Sitting at the small table in your kitchen, illuminated by a few candles and the lights of the city outside, Max devours the plate you placed in front of him a few minutes ago. You silently observe him, both fascinated by the man before you and disturbed by a thought that has plagued you in his absence.

"I've been thinking," you start, making your boyfriend look up.

"Yeah? Tell me," he says, covering your hand with his.

"How come I've never been to your place?"

Max stops chewing, his light eyes fixated on yours.

"I didn't know you wanted to?" he replies, brows furrowed.

"Well I've never asked to, but isn't that how it usually works in a relationship? Once at mine, once at yours?"

"I'm sorry," Max replies. "I didn't realize it was important to you."

You suddenly feel guilty and squeeze your boyfriend's hand, giving him a warm smile.

"Forget it, sorry," you say, getting up to rinse your plate. "That was stupid. You're right, we're fine here."

After dinner, you and Max settle on the couch again, watching some show on Netflix. When you notice Max fighting against sleep, his eyelids heavy and his breath short, you grab the remote before turning off the TV. The sudden silence jolts him awake, and you laugh before pulling him by the arm and leading him down to your bedroom. You make a quick stop in the bathroom to remove your makeup and brush your teeth and, when you come back to the room, you find Max fast asleep under the covers. The sight is endearing. You press a kiss on his forehead before settling next to him, your cold body against his already warm one.

The next morning, you wake up alone in a cold bed. A familiar smell tickles your nostrils, and you make your way to the kitchen, your eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning!" Max says, already dressed up, and looking much fresher than yesterday. "I made us breakfast."

"Wow, that's so sweet of you," you say before sitting at the table, taking a hot pancake from the plate in front of you.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep so fast yesterday," your boyfriend starts again. "To make it up to you, I'd like to take you out to lunch."

The offer takes you by surprise, and you stare at your boyfriend, mouth agape. It's been five months since you started seeing each other. Five months since you bumped into him by chance at the Monte Carlo casino while you were out dining with friends. Five months of being inseparable, but also five months of very limited outings. Max travels a lot for work, and you don't necessarily have the means to go out regularly in Monaco. Most of the moments you share therefore take place within the four walls of your apartment, and you're thrilled to get some fresh air with him for once.

"You seem happy," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I am!" you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Where are we going?"

"What about Nobu?" Max says.

"What? Max, that's way too expensive," you reply, furrowing your brows.

"It doesn't really matter, given I'll be the one paying."

"No way," you say. "We're splitting the bill. And I'm not paying three grands for some sushis, as delicious as everyone claim they are."

"They really are. So please, let me do this for you. Just this once? I can afford it," your boyfriend says, making you frown.

His words remind you that you don't know what your boyfriend does for a living. He's talked to you about cars, mechanics, but you're having trouble understanding what kind of job in the automotive industry requires so much traveling around the world. A job that apparently pays very well, given the restaurants he frequents. Realizing there's no point in arguing and not wanting to pick a fight with Max, you simply nod, lips pressed together. However, you're counting on one last point to escape the pricey restaurant and hopefully eat elsewhere. Somewhere more affordable.

"Well, if you insist," you finally say, popping a strawberry in your mouth. "I doubt we'll get a table for noon, though," you add. "I heard you have to book months in advance."

"Don't worry about that," Max says, stroking your cheek. "I need to stop by my place real quick before, can we meet there?"

Two hours later, you're sitting at one of the finest tables at Nobu, facing the sea. The fuck just happened, you think, watching your boyfriend immersed in the menu with a raised eyebrow. How? Before you have time to question it further, a waiter brings two champagne flutes and a bottle in a Nobu-stamped ice bucket to your table before hurrying away, thanking you two profusely for coming.

"Did you order this?" you ask Max, making him look up.

"No, I didn't. That's so kind of them."

"What the actual fuck, Max?" you snap, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend asks.

"Did you somehow not notice how everyone's been bending over backward for us since we walked in? I think the waitress behind you hasn't taken her eyes off us for the past thirty minutes. And since when do they bring champagne to people who haven't ordered anything?" you say with a worried look. "Are they confusing us for someone?"

"Why are you so worried?" Max asks, giving you a look that's meant to be reassuring but just looks uncomfortable. "Just enjoy the moment. And the view."

You sit back in your chair, biting the inside of your cheek. Something isn't right. You can feel it. Max adjusts one of his hair strands, and the sleeve of his shirt slips down slightly, revealing a watch you've never seen before. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the model, and when you do, your heart skips a beat.

"Is this a new watch?" you ask, trying to act nonchalant.

"What? Oh, yeah. Bought it in Melbourne."

"You casually bought a Rolex Daytona?" you ask, tilting your head.

"I didn't know you knew about watches," Max says, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"You don't need to know about watches to know that this model costs almost a hundred thousand euros," you say, eyes boring into his.

The tension at the table has risen a notch, none of you uttering a word. As an anxious waiter places several plates in front of you, you glance around, suddenly realizing something you hadn't noticed before, absorbed in your conversation with your boyfriend.

"There's no one here," you say, still looking around. "It's noon on a Saturday, and the restaurant is empty."

Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," he finally says, carefully meeting your gaze. "I wanted us to have some peace."

"What? What did you do?"

"I've privatized the restaurant," he says.

"How did you do that?" you ask, unintentionally raising your voice.

"I paid," Max simply says, grabbing a sushi.

"How much?"

"Several thousands!" Max almost shouts, making you wince. "What's up with all your questions?"

You're completely lost. You don't recognize the man you've been seeing for the past five months. The man who comes to your place by foot, usually in sweatpants, who spends evenings watching Netflix with you. Taking baths with you. Passionately making love to you. You have no idea who this new man is, covered in expensive clothes and accessories, on whom all heads turn and who raises whispers as he passes by.

"Who the fuck are you?" you simply ask, feeling your eyes start to water.

"Baby," Max says, finally realizing how uncomfortable and lost you are. "Please, can we just enjoy the meal? I'll answer all your questions at your place. I'll explain everything, but please. Let's not make a scene," he implores.

You swallow hard, staring at the ceiling to dry the tears in the corners of your eyes. For the rest of the meal, Max talks, telling you about his trip, about his life. You politely answer the few questions your boyfriend asks you, remaining silent the rest of the time. You don't even have an appetite anymore, having swallowed three sushi pieces before your stomach threatened to turn.

At the end of the meal, Max slips a credit card into the folder that a waiter has placed on the table, then adds three hundred-dollar bills. Tip, you think. More than what I earn in a day of work. The price of discretion, probably. The waiter leaves with the folder before coming back, and just as he's about to ask for something, Max shots him a look that makes him close his mouth. Your boyfriend thanks the young man before walking around the table, extending a hand that you grasp to rise as well. You thank the still-empty restaurant staff, giving them a genuine smile despite the anxiety twisting your stomach. Max opens the door for you, and you walk out on the street, thanking him.

For a moment, you curse yourself for forgetting your sunglasses at home, as the Monaco sun blinds you instantly. You blink in surprise, but your blindness persists as Max grabs your wrist and pushes you behind him. You try to open your eyes, but flashes keep assaulting you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that they're coming from huge cameras pointed just inches away from your face.

"Max?"' you ask with a high-pitched voice, starting to panic.

Max turns around, pressing you against him and covering your eyes as he guides you through the screaming crowd. People push you in all directions, pressing against you, touching your arms, your face, crumpling your clothes. Screaming. At first, you can't make sense of what the voices are shouting, with all your senses being overwhelmed. But suddenly, you hear it. Max. They're screaming his name. Max looks up, and a new series of flashes burn your retinas as your boyfriend holds you even tighter against him, one arm around your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," you hear him say among the voices.

"What's happening?" you ask, panting.

And, then, you feel it. The panic attack. Even though you've never experienced one before, you immediately understand what's happening to you. You recognize the signs. Your legs give way, and you have to cling to Max to keep from falling to your knees. Your heart rate and breath quicken until they're suffocating, while tears stream down your cheeks.

"I can't breathe," you croak, so weakly that you're not even sure if Max heard you.

"Hang on, baby," your boyfriend says, still walking. "We're almost at the car."

The flashes continue, and so do your tears. Max grips you as tightly as he can, shielding your face, lifting you halfway to help you walk. After a few seconds, the longest of your life, you hear a car door open, and Max gently pushes you into his car before closing the door and jumping in. He wastes no time in starting the engine, cutting through the crowd, disappearing into the alleys of Monaco.

You don't say a word. You're unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Still trembling. Crying. You don't realize it, but Max struggles to tear his eyes away from your body, which seems so small, so battered at this moment. He doesn't speak either, biting his lips until it draws blood. He hates himself. He knows he'll regret making you go through this for a long time. But now, all he can do is explain. Lay all the cards on the table. Something he should have done a long time ago.

The journey seems to last an eternity until you catch sight of a gigantic building, and Max drives into an underground parking. He parks the car and rushes out, opening your door, helping you out. You're still in shock, and Max supports you as he guides you to an elevator. A few seconds later, after twist of his keys, you find yourself in a vast penthouse overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. You don't even have the strength to ask questions anymore. To ask where you are. You sit down on the large couch, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Trying to calm your breathing.

Max watches you, standing at the foot of the couch. Bewildered. Not even daring to come close to you. The two of you stand in silence a few moments, until he finally speaks.

"I know it won't fix anything. But I'm truly, sincerely sorry."

You don't reply, head low. playing with the rings on your finger.

"I owe you some explanations."

No reply.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver."

You finally look up, and the mascara streaks on your cheeks squeeze his heart in the worst way.

"I should have told you earlier. I should have warned you, but I couldn't. With you, I discovered normalcy. Anonymity. I discovered what it was live to have an ordinary life, away from the hustle, the stress, the constant judgment."

"So you knew how precious it was," you say, squinting your eyes. "And yet, you chose to expose me to all of those things."

"I hadn't planned for it to happen. I didn't want it to happen. I tried."

"I can't do this," you reply, feeling fresh tears roll down your cheeks.

Seeing you cry again, Max sits on the couch, pulling you close to him as another sob shakes your body.

"Why?" you ask, crying. "Why did you let me fall in love with the person I thought you were?"

Each of your words, each of your sobs break his heart a little more, but he takes it. He knows your anger is justified. Deserved.

"Because I loved you too. And I didn't want this to stop."

"You lied to me," you say between two sobs. "I trusted you. I trusted you so much."

It's too much. Even for him. A tear runs down his cheek. Max wipes it away angrily.

"If you never want to see me again, I understand. I'll come get my things. I'll erase your number. I won't stand in the way of you living a normal life, of finding love with someone normal. You deserve the best, even if it's not with me."

You hate him.

You despise him for having been himself, his most vulnerable self, with you. For charming you with his awkwardness, his foreign accent, his somewhat strict manners. You hate him for being the perfect man for you. You hate him for making your heart beat so strongly. But above all, you hate him for building your love on a lie, on fragile foundations doomed to collapse and sweep you both away in the wreckage.

"I hate you," you sob, making his heart stop. "And I hate myself even more. For not being able to let you go."

"Baby", he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "If you give me this chance, a chance to rebuild everything with you again, I swear that nothing will ever happen to you again. I won't let anyone near you, anyone touch you. Not even a glance. I will rebuild everything around us. We'll be untouchable. Indestructible."

One month later.

"Are you ready, baby?" Max asks, meeting your gaze. "Once I post it, there's no going back."

"I think so," you say, biting on your fingernails. "Let's get this over with," you add, sitting on his knees while the driver presses a kiss to your neck, softly stroking your leg.

"Okay. Let's do this."

[icarryitin]

Episode 24: Trade Deal

spencer reid/gn!reader

i started this bc i was ill and feeling sorry for myself and it turned into a very not to me not if it’s you kind of vibe, mostly bc i frankensteined a couple of my favourite translations of That Scene so they could have their own version🥰🥰

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: reader has a cold and all the grossness that comes with it, spencer is so Cute™️ it causes me physical pain

summary: In which Spencer Reid, known germaphobe, pretends he doesn’t know exactly how many pathogens have made their home in your sinuses.

It starts with a scratchy throat on a Tuesday morning.

You don’t think much of it, blame it on seasonal allergies, knock back a multivitamin - you’re not about to be bested by a cough of all things. That is, until it gets to Friday afternoon. You’re trying, you really are. Your immune system has other plans.

“You stay right there, Patient Zero.”

Rossi’s comment would be funny if you didn’t think that laughing might trigger a coughing fit that could very well be the end of you, right there in the doorway of Hotch’s office. That’d be one hell of an epitaph - too stubborn to take a sick day, choked to death in boss’s office. Hotch, at least, already seems to know why you’re hovering.

“I’m-“

“Going home, I hope.” He interrupts you with all the fondness of a concerned father. You don’t have the energy to argue, or to hold up an unaffected front. The men standing by the window soften a little as they watch you visibly deflate. Dave promises to send you his Nonna’s minestrone recipe, there’s nothing it can’t cure; right now, though, you’re only thinking about your bed.

The well wishes follow you through the bullpen, old wives tales and family cures that have never failed. JJ tells you to sweeten your tea with honey, Derek swears that a hot water bottle on your back will work magic. Even Emily pipes up from behind her germ shield, the folder held across her face so you can only see her eyes, and tells you to take a hot shower first thing in the morning - the steam will clear you out for the day. There’s a chorus of agreement, or disagreement you’re not sure. It’s a struggle to hear much over the cotton wool in your ears.

“We’ll see, with any luck I’ll die in my sleep. Love you!” You sniffle as you back out of the office, feeling all kinds of sorry for yourself, and determined to make it as far as you can without touching anything. Lest you actually start the next plague.

Spencer watches you go, shuffling backwards out of the office and turning towards the elevators. He’d elected not to add his own suggestions to the plethora of options supplied by the rest of the team. Unable to focus on much beyond just how tired you look. You’ve been fighting this thing all week, he’d passed over his own supply of hand sanitiser only that morning when you ran out. Ultimately, you put up a good fight, but there’s no cure for a virus. It just has to run its course. Just like his own feelings.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing a virus to whatever it is he feels for you. Has felt, will feel - if there’s an end to this tunnel, he can’t see it yet.

“What about you, Spence?”

JJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts before he can start spiralling down that particular hole. It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been chattering about before your long overdue exit - drinks, right. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m busy, actually.” He shrugs, content to miss out on one night in favour of the plan currently coming to fruition in his mind. They won’t miss him too much.

“Busy? You weren’t busy when we talked about it last week.” Emily makes no effort to conceal her surprise. To be fair to them, it’s not like him to blow them off. There’s just something that’s come up, something decidedly you shaped, that’s far more important.

“Yeah, I forgot. Sorry.”

Spencer doesn’t miss the look that JJ and Emily share, he doesn’t miss the eyebrow that Derek raises in his direction. He simply chooses to ignore them.

At least the walk to your apartment is short, there’s still heat leeching from the plastic bag around Spencer’s wrist as he fumbles with his keys. You’d given him a bright pink key cap, so he’d know which one was yours, as if he wouldn’t know anyway. Eidetic or not, that’s one he would have committed to memory. The excuse had been because he was helping you out whilst you were down an arm, takedown gone wrong, you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then you’d insisted he keep it, because someone should have your spare key, and he’s the least likely of the lot of you to lose it.

He thinks you might be asleep at first, open plan living area lit only by a salt lamp and a set of fairy lights draped over your kitchen window, it’s cosy. And then you appear in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a jewel toned blanket. The low light is forgiving, but Spencer would be able to spot the bags under your eyes from a mile away. Without his glasses.

“I brought noodles.” He says as he turns back to set the steaming bag on your kitchen counter.

“I’m so gross right now.” As if to demonstrate your point, another cough racks your body. You just about manage to catch it under the swathes of blanket clutched in your fingers, but at least he can’t claim you’re not truly disgusting in this moment.

“I don’t mind.”

You’re so set on denying him entry that you don’t even really register what he said - Spencer Reid doesn’t mind that you’re ill. He doesn’t mind. A younger, healthier version of you would swoon. You might anyway, although that’s probably the vertigo talking.

“You’ll get sick.” Your rebuttal is weak, resolve crumbling. Warm noodles do sound pretty good right now.

“Will you let me help you, please?” It’s the firmest he’s ever been with you. No room for argument, doctor’s orders. So you have to relent. Not that you have much of a choice, he’s already pottering about in your kitchen in search of bowls. As if he doesn’t remember where they are.

“Did you get me a number three?” Your voice is brighter than he’s heard it all week.

“With extra toppings, of course.”

And those extra toppings go down a treat, of course they do.

Spencer watches you carefully as you eat - usually he’d be a little more subtle about it, but there’s not a lot that could pull your attention away from the bowl in your hands. You’re cross legged on the couch, blanket bunched around your middle, happy as a clam. Something his mother would say. He wonders what else she might say, what she might think about the abandonment of his germaphobia. Convenient, probably. Diana would say it with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, the one that’s just for him. She has always liked you.

He promises he’ll be back tomorrow, once dishes are washed and leftovers are tucked neatly in your fridge, to make sure you get that hot shower Emily mentioned. The steam will definitely help, he’s read about it. Arguing with him would be pointless. You don’t have the energy, he’d only show up anyway, and it’s kind of nice to feel looked after. Spencer’s never failed to make you feel like that. You’re far too delirious to start thinking about that, not while he’s still standing in front of you at least. So you let him tuck you into bed, let him leave a glass of water on the table, let him dote. Pretending is a comfort when you feel as awful as you do. You’re already drifting off before he’s even ready to leave, content enough in your bed with the sound of him in the other room. Just, tinkering.

The sound of your front door opening rouses you the next morning, just about. Just enough to raise your head from your pillow and witness the sorry sight in your bedroom doorway.

Spencer’s trying - key word, trying - to suppress his sniffles, but the red rimmed eyes and tissue clutched in his fist give him away. It’s impossible to keep the sad little smile off of your face.

“Oh no.” You reach out a tired arm to pat the space beside you. There’s enough room for the two of you in amongst the blankets, and Spencer’s so far gone that he doesn’t even argue. His shoes and bag find a home at the foot of your bed as he lets himself collapse into the nest you’ve built. Tension leeches out of his body the moment he hits the mattress.

You have to lean across him to get your phone, right arm outstretched over his back - you can feel the heat rising off of him through his sweater and yours. Fever, that’s day two. Which means he spent yesterday evening taking care of you whilst he began to feel worse and worse. Softie.

“Egg or no egg?”

There’s an affirmative grunt from where his face is buried in your blankets. Egg it is, then. You dial the number mostly from memory, elbow still resting on his shoulder blade when you put the phone to your ear. You feel a little better than you did, but dragging yourself to the front door is still probably all you’ll be capable of today. At least you won’t be suffering alone. The line rings for a moment, then clicks, and a grainy hello sounds from the other side.

“Hi, can I place a breakfast order for delivery, please?”

i’m stuck on which chapter to work on next, do we want angst or yearning or fun flirty activities????🧡

[messenger-of-babel]

Partners to Be

Summary: After being out of the field so long, you've been assigned to help Leon rescue the presidents daughter, but who really helps who? (Leon S. Kennedy x reader)

Word Count: 3.4K

Notes: WHERE ARE THE LEON GIRLIES AT? So writing this one I just kept going and going and got a little carried away but it's my first Leon appearance for this month! (he has other fics stored away in drafts). I hope that everyone's enjoyed our first two weeks! halfway there already. It's crazy that it took me this long to put Leon out on the list, so sorry for holding out on y'all. If anyone needs warnings: Swearing, mentions of veins/ blood. I think this is the longest fic I've put up so far so that's pretty wild (as I said, I got carried away but in my defence I was convinced I was cooking).

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Leon Kennedy was a strong man; dare you say the strongest man you'd ever known.

So strong in fact that they had sent him alone to scout for the president’s daughter, being dispatched to a remote area in Spain. As soon as he sent back the sign that she was there, you were flown in almost immediately to assist with getting her back safely.

Your hands had jittered gearing up to meet him, double checking your shoulder holsters to make sure they didn't slip and lead you to an embarrassing death. You hadn't ever worked with agent Kennedy before, but you had seen him around the halls of the DSO, imposing as the legends made him out to be.

The most you had even spoken to him was a casual greeting or a small 'you're welcome' when he thanked you for holding a door open. You were part of a different division, leading to you hardly seeing him around. Not to mention the fact that the man avoided the headquarters like the plague, eyes tired and mouth drawn into a thin line any time he was required to go in.

Now you were strapping up, armed to the teeth to help out the Golden agent on your first field mission in a year. When you finally arrived, you met him a little past the windmill that Hunnigan guided you to, and it had been so much worse than you thought.

Arriving, you had encountered a town square filled with dead bodies, faces warped and bubbled. If the fresh blood hadn't been there, you would have been convinced that they'd died a long time ago. You followed the carnage to the windmill, spotting your partner-to-be hidden off the path and hurrying over to him. "Agent Kennedy," you greet politely, slightly out of breath. "What's happened here? What's wrong with the villagers?"

Your blood freezes in your veins as he looks at you with those icy blue eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. He draws his gun faster than you can blink, the barrel coming close than you'd like to your face before releasing a loud BANG. you flinch from the loud sound, and for a second you thought he had tried to kill you. Whirling around you see a villager writing on the road, axe in hand. Wordlessly he pushes past you, kneeling over the body and driving his knife into the side of the villager’s neck. The gurgles and scream die down with the writing, until the villager goes still.

You feel a light tremor in your hands at the efficient way he just disposed of someone, his face turning to meet your gaze. "They're not villagers, not anymore." he says, cleaning the blood from his knife in the crook of his elbow. "You're cleared to shoot to kill. They'll attack you the moment they see you."

You just nod, double checking that safety was off on your own handgun. He regards you for a silent moment, eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "You're from division four, aren't you?" he asks curiously. "On Jacobs's team."

You wince at the name of your old field captain. "Yeah, I was. I got reassigned as a solo agent last year." you say bitterly, something not unnoticed by him.

"Shouldn't they have kept you on that team? I saw that Jacobs wasn't there anymore, but just because he got re-assigned it doesn't make sense to just discard an entire recon squad."

You follow after him as he begins walking further down the path, tilting his head to gesture for you to follow.

"Yeah, I mean, Jacobs is dead, so…" you say awkwardly, fiddling with your holster. He turns at that, eyes widening slightly.

"Jacobs is dead?" he parrots back to you, incredulous. "Shit…I'm sorry, I didn't realise. I just knew I hadn't heard of him recently. I didn't realise that Jacobs of all people was really gone."

You nod along, kicking rocks with your boot. "Yeah, surprised everyone." you say softly, thinking of your hard ass captain who managed to weasel his way out of death more times than a cockroach.

"What about the rest of your team? Did they also turn to being a solo agent?" He looks down at you with a curious expression. Your face scrunches up, and he catches the flicker of pain that skirts the edges of your lips.

"They're dead." you say, breaking away from his gaze and quickening your pace.

"I'm sorry." he says gruffly, albeit a little awkwardly. "It happens a lot in this line of work, still doesn't make it any better."

You nod along, heart heavy despite his rough attempt at soothing the sting. You walk a little more, feeling the unsaid question hanging in the air. you know he wants to ask, but the glimmer in his eyes when you catch his gaze tells you that he doesn't want to pry.

"It was my fault, you know." you say softly, sighing out.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I know we all have-" he starts, but you cut him off by raising your hand.

"It's fine. It's been a year, I'm over it now." you mumble. "Besides, it'll be good to clear the air." you exhale, and your shoulders drop, his eyes holding a curiosity you know he feels guilty for even having. "We received intel about a terrorist attack, tracked them down to their hideout. I was tasked with disarming the bomb remotely while they took down the rest of the organisation so none of them could make a runner." you say, memory vivid in your mind. "They…they managed to re-trace my signal, someone on their side, I mean. Completely shut me off and cut my communication access. I couldn't disarm the bomb, and I couldn't tell my team." you breathe out, and the action is shakier than you'd like. "I watched it happen. I couldn't do anything, and it's all because I accidentally raised an alarm on their side."

He doesn't say much, face blank and devoid of emotion for a full moment. "It wasn't your fault." he says finally, giving you a once over. "Like I said before, we lose people all the time in this job, it’s a part of the job description. A real shitty part if you ask me." he laughs out bitterly, checking his handgun as he comes to a stop at a rickety bridge in front of you. "I'm sorry for your loss, but you need to get back into the field. Not that you have much choice, you're here now. Don't forget them but leave them at the door." He says, a rough hand coming up to grip your shoulder.

His words are like a cold shock of water, slapping you in the face. Everyone else had been coddling you since their deaths, giving you easier assignments and pitying amounts of paperwork. In contrast, Leon was showing you a tough love that everyone else had been hesitant to deliver. He tilts his head to the bridge. "When you cross that bridge, leave them on this side." he says firmly. "Distractions will get us killed, and your team wouldn't want you to die for it, not like that. Besides," he shrugs, offering you a small smile. "I need a partner to get this done, not a space cadet."

The small joke makes a smile creep onto your lips. "Thanks, Agent Kennedy." you say genuinely, lifting your chin just a fraction higher. He shakes his head, soft blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. "No need. and call me Leon." he says, stepping onto the flimsy bridge and beginning to cross. 'Leon' you say under your breath, feeling how his name sounds on your tongue. You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves and saying a quiet prayer for your teammates before your boot makes contact with the flimsy wood.

He was right. You were back in the field, and you weren't going to let any partner or team of yours get hurt like that again. That was your personal mission.

You learnt while going to rescue Ashley that he was a lot different from what the other agents made him out to be. He was considered a knight in shining armour, a golden agent who was unbeatable in everything he did while adding charismatic flair on the top. You soon realised that he was begrudging at best for a knight, and the charisma came out of dry sarcasm and witty quips. he wasn't an agent who did it for crown and country, he was an agent who did it because he had no other choice, and doing the job meant he could get home quicker. You couldn't deny that he was unstoppable though.

No matter what monstrosity you came up against, your new partner didn't so much as flinch, taking each enemy out with lethal precision. His attitude began wearing off on you and slowly you remembered what it was like to be in the field, instincts sharpening and panicked breathing slowing to a steady intake.

"You're not a bad shot," he said to you after you handed back the stingray he let you borrow, taking off some guards on the castle battlements before you had to pass through the area. You felt yourself flush slightly, not from the words, but the genuine tone he used. Despite only just formally meeting, you found conversation flowing easily between you two, natural and unhindered. You had to attribute some of that to your surroundings, seeing as neither of you really had any other choice of company. Not any company that wanted you alive anyways.

Everything had gone well, going a lot smoother than any of your other missions before. You think it started going sideways as soon as you lost Ashley in the ballroom, being forced to scurry in the underground of the castle. The little pet of Ramone had chased you both through the tunnels, the Right Hand of Salazar managing to get a good hit on your side before Leon froze it, albeit temporarily. Hauling your arm over his shoulder he pulled you to the elevator and started it up, leaving the beast behind. He investigated the wound that was now burning and turning black at the edges.

"We need to see if it's infected-"

Both of your wince and reach for your head at the same time, a ringing filling your ears and a throbbing starting in your skull. Then the image of the man, the thing that started all of this, filled your mind’s eye. Saddler preached to both you and Leon, but unfortunately it was like radio static, your connection not strong enough to be controlled fully. When it releases you both let out a gasp, your eyes meeting his blue ones.

"I think it's infected." you say dryly, and he rolls his eyes. However, his lips tick up slightly.

Maybe he really was rubbing off on you.

Then you lost Luis.

Leon patted your shoulder when Luis passed, seeing the crinkle of your nose as you closed his eyes and placed his hands peacefully in his lap. Leon didn't need to ask to see that you were reliving the way you lost your team. So much for not losing anyone this mission,' you scold yourself bitterly, you and Leon moving on and leaving your friend behind to his eternal rest. You didn’t need to ask if he was upset either. you saw it in the way he fought Krauser, muscles tensed and jaw clenched as he took down his old mentor. You placed the hand on the shoulder for him then, and he covered it with his own gloved one before squeezing lightly. He dropped it a moment after, and you both continued.

There was a mission after all.

Now this was the final nail in the coffin. You had retrieved Ashley, keeping her between the both of you to protect her from all sides. Your chest burnt, ugly scar sitting in the middle if your chest from having to burn out the plagas. It had developed quickly, the sliver that wormed it way into your skin during your fight with the Verdigo spawning into an ugly juvenile parasite. Luis had saved the both of you even after death, and you could see the light at the end of the tunnel for this hellscape of a mission. That is of course, until you saw him.

He had been pulling up the rear, but Ashley tugging on your arm made you stop and turn. Leon had slowed, hand to his head and cringing badly. Your heart fills with fear, and you race to him, pulse thudding in your ears. "Hey, you with me, Kennedy?" you ask, shaking him lightly to try to snap him out of it. He only groans in pain, knees buckling as he falls. Crouching immediately, you lift his face up to meet his eyes, and you freeze. Black veins are mapped across the expanse of his face, tendrils trying to strangle the blue of his irises. They continue a path down his neck in thick black streaks, wrapping around his arms like strings. His forearms struggled with the effort to keep himself upright.

"Is he going to be okay?"

You turn, hearing Ashley's worried voice. you give her a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod. "He's going to be." your murmur.

"Come on, Leon." you urge. "we're almost there, we're almost home."

He lets out a shaky breath, coughing violently and hands curling into fists as he doubles over. One of his closed fists grab your hands, bringing it down with him. The cement is cold but his fingers are warm, and when he squeezes your hand tight in a few rhythmic pulses, you know what he's saying.

It makes your heart stop.

"Ashley, go just ahead, around that corner." you instruct, gesturing with your head for her to continue to the end of the hall you were all heading towards.

"What about-"

"Just go." you snap, and the waver in your voice is evident. She nods fearfully, casting one last glance at you both before turning and hurrying off.

"Talk to me, Kennedy." you say, squeezing his hand back. "Do we need to get you back in the chair? Is it still in there?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level but get the information you need out of him. He shakes his head.

"No time." he breathes out, body relaxing as he struggles to sit up and lean back on his legs. With your help you manage to get him upright again, his skin hot and veins writhing under his skin. You support him to standing, but he brushes you off with a stumble.

"He…He's in my head." he grits out. "There's lots…there's noises…sounds. This isn't me." he gasps out, struggling to keep his breathing even.

"What can I do?" you ask, voice tinged with desperateness, hands beginning to shake. "Leon, we got to get you home. We're gonna go home." you stress to him, voice beginning to choke up. He stands tall, straightening himself out. "We don't have much time." he grits through his teeth. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything." is your automatic response, taking a step forward to catch him if he falls agian. He gives you a sad smile before reaching for something on his belt, eyes never leaving yours as he offers it out to you.

"No." you say firmly, trying hard to control your racing mind and brimming tears. "No. I'm not doing that." you choke out.

"You've gotta." he says, voice quiet. "Take it." he shakes it in front of you and the tears finally drip forth as you look down properly at the smooth handle of the gun. "The mission is to get Ashley out, that's your first priority." he says.

'Not my mission,' you want to say, but your throat closes up. "You mean our first priority." you force out." No. I won't do that. I can't do that. Not again." your voice cracks and you clamp a hand over your mouth to try and keep the sound in. His eyes soften and he reaches out to gently grip your wrist and pull you forward. you can see how badly he's fighting it, the shake in his hands and the tension in his muscles while a war rages in his mind.

"If not for Ashley and the mission, then for me." he forces out. "Please. I don't want to be one of them, and if I turn, I will hurt you. Saddler will make me, and you know that." he says firmly, shaking your wrist. A tear rolls down the tip of your nose as you reach out with your free hand to grip the handle of the gun, grip smooth under your palms.

"I'm not like your team," he says, staring directly into your eyes. You can see the kaleidoscope in his own, morphing from fear to guilt to panic and finally determination. "I want this. I'm asking you to do this for me." He murmurs, tone softer. He sighs out, a ragged sound and his eyes flutter shut as the veins in his neck flare.

"Please," he grits out. "If anyone is going to do it, I want it to be you. Only you." he breathes out, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You're my partner, after all."

You try to give a grin in return, heart leaping and tearing itself apart at being called his partner. You take a step back, hands trembling as you cock the gun. "What a day at the DSO that will be," you say, voice shaky and tears spilling over the apple of your cheeks. "Golden boy Kennedy actually accepting a partner request."

Your smile shakes violently as he lowers himself to his knees, blue eyes looking up at you. The eyes that always seemed so tired, now shimmering with the yearning to go to sleep. To go to peace.  "There's a first time for everything." he quips back softly. "You can do the paperwork though."

You try to make the sound to laugh, but the thickness in your chest and throat strangles the sound before it could leave. You raise the gun to his forehead, barrel smooth against his skin, cool metal brushing some of the icy gold strands to the side.

"Goodnight, Leon." you say, voice wispy. Despite the ache that had settled in your chest and stung your bones, you put as much warmth, love and kindness you could into your last words to your coworker. Hoping he can sense the longing and hope for all the missions you could have gone on together, the quiet nights at the bar. You manage a shaky smile for the man in front of you, mourning the memory of your future.

The partner you never got to have.

"See you in the morning." he replies quietly, a small smile flitting over his face as he closes his eyes and lets go. The veins and plagas in his body wriggles in glee for a full moment when he stops resisting, before being silenced by a single, crisp, gunshot.

Bang.

When you open your eyes, you bring your arm to your mouth so you don't throw up in horror, ears still echoing the sound of the shot over and over. Your hand grows limp but still steady on the gun, part of you still in disbelief you had the courage to pull the trigger. You look at the gun in your trembling hand, thumb running over the 'L.S.K' engraved on the grip. You don't cast your eyes down, you can't. You know that if you do, you'll never unsee it as long as you live. Marching on your heel before you make a mistake, you suck in a gasp of air to try and control your sobs.

You grab Ashley's arm roughly as you pass her in the hall, her eyes fearful and panicked. "Hey!" she protests. "What about Leon-"

"Leon's dead." you hiss out, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as she wrenches from your grip. You look down, lips pursed and a hot despair coursing through your veins. With shaky hands you reload the gun, gripping it so tight your knuckles press uncomfortably against the skin.

Leon was dead, and if you had a say in anything, that Saddler fucker was about to be too.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

She Said What (Melissa Schemmenti x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Seeing Gary get down on one knee shattered you. Tasting Melissa on your lips put you back together again.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: none

It was like taking a knife to the gut, twisting in your intestines, leaving you gasping for breath. You weren’t meant to be there. Eyes darting around the room, you were desperate for escape. You couldn’t breathe. One step back, then another, you fled down the hall before you could hear the answer.

Gary had asked Melissa to marry him. And you, like an idiot, had fallen completely in love with her.

When it had been nothing but a relationship, kept on the outskirts, it was easier. Avoiding the break room on Tuesdays, not asking about weekend plans or prying to much into her relationship, you could keep your friendship with her devoid of any details. It was easier that way. You couldn’t be plagued of thoughts of the two of them together. If you didn’t think about it, your jealousy couldn’t run rampant, ruining your friendship with her.

Now though…

You’d be seeing the ring on her finger. You might be invited to the wedding. She might change her last name. It would be everywhere, in your face, reminding you how the woman you love was not yours to love. That your chance with her had slipped away.

Career day was a bust and you needed escape and yet you were trapped in your classroom with the kids, praying the clock would speed up and you would have your freedom. Right now, Melissa was somewhere in the building, a new sparkly ring on her finger, joy in her heart, desperate to go home and celebrate with her new fiancé.

You felt sick at the thought.

The bell rung and you thanked the mechanic who had come to speak to your class, shaking his oil stained hand. Sinking down onto your chair, you buried your head in your hands, letting out a long breath. You would have groaned if not for being in a place anyone walking past could hear. All you wanted was to pack up your stuff and go home, curling up in your bed and letting yourself give in to the pressure building behind your eyes.

“You look like you’ve had a day about as good as mine.”

You startled, looking up from the hands your head was resting in. Melissa was walking into your classroom, hands thrust into the pockets of her leather jacket. You blinked, trying to rearrange your face into something celebratory, not the despair you’d been feeling all afternoon. Stretching your lips into a smile, you felt it stiffen as you looked at her.

“Hey,” you said, “congratulations. I saw the feed. It was a beautiful proposal.”

“It was,” she agreed, resting against the edge of one of the student’s desks, much as she had at the front of her classroom when Gary got down on one knee.

“You must be so happy,” you said.

“Not really,” she replied with a small shrug.

“Well, not when you’re here with me but I bet Gary is waiting at home for you to celebrate,” you said, offering her a sheepish smile.

“He better not be. I don’t need another restraining order,” she said.

“Ha, yeah,” you said, “wait, what?”

She quirked an eyebrow up at you. You had no ides what was going on, on the back foot of the conversation so quickly. When her lips quirked up, you lost any words to try and fix whatever situation you’d found yourself in.

“Hon, did you see my answer?” she asked.

“Of course I did,” you replied, laughing uncomfortably.

She sighed, shoulders relaxing, “I said no.”

“What?” That was not what you were expecting.

“I said no. You know I have no interest in being married again. He didn’t listen no matter how many times I told him. We want different things,” she said.

‘So you…?” You didn’t want to assume after your last assumption had gone so badly.

“We broke up,” she said.

“Oh, Mel, I’m so sorry.”

You made your way around your desk, perching beside her. You found her leaning against your shoulder, soft hair brushing against you as you curled an arm around her waist. Her head rested against you, shifting closer.

“It’s better we realised. No resentment, no cheating, no attempted murder. A clean break before anyone could get really hurt,” she said.

“Still, it sucks,” you said.

“Yeah, it does,” she sighed.

“I really am sorry,” you said.

“Really? I always got the impression you didn’t really like him,” she said.

You stiffened. She drew away from you, turning those beautiful green eyes onto you. You tried to stutter out an answer, to refute her claim, to lie right to her face. But there was nothing. No words came out and you were left staring at her, anxiety swooping in your stomach.

“You were never comfortable when I talked about him so I stopped but I always wondered what was wrong with him,” she said.

“Is that why you said no?” Guilt curled in your stomach.

“Of course not. I really don’t want to get married again. Once was enough. I guess I’m just curious what you saw in him,” she said.

“I didn’t really know him,” you said, offering her a non-committal shrug.

“But you didn’t like him,” she said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“It was nothing about him. I’m sure he was fine. Nice even. And you loved him. He wasn’t a bad guy as far as I could tell,” you said.

“He’s not. But I thought we were good enough friends that you’d be honest with me,” she said.

Guilt again, washing over you, wave after wave. She was still looking at you, a small lopsided smile both sad and hopeful. You sighed, leaning into her again, not wanting those eyes assessing you anymore.

“It wasn’t about him. I mean sure, I thought you could do better but it was more to do with me. I didn’t want that to get between us and ruin our friendship,” you said.

“Can’t you just tell me what the issue was?” she asked.

“I don’t think that will make you feel better,” you said.

She hopped off the desk, moving to stand in front of you. You swallowed past a lump in your throat, averting your eyes down to your hands clasped between your thighs. With a forefinger, she tilted your chin up until you were looking back in her eyes.

“I can handle it, hon,” she said.

“Mel,” you sighed, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“It can’t be that bad,” she said, “unless he was the man who mugged your nanna.”

“I don’t think he was,” you said, giving her a weak smile.

“So what is it?”

The finger on your chin was practically burning your skin. You took a deep breath, anxiety making your fingertips tingle and your stomach roil. She was still watching you and you couldn’t tell what emotion it was swimming in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to hear about your relationship because… because…” You squeezed your eyes shut, “because I was jealous.”

“Aw, hon, you’ll find your guy one day,” she said, gently nudging you in the shoulder.

That was not the answer you were expecting. You peeked over to her, her smile softened as she looked at you. You shook your head.

“Not of your relationship,” you said, shoulders slumping, not wanting to keep the secret after coming so close to telling her, “of him.”

“What?” she asked, her smile slipping for a moment.

“Mel,” you sighed, “I’ve been half in love with you for a while now. And I’m sorry that it didn’t work out with Gary because I don’t like you hurting. I don’t want you think this is me trying to swoop in the second you’re single. I’m not that unfeeling.”

The smile had completely left her face, eyes widening and the shock evident. You could only stare at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. Mostly you were waiting to be told to get the hell away from her and never speak to her again. Her hands landed on your knees, fingers digging in as she gripped you hard.

“Hon,” she said, voice catching and you squeezed your eyes closed again, waiting for the slap, “can you look at me?”

You opened your eyes again. She was peering into your face, eyes swimming with an emotion you couldn’t name. Her lips were quirked at the corners, just enough for your heart to begin beating double time. Hands slid further up your legs as she lent towards you. You didn’t know what was going on and you were scared to move. Frozen under her touch, all you could do was stare back at her.

“I wish I’d known. I wish you’d told me,” she said.

“Would it have made a difference?” you asked.

“Of course, hon. If I’d known…” She shook her head.

“It’s fine. I won’t make it weird. We can still be friends. It’ll be like you never knew,” you said, panic beginning to set in. You were desperate not to lose her in all of this. This was like your worst nightmare coming to life before your very eyes.

“I didn’t just break up with Gary because he wanted to get married,” she said, interrupting you before you could continue rambling your reassurances, “there was a part of me that knew I had feelings for you. He couldn’t be my miracle when there was someone else.”

“What?” You couldn’t comprehend what she was saying.

“I wish you’d said something earlier, hon. If I’d known then Gary and I would have never gotten to this point,” she said. Her hands were still moving further up your legs until they were holding your hips.

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“Hon, I’m saying I have feelings for you too,” she said, a smile breaking over her face, bright and heartbreaking and everything you’d wanted to see for so long, “I know this probably isn’t the right time to say it but you’re hot and I like you.”

“You just broke up with Gary,” you said.

“I did. Doesn’t change how I feel about you,” she said, shrugging.

“This is an emotional rollercoaster.” Your lips stretched into a smile, small and soft and the way she seemed to melt at the sight of it only had you reeling again, “isn’t this too soon?”

“Yeah, probably, so we’ll take it slow,” she said.

“Slow?”

“Look, I dunno how this is gonna go but I do know that I like you enough that I want to give this a go. I’ve been single for a few hours and I’m probably going to have to deal with stuff from ending my relationship with Gary so we’ll take it slow and figure it out together. Sound good?”

You thought about it, turning it over in your mind. You’d thought, in your wildest dreams, that if you were offered the chance to be with Melissa you’d grab it with both hands but coming right off the back of her break up it felt… tenuous. But giving it a chance might be the best thing you could do, if only to not have to think about the what if on your death bed.

“Slow sounds good,” you said.

She relaxed, as if she’d been bracing herself for rejection. The smile on her face grew more sure of itself, more playful as she lent in. You shivered when her breath hit your skin, and you looked up into sparkling green eyes. You felt your cheeks heat up under her gaze and blinked, trying to take in her beauty. Trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, you worried at it, breath frozen, watching her with wide eyes and racing heart.

“Must say, hon, you’re pretty cute when you’re nervous,” she said.

“Nervous?” you managed to squeak out, “I’m not nervous.”

“No?” she asked, drawing closer again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “are you sure?”

“Mel,” came out as a strangled noise, “this doesn’t feel slow.”

“Feels like I’m moving pretty slowly to me,” she replied, lips slow to press to your cheek.

A small noise came from your parted lips. She chuckled, drawing back far enough for you to see the way her eyes were smouldering as they focused in on your lips. You found yourself leaning toward her, drawn into her orbit, the gravity of her dragging you closer.

“I suppose one kiss isn’t so fast,” you murmured.

“I’m glad you agree,” she said.

Her lips pressed to yours, muffling a gasp. Arms wound around her neck, fingers burying themselves in red curls. Her fingers dug into your hips, hauling you closer until you were on the edge of the desk, her body caught between your thighs. Her tongue ran along your lower lip, teeth nipping when you moaned into her mouth.

If this was slow, you could get on board with it.

She drew back, making you whimper, fingers tightening on her hair. She placed one last chaste kiss to your lips before disentangling your fingers. The step she took back made you feel bereft before you reminded yourself that today wasn’t about you. You couldn’t imagine the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on that day. Your’s had been bad enough.

“Can we renegotiate this going slow thing?” she asked.

“No,” you laughed, no matter how much you wished you could, “we should go slow. I mean, what are your plans tonight?”

“Drinking wine until I don’t feel embarrassed that I turned down a proposal in front of Jalen Hurts,” she replied.

“Exactly,” you said, giving her an indulgent smile even as your heart raced.

She chuckled, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, taking another step back from you. Your teeth sunk into your lip, swollen from her kisses, as you considered her.

“You might be onto something,” she said.

“But maybe, when the embarrassment has dimmed a bit, we can go out,” you said.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said.

“Great, well…” A smile was taking over your face, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I suppose you will,” she said.

Watching her back out of the room, all you wanted to do was reach out and pull her back to you. She paused in the doorway before she strode back to you, both hands cupping your cheeks and kissing you so thoroughly you lost any train of thought you might have been having. Nodding to herself, she turned her back on you, striding out. You watched her, dumbstruck, wondering how you’d somehow managed to get so lucky.

From the absolute travesty of seeing Gary propose to her to ending with the promise of a date and the taste of her still on your lips. You had no idea how you’d gotten so lucky.

[augustvandyne]

Hey! could you please right a natasha x wife r? Idk if you remember when the avengers have to take refuge and they have to go to clints house (he's reluctant bc he has a secret family only nat knows about)? well could you write it so it's actually nats family that no one knows about? and she's super reluctant to take them there

everyone's alive and no one knew she had a family (not even clint) and the timeline is SUPER wack bc plot twist, yelenas already there. the avengers are hurt nat didn't tell them and they're kinda mad too

nats wife doesn't like having them there bc it's her home and they're putting them all in more danger then they normally are in. the kids don't like them either bc they 'take their mom away' or something like that (but the kids adooore their aunt yelena)

this is super long I'm sorry but the idea has been plaguing my head and I feel like it would be fun to read about. thank you and have a great day!

hi! yes! don’t worry about it being too long, i’ll listen to and write whatever thoughts you have.

safehouse

You and Yelena were baking a cake when pack of Avengers came piling through the front door.

You were expecting Natasha later in the week, and alone. Not with the danger that is literally standing in your doorway.

That was the best part of this place, there was no danger. Nat left work at work, and when she came home all she focused on was her family—you, Yelena, and your two lovely children.

So you were definitely surprised, and not happy, to see the other five Avengers.

You walk further into the living room, and when Nat sees you, her face is immediately apologetic.

“Babe—“

“Who are all these people?” Yelena comes and stands beside you in the living room, staring up at all the men.

“This is Steve, Clint, Tony, Thor, and Bruce. They’re my friends,” Natasha shrugs.

“Uh, no, we’re not your friends now,” Clint crosses his arms with sass.

“They’re the Avengers,” You correct your wife. “And they shouldn’t be here.”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to even bring them here, but—“

“It’s our fault, ma’am,” Steve interrupted.

“Oh, here we go,” Tony throws his hands in the air.

“What?” Steve whines.

“First the language, and now the manners. Good god,” Tony rolls his eyes.

“Okay, take it elsewhere. More preferably, back to where you came from,” You fake smile, earning a glare from Nat.

“Where are the kids?” Nat asks, and you get the feeling she needs to talk. Alone.

“Upstairs in the playroom. Yelena, why don’t you take them outside to play on the swing set?” You ask sweetly.

“Ah, gotcha,” Yelena gave a look to Natasha that said, good luck.

The kids say hello to Nat, made faces at the men still in your living room, and then squealed with joy out the door because their mama is home.

You looked away from the door and back up at the Avengers once again. Nat softly grabs you by the arm and pulls your towards the other side of the living room.

“What are they doing here, Nat?” You lean closer, your foreheads slightly touching.

“I had no other choice,” Natasha’s raspy voice makes it hard not to forgive her.

You sigh and purse your lips.

“Really,” Nat insists. “If there was any other choice, I would have made it. We just got into a little trouble, and need to camp out for a few days.”

You made a vow not to ask what trouble she was in, so you kept your mouth shut when she says this.

“Okay. But if there’s even a little bit of damage to the house, they are paying for it,” You lift your head up and walk back towards the group, Natasha following close behind.

Nat glances your way, then back at the boys, “We can stay here. But only for a few days.”

“So this is where Lady Natasha goes every time she takes off,” Thor nods.

“Yes. A home we didn’t even know about?” Bruce shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Clint looks genuinely hurt when Nat looks at him. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Tony puts his hand on his chest.

You roll your eyes and head back to the kitchen before the cake burns, letting your wife deal with her friends/fellow Avengers.

You finish the frosting Yelena had started, and ice the cake once it comes out of the oven. You then start on dinner. Something easy everyone can enjoy—pasta.

Dinner goes about as well as you thought it would.

Nat and the kids catch up. She just saw them a week or so ago, so there isn’t much to catch up, but you love watching Natasha play and talk with the kids.

You try not to laugh as the kids keep making faces at the guys.

Your daughter starts to kick Tony in the shin, to which him and your daughter start having a staring contest.

“Okay, what are you guys doing?” Nat asked.

“Your tiny agent keeps kicking me,” Tony says, never taking his eyes off the smaller girl.

“Okay she’s not an agent, and it’s probably because you take her mother away every chance you get,” You sighed with frustration. “Good she’s kicking you, maybe you’ll leave then.”

“Y/n—“

“I’m sorry,” You look at your wife. “I said it was okay, even though you’re putting us it more danger. But, I will try to be civil, but only for Natasha.”

“Thank you.”

Later in the night you had assigned everyone to places in the house to spend the night.

Yelena had volunteered to spend the night with the kids, so at least two people could bunk in there, and it was fine by you because the kids adored Yelena.

So two people slept in Yelena’s room, you had one in the living room, and two in the guest room downstairs.

“They are mad at me, you know?” Nat brushed through her hair.

“They’ll get over it. It’s a safe house,” You wrap your arms around her waist from behind. “You are supposed to keep it secret.”

“I know,” Nat turns so you two are face to face. “I love you, and thank you for letting us stay here. We’ll be out of her in two days, tops.”

“Good,” You plant a kiss on the side of Natasha’s mouth.

“But I might not be back for a while,” Nat cups your cheek in her hand.

“I had a feeling,” You look down.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

“How about you start now?” You lift a brow and squeal as your wife picks you up and puts you on the bed.

Danger aside, you loved having your wife back in your arms, and you were granted with just that from this crazy mission.

[yongbokology]

part dos of ‘don’t accidentally beat your dick to your best friend’

part one

black coded reader <3

warnings; smut

an: you asked, i delivered 🧞‍♀️

eren is a mess. a complete utter mess.

after realizing he’s been jerking it to you for the past few months, he becomes a nervous wreck around. oh it was bad.

his first encounter with you after the realization, literally happens the day after.

you were running late for work and your car was currently in the shop so you sent a rather urgent text to him with multiple crying emojis, asking him to take you to work.

without even seeing the message, he begins to panic just seeing your name pop up.

did you somehow use your woman tuition and found out he was fucking himself to you? it plagued eren’s mind for a few seconds, his hands clammy as he grasps his phone.

he lets out a sigh of relief once he reads the message and instantly responds.

‘yeah ofc, see u in a bit’

‘thx ren, you’re the best!’

oh eren feels like shit.

he felt like a pervert. like he wasn’t supposed to see you in your nakedness, pleasuring yourself for thousands to see.

“.. ren, are you okay? you’re awfully quiet today.. i’m sorry if you were busy-”

he immediately shakes his head “no! i wasn’t doing anything. i don’t mind at all.. just a bit distracted is all.” he clears his throat, eyes fixated on the road. not sparing you a single glance.

you stare at the side of his face, picking him apart in your brain. all these years the two of you had the pleasure of knowing each other, you knew eren’s mannerisms, his nervous ticks and more.

something was definitely up.

…

“god not this again. connie could you maybe not be so open about the porn you indulge in.” reiner is fed up with the porn talk, just trying to enjoy this sunday afternoon with his friends.

“okay but bro i’m telling you, this girl is fire. i’d def buy her only fans if she had one.”

eren isn’t too interested in the conversation. his head’s in the clouds. lately he’s been fantasizing about you. a lot actually.

breaking you in half. fucking your brains out in every setting possible. this was new to say the least. before, eren hadn’t had such thoughts about you.

i mean yeah he did sometimes think about what it’d be like if the two of you were together. would the two of you be good partners as you are friends? but he never thought about you in such obscene ways.

it is this next part that has eren almost falling out of his chair.

“[your user]. never heard of her?”

both jean and reiner shake their heads.

eren on the other hand feels his skin run cold, eyes bulging out his head at the username. it was your username.

connie is now pulling out his phone and eren quickly catches on that he is about to pull up your page. with frantic eyes and haste, eren waits for connie to unlock his phone and in the split second that connie rotated his screen towards the three men, eren yanks it from his grasp and dramatically let’s connie’s phone fall face down on the concrete.

“yo what the fuck man?!” connie yells, mouth ajar as he looks between eren and his phone that is definitely not working when he picks it up.

“i-i um. i’m sorry.. it slipped..”

both reiner and jean silently blink, throwing glances at each other.

“oh it fucking slipped? my five year old nephew could put on a better fucking performance.”

“i’m really sorry man. i get paid tomorrow, i’ll pay for it. i swear.”

…

“i really needed this, thanks for hanging out with me ren. karina has been more bitchy than usual.” it was no secret you hated your boss. you often ranted about her to eren, so much so that he hated her as well and doesn’t even know what she looks like.

“of course. you want some more popcorn? bowl’s almost empty.”

you nod and eren gets up from his spot on his bed and retreats to the kitchen to refill the bowl.

you shift your eyes to the tv, ‘bad boys’ currently at it’s thirty minute mark.

you feel a buzz under your butt.

with furrowed brows you shift and pull out eren’s phone that you had no idea you were sitting on.

his phone screen comes to life, him and armin in the background of the notifications that fill the screen.

there were a few from twitter and growing curious as to what eren’s twitter feed looked liked, you unlocked his phone and hit refresh.

your jaw unhinges when you pop up on his screen. fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

you’re in shock like you literally didn’t film this a few hours ago and hit post. you just weren’t expecting to see yourself on your best friend’s timeline.

you stare at yourself, at first unsure how to react to this knowledge but then the thought of eren touching himself to you skates across your mind and suddenly you’re clenching your thighs, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

the thought arouses you.

eren comes back with the bowl filled to the brim and his smile is wiped off his face once he sees his phone in your hands.

“eren,” you start. your voice is low but sweet. “is there something you want to tell me?”

he sucks in a breath, pupils shaking as you lay the phone on the bed. he sees what you were looking at clear as day.

“y/n.. i-i can explain.”

your plump lips turn upwards into a grin. mischief writes all over them.

“come here.”

it’s a command that has him hesitantly obeying.

he sits down on the bed, farther than where he originally was.

you sigh and close the proximity by climbing into lap, the popcorn bowl being discarded to the side.

eren feels hell fire creeping up his neck. his mouth his dry and he can suddenly hear the thrumming of his blood.

“how many times have you fucked yourself to me. hm?”

his lips tremble. “a few times..” it almost comes out as a mumble.

your smirk widens at his blatant lie.

“oh eren, you and i both know that’s not true.”

you push him until his back is flat on the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips. you splay your hands on his chest and fully plant your clothes pussy on his crotch.

he could literally just cum right then and there.

“you know what i hate more than liars?”

once eren realizes you actually want him to respond he shakes his head.

you lean forward until your lips are grazing against his ear. your tits mushed against his chest.

“i hate disobedient boys,” you lean back up and eren looks dazed. aware but dazed. “are you a disobedient boy eren?”

…

needless to say, he’s not. he listens to your every command which is why he was currently whimpering, hands pressed against his chest, trying his very best not to touch you.

your mouth works wonders on his cock, it weeps in all it’s 8inch glory, precum finding it’s way onto your tongue.

you pull him out of your mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, eyeing eren as you pump his aching length. “you close?”

tears form in eren’s eyes. everything feels fuzzy. his brain is scattered but he still manages to give a slight nod. he looked so fucked out and god what a sight it was.

“you gonna cum for me pretty boy?”

the nickname makes eren whine.

“eren, answer me or you don’t get to cum.” you grit, your free hand taking hold on his throat, clenching your dainty yet powerful fingers around it.

“y-yes! yes. m’gonna c-cum.” he chokes out. his pupils becoming dilated as you speed up your hand around his cock.

you smile at this. “i want you to come in my mouth ‘kay? and you can touch me now.” your mouth is instantly on his cock after finishing your sentence.

eren props himself up on his elbows, the iron grip you still have on his neck combined with you sucking the everlasting life out of him has eren cumming in no time with a cracked moan.

“fuh-fuckkk.” tears are streaming down his face now, jaw unhinged as you lap up the messy head on his cock.

“got anymore for me?” you don’t expect him to answer, instead you squeeze on his balls and one last spurt of cum falls onto your shiny lips.

this has eren falling back flat on his back, panting heavily like he’d just finished running a marathon.

you lick at your lips and hum at the taste of him. salty, as expected but not overbearing.

“you did so good for me ren.” you smile, crawling up beside him. resting a hand on his naked chest.

eren lazily turns his head towards you, his cheeks tear stained. he looks utterly broken and it ignites something within you.

“this stays between us ‘kay?” he nods slowly at that, too tired to speak.

what in the world did he just get himself into?

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